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Notes on A 24-Decade History of Popular Music Chapter IV

By Taylor Mac, at Melbourne Festival

Wed 11 – Fri 20 October | Forum Melbourne

Notes on the notes. (Click to read)

  • These are notes, not a review.
  • I’ve never used my blog for this kind of writing before. I’m giving it a try.
  • Leave a comment if you like.
  • I may write more after each part of the show. I might not. I might type this up into something more formal. Or not.
  • Taylor Mac uses “judy”, lowercase, not as a name but as a gender pronoun.

See Notes on Chapter I | See Notes on Chapter II | See Notes on Chapter III

Chapter IV: 1956-Present

It is over. The whole cycle of A 24-Decade History of Popular Music is complete. A work I attended for 24 hours, but which continued for two weeks, stealing the space in between its four chapters, occupying consciousness and dreams alike. I made friends with the strangers sat beside and in front of me. To my right was Elisa who came alone for the whole 24 hours and cried eight times in Chapter IV, or so she said and I believe her. In front of me were Winston and Leigh, a senior couple who invested in the 24 hours because they knew the show might be the antidote to the roughness of the times. I watched them comfort one another, hug, cheer and laugh over the hours. Their intimacy and ease together really inspired me. I was moved that this was a space where they could be themselves. Winston’s head framed the left of my view, and Leigh’s the right. I fed at least one of them a grape. They gave me a peanut.

Again, these notes are less about the detailed content of the show and more my thoughts on the event itself.

A Tree is Best Measured When it is Down

Taylor Mac and Matt Ray’s project has some echoes of Robert Wilson’s vision for the CIVIL warS: a tree is best measured when it is down (sic.) an epic, day-long five act opera conceived to accompany the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games, though never fully realized. While there are many differences, most notably Wilson’s vision was for opera, while Mac’s is for pop, the theme of civil war is central to both works. Though in Mac’s show the civil war is perennial, an ongoing battle for civil rights, and not only battlefield warfare of trenches and troops. Mac’s is the war for equality within a society. And that is why the show is 24 decades long: the revolution was not over at the signing of the Treaty of Paris or even the Constitution, and continues to this day. The comparison between these two queer auteurs’ work is worthy of greater attention elsewhere, but suffice to say they both play with time, extending expectations of what can be done with, within, and without it in queer ways. Both collaborate openly, delegating major aspects of their productions, particularly the musical composition to others without tinkering in their creations. However, a key difference is one of calamity, the chaos of performance, which Mac embraces as a central organizing principle, and Wilson attempts to expunge. Taylor Mac wanted to make a show so long it was impossible for it to be perfect, as “perfection is for assholes”, and so was able to complete the 24 hour extravaganza. Wilson on the other hand is famously fastidious and demanding of as close to perfection as possible, providing exacting shapes for the bodies of his performers through detailed rehearsals, and so, maybe, was unable to complete his epic vision with the (vast) resources available to him.

These two epic civil war projects queered the times of their production and got close to the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Arguably both should have won. The 1986 jury unanimously awarded the CIVIL warS the prize but were over-ruled by the supervisory board, meaning no prize for drama was awarded that year. Thirty years later the 2017 board was faced with a similarly unruly queer vision of what theatre and drama can be. 24 hours long, it comprised a lot of songs, but also at least 10 hours of original writing, performance art and participation that collectively cuts to the core of the American psyche, but also did not win. The trouble with queer work like Mac’s is that it is hard to handle and categorise, falling between many stools. Clearly, it was simply not dramatic enough, and did not look enough like what was already known to win this year’s prize.

Re-membering and un-membering

Memory, specifically how to remember, is central to A 24-Decade History of Popular Music. Taylor Mac and MD and Arranger Matt Ray have an uncanny ability to remember huge chunks of complex material. Taylor never seemed phased ploughing into many similar sounding verses of old songs or breaking into long tracts of poetry. Somehow the words just tumble out of judy’s mouth with meanings as clear as the first time they were thought. Extraordinary when you think of how many rockers use autocue for their own songs. Even more impressive is the memory of what comes next in the song order, as the space between numbers can often be the moment where the brain freezes and memory fails. Almost every band I’ve ever seen had a set list of songs taped up somewhere, but Taylor just trotted them out seemingly without cue.

As though the challenge of the preceding 236 (ish) songs were not enough, in the sixth hour of Chapter IV, and the final hour of the show, Taylor sang judy’s own songs. Sung with gusto with only the ukulele as accompaniment (how Taylor Mac started out) these were particularly complex songs with long lists, streams of consciousness and tricky rhythms that are difficult to perform without fluffing a single line, especially at the end of an epic show. But they were pretty much flawless.

