Performance 2

This performance proved a little more challenging, being back on my own. I encountered some familiar territory on the synthesiser by getting stuck trying to tune oscillators in headphones, anxiously navigating between sections, feeling out of ideas, or ending parts too early… On my own, the dual roles of performing and managing production can distract from one another with more ferocity. Having Julia and Sachi on stage with me helped me take things more slowly, particularly troubleshooting, as they would keep the performance moving while I fixed equipment. This time, on a few occasions, I would be struck with an idea regarding production (maybe the zither would sound better in the Phono input! It has before!) while performing, and respond to it too quickly, breaking an embodied performance spell, only for the idea to fail (cause feedback), and then struggle to re-enter the embodied performance mode, become disenchanted with it, and then try to decide on what to do next, becoming anxious when no convincing idea lent itself to me. The line between performing and listening (or just being) proved a little more difficult to navigate solo, as the calm gravity that Julia and Sachi provided during the first performance wasn’t there to hold me to subtlety. The audience was also considerably larger, and with my back to them, I imagined I could feel their expectation for performance burning into my rear. “What do they expect from me? Should this be more musical? More active? Are the drones becoming tiresome? Ahhh!” This thought cycle kept me from turning towards the audience - out of fear - and I only looked back for fleeting glances.

The lens of hindsight makes this all look pretty silly. It is apparent that many in the audience did really enjoy the performance. I received some very encouraging feedback, one woman was reportedly brought to tears, and I have seen several appreciative posts of the performance on Instagram. There were periods I enjoyed myself, especially towards the end, when I got into the right frame of mind, in a trance watching the undulating lake, moving between Ni and Sa semitones on the Bansuri. My fingers were cold - technical playing on the flute proved pretty difficult on this afternoon - but diving into the ‘beating’ created by microtonal movements between the flute and its echo revealed satisfying subtlety to explore.

Some key lessons were learnt from more significant mistakes, beyond the shaky state of mind I found myself in. I am learning from them and hope to enact my learnings in the next one this Saturday. First of all, relating to subjects described in the previous post, it seems that not facing the audience at all actually created some undesirable semiotics. In not acknowledging the audience, I think I became too impartial, too separate. While I initially assumed that this would free the audience to act how they desired, feedback from my friends and family described how this impartiality actually made people unsure of how to act. It’s funny, the social dynamics of live music are so engrained; they are inescapable. Their assumption became that I, the performer, didn’t want any distractions from my performance - I wanted silence and sombre attention. The atmosphere of the audience reportedly became one of real formality - people felt unable to move, reluctant to speak, or make any sound. It appears to have made them hyper-aware of their own sonic output; perhaps seeing themselves as an intruder rather than a participant or contributor. This is not the atmosphere I want to create, it is not ‘the work’. I am now considering ‘welcoming’ as an element; its importance and how it might be created. I think the first performance was more welcoming due to Julia’s facing the crowd and Sachi’s range of movements/activities on stage. Eye contact made with the audience affirmed their presence, and when Sachi danced and stretched at the water’s edge, or when she doodled in her notebook, these non-performative actions probably contributed to giving permission to the audience to act in whatever way they please. We discussed this in our post-show conversation. Instead, my ignorance of their presence, the fact that I stood rather than sat, and my sole focus on the music constructed a different atmosphere, one more akin to performer and receiver. 

This mistake is compounded by another; my failure to integrate feedback from Leah. In a meeting following the first performance, Leah recommended that I put a brief intermission in at the hour mark, at which I would acknowledge the audience, welcome newcomers, point out the audience survey, ask those willing to leave a voicemail, and rest for ten minutes while they did so. This was a great idea, I am frustrated that I did not incorporate it. At the time, I was too overwhelmed with operating the synthesiser. Ironically, the hour mark was probably about the point where I had to re-tune oscillators in headphones (always an anxiety inducing endeavor) and could have used the break.

