As deep grief and shockwaves make their way through our precious, vibrant, diverse and brilliant artistic community, please support this relief fund for the victims of the Oakland Ghost Ship fire.
ATA Gallery was stuffed to the gills last night with an audience eager to injest a program of high caliber, mostly local animation work. Politically-tinged experimental shorts introduced the show, then Jeremy Rourke transported us through dreamy ruminations of his shifting studio coordinates in Goodbye Cole/Hello Tunnel. Cutouts of vintage imagery, postcards springing into action, and layers of clay, video, and pencil peeled off into nested realities. Adding spoken word, song, and guitar, Rourke jumped on and off a podium to interact with the projections in surprising ways. With exuberant splash, his inventions brought the audience to cheers. I highly recommend you look out for more performances of Jeremy Rourke, possibly next season at Other Cinema!
Facing West Shadow Opera then performed an ode to Walt Whitman, celebrating links between opera and nature in the settling of the Wild West. Two opera singers and a cello gave a flawless classical performance. However, music outpaced the visuals. Delicate and beautiful shadow puppets required surer hands and precise direction. At times their movements felt more awkward than graceful. The narrative, with bulky intertitles, fell flat.
The Academy Award nominated short Last Day of Freedom, directed by Dee Hibbert-Jones and Nomi Talisman, concluded the program with a somber note. It told the story of Manny Babbitt, a traumatized Vietnam war veteran who ended up on death row through a tragic miscarriage of justice. The pencil drawn animation and rotoscoping of the veteran’s brother sensitively expressed this disturbing story.
Photos by Kristin Cato
The Black Spirituals, a two-man band made up of Zachary James Watkins and Marshall Trammell, opened the “Black Lives Matter” program at Other Cinema last night. Serving as a benefit for NOW!, an online zine that marries experimental form with radical politics, the night’s programming showed off Black activist video and artful deconstructions of historical crimes against African Americans.
The Black Spirituals set the tone with their radical post-rock urgencies: improvisational, cacophonous and sophisticated. Incorporating textures of free jazz, hard rock, and electronica, their elongated sounds crashed over the audience like slow motion tsunamis. Percussive tidepools swelled into ecstatic gutteral rage, exerting more visceral protest than Peter Menchini’s Waking Up Chief Suhr, the video document showing Black Lives Matters activists outside the San Francisco police chief’s bedroom window at 4am. The root-tails of the Black Spirituals reach deep, tapping historical torments, which unleash sheer musical explosion, with audio levels assaulting the ears before ebbing back to ripples. I have long believed no instrument expresses raw suffering rubbed up with anger better than a grinding electric guitar, and this group proves it so.
Here is an interview of the Black Spirituals about their collaboration and process: http://alibi.com/music/47491/Postmodern-Black-Spirituals.html
My second San Francisco Opera in a week and I find myself grappling with the art form – complex gorgeous music couched in thin narrative, mediated through a foreign language (with subtitles), combined with acting, sets and costumes galore. How to absorb it all? Operas demand aerobic attention different from a symphony concert, the latter giving more room to simply listen, feel and find musical structure. At the opera, when in doubt, follow the voice, for therein lies the glory. The storyline provides, after all, a mere ruse for its ample play. As such, tenor René Barbera (Count Almaviva)’s liquid ribbons of vibrato unfurled into the hall with such exquisite beauty, I found myself enthralled by their rippling power.
Yet the traditional plotlines irk: men using their influence to imprison and trade women. The ever-present heteronormative assumption. The escapist romantic fantasies. All these things a critical viewer must withstand. But this Barber of Seville subverted these age-old shortcomings in subtle ways. Rosina (Daniela Mack), the female lead and love object, plays the part sassy and rebellious, potentially capable of violence. Berta (Catherine Cook), the heavyset house matron, smokes cigarettes like a man, flexes her muscles for the crowd during intermission, and comments on love with an earthy skepticism. Overall Roy Rallo’s direction struck a lighthearted, irreverent tone to be embraced by modern audiences in one of the most beloved operas ever.
Photo by Cory Weaver
But where else in the Bay Area can you immerse yourself for five and a half hours in the greatest sounds in the world but the San Francisco Opera? By the end of it you feel like you’ve learned a new language, the language of song. This meta-tale about a singing contest between suitors of a young maiden was light and winsome, if you could stomach the 19th century chauvinism. Rachel Willis-Sørensen’s sublime soprano luckily compensated, surging to an absolutely thrilling crescendo in the third act, bringing a much needed contrast to the jousting tenors and baritones who dominated the story. Despite the plot’s celebration of archaic social values, the three acts and two intermissions rolled by easily, due to the captivating richness of the music . Instrumental interludes supported an interesting theatrical excess: lingering, playful, ambivalent gestures. These non-verbal displays of favoritism, embarrassment, pride were quite charming, stalling the plot and filling up the stage while violin Wagner melodies caught up to the action. A full layered finale included a chorus of a hundred caped and wreathed players thronging a public square for the final showdown between singing masters, a feast for both eyes and ears.
Photo by Kristin Cato