The balloons say "Ask About Lesbian Lives"

The balloons say “Ask About Lesbian Lives”. The stage is fully occupied by lesbians from the audience.

These feats of performance memory alone are noteworthy, but the show’s radical act of re-membering is of the corpse of American history, sewn together using its popular songs as revivified organs, limbs and appendages. The monstrous corpus is recomposed in the image of the company that brings it to life; diverse, woke, anarchic and conservative America’s worst nightmare. Many of the nation’s foundational myths are dismembered, held under the microscope, not fully amputated, but remembered differently. The painstaking, often painful suturing of the long-overlooked gashes in that nation’s body, the resetting of its fractured bones, and the relocation of displaced joints is necessary for healing a corpse that refuses to believe it is ill. And while the corpse of American history undergoes exhumation and re-vivification, so too must the deeply buried beliefs and myths wrapped up in each audience member’s body. Each body’s history must be re-inscribed. The audience must be sacrificed to allow the audience to be reborn: within the first 10 minutes of the show the whole front row (those who paid the most for their tickets) will be rearranged; reenacting white flight to the suburbs, white people will be sent to the edges of the room while people of colour will take their pick of the best seats in the front centre of the auditorium and stay there until the end of the show; after an eon of marginalization, lesbians will take pride of place on stage and receive free beer; straight men in their twenties will practice gay sex; white people will moan and groan for an uncomfortably long period to exorcise their white guilt; it will all go on for longer than you want, and you will be uncomfortable.

It was ambitious re-membering. And its discomfort was cathartic. The final dis-membering, of course, is ultimately euphemistic. After the deflation of two giant cold war phalluses, one for USA, one for USSR, there was a parade of extraordinary pussies in the form of the final two costumes – the finest in the show. Ultimately it is a dismembering that we need most of all, an end to phallocentrism, the monolithic, the singular, the patriarchy… maybe re-membering is surplus to requirement?

The Cold War

The Cold War.

 

That said, there were a few inclusivity oversights, like the lack of accessibility to the stage for wheelchair users that meant one of the dandy minions could not get up there. And some neurodiversity slips that I was sensitive too, particularly Crazy Jane. But in the Q&A on Saturday it was clear the company is working through such problems as they arise in an open and constructive way.

You can lie down or get up and play

The last song of the show was performed to 700 people without microphone or amplification. The last line was reserved for the audience, the real protagonists of the show (Taylor Mac’s assertion), who sang ‘you can lie down or get up and play’ on a loop. A mantra from Taylor maybe, who made judy by getting up and playing. A call to action for the audience to live by. A mantra of the self-made America and American: get on with it though it might not be perfect, it gets better with practice, make something, you can always remake it again later…

… like this blog post – it is not a static document and I may change it again later. 

It’s over. The streets of the city now seem drab, filled with repressed pain, rigid normative gender, and the hardness of spaces made expedient for capital and the lost souls it strings along. The morning after the show I found myself stood still in the middle of Coles supermarket tapping a cucumber against the palm of my hand for far too long, lost in a daze beneath the harsh lights amongst the jostling and pushing through fruit and veg – there isn’t much room for this kind of thing in the Elizabeth Street store – trying not to cry. This is more difficult than it sounds after the forced withdrawal from the collective re-writing of history I felt part of for two weeks. The circus is packing up and leaving town. I’ve never felt like this about a show before. Even though it was 24 hours long, I am really sad it’s over.

Please share your thoughts and memories of A 24-Decade History of Popular Music in the comments below.

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Notes on A 24-Decade History of Popular Music Chapter III

By Taylor Mac, at Melbourne Festival

Wed 11 – Fri 20 October | Forum Melbourne

Get tickets here

Notes on the notes:

  • These are notes, not a review.
  • I’ve never used my blog for this kind of writing before. I’m giving it a try.
  • Leave a comment if you like.
  • I may write more after each part of the show. I might not. I might type this up into something more formal. Or not.
  • Taylor Mac uses “judy”, lowercase, not as a name but as a gender pronoun.

See Notes on Chapter I | See Notes on Chapter II 

Chapter III: 1896-1956

18 hours in, 6 more to go.

The turn of the 20th century, two world wars and the 50s in one night. I was called up to the stage with all the other people who identified as men between the ages of 16 and 40 to go and linger in a trench with some rats and a single bottle of rum which I never got to taste. It was very uncomfortable and squashed but of course that was the point. There were a lot of us and we hardly fit. The lights were dazzling and the whole experience disorienting. I could hardly hear the instructions through the speakers, and so kept getting things wrong. Up there, between the double bass and the drum kit I realized that for Taylor the music is in surround sound, the stage, of course, is completely immersive, its own little world quite different to the perception of it from the audience where the sound all comes from one direction. As Taylor’s rendition of Danny Boy got lot louder and louder, it got to the point where Taylor was completely drowned out. I was immediately behind judy, but couldn’t here judy’s voice because the speakers were pointing out into the audience. I wondered how Taylor could hear judy, or perhaps judy could not. All of this reminded me just how different the experience of the production on stage is to the reception in the audience. The way Taylor holds it together in overwhelming moments like that is through the discipline of training. For me it was a war zone.

