" data-original-title="" title="">Meredith Monk gave the world premiere of her Cellular Songs work at BAM over five days. Your scribe, burdened by a heavy rotation of electronic seances, live soundtrack silent movies and late night jazz jointing, opted for the Sunday matinee of this 75 minute song, movement, and visuals piece: its ultimate performance, at least for this run. Surely, by this time, Monk had squashed any bugs, yet was still reaping the benefits of the unfamiliar. Her works often appear neatly choreographed, but still possess an attractively natural unwinding quality, as if she's unselfconsciously finding her way, along beside the audience. This was a sold-out show, not surprisingly.

It could have been viewed as a 'budget' production, minimally arrayed, mostly without live musicians (aside from when one or two of the five singers turned to a brief violin or keyboard flirtation), lacking a 'solid' set, whilst relying on the naked elements of voices, movement, and vistas projected directly everywhere on the clinical stage environment, an ostensibly blank canvas. This was one of the barest exposures of the already distressed Harvey Theater's stage-area, with full brickwork backdrop. Of course, these aspects were soon filed away in a brain back-corner, as Monk set about captivating her willingly mesmerised gathering with those old fashioned, purist story-weaving conduits. Stark power struck, meaningful moods were set, and interpretations could swirl around in the receiver's own head-fluids.

With performers clad in simple white smocks, we could consider hospitals, or perhaps morgues. Death, disease and maybe rebirth were all indicated via these baggy chemical overspill protective outfits, especially when they were removed, and placed in an ordered heap. Various vocal ratios were explored, adopting the common Monk usage of ritual tribal hocketing, often sounding akin to the folksong interlockings of the far northern icy lands. Dance became inextricable from general practical a-to-g-to-n-to-q-to-z progressions. Creeping hands in minimal space, covering the video-hungry white floor-space (and brick rear), then a puffing collapse into a furry-creature-huddled group therapy. Monk's "Happy Woman" song was incongruous, but had greater effect due to its sprightly humour being surrounded by restraint, pauses, portent and stately symbolism. As Monk says in the programme notes, "to contemplate the ineffable is a wonderful way to spend your life..."

The Will Mason Electroacoustic Quintet
Roulette
March 18, 2018