The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, March 17, 2017 — 5
This
Friday
and
Saturday, UMS will present
Betroffenheit, a performance
that
combines
theatre
and
dance to tell a grippingly
honest story of trauma, loss
and
addiction.
With
five
contemporary dancers and a
single protagonist, Kidd Pivot
and Electric Company Theatre
come together to create a
project that mixes spoken word,
recorded text and movement.
Betroffenheit is a German
word that does not have an
exact English translation, but
it describes a state of extreme
shock after an event. Due to the
subject of this piece, it is not
recommended for children.
Jonathan Young, cofounder
and artistic director of Electric
Company Theatre, has a large
background in acting and is
best known for his role of
Nikola Tesla in Sanctuary. He
started writing Betroffenheit
in 2014 in collaboration with
choreographer
Crystal
Pite,
artistic director of the dance
company Kidd Pivot.
“[Betroffenheit
sits]
somewhere between a piece
of live theatre and a piece of
contemporary dance,” Young
said in an interview.
Betroffenheit
takes
place
in the wake of a trauma,
an
accident
that
occurred
sometime in the past of the
male protagonist played by
Jonathan Young. The narrative
is about the recovery process,
as he struggles to deal with
what he has gone through.
“Voices seem to be attached
to the fixtures, and the lights,
and the walls and the doors,”
Young said. “Audiences get the
sense that the whole stage in a
way has been affected by this
accident and (the protagonist
is) also, as it turns
out,
addicted
to some kind of
substance
that
he’s
been
using
for relief from this
trauma.”
The inspiration
behind
the
project
stems
from Young’s own
personal traumatic
experiences
with
the death of his
daughter and two
cousins in a fire.
“You
don’t
really have much
choice but to put
(that trauma) into words, in an
attempt to express that because
it’s on your mind all the time,”
said Young about his project.
Instead of processing his
own traumatic events privately,
Young chose to share this
experience with others through
Betroffenheit.
“We
kind
of
have
a
responsibility
as
artists
I
think to turn stuff that feels
like it can’t be expressed into
expression,” he said.
Though inspired by real
events, Betroffenheit aims for
balance between personal and
universal experiences. The goal
is for people to see themselves
in the performance and for the
piece to invoke compassion,
empathy, fear and sadness.
Young also recognizes that
there is a considerable taboo
surrounding this subject, and he
wishes to erase the sensitivity
that surrounds events such as
death. People who have gone
through a similar traumatic
event will likely be able to
relate well to the piece.
“(Most people) are grateful
for having seen it because it
reminds them that they are not
alone,” Young said.
But,
surprisingly
enough,
humor plays an active role in
Betroffenheit.
“Humor has a life force that
is irrepressible. No matter how
difficult things get in life, humor
has a way of surviving and
surprising, and mischief is a real
driving force in creativity” Young
said. Combining that which
is
traumatic
and that which
is
amusing
is
something
unique
to
the
capabilities
of
human nature.
With so many
layers,
this
is
the type of show
that
should
be
seen
more
than
once,
in
which
audience
members
are
sure to witness
things that they
missed the first
time.
“I hope people will want to see
it again ... I’m just going to leave
it at that,” Young concluded.
Currently, Young and Pite are
working on another dance and
theatre hybrid with Nederlands
Dans Theater that takes the
ideas of Betroffenheit a little
further and is projected to be
ready by 2019.
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Betroffenheit: Harrowing
performance of theatre
Kidd Pivot’s dance/theatre hybrid a sobering, layered experience
FALLON GATES
For the Daily
Betroffenheit
by Kidd Pivot
& Electric
Company
Theatre
Power Center
March 17 & 18
@ 8 P.M.
$26 - $46
COURTESY OF WENDY D PHOTOGRAPHY
On Max Richter’s ‘Sleep’
It’s quiet here.
Outside,
in
the
frigid
darkness, nothing moves. No
birds sing, no deer wander,
no headlights cut through the
clear air. Even the wind seems
to be hushed. Somewhere over
the trees the moon silently
hangs
suspended
above
the wisps of cloud. In the
apartment around me, each
of its inhabitants respire in
steady, relaxed tempos. The
world is sleeping.
