The title for this Barbican event certainly threw up some interesting questions. Having failed to attend a riotous dinner party that was characterised by one attendee as “a scream and an outrage”, Nico Muhly set about curating a series of concerts under this title. However, no screams or outrages occurred this weekend. Instead the audience was greeted by the sandal-clad, ponytailed oracles of the New York’s fashionable downtown music scene, whose contributions were gently mesmeric rather than abrasive.
It would be a mistake to read this disjunction between the title and content of the concert as the result of artistic floundering. After all, the “screams” and “outrages” that critics and audiences may have been looking out for are by now somewhat conventional. The factory of post-war musical trauma – bringing instrumental shrieking, sudden noise and disintegrating soundscapes to our concert halls since the mid 20th century – may never lose its aesthetic potency, but is (one hopes) becoming gradually outmoded as musical currency. In this way, Muhly’s deliberate elision of his provocative title made for an odd, yet inventive set of creative propositions.
Held at LSO St Luke’s, Session Two of A Scream and an Outrage began (as Session One had done) with drones executed by Muhly and his friends while the audience entered the Jerwood Hall. This was in fact one of Muhly’s tactics – “I’ve tried to invent a sort of social security blanket which is that there is going to be a team of us droning on a few of the concerts, and it’ll be casual and relaxed, and everybody will remain calm”, he remarks on his website. One wonders quite what dangerous threat had prompted this need to keep everyone sedated. Perhaps it was the impending launch of a ghastly party next door.
The UK première of Muhly’s Three Songs formed an effective opening to this programme. The composer’s fascination with drones (notably explored in his 2012 album of the same name) has led him to build varied drone forms. These were evident in this piece where the ensemble offered us glimpses of wavering pressure, strange inflections, impulsive twists and turns, and fluctuating intonation. Riding on the crest of this wave were Allan Clayton (tenor) and Pekka Kuusisto (violin), both of whom engaged in a sensitive dialogue of minimal gestures. The two surrealist poems by André Breton and Jacques B. Brunius may have benefited from the breadth of duration established by Muhly, but the sharp-nibbed penmanship of their writing was possibly neutralized by the composer’s gently sensuous style.
With Terry Riley’s Tread on the Trail (1965) the Ban on a Can All-Stars took to the stage to indulge in a little grooving and jiving. Energetic riffs were passed between the bass guitar and bass clarinet, forming an attractive cacophony of blues-inspired sounds. The performers succeeded in bringing this work to life, transforming the Jerwood Hall into an underground club full of hepcats. However, although this performance was greatly enjoyed, I felt its superficiality was exposed by the compositions programmed either side of it. Most noticeably, Julia Wolfe was able to integrate the drum kit into the fabric of Steel Hammer on a far superior level, while Muhly’s eloquent pacing of musical events outshone Riley’s thicket of clichéd improvisations.