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Right click to save or left click to play: Wayne Gilbert,
voice; Charles Rourke, sax, keys and fx; John Larchick, percussion:
Ryan Chighizola: "Jolts to Complacency" with thanks to Hakim Bey
Charles Rourke, musician and video artist. POETS ON THE LOOSE, April 7, 2006 His introduction to a musical improvisation on his saxophone.
Transitions are a great time to pause, look back, reflect a bit. . . Over the past six years, I’ve had the privilege of being exposed to some really remarkable poetry. Tonight is certainly another of those privileged occasions. In fact, not only have I been exposed, but I’ve had the experience of interacting with this poetry in so-called multi-media performances. Now, I’ve been performing music for over 20 years and I can say without hesitation that this experience has proven to be the most artistically challenging of all. You see, I’ve come to learn that poetry/the spoken-word (especially really good poetry/spoken-word) carries with it a great power, richness and density. Academically speaking, my music professors would talk about the three elements of music: rhythm, melody, harmony. Rhythm: yes, the spoken word has an undeniable rhythm. Melody: absolutely, since everything we say is at a specific pitch and inflection creates a variance in that pitch. Harmony, certainly as every change in pitch has a harmonic implication. So the spoken word (having these three elements) is already music. On top of that, you have words, their meanings, the images they inspire. The end result is a fully realized, complete work of art much like a film and its score. So attempting to play music with poetry is much like dancing with a rhinoceros. And, since the saxophone and the human voice occupy the same sonic space, same frequency range, it’s like dancing with a rhino in your bathtub. Rule #1: Let the Rhino lead! Beyond that, I haven’t discovered too many rules that hold consistently true. Success seems to come in all too fleeting moments, perhaps when instinct has overcome conscious thought. Could be I’ll never truly succeed, but trying to dance with rhinos has made me a better dancer. For this, I thank you. I dedicate this first piece to all you poets on the loose—you spoken-word artists. If I’ve had the honor of reading or hearing your words then I carry you with me. More specifically, I’d like to dedicate this piece to a co-artist, a mentor, really the finest teacher I never had. . . He has shown me that there can be forged a seamless connection between life and art—and that it takes a great deal of honesty and even more courage: my good friend, Wayne A. Gilbert. This is “Tribute to the Spoken Word Artist.”
From the editor: While this intro
was given for a specific moment in time for a specific poet (one
represented here) this intro acts as a discussion for the spirit of
performance of any language spoken aloud. |