Kronos and Laurie

The first thing I said about the Kronos Quartet and Laurie Anderson under the cover of thunderous applause was, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhit!"  That exclamation had quickly followed the first breath I allowed myself  since the tumultuous, rising climax like  a high speed chase, an active war zone where we became paralyzed bystanders that could do nothing to stop the beautiful destruction in front of us until it denoued into layered, weaving strings.  Shhhhhhhhhhhhhit.

My experience with classical music doesn't extend far beyond movie scores and elevators, so I didn't know what to expect heading into Landfall, the west coast premiere of the collaborations between  experimental performer Laurie Anderson and the avant-garde Kronos Quartet.  I certainly didn't expect Bing Concert Hall to turn into a morphing piece of abstract art.  The hall moved between deep reds, purples and blues into great golden backlights, projecting matrix code lists of extinct species and letters and symbols that "transcribed" Anderson's words.  She used voice distorters to created an artificially low voice (think Houston's 'screwed' style) and spoke about false Hebrew letters, secret countdowns in Russian overlaying the strings, too-fast text scrolling on the screen to the point where it felt imagined.  Her words felt independent of and disconnected from the music, hinting at the bizarre relationship between language and meaning while Kronos spoke in themes and colors.  "Don't you hate it when people tell you about their dreams," she asks, while the audience looks on, unsure of whether we’re dreaming or not.

The five players fought through 36 episodes of beautifully percussive, somber moods.  The strings worked into lamenting, rolling harmonies to fill what Anderson describes as the "big sound spaces" accentuated by teary-eyed  "pin drops of sound".  About halfway into the 70 minute piece, violinist John Sherba moved to the center of the dimly lit string circle into a few dramatic plucks, followed by a phrenetic and adrenaline-paced solo.  His chaotic tribute to violence was a highlight of the show and felt like a challenge, a call to the ring.  Anderson’s underlying ambient synths, strings and occasional beats paced the entire show quite effectively.  This may have been what created the most cohesion in the show to allow the many episodes to flow together.

Anderson said that the piece was a reflection on the fantastic, beautiful power she witnessed in the flooding of New York City during Hurricane Sandy.  The complex and discordant emotions evoked by immense power and destruction were matched by those I felt watching Landfall.  Their flowing, driving collaboration was mysterious, vicious and majestic, and a great success.