PERCUSSIONIST STEVEN SCHICK GIVES FRESH SOUND DELIGHTFUL SENDOFF
For 24 years, Bonnie Wright’s Fresh Sound series curated local talent and brought new music specialists to San Diego. On Friday evening, adventurous listeners came to the White Box Theater for one last show before Wright retires.
She chose the indefatigable Steven Schick to close her series with a pro- gram of works for a speaking percussionist.
You’ll find no more persuasive interpreter for the combination of spoken words and music than Schick. Playing percussion is inherently theatrical, and Schick is one of the greats. He is also a fine actor with a good rapport with audiences.
The concert opened with “To The Earth” by Frederic Rzewski. Schick declaimed an ancient Greek hymn, accompanying himself on four tuned clay flowerpots. The work’s charm was in the contrast between the anonymous ode’s effusive praise to the Earth “who nourishes on her surface every thing that lives” and the humble red earthenware. Rzewski’s resourcefulness in composing a work with only four pitches was admirable.
Schick has played this for decades, and he followed it with another favorite, “Toucher” by Vinko Globokar. Bertolt Brecht’s play “Life of Galileo” supplied texts.
The score is on a seven-line staff. Each line corresponds to a percussion instrument, chosen by the performer. The text appears beneath the staff without any rhythms. Instruments are played to match the French vowel sounds of the text.
With the accompaniment tied to the rhythm of spoken lines, the instrumental part sounds like signal- processed speech. The instruments become language, a point underscored when the spoken part is overpowered by the percussion, or when speech is replaced entirely by instruments.
In the U.S. premiere of Erik Griswold’s delightful “One Liners,” Schick sat behind a drum set and complained “I don’t get no respect.” That may mark the first time anyone set comedian Rodney Dangerfield’s words to music. The
premise of the work is that the drummer’s “Ba-dumTSSSS” that punctuates a stand-up joke becomes more assertive until the drummer takes over the routine. The drums engaged with the spoken
material. “No respect” was answered by kick drum and toms in the same rhythm. Dorothy Parker aphorisms were read over impressionistic vibraphone chords, and a medley of jokes about death were
slowly accompanied by cymbals, a gong and other ringing metallic percussion. The final movement had Schick back at the kit, mimicking Groucho Marx and building to a punchline through an extended drum solo. “One Liners” was funny, clever, and I suspect percussionists will want to add it to their programs.
“Here And There” by Roger Reynolds excerpted Samuel Beckett’s “Texts For Nothing 9.” Over 25 minutes, Schick ruminated about the possibility that “there’s a way out there, there’s a way out somewhere.” “Here” was represented by unpitched percussion instruments. The score explored many different ways in which a bass drum or tam-tam could be sounded — with sticks, fingers, a ceramic cup or claves. Several feet away from “Here” was “There,” the exclusive domain of the vibraphone. If Beckett’s meaning was elusive, Schick’s performance — both musically and theatrically — was riveting enough to hold our attention the entire time.
Schick was rightfully cheered, but the biggest applause of the evening was instigated by Schick for Bonnie Wright.
Thank you, Bonnie, for opening our ears with Fresh Sounds. With your final concert behind us, San Diego’s new music scene has become a little less interesting.