Today I witnessed Frozen Music, the latest production from Portland’s modern chamber ensemble Third Angle. The title is a reference to a Goethe quote – “architecture is frozen music.” In keeping with this theme, three works were presented in three architecturally distinct buildings, and attempts were made to match the style and period of the music with the physical setting.
I was late so I missed the first piece, which revolved around “Northwest Modernism” and took place at Fox Tower, but I did catch most of “Neo-clssicism” at the fancy US Bank off 6th and Burnside. They played some Stravinsky, which I actually recognized without the program notes (woo college!), and a sextet by Francis Poulenc. This was really beautiful and very well-played, but my mind was wondering. My girlfriend had the same experience, and we got to talking about whether this is a modern condition – not being able to focus on anything – or if the original audience for these works had the same experience. It’s probably a combination of both; people are more distracted now, less blown away by the sheer radness of hearing and seeing music performed live AND people are just dumb animals that can’t focus for shit. Maybe?
After that the crowd ambled over to Hilton Tower’s unfinished basement for the somewhat cheesily titled “A Virtual Concert Hall” performance. This is really why I came; my friend from college, Brede Rørstad, had a piece in this show, which he also performed in. I would never have remembered this awesome thing without some email prodding from Brede, so yeah, thanks dude.
The first piece was totally charming. It was called Onomatopoeia and it was written by Nigel Westlake in 1984. It featured Brian Quincey on electric viola, an instrument which brings me back to the John Tesh concert I went to with my mom (I shit you not) and Yanni at Red Rocks, but which Mr. Quincey reclaims for the good. He starts out playing these gorgeous soaring scales through a delay pedal (I lack any terminology to acurately describe what he was doing here), then eases off the pedal and plays fast repeating lines. After a while a screen to his right lights up with a video recording of him playing the passage he just played, which he in turn accompanies. This keeps going until there are four Quincey’s, all but one digital. The cumulative effect was of a mass of sustained unresolved beauty, kind of like Steve Reich’s epicly wonderful Music for 18 Musicians delivered with a digital wink.
Then it was time for Brede’s piece, entitled Five Remixes of a Forgetten Theme. Quincey also played on this one, accompanied by Brede on latop. Brede manipulated Quincey’s viola in real-time adding in pre-sequenced beats and samples (at least I think they were). The music kept tumbing and transforming, evading any sense of forward and backward while orbitting around a central riff. And what a riff: mournful and transcendant at once, it was one of those pieces of music that feels plucked from the ground. You could call it elemental.
Behind all this, four screens were projected with underwater castles and sea creatures overlayed with boroque patterns. The whole thing ended perfectly with some unresolved loops and a perfect image: folding chairs (like the ones we were sitting in) floating in an underwater industrial space (like the one we were sitting in, except for the underwater part). Really, really nice.
Click here to listen to an excerpt from Brede Rørstad’s Five Remixes of a Forgetten Theme.