The war songs made me realise that this the whole event is Music Hall, it’s a variety show. Keep The Home Fires Burning was always the penultimate song at the Music Hall shows my family took me to as a child, often in seaside towns. It was the tear-jerker before the final number when all the acts came on. They also sometimes had a medley of war songs and would run through them, the audience singing along as they sped through. I don’t recall ever going to Musical Hall or variety show since then. What brought me out was Taylor Mac’s epic idea for 24 hours. Apart from cruises and holiday camps (but there aren’t so many of the latter any more) where else does variety take place, and why would you go?

When I first encountered Taylor Mac, judy was a troubadour, travelling around singing about love and life, building an audience on the experimental theatre circuit, doing something no-one else seemed to be doing at the time and singing a lot. There were shows where it was basically a spot light on Taylor’s face for an hour lighting down to a little ukulele. The sequins on the facial expressions were the whole set and enough to keep you enraptured song after song. Now, the scale is extended to a whole orchestra and costume after costume, but at the centre it is still Taylor’s body doing all this work, gelling all the glitter together. Tonight, as the final band members leave the stage I imagine we will see that ultimately none of the glitz was necessary. The core of the whole experience is that Taylor can and will hold the whole room in the palm of judy’s hand. There will be nothing left other than all there ever was.

It’s two hours before Chapter IV and I still haven’t had time to discuss the shape of the whole event, the preservation and careful metering of performance energy, and the occasional moments when Taylor seems to let rip, like in the fast version of ‘Turn, turn, turn’(?!) at the end of Chapter III. Maybe tomorrow?

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Notes on A 24-Decade History of Popular Music Chapter II

By Taylor Mac, at Melbourne Festival

Wed 11 – Fri 20 October | Forum Melbourne

Get tickets here

Notes on the notes:

  • These are notes, not a review.
  • I’ve never used my blog for this kind of writing before. I’m giving it a try.
  • Leave a comment if you like.
  • I may write more after each part of the show. I might not. I might type this up into something more formal. Or not.
  • Taylor Mac uses “judy”, lowercase, not as a name but as a gender pronoun.

See Notes on Chapter I

Chapter II: 1836-1896

12 hours in, 12 hours still to go. It happened to me again. The day after Chapter II all I could talk about were the images in the show that kept flashing back in my mind. Did all that really happen? Now it feels like it all slipped by in the blink of an eye. Oh yeah, in hour four we went to Mars to perform the whole of The Mikado, as setting it anywhere on Earth is a version of blackface, but no-one knew how we got there from an All-American Sunday dinner. Who knew Gilbert and Sullivan were such a central part of the American cannon? But still, I don’t have much time to write this, and so, again, can’t go into detail on the songs themselves. I just have time to talk about two things

Of Course, It’s a Course! (Or maybe a trial)

I realized that a 24 hour history of USA told through popular song is more like a course than a performance. It’s the same length of contact time as a semester-long subject at the University. Delivered intensively, it’s an immersion course for re-writing American history from a post-gender, post-race, post-patriarchal perspective, and a general how-to for queering life in general. All the materials from history, the songs, are scrutinized through the lens of the ‘radical faery realness ritual’, and every whiff of misogyny, racism and hatred of difference of any kind is wafted front and centre. No-one survives unscathed. Songs are sometimes analysed line by line, or redone in style appropriate for its content that might just scrape by. Other songs are not to be applauded, as their invidiousness may be wrapped in a sweet jingle, and the bitterness of the lyric not felt until spelled out after the fact. So maybe it’s a trial of America’s past by the standards of today, which is to say of Taylor Mac’s standards, and so not the mainstream standards of today, but some future vision of a world in the process of being re-inscribed. Or maybe, like real trials, it is about justice plain and simple. Justice for the wrongs of the past still perpetrated in the present. In looking to the past, Taylor Mac points out where the utopian dream of USA went wrong. We are presented with the future of the past. Maybe this is how it will be told from now on?

