Hours of Worship

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Filed under: Music, Recommended , hours of worship, mix, techno

Jan Švankmajer – Sileni

First film review for Stylus. More to come!

Lunacy /Sileni
2005
Director : Jan Švankmajer
Cast: Pavel Liska, Jan Tríska, Anna Geislerová

Silenus was the drunken teacher of hedonist god Dionysus. Reviled as a symbol of ridicule for his inebriation, Silenus was revered in other quarters as a man of wisdom for his prophetic and transcendental visions. Unsurprisingly, it was the virile young satyrs (horse eared and bearing almighty erections) who celebrated his indulgent teachings most enthusiastically, adopting the oaf as prophet and leader in a move not unfamiliar to fans of The Happy Mondays.

The often confused relationship between hedonism and sanity, spirituality and power, freedom and control is key to Jan Svankmajer’s latest feature, which references the works of French deviant The Marquis De Sade as well as two of Edgar Allen Poe’s less renowned gothic fables; in what the director has coined his ‘philosophical horror movie’.

Our protagonist Jean, a naive young traveller, is haunted by dreams of men breaking into his room at night and taking him away in a straightjacket – a fate that once befell his mother. So violent are his late night stirrings that he finds his sanity in question by all but the wise and benevolent Marquis, who takes the apprehensive Jean under his wing.

He is introduced to a lunatic asylum run quite contently by it’s own inmates, their apparent calm indebted in no small part to the services of nymphomaniac nurse Charlotte, whose equally subservient and embittered relationship to the Marquis brings to mind the character of ‘Mad’ Madelaine LeClerk played by Kate Winslet in 2000’s ‘Quills’ .

The nurse appears to embody the asylum as a whole, paradoxically being both a benevolent and power hungry force to both the inpatients and their captors (turned captive). She is both harlot and mother, heaven and earth; and the film’s prominent political figure; Mother Chaos, or, as I am inclined to believe, the tempestuous motherland.

Although Svankmajer’s surrealist principles make him more an ambassador of imagination than a filmmaker with a transparent political agenda, so relevant is the imagery at play in his latest work I cannot help but think of it’s political significance.

Perhaps the story is a reference to the difficulties posed by the rebirth of a bohemian Czech Republic since the fall of communism ( Czechoslovakia did, after all, comprise most of Bohemia, where the term originated). Pope John Paul acrimoniously warned Czech followers of ‘imported hedonism’ in a speech a decade ago, and with the economy booming, the Czech youth are indulging in the type of hedonistic lifestyle unavailable to their parents, and likely Svankmajer. However with new freedoms come new problems, and crises of identity.

Orgiastic ritual in spite of religious practice is studied markably in the Marquis’ S&M circus held in the asylum church, with an aesthetic than owes more than a little to Austrian actionist Hermann Nitsch’s bloody and ceremonial depictions of flux. However the greatest indicator is perhaps Jean’s own fears and lustful confusions.

In a 1968 short film ‘The Flat’, Svankmajer made a paranoid, Kafka-esque comment on life under red rule in his depiction of a single man ‘holed up’ in a dilapidated room, with no hope of release. In ‘Sileni’, our protagonist is haunted with nightmares of men forcing their way into his room, taking him from his place of slumber and to the ‘madhouse’. In short, from the simple, maternal comforts of a communist state to the incoherence of hedonistic capitalism.

This transition destroyed his mother, and will perhaps the motherland. Oedipal interplay is introduced as Jean lusts for Charlotte, who embodies both the sexual temptation of the new order (paintedly explored by her depiction as Liberty from Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading The People’, iconic of the French revolution) and the maternal rationale of, and concern for, the old guard; which eventually gets the better of her as she releases the captive hospital staff.

