The Sea is Where We Come From
It’s impossible to pinpoint the exact moment cellist Andrew Yee’s performance of Leilehua Lanzilotti’s “Kou i’noa” began.
That’s because it started out as barely a whisper. A fuzzy sort of arpeggiando that gradually grew louder. Like slowly wading into cool water.
Yee, in a flowing coral dress with matching shoes and nails, played without an endpin, their body swaying with the bow’s movements.
“Kou i’noa,” which means “My Name Is” in Hawaiian, was the opener for “Halfie,” Yee’s concert at the Greene Space last Friday, part of WQXR’s Artist Propulsion Lab.
The concert was about Yee’s experience being biracial and transfeminine: Being a member of several communities yet feeling like you don’t fully belong to any of them.
It consisted of works by contemporary composers of different genders and backgrounds, interspersed with commentary by Yee and host Helga Davis. If you missed it, the concert is available for viewing online. However, the recording doesn’t fully capture it.
For example, when Yee started singing in “Kou i’noa,” a guttural sigh, one couldn’t tell if it was coming from player or instrument. Afterwards, Davis remarked that the cello is often described as “closest to the human voice.”
Indeed, many of the pieces in “Halfie” included singing and arpeggiando passages (a word I’m using here to mean back-and-forth bowed chords across several strings). Yee, the founder of the Attacca Quartet, said that they seek out harmony even when playing solo.
At the beginning of Caroline Shaw’s “In Manus Tuas,” the crunch of Yee’s bow sounded almost like a plastic comb. The recurring theme plays on expectation and surprise. During an explosive chord, Yee dramatically flipped their hair, then immediately returned to quiet pizzicato.
Yee launched straight into their composition, “The Light After,” which conveniently started on an open “A,” the same as the last note of “In Manus Tuas.” Yee interrupted the cascading pizzicato passages and humming only to pull off a broken bowhair.
Andrew Norman’s “For Ashley” was, obviously, not originally written for Yee. “I was thinking about how people tell trans folks all the time what is for them and what’s not for them,” said Yee. “Whether it’s sports teams or bathrooms.” The piece is defined by jaunty figures and foot-stomping moments.
However, the centerpiece of “Halfie” was Yee’s “The Sea As It Is.”
It’s only right that a cello composition about the sea should start with an open “C.” It is the instrument’s lowest string, dark and undulating. The “C” was soon joined by an open “G.” A mournful drone followed by turbulent arpeggiando.
Then, Yee’s speaking voice: “About 15 years ago I went to the beach with my girlfriend at the time…” They tell of a horrific experience of witnessing the drowning of several teenagers: “The sea took three of them that day.”
Yee then speaks of going to Riis, a New York queer beach, on a first date with their now-spouse. Their voice cracks saying, “Last month we took our eighth month old for the first time.”
The piece is about the cycle of life and death. “That’s why I think we keep finding ourselves at the sea,” says Yee. “Because it’s where we come from.”
As a queer and trans person, having grown up on Cape Cod, and thinking a lot lately about what it would mean to start a family, I was in tears.
Yee was then joined by violist Ayane Kozasa for Paul Wiancko’s “American Haiku,” a piece about “identity crisis.” Wiancko, who was in the audience that night, is half-Japanese, and the piece incorporates fiddling influences, as well as actual slapping of wood.
The encore, for baby Otis, who was projected onscreen, was a lullaby version of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.” There wasn’t a dry eye.
On Saturday, the day after the concert, I went to Riis Beach with some friends. There was an event that day to raise awareness about Riis’s uncertain future.
The abandoned hospital that has long protected the beach is being demolished. Many are worried that, between gentrification and even stricter policing, Riis may stop being a queer beach.
In this light, Yee’s “The Sea As It Is” takes on even more meaning. As I lay there, feeling the sun on my bare chest, I thought, “It’s where we come from.” It can’t be taken away.