Music

I have allowed myself of late to become enmeshed in the 'world of dust', with familial and work commitments over the festive season and the commencement of the new business year – so it's been some time since I last published to this journal. However the recent rain drove me once again to the bus and my iPad, whence I discovered anew an almost completed musing on music. Here's the finished piece:

Some years back the Sydney Opera House advertised a forthcoming concert simply as 'The Philip Glass Ensemble'. Being 'in the know' and not wanting to miss an opportunity to see one of my favourite composers and performers live on stage, I snapped up my ticket and eagerly awaited the day. Come the night, after making my way to the Opera House, milling about in the foyer, shuffling up the stairs under the grand concrete sails and finally taking my seat in the centre of the concert hall, I took the opportunity (as many do) to look around at what I initially assumed to be my fellow enthusiasts, only to be somewhat surprised at the apparent diversity of the make-up of the crowd. Certainly many music genres appeal to a wide cross-section of the community - but I was a little suprised at the number of seemingly conservative elderly couples in attendance. I formulated a theory (later borne out by a significant reduction in audience numbers after intermission) that these were people unfamiliar with Philip Glass, who had purchased tickets (or perhaps were season ticket holders) based on the strength of the word 'ensemble' and its conotations of some small orchestral instrument group playing popular classics. Nor was this assumption necessarily contradicted by the appearance of the stage - a formal arrangement of some high music stands, a keyboard of some description, an air of order and restraint. Even the entry of the musicians did little to dismiss such notions as they were, all four, similarly attired in traditional black and white with neat ties as they took their bow of acknowledgement of the applause from the auditorium and sat with quiet solemnity at their respective stations.

The house lights dimmed, the audience hushed, a brief anticipatory pause elapsed - and then, like some apocolyptic onslaught, this vast, dense wall of greatly amplified sound rushed from the speakers, engulfing the audience as it advanced at speed across the ranked seats in a giant wave that crashed against the rear wall of the hall, almost threatening to blast it from the foundations and send it crashing into the waters of Sydney Harbour beyond. My sigh of contentment and sly smile of joy as I slowly slid down into my seat, letting my eyelids drift closed as the music filtered through every fibre of my being was countered only by the sharp intakes of breath by the mature couple to my immediate right, who seemed to tense every muscle in their bodies in inverse proportion to my own relaxation.

To be honest, I forget exactly which piece of music the concert commenced with, but in my recollection I like to think it was one of the more dynamic passages from his soundtrack for the wonderful film by Godfrey Reggio, 'Koyaanisqatsi' (the first of a trilogy for which Glass contributed the music and perhaps my favourite film of all time). What I most recall are both my sheer pleasure in immersing myself in the rushing, rolling, pulsating rhythms, melodies and syncopations of the piece, and my surprise (and delight) that my immediate neighbours, after their initial shock, settled into this new musical experience and were not among those that abandoned the building at the first opportunity.

I consider myself to have a reasonably broad musical taste, ranging from some of the better known popular classics, through the greats of the early R&B days and 1960s rock and roll. I was not a big fan of disco come the seventies but certainly attended my fair share of early electronica, new wave and punk (or what passed for punk at that time in the Sydney pub and club scene). In my early twenties I had a disposable income that saw me buying one or two albums every week - often based on little more than the sleeve artwork and a quick listen to a couple of tracks picked at random in the store. In this way I discovered (among many, many other fine recording artists) the likes of XTC, Ultravox, OMD, Grace Jones, Gary Numan, Kraftwerk and other exponents of the pared back sound and unique soundscapes possible with new musical technologies. A friend one night challenged me to stay awake through the entirety of Brian Eno's first Ambient album 'Music for Airports' and a whole new world of aural possibility started to open in my head. I still remember where I was sitting, listening to my work radio (tuned to Sydney's Triple J - as it always was) when I heard for the very first time Laurie Anderson's 'O Superman' - I was astonished, convinced I'd head the future of music.

My partner (not yet met in those distant days) was deeply entrenched in the local Sydney pub-band culture, and to this day, still an avid JJJ listener, keeps me abreast of the contemporary music scene, which I would otherwise miss in my almost single-minded preoccupation with my small collection of favourites. Thus the family collection has the entire suite of JJJ Hottest 100 compilations and a diverse range of contemporary pop/rock the likes of Muse, Eminem, Gotye, Daft Punk, Birds of Tokyo, Simian Mobile Disco, Yuksek, etc. Plus I'm a sucker for any truly astounding voice, so I love my small horde of Bjork, Jeff Buckley, Sigur Ros, Regina Spektor, Florence and the Machine, Katie Noonan, Sarah Blasko, et al.

But, despite all that, I keep returning to my handful of favourites - Philip Glass, Brian Eno, Michael Nyman, Eric Satie, JS Bach ... Their compositions share something that I respond to - be they big, bold, brash, dense, cacophonies that wash over you or small, quiet and simple melodic threads that weave their way through your mind and heart - they all have the power to soothe. Srangely, even those building crescendos of rushing sound that accompany the destructive footage in Koyaanisqatsi actually have a calming influence on me. Is it simply the freedom they give you to become so totally absorbed in their sounds that lets you relegate other concerns to the rearmost sections of your mind? I'm not a big fan of music simply filling the background - I feel if it's playing I should listen. Indeed I get annoyed with myself if I become preoccupied with another task and fail to hear favourite passages through inattention. So much do I enjoy actively listening to music that I've always been a little disappointed that no-one other than Brian Eno (to my knowledge - which is admittedly quite scant) has truly explored the region of music deliberately composed for playing at almost sub-audible levels. His ‘Discreet Music’ is a favourite still with its insistence that you tun the volume way down – and really pay attention. Likewise, one of my true musical delights is the experience, only occasionally happened upon, of being somehwere (preferably outdoors) and hearing, oh so faintly, a gentle whisper of sound emanating from some nearby performance. Just light, drifting snatches of gentle melodies, wending across the landscape to my ear - painting pictures in my head of the event for which they are properly intended but from which I have stolen some pleasure for myself.

And, if I might be permitted a little hypocrisy (when I repeatedly advocate being fully present in the reality of the moment) my latest guilty pleasure, one that I seemingly share with an ever growing majority of my fellow beings since the first introduction of the Sony Walkman compact cassette player all those years ago, is to 'plug myself in' to my iPad with a suitably moody piece playing through my ear buds (perhaps Philip Glass's 'Mad Rush') as I wander through the city streets between bus-stop and office. I find such moments can transform my experience of 'now' from a simple journey through the sights, sounds and smells, hustle and bustle of early morning commuter crowds and angular modernist structures, to an almost cinematic experience wherein I deliberately bring my attention to a considered focus on compositions of forms and light and textures and motion - creating the 'movie' for which I already have the soundtrack cascading through my conciousness. I'm genuinely not sure if this is an escape from the now or a heightened perception of, and presence within it?

I sometimes promise myself that one day I'll bring a video camera along with me and capture these moments to share with others, creating mini sound and vision compilations of simplicity and beauty and quietude. But to do so would simply dilute their worth by removing them from their prime strength - being there to experience the moment in person. If you don't already do similarly yourself, I highly recommend it!