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Salient. Victoria University Student Newspaper. Volume. 33, Number 10. 8 July, 1970

Earth and Sky (1968)

Earth and Sky (1968)

Scene from Earth and Sky

Gesamtkunstwerk of the South Pacific, opera, or as one Auckland paper hailed it "the great Maori legend" (evidently no music or composer)? No. Just music-threatre.

Jenny McLeod conceived Earth and Sky as a theatre piece of large proportions—300 performers, mostly children: individual dancers, taped narration, three large choirs, two small choirs (in the orchestra), forty orchestral players ranging from two pianos, organ and wind to xylophones, tomtoms, claves and gongs—all involved in the Maori creation legend.

I originally thought that disaster might result in separating sound from the live experience. In many operas, theatre is merely superimposed on music and the amputation necessary for an LP is not painful. In Earth and Sky, movement, shape, colour and light grow out of sound in natural response. The sound itself weaves and pushes through the taped narrative, with choruses and instrumentalists projecting the narrative into movement. A good recording can retain the impact of a live performance. There are places, however, where progress towards points of tension seems too drawn-out without the visual contact, particularly in Act I and the lead-up to the death of Maui in Act III.

With any art there will be influences. The syllabic Maori language is well suited to muscular rhythms. These appear in spoken and sung chanting, usually primitively modal or oriental, often associated with instrumental ostinati. The Chant of Tane, the Invocation to Io and Tane's Lifting Haka pound to fever pitch. In contrast, the melancholic plod of the final chorus, subsiding into murmurings is equally tense. At other times, the choirs create dense syllabic textures and sometimes noise textures—panic, horror, confusion, wind noises, happy noises: dramatic devices which can easily lose impact on a second hearing. Not so here. They are integrated, not icing. Other colouring-book devices—the sustained organ cluster, the gong crescendo, bird calls—also come from within the work and a are not pinned on the outside. Hence their success.

Messiaen's touch rests on much of the music. The Song of Joy, which Jenny McLeod thinks of as her homage to Messiaen, is the most obvious. For me the musical success of the Song is smudged by the cadential chords on "Sing the resounding song." They sound too much like the stock-in-trade of the 'traditional modems'. Birdsong recalls Messiaen in any context. Here, though, it is often simpler, more expressive and effective. The piano music underlining Maui the fisherman is the most Messiaen of all.

It is often simplicity which compels attention—the flute solo at the beginning of Act II and in Hine's Waking Dance, the solo voice at the end of Act II with poisnant semitones and minor thirds. Finally, in lighter style, the bouncing, flickering, crawling textures of the dances and marches which introduce the more relaxed Act II—the McLeod answer to the Nutcracker Suite.

The final result? First class music theatre.

Jenny McLeod's work is not destined to have many performances since the large forces and organization needed prevent it. A good recording is therefore imperative. The original idea, Chris Thomson (producer) tells us, was to record in a large hall after the twelve performances at The Auckland Festival. This was abandoned because of the impossibility of reassembling forces again and because of the danger of losing spontaneity under recording pressure. Fair enough if the results are fully satisfactory. But results are uneven.

The first duty in producing a recording is to do complete justice to the composer. The work cannot be compromised because of difficulties and it would be difficult to convince me that spontaneity could not be achieved under recording conditions. I feel that this recording was done too soon. There will be other performances and there is no hurry if better recording conditions are possible. The impact of Earth and Sky certainly comes through but it would in any recording. It is a tribute to the composer not to Philips. Spontaneity is another matter. In the throes of such a physical performance it is logical that parts, specially those involving the choirs, sound tired and sometimes routine.

Earth and Sky is a stereo work. It sometimes surrounds you. The recording is rarely stereo and never surrounds. This means that detail, distance and direction are neglected—the distant approach of the theatre aisles at the beginning, the antiphony and exchanges of the choirs, the clarity of polyrhythmic chant, the balance of sound sources. The most successful use of distance and direction comes with the tomtoms and claves in Act I—a pity the pulse is not steady. This catalogue of faults affects Act I particularly. Act III, on the other hand, succeeds.

Most inaccuracies in the performance are minor—dynamics, premature release of longer durations, rhythmic insecurity, occasional lack of ensemble, brass timbres sometimes too crude. The most serious bad judgment lay in permitting broken voices to sing in the small choir (not in the original score). The octave doubling by a few tatty voices destroys the texture.

The booklet enclosed with the record, giving commentary, text and a translation of the Maori is clear but unimaginative. Composers who intend making recordings may wish to note that Philips will probably first require a photograph of your meeting with the Queen and will certainly want to mention it several times in your biography.