It is okay to be suspicious, because talking about the working class in recent decades has often become a hollow ritual. Decency and moralism prevail, but nothing happens. But what sometimes mutates into farce turns out brilliantly.
Tim Mettke
Marietheres Schneider / Friede Merz – voice / electronics
Rylan Gleave – voice
Angelika Niescier – alto saxophone
Megan Jowett – viola
Nick Dunston / Reza Askari – bass / electronics
James Banner – bass / electronics / samples
Commissioned for the 46th edition of Leipziger Jazztage, class-work cross pollinates a condemnatory metal and punk aesthetic with an ensemble of soloists drawn from the European improvised and contemporary music scenes. The music speaks self-reflectively about the impacts of our working class origin stories on daily life and social mobility, through investigation into poverty safari, cultural hegemony, intergenerational self and class identities, (food) guilt, personal joy and suffering, whilst words are drawn from the ensemble members, their families, social media and political commentators. The result is “an enrichment and a meaningful contribution to the class question. A topic that is far too underexposed for its always constant, painful relevance”. [Tim Mettke]
(class-work premiered 25.10.2022. at Moritzbastei, Leipzig, and was recorded by Martin Ruch, release to follow)
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Review by Tim Mettke
One can be suspicious, because in recent decades, talking about the working class has often become a hollow ritual. Decency and moralism prevail, but nothing happens. But what sometimes mutates into a farce succeeds brilliantly here.
James Banner premiered “class-work” on Tuesday. The musicians, consisting of two double basses, saxophone, viola and two singers, all come from a working class background and process their experiences musically on stage.
Banner and Nick Dunston start a bass duet with enormous pressure. Megan Jowett and Angelika Niescier join in on viola and saxophone. Soon the singers Ryan Gleave and Friede Merz shout to the audience: “I am Safari!”
At the beginning you have the feeling of being in a madhouse. There seems to be a threat of sensory overload. But the famous order in the chaos is clearly recognizable. We also hear the realization on stage that people are talking about you, but not with you. Helplessness, anger, resignation are the result. “And we race to the bottom.” The constant fear for your own economic existence echoes back at you. A furious start, so far so good!
Things calm down a bit. Dunston goes to his effects devices.
At first you ask yourself: Is this really necessary? Electronic sounds are now used reflexively in a large part of improvised music, rather poorly than well, in order to simulate a certain joy of experimentation.
But as the duration progresses, the relevance of this performative moment becomes clear. While the analogue playing practice of the musicians is craftsmanship, i.e. physical work, the technological component here forms the content-related counterpart. You can hear perverted sounds from techno and trap, noise, as well as a minute-long radio broadcast that is slightly off-wave. Or are they radio messages?
Technology, which in theory can make work and everyday life easier, turns into the opposite here, becoming a scourge, a trigger for disempowerment and loneliness. It is the basis of an entertainment industry, in the sense of carrot and stick. One clearly remembers media paternalism.
The signal tones of a freight train crossing sound and leave little doubt: There it goes, time, working hours, and with it the possibility of self-empowerment slowly disappears.
Rylan Gleave and Friede first sing plaintively, then accusingly of individual suffering and – supported by the fantastic instrumentalists – soon swell into a chorus of lamentations for millions. They use recitative forms that tell us feelings, life circumstances, sometimes just sad, ordinary things, again and again. This is what everyday routine sounds like set to music. The constantly repeated “complaints” of the “underclass” are not ridiculed here, as has seemed to be the norm in the media for decades. It is not individuals who repeat themselves, it is depression in the collective.
“class-work” is not just music, we also see theatre. Individual performances, whether singing or playing an instrument, are soon supported with approval. People interrupt each other and then everyone speaks together. Monologue and dialogue repeatedly become a chorus of a shared life situation.
At the end there is a refreshingly pointed commentary on the role of jazz in the whole potpourri. All participants lapse into a kind of avant-garde jazz bossa, a subgenre that, taken over by countless easy listening samplers and playlists, can serve as a code for the harmless, the conformist. The soundtrack, so to speak, of the last 60 years in which “western” revolutions were fought either sexually or peacefully. Sloterdijk’s statement “All roads from 1968 ultimately lead to the supermarket” is true. It’s just that for some people it happens more often and more productively than for others.
When they sing: “I had herrings everyday for lunch. We were told it was nice”, you have to smile, swallow, feel sad, and then feel ashamed – after which, at least the author of this text is annoyed at his own stupidity. The parody is biting, finally some substance.
In theory, none of the stylistic devices used in the performance are new in themselves. At concerts with similar musical arrangements, the question is often justified: “Yes, really interesting. And now?” Here, however, they are used excellently, well dosed and dramaturgically cleverly arranged. It never becomes pompous or pseudo-intellectual. We are repeatedly given clues in music and words that help us through the complex piece, but no interpretation is given. There is enormous scope for interpretation, which is what makes the work so exciting. It is an enrichment and a meaningful contribution to the class question. A topic that is far too under-examined for its constant, painful relevance.
Text: TIM METTKE
Source: https://www.jazzclub-leipzig.de/kategorie-jazztage/i-too-am-safari/
James Banner 