BONGANI NDODANA discovers Gilgamesh, a serious musical collaboration that specialises and harmonises in world music
SOMEWHERE in the imaginary crossroads between rock, classical music and the music of the East, floats the creative energies of an ambitious, quirky quartet of white twenty-somethings, striving to make sense of what seem to be musical contradictions.
Labels are a problematic but necessary evil, so music scholars tell us. These constructions tend to be restrictive, especially when one is dealing with a cross-genre, pan-cultural musical hybrid like the Gilgamesh ensemble.
“I wouldn’t call it World Music, putting it in a category with the likes of Ravi Shankar or even the cheesy Lawrence of Arabia sound,” explains guitarist Christiaan van der Vyver, who seems to be the voice of reason and authority in the ensemble. “It’s real World Music,” says violist Derek Griper. “Unlike Shankar, we play music from everywhere, a kind of original, heavy acoustic sound within the classical structure.”
The ensemble’s name, derived from a warrior in an ancient Sumarian poem, betrays their affinity for things Eastern. Gilgamesh is also found in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings as “a site of meeting and celebration” – a well-orchestrated coincidence of nomenclature, considering the diverse musical styles that blend in their sound.
Apart from their eclectic musical style, Gilgamesh explores new instrumental techniques and the use of non-Western instruments. Cellist Lara Block migrates between her instrument – which she sometimes plays with two bows – and an array of exotic percussion instruments.
The instrumental playing techniques of North Indian classical music and African drumming is a subject that has opened up a fascinating avenue of music-making, resulting in her study of the mrindagam, an Indian double-sided drum and the tabla, a small pair of drums of definite pitch.
Instead of counting empty bars of rests, as in standard performance practice, there is a wide selection of “toys” as the ensemble calls them, ranging from djembes and rainsticks to a yidaki (didgeridoo) for them to play with. Their music-making is instinctive, as if it were the most natural way of performing music.
Christopher Stroud, with his hoarse yet gentle vocals, legitimates the rock contingent in the ensemble and is the only one without a background in serious music. This has not hampered his creativity at all as he has penned some fine tunes for the ensemble. He purposefully does not exaggerate his diction for the audience because he feels that “the mood created by the music and the words is more important than the individual words themselves. People watch operas in Italian not understanding a single word, but they can tell the story and are moved.”
The group write their own material, with a great deal of collaboration going down. Most of the material seems specifically directed at showcasing their innovative techniques on the various instruments they play. “Instruments are in a way more important in our ensemble,” adds Van der Vyver. “It might be totally weird to have a rock riff on the cello, but it forces people to concentrate on the capabilities of the instrument and its timbre, not just listen to the notes.”
Despite the huge, neon question mark on the future of serious music in South Africa, these players have an unwavering optimism about the road ahead. Stroud says: “Playing `intelligent’ music has integrity. Not many young people like classical music because it doesn’t mean much to them. But if you put in a few things they like, for example rock, then they pay a bit of attention.”
Their last gig at the Whale Well in the South African Museum was largely attended by young students. The physicality and technical energy of their performance is mesmerising. Derek Griper has the wild steps of a heavy metal demon – quite unusual for a player of the viola, an instrument that lives in the shadow of the two fiddle sections in the traditional orchestra. Apart from improvised solos, there is a visible interaction within the ensemble during performance and a level of expressiveness that is virtually non- existent and highly discouraged in classical performance.
“We would like to get people up and grooving,” says Van der Vyver. “We have to compete with the culture of our time.” Serious musicians can no longer afford to isolate themselves.