“The man who does not enjoy drinking is mad.” [Silenus. Euripides, Cyclops 169]

Svankmajer’s protagonist embodies a Czech youth perhaps not as comfortable with their new freedoms as may be perceived. Looking to the problems faced by a generation of Eastern Europeans first exposed to the incoherence of capitalism and post-modernity evokes bleak parallels with the disillusioned youth of the West, and begs the question: when one can get drunk on freedom, is it mad to harbor reservations, and crave a greater purpose?

The luscious stop motion animations amidst the chaos offer relief, and the humbling affirmation that regardless of your location, the realm of imagination is a timeless refuge for the disenfranchised. Svankmajer, now 72, remains essential and uncompromising in his vision.

Filed under: Film, Recommended

Hermann Nitsch and die Hook orgel

Last Thursday we went to see Hermann Nitsch perform at Heilig-Kreuz-Kirche in Kreuzberg, an exhibition of his latest organ compositions to be played on the only American church organ in Germany, the ‘Hook Orgel’ (yes, it has it’s own website).

In contrast to the opulence of the venue, the sense of occasion was dampened somewhat when a wonderfully spherical Nitsch rolled to the front of the stage and gave a barely audible speech of his intentions – his words swallowed whole by the vacuous and volumous space in the Church. I found this to be thematic of the whole evening, as I will explain.

Taking to the Hook organ, Nitsch slowly ambled onto the playing bench with the assistance of two smartly dressed aides. Beginning with a light hum, he then proceeded to push underwhelming sustained chords through the pipes, distant in volume and basic in composition.

He soon warmed up however, and for an hour or so we were treated to a aural trifle of block legato passages, stabbed dischords and tremelo warmbles, the latter provided by his attentive aides, who, quite literally, pulled out all the stops in an attempt to add definition to Nitsch’s tonal soup.

I must’nt be too critical. It was a pleasant haze, and notable for how much it reminded me of the type of John Carpenter-esque horror standards that have recently found a resurgence in popularity. I must also remind myself that much of Nitsch’s outstanding video work pre-dates synth laden horror scores, and his own scores, combined with the bloody imagery of his particular strand of actionism, was more than likely an inspiration for the whole aesthetic combination. That said, it sounded an awful lot like ‘Halloween’ at times.

Who The Fucking Hell Are You?

Interesting though, how the scores of Nitsch’s video work – full of pomp and ceremony – can make his orgies of mutilation take on pseudo-spiritual connotations; however, in the midst of a church of established spiritual dominance, his compositions (like his opening speech) were humbled by their surrounds. Nitsch was playing away from home, and was being drowned out by the local supporters (supporting the building’s structure, that is).

The great mediator, however, was the Hook organ, which punishingly vocalised this conflict with a loud and uncompromising roar. Amplifying even the clumsy elements of Nitsch’s compositions to a potent thunder, the Hook organ transcended the struggle.

Like a good host at a party, the organ interrupted the uncomfortable small talk between the two spiritual bodies, uniting them thematically in appreciation of the power and magnificence of tone. It is for this reason the night was a success, but to this impartial attendant it’s need of rescuing was obvious.

Almost in solidarity with my sentiment, when invited to share the stage with Nitsch after the performance, the overwhelming majority of the audience chose to admire and revel in the ambience of the Hook Organ, with the odd few straying to mix words with the master. If my German had been better I would have been one of the discerning few, as this experience does not overshadow my admiration of the man’s work; but instead I chose to inspect the organ, and thought:

How much does the transcendental power of established religion owe to the unifying ritual and intoxicating capacities of musical performance?

The wise ‘Hook Orgel’ ruled dominant tonight.

Filed under: Berlin, Exhibition, Music, Recommended

Klaus Lang – Fichten

Last night we went to the Berlin Festspiele for Klaus Lang’s ‘Fichten’, an orchestral experiment cum sound installation as part of the MaerzMusik festival.