It’s 5:19 a.m. and everything
is still.
For the past several hours,
essentially all night, I have
been
immersed
in
Max
Richter’s composition “Sleep.”
Listening to this piece is like
a sort of trance — once you
enter into it, you stop noticing
it’s there. The music gradually
melds
into
the
scenery,
fades into the background of
whatever you are doing and
enters into you. It isn’t so much
doing anything as it is simply
being: being present, being
absent,
being
everywhere
and nowhere at once.
Its
principal characteristic is its
inexplicable, elusive feeling
of
grounded
placelessness.
It invites you into its care
and envelops your tired mind
in a soft embrace. It hovers
at
the
periphery
of
your
senses. “Sleep” doesn’t ask for
anything from you. It doesn’t
demand your attention or your
love or your hate, or even your
recognition. It goes on whether
you’re listening or not. To try
to analyze it would be beside
the point.
“Sleep” is a few years old
now, but to me it still feels
relevant. I won’t say that it’s
fresh — applying such an
adjective to music which is so
simple, constructed with such
an economy of means, would
be unjust — but it isn’t dated,
and the ideas that Richter put
into the piece might even be
more important today than
they were when it was first
composed. The entirety of
“Sleep” is slow, unelaborate
music scored for piano, strings,
voice and electronics. There
are no words. There is no
drama. The piece lasts for
eight hours, moving along at
a gradual, unhurried pace.
It is composed to last the
average amount of time that
it takes the human brain to
complete a healthy night of
sleep. In Richter’s words, it is a
“personal lullaby for a frenetic
world. A manifesto for a slower
pace of existence.”
But as far as manifestos
go, it’s rather innocuous. It’s
difficult to say what it feels
like to listen to “Sleep.” It has a
certain quality of timelessness
(in the sense of time being
stopped) and displacement, but
there’s more to it than that. Lost
in its soundworld, I can’t seem
to shake the feeling that I’m
walking on some distant lunar
surface, wandering in an alien
landscape. There is at once an
otherness and an intimacy with
the self. In the wide sonorities
of the piano and the strings,
Richter leaves space for the
listener’s thoughts to roam
freely. Suggestive of nothing,
it opens up distances to fill
with your own expression.
Creation and form at your
fingertips, godlike, you can
mentally wander through the
music in search of whatever it
is you need to find. But more
than anything, when you listen
to “Sleep,” you feel somehow
totally alone.
In this respect, the piece is
like the act of sleeping itself.
Slumber is by its nature a
solitary act, and even those
of us who share a bed with
someone else must eventually
cross
the
threshold
into
the
dreamworld
alone.
As
with sleep’s inevitable and
permanent cousin, each of us
must sail into the undiscovered
country on a solitary voyage,
with
neither
maps
nor
guidance.
Heavily
influenced
by
minimalism,
the
textures
and ideas of “Sleep” are very
simple. For minutes on end the
cello may play a single pitch
while the piano slowly cycles
through chords in an even
rhythm. The violin may play
all of two pitches for an entire
movement. An elegiac voice
melody may played on loop
until it ceases to be noticed.
Richter,
a
German-born
British
composer,
is
no
neophyte to these minimalist
techniques. For over a decade
he
has
been
making
an
impression as a composer who
isn’t afraid to apply the tenets
of the minimalist movement
to genres outside of classical.
He is known for his work in
collaborative projects, as well
as for performing and for
his film scores. His minimal
aesthetic makes him accessible
to
both
regular
classical
listeners and to many who
might not otherwise listen
to classical music. For this
reason his work can be found
in wide-ranging places, from
the
Netflix
documentary
series
“Chef’s
Table”
to
the Royal Opera House in
London.
My
reintroduction
to “Sleep” was instigated a
few weeks ago in New York,
when I encountered it as part
of a video involved with the
Mysterious
Landscapes
of
Hercules Segers exhibit at the
Met (also featuring the voice of
John Malkovich).
