By Ian S. Port
By Cory Sklar
By Godofredo Vasquez
By Gil Riego Jr.
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
By Christopher Victorio
By Ian S. Port
When Brian Eno spoke at the Imagination Conference here in 1996, he credited two San Francisco-related incidents as influencing his music in general, and Music for Airports -- which Bang on a Can All-Stars performed last week -- in particular. The first was spending entire days at the Exploratorium when he lived here briefly in the 1970s -- an unsurprising pastime, given that the man always treated record production as a hands-on science fair project. The second inspiration was a song: Steve Reich's "It's Gonna Rain," a 1965 tape-loop piece based on a recording of a Pentecostal preacher who was working Union Square. Making tape loops of three words from the antediluvian rant, Reich played them simultaneously and listened as they fell in and out of phase. The result was a harrowing, transfixing wash of ever-changing textures that obscured the actual words. What today's DJs achieve by busily slaving over turntables and samplers, Reich got simply by hitting "play" and kicking back.
The magic of "It's Gonna Rain" was its transformation of the human voice into a pure instrument, a mechanism of tone and pitch that had nothing to do with the preacher's original intentions. Always a chilly sort when it came to songwriting, Eno himself got off on Reich's human-turned-inhuman approach; in one of his rare interviews, he enthused over Reich's presentation of "variety ... generated by very simple systems." Music for Airports, released in 1978, was his attempt to codify those ideas -- "Ambient Music," he called it in the liner notes, arguably the first to do so -- and make them more complex.
Airports is a busy record, layer upon layer of glacial voices and notes undulating softly. But while the record goes about its melodic business humbly -- piano tinkle here, disembodied vocal there -- its randomness is jarring. As an "ambient" record, it's a failure; you're forced to confront its sound, inhuman and mild as it is. In other words, it's crappy background music, which probably explains why when the Pittsburgh International Airport tried playing the record in its (theoretically) proper context in 1982, angry patrons called to demand the damned thing be turned off.
So it wasn't such a radical idea for Bang on a Can All-Stars to not only score a well-nigh unscorable album, but also to figure it'd play live in a concert hall. By making Airports into a performance, the musicians -- Steve Gilewski, bass; Dorothy Lawson, cello; Lisa Moore, piano and keyboards; Steven Schick, percussion; Mark Stewart, guitar; and Evan Ziporyn, clarinet and saxophones -- humanized Eno's work. Sometimes imperceptibly, but often quite clearly, they took a science fair project and transformed it vividly into song.
Like the Bang on a Can album released on Philip Glass' Point Music label earlier this year, the live performance -- the Bay Area premiere, and the opening of the "Other Minds" series of new music concerts -- took some liberties with the original work. Ziporyn's arrangement of the closing "2/2" doubled the song length to over 12 minutes. It's hard to blame him: It's the album's loveliest, most flowing melody, which Lawson's cello and Stewart's guitar figures underscore. It's probably the part that brought Eno himself to tears when he heard the new version, as he wrote in a letter to the group.
Inevitably, the live performance wasn't quite as lively or full-sounding as the album, which has the benefit of additional musicians, particularly the ghostlike female voices on "2/1" and "1/2," which were instead synth-generated onstage. And Schick's metal-brushing-metal rattles on "2/1" were more emphasized than either of the recorded versions suggest, nearly to the point of being intrusive. But the differences only prove how surprisingly flexible Airports actually is; like any cover of a good song ("interpretation," if you prefer), you can mess with it without doing too much harm, because the melodic heart of the song remains intact. Thing is, nobody thought of Music for Airports as a collection of good songs until Bang on a Can got their mitts on it.
And that's what their performance was about: celebrating the role of the human composer above the animatronic composition, a point the group emphasized by playing an instrumental cover of Eno's lush "Everything Merges With the Night" for their encore. It repositions Eno as a more emotional and romantic musician than he's been given credit for. Bang on a Can exalt in messing around, experimenting, making mistakes, and capturing pure feeling. All the things that make music -- heck, human beings -- interesting.
The Bedside Drama: A Petite Tragedy
There are three stages that can be used to track all romantic relationships. In Stage 1, the "we were made for each other" stage, lust and possibility cause a run on rose-tinted glasses. In Stage 2, couples see only differences. Only successful pairings move on to Stage 3: compromise.
The pop music canon can be divided by the same arc. Almost every pop song's core message is either "You're the greatest thing ever" (Stage 1) or "You're no longer my baby" (Stage 2). The statistically insignificant segment of songs unaccounted for by the first or second stages falls into Stage 3.
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