Thoughts, Feelings, Meanings
When I picture the late cellist-composer-producer Arthur Russell, he has headphones on. Maybe I’m thinking of the album cover for Another Thought. Or maybe I’m recalling Olivia Laing’s description in Funny Weather, where Russell is strolling in Manhattan late at night, a Walkman in his pocket, listening to the studio mix that he just finished.
In any case, that’s how I’ve always listened to Russell’s music. Through headphones. In a bubble. There’s a closeness, a loneliness, to World of Echo, for example, that calls out for unmediated listening. It’s just Russell’s voice mingling with solo cello. Like wisps of smoke.
That’s, of course, an oversimplification. Russell made all kinds of music. Disco hits. Avant-garde works. Country songs. But maybe this personal sense of Russell is why, two weeks after the fact, I’m still thinking (and writing) about “Travels Over Feeling”— a BRIC concert celebrating Richard King’s new book of Russell’s ephemera.
Despite a drizzle, “Travels Over Feeling”— presented free, outdoors, at the Lena Horne Bandshell — was decently well attended. Soggy audience members ate soggy fries from concessions. A young Arthur Russell fan wearing ear protection stood on a chair. Projected on either side of the stage, Russell with his cello. Looking like just-some-guy in his “Master Mix” trucker hat.
In his introduction, King said Russell “never played to this many people in his life.” This, King added, is the kind of crowd he’d have wanted to play to. King might know — having poured over Russell’s materials at the New York Public Library — but still, the statement gave me pause.
Of course, I’m glad that, more than 30 years after his death from AIDs, Russell is finally emerging from relative obscurity. This is thanks to posthumous releases (overseen by his partner Tom Lee; Russell only put out two solo albums in his lifetime) and books like King’s. But there’s an inherent discomfort about speaking for the dead.
Curated by Dada Strain, “Travels Over Feeling” opened with a DJ set by Love Injection. This set highlighted Russell’s disco music — produced under aliases like Indian Ocean, Loose Joints, Dinosaur L, and Killer Whale. This is dance music. Club music. Elevated by Russell’s eccentric rhythms and lyrics.
Interspersed were some of Russell’s cello songs. It’s strange hearing something so intimate projected outdoors over loudspeakers. Russell’s breath. A squeaking string. This is dance music, too. But only in the way that Bach’s suites are dance music. This is chamber music. Recording studio music. Practice room music. Living room music. Music for headphones.
The centerpiece of “Travels Over Feeling” was Russell’s orchestra Tower of Meaning, written for Medea production with Robert Wilson that never happened. As interpreted by the Wordless Music Orchestra — under the baton of Bill Ruyle — Tower of Meaning was contemplative, poignant, sometimes plodding. With repeating, color-bar chords. Trance-inducing.
My only point of reference for Tower of Meaning, a re-released 1980s recording conducted by Julius Eastman, has more movement and direction to it. Ruyle’s interpretation, by comparison, felt beat-y. The abrupt movement endings resulted in premature clapping and whooping. Especially awkward, as it’s not exactly a whoopable piece.
The piece has a naïve quality. Intuitive. Tower of Meaning shows that having a lot of meaning doesn’t equal making a lot of sense. This quality was complemented by Rosa Sawyer’s looping visualizations of cookie-cutter houses, flowers losing petals, a rising and setting sun.
What was missing in “Travels Over Feeling” was the cello. Russell’s ghostly scratchings over the loudspeaker weren’t enough for me. Even the name of the Wordless Music Orchestra’s sole cellist, not especially featured in Tower of Meaning, couldn’t be found anywhere.
Why not have someone like Andrew Yee, whose brilliant Bach-Russell mashup I heard at a ChamberQueer event in march, play a cello set? Yee is part of Russell’s legacy, too. As we left — sadly missing Francois K’s closing DJ set — Russell’s voice reverberated through Prospect Park, as if from beyond the grave: “I’m so happy that I met you...”
The next day, I had to catch flight to Portland, Oregon for a writing workshop (where I happened to be placed with several writers working on ghost stories). In my own travels, this review was placed on the back burner.
But I kept being reminded of Russell in Portland. Seeing King’s book at Bishop and Wilde. Spotting a poster for a Russell tribute at the Hollywood Theater. Attending a silent disco (which Russell would have loved). It turns out that Russell’s estate and label, Audika Records, is Portland-based.
On my plane back to New York, I re-listened to World of Echo. At high altitude, and through slightly muffled ears, I felt closer to this music than I ever had before.