I recognized it then, but
the feeling is even stronger
now,
that
something
about
“Sleep”
is
incomprehensibly,
inexplicably sad. Throughout
the composition, there is an
unplaceable feeling of loss, some
sort of absence of something
I hadn’t known was missing.
I just can’t quite place where
this feeling comes from, but
it permeates the entirety of
the work. But even in sadness,
“Sleep” reflects a world that is
calm, peaceful and entirely our
own. Everywhere in “Sleep,”
the music pulls you towards
the realm of dreams. It beckons
you into a world where you are
unable to be touched by the
troubles of reality. It creates a
space in which you are free from
care and obligation, where you
may go to rest your weary head.
It’s calling me now. I think
I’ll answer.
CLASSICAL MUSIC COLUMN
DAYTON HARE
MUSIC VIDEO REVIEW
Nowadays, it’s tough to get
excited about another sighting of
The Weeknd.
Some time between the 2016
release of his moody, sporadic
pop spectacle, “Starboy;” the
February launch of the album’s
touring counterpart, which is
set to hit sixteen countries in its
first three months; his alleged
swap from “dating” model Bella
Hadid to strutting around the
world with actress/singer Selena
Gomez; and the recent revealing
of his joint clothing venture with
international fast-fashion house
H&M; I began to feel exhausted
of rooting for Abel Tesfaye to
succeed.
After all, his superstardom is
no longer a coincidence: The
Weeknd is a now strategic pop
machine, clearly evolved from
the blacklight-illuminated-bed-
room crooner who we first met
on “House Of Balloon.” He seems
to put out content according to a
carefully plotted schedule rather
than based on his own artistic
patience, a fact that haunts my
fandom and consistently tests it.
From this perspective, it’s easy
to dismiss The Weeknd’s music
video for “I Feel It Coming” —
the Daft-Punk-assisted finale to
“Starboy,” and his most recent
radio hit — as the uninspired,
natural conclusion to a series
of (mostly) disconnected short
films that were clearly churned
out only to promote the album
(and now tour).
The video’s vintage space theme,
initiated right in its opening
credits, is such an obvious choice
for a Daft Punk feature, as is the
revival of a Michael Jackson
jacket for a pop music video.
Plus, its “plot” is seemingly non-
existent until almost halfway
through — the first two minutes
meagerly show Abel dancing solo
against an exceptionally moody,
intergalactic sunset.
Still, “I Feel It Coming,” much
like The Weeknd himself, has
a way of wooing you when you
most wish it wouldn’t. Sure,
some of the music video’s props
are played out, but Abel looks
damn good in that jacket, and his
dance moves aren’t bad either.
Who cares if the gorgeous back-
drop is computer-generated, or
if we never find out how The
Weeknd landed upon it in the
first place?
I’ve watched this music video
dozens of times now, and though
I’m still not sure exactly what
happens between Abel and his
Medusa-inspired space prin-
cess, that’s fine: I keep watching
anyway. “I Feel It Coming” is
one of the strongest bubblegum
pop tunes in recent memory,
somehow managing to effort-
lessly mesh old-school coolness
with space-bot futurism all while
maintaining a facade of minimal-
ism.
And as for its visual accompani-
ment, the nonchalance with
which this music video animates
The Weeknd’s signature shtick;
its smirking presentation of him,
carefully-shaded, overly-self-
indulgent, glitter-coated and
all, for five straight minutes, his
mere presence and slight smile
acting as the only hook; the
way that this video is hollow,
yet pretends to be bigger than
itself, acting artsy without add-
ing much substance, bringing in
arm candy without giving her a
name or even a character; these
traits make Warren Fu’s short
film feel perfectly fit to help fans
visualize “I Feel It Coming.”
Perhaps we should be calling it a
masterpiece.
- SALVATORE DIGIOIA
XO
“I Feel It Coming”
The Weeknd
XO
Betroffenheit is
a German word
that does not have
an exact English
translation, but it
describes a state
of extreme shock
after an event
Betroffenheit
takes place in the
wake of a trauma,
an accident
that occurred
sometime in the
past
COMMUNITY CULTURE PREVIEW