Lyndall happily (as in I was happy....she could have been really pissed about it) bought me tickets to see the London Sinfonietta play Stockhausen numbers at the Southbank centre as a present because she is awesome. It was supposed to be a celebration of his birthday (that he was gonna appear at) but having died last year they changed it into a celebration of Stockhausen. Lyn bought me tickets well early on, and as the time approached they unveiled more and more concerts until it became a full blown festival. This was kind of annoying because there were plenty of other things I would have liked to seen and if we'd known earlier we would have waited to see everything that was on.
Anywho. It was all very adult when we arrived. Lots of people wearing 1970s school teacher blazers with arm patches, and silver rimmed glasses, and salt and pepper pony tailed men. Some people had taken their kids. Small kids. I don't think small kids and Stockhausen go, but then I guess I know sweet fuck nothing about raising kids.
The first part was a track for Alto voice and Orchestra. Three songs. The conductor was huge. I don't mean huge, in a 'this guy is huge in the music business' kinda huge.....just huge. He was wearing a suit and the suit jacket was so stretched it looked like a shirt. Huge. Also really, really square. I feel like, in a live action movie of Mr Men, he could play a part. No costume. Mr Conductor.
This part kind of went from making me happy, to sad, to annoyed.....to something. I'm not a fan of ladies wailing at the best of times so it wasn't really for me. There were flurries of high pitched squeaky-ish fun here and there, and and undertone of funeral march seriousness. The thing is I find Stockhausen funny. Like Klaus Kinski funny. Seriousness meets humour. This bit wasn't funny enough for me. It was ok. Nothing to write a blog about though.
I found my mind wandering to the uniformed in black shirt and pant performers and wondering what kind of social life they have. Who are the babes of the orchestra and who were the hunks. Did the guy with the glockenspeil get beaten up in a 'your not even a real musician' fit of rage afterwards by the violinists cause he only only got to play a note once every ten minutes?
Next up was a pre-recorded electronic number. Spotlight comes on. Looks like a moon on the curtains. Stays in one place for twenty minutes while swirling, distorted noises and ladies that sound like japanese kubuki singers, ping ponging round in 3d sound space. This was way fun to start with, but after a bit I felt like I was losing myself, and having had a hard night the night before I thought I may fall off my chair, or vomit into the very serious looking fellows lap next to me. I held it together and a break came. I grabbed a beer to make me feel better....which worked, and went back in for the last part.
I liked this the most. It was more standard musical fair, but with a some funny stops....wait....wait.....wait.....wait.....start again bits, which reminded me of the up channel on my mixer.
It was fairly pleasant music. Then out of no where BAM! A guy with a tuba walks out and does some awesome bass heavy farts for a little bit and then walks off. People laughed and clapped him off. Tuba man. least work, most claps. I worked out who the hunk was.
The night wasn't entirely what I expected, but I really enjoyed it.
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