am nagel. the garden wet
with rain. coming up to the s-bahnhaltestelle
starnberg nord. während der
fahrt nicht mit dem fahrzeugführer sprechen.
im notfall die sprechstelle im einstiegsbereich b
nutzen. nichts verstanden. tief getroffen. ob ich
es bin? du sagtest: die bahn geht nur bis max
weber platz. wir müssen am wiener platz
aussteigen. die nächste soll in 3 bis 4
minuten kommen. ich weiß immer
noch nicht bescheid. der zug
endet hier. bitte aus
E: I like the way we throw ourselves into the thing we are creating without knowing what we actually create. It demands participating, listening and spontaneous actions from all of us. I like to discover what happens in this collision of art forms and people. This is for sure not storytelling in the narrative way that I was trained to do. It is a total break of the cartoonish play style I often work within. I find that in this project the listening has another focus than in regular improvised theatre. Here we got rid of the story, the dramatics. Left on stage are the improvisers, the instruments, the text and the audience. To me this is mostly about the sounds we improvise when we are together, how we get changed by the sounds, the words, the meaning and the lack of meaning. As long as we are spontaneously committed to what we do and don’t fall into the trap where we try to be creative and make things up, we do make things I like to listen to. When we try too hard to make the right things happen, they don’t happen. We get the best result when we just do something, without trying to be good.
L: In the essay „Yonder“ Siri Hustvedt writes about words that are so-called shifters. The word yonder is one of these – it means between here and there. Once you actually get to that place it is no longer yonder, because it has changed into here. I think this relates to the way we work together. When I look down at the instruments and objects not-soneatly arranged on top of my snare drum case I see a range of possibilities, but these possibilities are not limitless. I think of Arild’s poems as the same kind of instruments/objects – they’re plastic/moving sculptures, and the way they are put together is similar to what I do when I pick up an instrument and start to make sound with it together with my snare drum. This idea of working with a material and changing it around, trying different methods of making it speak – not squeezing meaning out of it filtered through oneself, but rather letting it speak for itself.
V: The text we use is a result of my response to the poems of Fernando Pessoas heteronyms Alberto Caeiro, Ricardo Reis and Alvaro de Campos. I took words and sentences from the poems and translated them into Norwegian from English and German translations. I set the words and sentences together in other ways making „my own” poems. The result is the book improvisation person, which was released in April this year (Aschehoug, Oslo). DVELL is, I think, working with text in a similar way, listening and responding, not thinking of linearity, not being afraid of making other relations between sounds and words.
D: Last night I was talking to a man about a performance I did with a violinist and a flute player at a house in the countryside. The violinist was explaining that what we were doing wasn’t so much driven by emotion but was about form and construction; putting materials together in relationships and trying things out. We played sounds in relation to each other in the way that materials in a house sit in relation to each other. We don’t ask the builder of a house what the relationship between her emotional state and the resulting house is. But we know that people will have emotional responses to the house and to the way it is arranged. They will live in the house. And similarly people have emotional responses to music, to the sound relationships. They can dwell in the sounds. It’s very permissive; to not justify, to not have to explain. But still to make something that an audience can sit in for a while, can live inside. And if they don’t know who they are while they are listening to it, then that’s very good. We don’t flatter. We don’t give the audience a surface into which they can see themselves reflected (Narcissus). And we don’t answer back (Echo), we don’t respond to the audience’s regular demand: Who are you? What are you doing? Instead we embody those questions. We play out their internal structure.
V: The spectator is not passive. She also, as Jacques Rancière puts it, acts. „She observes, selects, compares and interprets. She links what she sees to a host of other things that she has seen on other stages, in other kinds of places. She composes her own poem with the elements of the poem before her.“ (Jacques Rancière: „The Emancipated Spectator“). Like we do, I would say, not trying to deliver a fixed message or statement, but being part of something that is not us.
D: If Pessoa was a person then he was a person who dwelt within a crowd of subjectivities (heteronyms), ‚he‘ lived within a community of them (of sorts). I’d like to become much better at dissociating myself from myself (and my practice, sounds, gestures, responses) as we progress with this project. Or become better at being other to myself in the process of playing. That’s something I try to do generally when playing, but since this piece is so (potentially) bound up with that then it seems a good forum for exploring how far we can go.
E: Frode Eggen (Stimme) – Oslo
L: Kyrre Laastad (Perkussion) – Trondheim
V: Arild Vange (Text/St imme) – Trondheim
D: Neil Davidson (Gitarre) – Glasgow