Imperfect Orchestra's scoring of Sergei Eisenstein's 'Battleship Potemkin' at Plymouth University

Never been so unnerved, disturbed, and frightened by a piece of music or cinema before so this is definitely a first - and I loved it!

By definition, a silent movie is just that: silent. This makes whatever happens, especially if it’s a horror film, all the more surprising. Sergei Eisenstein’s Soviet Kinema piece, “Battleship Potemkin” did not, initially, strike me as having the potential to be horrifying, set as it was on a battleship. So, when faced with Imperfect Orchestra’s scoring of the film, I felt secure in the knowledge that what surprises there might be could be anticipated with the appropriate musical warnings. Oh, how wrong I was. Each turn of events in the film was so sudden, and at times violent, that without the music I would’ve been suitably surprised, but with it, the entire mood did a complete 180 turn, the tone of the music switching in the same instant.

Working with the director’s wish that the film should be rescored every generation, contemporary electrical instruments like synthesisers, found sounds, and electric guitars were permitted to join the orchestra, creating a much more surreal, unsettling, and energetic vibe. This worked well with the cultural background against which the film was set, namingly the era of Russian Constructivism and Italian Futurism, which sought the artistic freedom and experimentation of ‘making it new’. Thus, electric guitars were made to sound as if they screamed, violins mourned death, pianos crept by in the background in anticipation of death, drums pounded ominously, cymbals rattled jarringly, and voices chanted or shouted through a distorted megaphone. Every musical choice served to intensify the action seen in black and white on the screen behind the orchestra, to the point that, at times, I felt genuine fear. As the civilians reacted to the Soviet attack, so too did the orchestra, in a fashion which unnerved me until I was glued to the screen in uneasy anticipation of the first death. Of course, what made this a truly shocking film was the momentary emphasis it placed on the female and infant casualties of the Russian Revolution as a young boy was trampled in the panic, a young mother was shot as she clutched her baby’s pram, her falling body pushing the child down the steps, and an elderly woman was wounded in the eye. This series of events was montaged and alternated with shots of the advancing Soviets, and civilians fighting below, escalating the tension still further. Only when the final raising of the big guns, pointed directly at the screen, is called off, can the bubble of fear finally burst, the music become jubilant, and the monster of war slink back into the shadows.

I can’t say I have ever been a particularly big fan of silent theatre – or politics, for that matter – but while the latter remains a reluctant subject for me, if all silent movies were scored in such a way, I might be inclined to seek more out. The applause lasted for a considerable time once the credits rolled, and rightly so, as the collective passion and effort of Imperfect Orchestra had produced one of the finest collaborations of cinema and music I have ever had the good fortune to experience.

Past the Patina - In Memory of Poppy: Wave Installation

It’s a beautiful thing, as it rises, it rises, it rises,

A blood red wave in the shadow of

A wave of blood in the shadow of

A wave of blood to symbolise the names on

The memorial that pierces the sun.

It’s visually stunning the way the poppies reflect

In the puddles,

A sea of red heads made duller

Lost their colour –

Are they dying or have they already…?

No water can nourish these roots already

They are dead heads fallen like shadows of

Biplane fighters in brave flocks

The resurrected phantoms of their names on

The memorial that pierces the sun.

I’m in awe as it rises, it rises, it rises –

We’ll be home by Christmas –

It’s still rising towering narrowing looming reaching…

It’s stopped

Why did it stop?

They can’t stop it’s not over they’re too young there are too many too many

Too many flowers.

They were real people – note the ‘were’ –

Maybe you knew them

Can you pick them out?

Each face is a flower

A life struck out

But a legend no doubt

Of whom without

You could not take picture after picture after picture

Of your son in the shadow of

A graduation in the shadow of

A life made perfect by the shadow of

The memorial that pierces the sun.

I will stand and stare and remember

As it pours forth its floral fountain

A sympathetic tributary flood

A blood tide

To dissipate like a wave at my feet,

To dissipate dissolve disperse decompose

Into Flanders Field exalted in clay

Into Flanders Field exalted

In Flanders Field

They want us to remember

But what am I remembering,

Who must I not forget?

I never met him

You won’t forget him

I never met him

You can’t forget him

I never met him

You shouldn’t forget him

As he crawls through the wire

That tangles protects mangles resurrects

That reaches from the shadow of

Protects the beaches in the shadow of

Beyond our reach in the shadow of

The memorial that pierces the sun.

As daylight fades, the lights come up,

The colours pop, shine like rain-jewelled petals,

Like glacé buds

Like patent blossom,

Like blood-soaked soil -

The only kind fertile enough for such seeds

With such ravenous needs

That six thousand strong must feed the flock

By conceding to bleed to stop the clock.

But still it rises, it rises, it rises

And it can’t be stopped why won’t it stop the names are the same the fight is not is not

It’s not over yet –

We are infected in retrospect,

Cannot forgive out of respect –

So no one surrenders in the shadow of

We keep remembering in the shadow of

A day not just of peace but

A memorial that pierces the sun. 

The Anjali Dance Company presents Genius at The House, Plymouth, 25th October 2017

Frisson: a sudden, passing sensation of excitement; a shudder of emotion; thrill – something I was not expecting when I sat down to the Anjali Dance Company’s production of ‘Genius’. The company comprised of performers with various learning disabilities whose goal it is to break the stereotypes and perceptions of people with such disabilities through performance. Given the opportunity, their creativity and talent was allowed to shine through in the most amazing ways, and created the aforementioned ‘frisson’. Their unique and, often times, haunting use of sound, staging, and bodily interaction in ‘Genius’ created a professional performance that gave me chills.

In the brief first half, the six performers, all pale-faced, dressed in black, and gloved in blood, performed an amusing rendition of the big screen’s Nosferatu. Each would enter a small section of the stage, surrounded by iridescent tinsel curtains, to an eerily rising note, and perform their simple sketch (often involving bloodsucking) before exiting as the sound cut out. The repetition of the sketches felt very much like film takes, the pattern only broken when part of the curtain was accidentally pulled down, creating a break in the wall of indistinct silhouettes that stood on the other side.

For the second half, however, a contemporary rendition of the life of Beethoven was performed. This utilised stage lighting, voiceover, and the music of Mozart (and, of course, Beethoven himself) for dramatic effect. Since none of the performers ever spoke, all their emotion had to be conveyed through body language, thus the music became their conductor: reaching, holding one another, falling, and crawling across the floor. Scenes of performance and death featured heavily, the one slowly bleeding into the other, so that a celebratory effusion of white roses became a delicate cascade of red petals onto a fallen body. It was such poetry in motion that I felt myself tearing up a little. The grandeur of Beethoven’s music which made me realise just how perfect this story was for the stage – as well as why the protagonist of Anthony Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange got such a kick out of the music. I had those beautifully intense and melancholic compositions to thank for several moments of frisson.

Of course, this whole thing would not have been possible without the co-ordinated efforts of the six performers. True to the company’s aim, they danced with a grace and dedication which belied any previously held beliefs one might have had about those with Down’s syndrome, autism, or other learning disability. They exuded an energy which never seemed to fail, a personality which engaged with their characters and struck a balance between humour and solemnity which kept the pacing fresh. Knowing this was a life story, it undoubtedly had to end. However, the final laying to rest of Ludwig van Beethoven, clutching a small bouquet of white flowers, was no less desired than the fact that it signalled the end of the show.

I wish Anjali Dance Company all the best with their future performances!