Vienna, Austria
Monday, November 29, 2004
by George Jackson
copyright © 2004 by George Jackson
For someone arriving rumpled from the airport, "John Cage. A project by Jerome Bel" felt like a clean shave and hot shower followed by a glass of sparkling cider. My plane on Nov. 21 had been late; I'd not before seen anything by Mr. Bel, France's latest avant garde favorite, but did expect dancing and choreography in addition to music. This was, after all, a presentation by Tanzquartier Wien, Vienna's house for modern dance. I'm still waiting for the dance, yet the experience was decidedly refreshing. First there was music simple, a group of Mr. Cage's compositional jokes performed by pianist Florian Müller on a Bösendorfer, a toy piano or a radio. Mr. Müller played meticulously and remained blankfaced in an impish way. The recital took place in Hall E of the extensive Museumquartier, in which Tanzquartier is a component. It was an apt space for a Cage concert. Architecturally, the Museumquartier is a mix of old and new that might have come about by chance, or at least casually. The place used to belong to the Hapsburg cavalry, and was a baroque structure containing officers' quarters, stables and exercise courtyards. Now it is a complex of exhibition galleries, theaters, cafes and offices. Parts of it are still historical, other sections are distinctly yet diversely modern. Hall E had a gemu"tlich mix of baroque (walls, ceiling) and contemporary (stage, seating area) and so had the hall beneath to which we were ushered for "intermission" and what followeÃ¥d. The intermission was partly planned, with many small tables scattered throughout a large room. A stack of recordings had been placed on each table and some sort of music machine, from old phonographs to dvd players. Ushers turned the machines on and let members of the audience insert what fitâ platters, rolls, discs, tapes. Soon there was audial Babel, and so one went looking for friends with whom to chat or just strolled through the space examining the variety of devices. A few people decided, spontaneously, to dance. Into this chaos came children. They infiltrated all at once, carrying instruments or scores and began to play or sing. The machines were turned off and the audience quieted down to listen. As it became apparent that each child was doing its own musical thing with no coordination among them, conversations resumed. Nevertheless, this Babel was more harmonious than that of the music machines. And the kids, very serious in their endeavors, were delightful. They left after a quarter of an hour, and that was it.
Choreographing
for the Maryinsky ought not to be done casually, off the cuff. Due
consideration is called for because of the company’s grand traditions,
its gigantic size (about 200 dancers and countless support staff with
their attendant entropy (i.e., resistance to change), and its current
circumstances (a sort of dual directorship that observers have called
an unending duel). Also taken into account must be the particular
charge that comes with a commission and, if the piece is to outlast one
season, the company’s long range repertory needs. 