The piece required you to take off your shoes and lie down on a huge mattress, surrounded by no less than four orchestra. Obscured by a thin black veil, the musicians took on a supernatural presence in the concert hall, and proceeded to play an hour long piece of sustained notes, breathy percussion and operatic moans that immediately brought to mind what I have heard of Gyorgy Kurtag, said to have been a huge inspiration on Scott Walker for his orchestral arrangements for the film Pola X, and later ‘The Drift’.

Needless to say it was initially uncomfortable listening, with staccato passages being divided between the four faces of the room , rather akin to playing ‘piggy in the middle’ with your ears. After a short time, however, you start to not strive for the orientation lost, choosing rather to submit to the overwhelming volume of information in the ‘eye of the hurricane’.

There is an immediacy to this experience, and I trust that many found a heightened level of calm when faced with the humbling sea of stimuli. This relenting of control unsettled me, however, and for that I am grateful.

I once read a fantastic article by Joe Banks in the Mark Pilkington compiled ‘Strange Attractor’ (Journal I) entitled ‘Rorschach Audio’, which ( in brief) spoke of Electronic Voice Phenomenon (E.V.P) – a curiosity discovered when soldiers responsible for intercepting enemy radio signals in World War II reported hearing the voices of dead relatives in the murky oceans of nothing.

I found this projection of the unconscious onto the blank canvas of noise a revelatory metaphor for how I understand both the creative process and the tropes of expression in general, and goes some way to explaining how we all experience something entirely different when faced with modern art. I think this is especially relevant to pieces bold enough to be minimal and, well, bold – albeit in colour or tone – base sensory stimuli and a screen for introspection.

Why are you doing this to me?

The orchestra appeared cold in the face of my confusion, calmly and obliviously playing their individual parts; contributions that appeared eerily detached from the collective noise.

It brought to mind scenes from Polanski’s ‘Rosemary’s Baby’, where our disoriented protagonist and mother stumbles through a crowd of contented party goers, with no-one singularly responsible for the predicament she is faced with. She questions her sanity as her senses and motherly intuition are pitted in conflict with her logic. This was, undoubtedly, a political statement – I know I have in the past felt (and been made to feel) like a paranoiac for having a negative intuition about something. Were they or weren’t they even there behind those veils, lit like spectres?

The orchestra began to appear privy to a clinical procedure, in a setting not entirely different from a surgeon’s theatre. This was truly an aural enema, and the potent image came to me of the string player’s participating in a game of tug of war with long pieces of a dental floss-like substance, cleaning out my ears, and a little of my brain , in the process. Hung out like washing, an unconvential puppetry.

The sensations then led me to themes of judgement.

The visual permeancy of the walls reminded me of police line-ups, and, unfortunately, executions. We lay there inanimately like fallen christians in ancient Rome, victims of a malevolent commotion, at the mercy of the collective rabble. Only recently, the Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein was slain by malevolent communication, and a perpetual hype machine that those clear of it’s range are powerless to interrupt. Judgement. Blood lust. We lay there in a forest of wire, prey to the omnipresent.

Upon leaving the theatre, the zip on my jacket broke. My favourite jacket, no less. My response was one of calmest calm, in fact the event seemed wonderfully trivial, rare given my nervous disposition. It needed throwing out anyway.

The visions of paranoid pandemonium inspired by Klaus Lang’s piece were probably not his specific intention, however I believe that this beautifully rendered juggernaut succeeded in creating head space for every individual lying on that mattress, and a psychological brainwash that you would pay far more than 15 euros for in a clinic.

Compelling, and truly cathartic.

Filed under: Berlin, Exhibition, Music, Recommended

See on the horizon…..

Neurosis are set to release a new studio album ‘Given To The Rising’ on May 7th, their first worldwide release on their own Neurot imprint, with a new track made available on their myspace page.

My initial impressions are that the band have brought back some of the brutality that made ‘Through Silver In Blood’ one of the most ugly things ever put to tape, however after the initial giddy excitement I experienced a mixed reaction to the teaser track.