Finally, I made another mistake in not finishing on-time, thus missing the opportunity to integrate another part of Leah and Toby’s feedback. This performance took place on the night proceeding a full moon - the night before had featured a gorgeous, dramatic red moon rise - and I had entertained the thought of playing through to see it happen again. As I was setting up, an employee of the campground told me the moon rise would occur at 5:10pm. Ten extra minutes! I could manage that easily. I didn’t check the time while I performed - I was fearful of breaking the ‘performance’ illusion by looking at my phone (silly) - and just kept on playing, waiting for the moon. At 5:30, I turned around, and saw the vast majority of the audience had left. It had got too cold. Only my friends and family remained. I humorously asked them if we would make it to the moon rise - dad echoed “It’s at 6:20”. A romantic conclusion to the set seemed unnecessary at that point, I created a short crescendo on the synth and ended. After a bit of a challenging performance, this ending was particularly deflating. In the same meeting, Leah and Toby had recommended that I conclude the performance with five or so minutes of silence (i.e. pure environmental sound). I agreed that this would be a great additional thematically, making the performance redundant in real time, and I was excited to embrace it. Instead, I lost track of time, went over, and everyone left. This choice perhaps did work to support another theme however - the perennial performance, outside of time, outside of audience/performer dynamics - but I think concluding with silence is more powerful, it gives resolve, it gives space to reflect and for the impact of the experience to resolve. 

TECH

The ‘Little Weather Man 1’ worked! The wind was quite dynamic throughout the performance, working well to control the low-pass filter on my secondary drone. The semiotic presence of the tall wind sensor was an effective addition to the performance’s presence as well, it is a very overt representation of weather sensing that helps to communicate that element of the performance. Whether the wind’s relationship with the music was felt, it is hard to tell - I think I should give it a more obvious effect by assigning more than one parameter to its influence. Perhaps a reverb decay, or a delay feedback - something that creates more cacophony when the wind blows?

As for the temperature and light outputs - these also were functional, but I did not quite find the right target for them. Again, this kind of environmental sensing is more challenging to work with due to the slow changes in light and temperature. People are less aware of these changes and it is very difficult to make their relationship with sound apparent. I had intended to experiment with my patch on the synthesizer more during the performance to actively find destinations for environmental modulation, but the pressure that I put on myself made me reluctant to do so. Rather, I found myself fighting the modulation - where I had it on a filter, I kept re-adjusting the filter to keep the same frequencies resonant. I will experiment in the studio this week to refresh the patch, I think this will help both the performance and my frame of mind.

In my preparation, I had time to mic-up a nearby paperbark root system by running my contact mic into my H5, then running the output of the H5 into a DI, which then ran into my interface over a long cable. I got enough distance this time to avoid feedback (after some tuning). There has to be something in the feedback through the tree though… how could this be used creatively?? What dictates the resonant frequencies of the tree?? Or is it just the mic? 

The signal sounded great, highly dynamic, with water sounds and resonant slaps on the wood with larger waves. I also dedicated one section of the performance to performing the root system, slapping, tapping, and scraping roots with my hands and with other branches. I had the signal feeding through a long delay; I would make impacts on the roots and then listen to them echo. I think this worked well - but might have benefited from more intention, more clarity. My shaky mind showed itself when I clearly couldn’t decide when this section was over - I walked back to the synth, turned around abruptly, and kept playing the roots… No good! I will see what can be done at the next show. I did try to patch the signal into the resonator at one point, but I had not tried this while tuning, and the feedback was insurmountable. Another sketchy part of the set.

I want to get away from drones a little for this next set. I have done three drone-heavy performance (including the launch) and I am curious as to how more minimalist, percussive layers might work in this setting, and whether I can land on the right kinds of polymetric layers to keep it from getting tiresome. I think slow, evolving LFOs on filters and velocity will be important. I also want to embrace more silence in the final two sets - allow the environment to come through more. Embrace some total absence. Use transient sounds alone, let them echo into the distance, then modulate their tone with successive strikes. Drones are warm, comfortable, and reliable, but I need to be careful not to lean on them too hard! They can also become claustrophobic, impending, even irksome. To the future!!