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Fisgard Lighthouse
April 13, 2006
Some years ago the following transcript of an actual maritime radio conversation was released by the UK Chief of Naval Operations:
Navy: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision.
Civilian: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to South to avoid a collision.
Navy: This is the Captain of a US Navy ship. I say again, divert your course.
Civilian: No. I say again, divert your course.
Navy: This is the aircraft carrier Enterprise. We are a large warship of the US Navy. Divert your course now!!
Civilian: This is a lighthouse. Your call.
The Titanic notwithstanding, it would seem that arrogance and a disregard for safety at sea are still a part of the human makeup.
Gavin Bryars' modern classic, The Sinking of the Titanic closed Aventa's remarkable concert on Thursday, the first musical event ever to be held in the Fisgard Lighthouse.
Certainly it is unusual to be addressed beforehand by a representative of Parks Canada - and even more unusual to be told that nobody knows the load-bearing tolerance of the upper floor and so could the audience please not all congregate upstairs simultaneously?
In the event, the only time I felt any concern in this regard was the opening of the work, where the force of the collision, rendered devastatingly by the percussion, could not only be heard upstairs, but could be felt vibrating the entire floor (yes, that dubiously strong one).
I was told afterwards, by one who knows, that this was exactly the way ice sounds when heard from below the water line - something I have no intention of verifying personally, thank you.
Despite the partially ambulatory nature of the audience - some sat in the same place for the duration, others (like myself) wandered around for the differing aural perspectives - the music soon cast its spell and, the occasional soft footstep and creaking floorboard aside, it was heard in silence.
At the close, by happy coincidence, I was standing by the doorway into the house. As the music finally died away, I was left with the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. A truly magical moment.
The evening opened - well, actually it opened with a ten-minute walk from the parking lot, which was considerably more exciting in reverse, after dark.
The evening's music opened with Sir Peter Maxwell Davies' Sea Eagle for solo horn - or, to be precise, the first movement of three.
Given the nature of the instrument and the difficulty of "Max's" music, one can only guess at the feeling of Darnell Linwood as she began the concert by playing not, as anticipated, to a largely empty room but to what, apparently, felt like a crowded closet.
From my vantage point outside the closet, the music sounded entirely appropriate - sometimes soaring, sometimes swooping, always interesting. And, of course, superbly played.
After this entirely "acoustic" opening, the evening quickly turned technical.
Giorgio Magnanensi has a wonderful sonic imagination. His Personum for solo electronics was a fascinating journey through varying textures. At one point he even enlisted the assistance of (unless I am very much mistaken) that compulsory modern fashion accessory, the iPod, which seemed to contribute the sound of a harp - or perhaps guitar.
Whichever it was, by the time its sound reached us, it seemed to be being played in a tropical rainforest, in the middle of a downpour.
In addition to his remarkable feel for musical sonorities, Magnanensi also possesses one particular attribute which is, alas, all too rare in modern composers: the knowledge of when to STOP.
raw meat and butterflies followed, a joint work by Douglas Schmidt and Magnanensi, which combined the sound of Schmidt's accordion with Magnanensi's live electronics.
At times there seemed to be several accordions (of varying size) in the room. At others, although Schmidt was clearly playing, the sounds which emerged were quite other.
An interesting experience - and I do not mean that in any euphemistic sense.
If one marimba is good, surely two must be better?
This certainly seemed to be the thinking behind Dave Humphrey's and Masako Hockey's dazzling performance of Instruments Flying, John Celona's wonderful flight of fancy for marimba (or two) and electronics.
When I reviewed the solo version (if we might call it that) back in February, I said I was reminded of Terry Riley's A Rainbow in Curved Air.
While standing by that, the presence of the second marimba also seemed to bring to the party something of the phasing effects of early Steve Reich.
Again, the environment in which one was listening dictated the sound: from where I stood initially - next to one of the speakers - I could, hardly surprisingly, hear little of the marimbas.
However, from outside the house, particularly just outside the window into the living room, the marimbas rang out loud and clear.
As Bill Linwood remarked to me, we were getting dangerously close to R. Murray Schafer territory.
Although every Aventa concert I've attended (which is nearly all of them) has been a memorable occasion, this one will stand out in particular.
MiV HomeLast modified: Fri Apr 14 16:26:38 PDT 2006