The outro of resonant and beckoning chimes is an indication that the neurotic (sorry) elements that make the band so potent are going to be present in full effect.

The first four minutes, however, go from bludgeoning ‘Times Of Grace’ era chugg to, effectively, sounding like Mastodon. Well, it sounds like Neurosis, but bands like Mastodon and Isis have popularised the gargantuan aesthetic of the earlier Neurosis records to such an extent that I find myself a little underwhelmed. Admittedly, those two bands have developed their own distinct styles (Neurosis even had a track on “The Eye Of Every Storm” that sounded frighteningly like Isis), but it is the ensuing bandwagon of pale imitations that has left me cold.

Everytime I go back to Kuwait for Christmas I take my family a CD or two of a range of stuff, and my little brother usually ends up taking to a track from it. One year it was Dizzee Rascal’s ‘Fix Up Look Sharp’ , last year it was E-40’s ‘Tell Me When To Go’ ( quite similar tracks, come to think of it). My point being that over the course of the holiday, bless him, he manages to exhaust my tolerance of said song by playing it, singing it and talking about it incessantly.

The Mastodon hype, coupled with every metal scenester’s mutual decision to name their band after a monster of some sorts, albeit from myth, dinosaur book or aquatic encyclopedia (I missed that meeting), has exhausted my tolerance of the aesthetic. It’s a cruel irony that in paying tribute to your heroes one can exhaust their appeal, but, like with my little brother, that seems to be what has happened. He is 13 and has an excuse, I wonder what the ‘avant metal’ crowd have to say for their lack of imagination – and no, putting 0))) after your name on your myspace page does not make you exempt from this argument, you are just a newer model.

That said, here’s hoping the record takes my head off.

Filed under: Music, Rant, Recommended

Neu Voyager!

Ankoku No Oto recently played their first show here in Berlin, and are already planning a recorded release to be put down sometime next week. Translated from Japanese as ‘the sound of darkness’, they concoct a vocal & multi-instrumental cacophony akin to rumblings from the underbelly of a slave galleon.

Musically they can at moments feature the miserablist drudgery of Wolfmangler, Bernard Herrman’s epic score from ‘Jason & The Argonauts’ and the wistful ambience of Charalambides.

Driven far beyond the stagnancy of wyrd folk and the tedium of ‘feral’ art school tantrums, they are a breath of fresh sea air. Highly recommended.

Filed under: Berlin, Music, Recommended

Vault submissions I

This weekend I finally ended my love affair with cigarettes.

I had a cigarette in my hand the other night and realised just how pathetic the things are, quite literally. It looked and felt PUNY in my hands, a sober metaphor for its importance and a quite embarrassing realisation, quite like confidently taking a toothbrush into a swordfight.

Anyway, here is my first bucket full…

The noble Hermann Nitsch will be playing a church around the corner in a few weeks, and having never properly heard his music I am more than a litte excited. His recent exhibition here was saturated with pompous ceremony, animal offerings and mantric drone, and if his performance is any less orgiastic I shall be quite dissapointed.

On the topic of Nitsch, his work was unashamedly referenced in czech animaestro Jan Svankmajer’s latest film Sileni, an abstract interpretation of two Edgar Allen Poe tale’s and themed on the writing’s of the Marquis De Sade.

A ‘philosophical horror film’ , ‘Sileni’ toys with paradoxical notions of freedom and control, aptly summarised by the blasphemous baptism that takes more than a little from Nitsch’s aesthetic, and the lunatic asylum that is run quite contently by the patients themselves; their apparent calm indebted in no small part by the services of the nymphomaniac nurse.

The nurse appears to embody the asylum as a whole, paradoxically being both a benevolent and power hungry force to both the inpatients and their captors (turned captive). She is both harlot and mother, heaven and earth; and the film’s prominent political figure; Mother Chaos. Wonderful viewing, and a far easier a piece of work to read than some of Svankmajer’s other works.

Filed under: Berlin, Film, Music, Recommended