Queer Space

To me, it the auditorium during these shows feels like a safe-space for diverse self-expression, gender non-conformity, and post-normative bodies. It is a popular space in the sense that the subject of the show is popular culture. The rules are looser, and transgression, reimagining and rebellion is encouraged. You can wander in and out, drink, talk, interact, change seats. Taylor wanders around the auditorium and seems able to sing on any perch, lap or railing. [The criticism alleging dilution of queer culture through popularizing or main-streaming to reach a broader audience that has been leveled at Taylor Mac is a discussion for another time]. The atmosphere of permission is quite different to most other theatre shows. Towards the end of Chapter II Taylor asked us to remove all the chairs. The notion of a sit-down audience where you rent a seat, some more expensive than others, has now gone completely. The audience is now on their feet or wheels and moving constantly. This is how it ended on Friday. Will the chairs have returned since then?

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Notes on A 24-Decade History of Popular Music #1

By Taylor Mac, at Melbourne Festival

Wed 11 – Fri 20 October | Forum Melbourne

Get tickets here

Notes on the notes:

  • These are notes, not a review. I am not interested in writing a review.
  • I’ve never used my blog for this kind of writing before. I’m giving it a try.
  • Leave a comment if you like.
  • I may write more after each part of the show. I might not. I might type this up into something more formal. Or not.
  • Taylor Mac uses “judy”, lowercase, not as a name but as a gender pronoun.

There have been press reviews of the show already –after only 25% of the show has taken place. (Imagine how ridiculous it would be for another show to be reviewed a quarter of the way through without acknowledging such partiality.) This is one of the reasons I decided to publish these notes, which are not a review. I wanted to see how my understanding of the show, the people around me and my sense of self shifted over a 24 hour of exposure to Taylor Mac’s show. I want to remember the lacuna, the place between the installments where I have to try to decompress after six intense hours of riotous chaos and bravura performance. Right now it is three hours before the second installment will begin. I spent a lot of yesterday in a daze, the length of the show messed up my circadian rhythm, it infected my night’s dreams and held my day dreams to ransom. Did I really run my fingers along that person’s teeth when I fed them a grape when we were both blindfolded (or as least I was)? What was the name of the person I ended up next to again? Was the US founded on a hatred of the US, and loving black hair, and, and..? It is too much to process. But I’m giving it a try.

Chapter I: 1776-1836

Wow, this is the perfect venue for this show. Even going to the toilet feels like theatre. The show has already begun even before any of the performers are on stage. There are hundreds of people milling about. They look really cool. I’m sat at the back of the stalls, but right in the middle. I can see all the audience as well as the stage. I introduce myself to the person sat next to me. We are both seeing the whole 24 hours. Maybe we will become friends?

When Taylor gets on stage for Amazing Grace, the opening song, I have a surreal feeling of time standing still. I have seen judy perform many times before in Glasgow, London and Melbourne, and just got that strange feeling of being connected through performance to all those other moments and stages in my life, and all the emotions I felt, laughing heartily and crying my eyes out in the comfort of the audience surrounded by my beloved friends. But comparison is violence, so I decided not to equate those previous times with this.

There was an unorthodox acknowledgement of country followed by a meeting of Timothy White Eagle and Aunty Di Kerr. Aunty Di offered a welcome to country and acknowledged Taylor’s apology on behalf his ancestors, offering a possum skin wristband imbued with a creation story. She said she had only started making things recently. What a gift.

The first member of the audience on stage was told they were a verb not a noun. That is, like the rest of the audience and all present, in the act of becoming themselves, building their lives, and at the same moment creating this performance together. This struck me as a central theme in Taylor Mac’s work. An early show  (The Be(a)st of Taylor Mac?) was based on judy’s creation story. As an artist, a person, a leader Taylor Mac has continued to create judy as consciously as possible over many years since then. This is the central queer gift that Taylor Mac embodies and promulgates: we are all in the process of creating ourselves, and it is possible to do some of that transforming consciously and mindfully. It is also key to understanding the politics of the performance space and the calamitous gel that holds the event together: the show is alive, and being made in the moment by all those present. Part is made, part makes itself. There was a plan, and now there are tactics. Ultimately, of course, this is why addressing the creation of USA as a nation over 24 hours of song is so well matched to Taylor Mac’s queer dramaturgy: while a country seems to have become an intransigent noun, it was always, despite what you may have been led to believe, always a transitive verb. As we rebuild ourselves out of calamity, so might we rebuild our communities, and if we must, a whole country, more mindfully.

This is an epic queer show happening in Melbourne at what feels like a calamitous time for LGBTQ+ individuals and communities. And yet, despite the ridiculous postal survey, and completely coincidentally, it has been the queerest of weeks for me (and maybe others like me, and maybe for the whole of the arts in Melbourne) and that is incredibly exciting. On Saturday at the Melbourne Town Hall just a few hundred meters from The Forum, the inaugural Coming Back Out Ball took place. The CBOB was a major event in the life of the city as well as for the senior queers who graced it. Likewise in another bastion of the establishment The Fairfax theatre, All The Sex I’ve Ever Had was a kind of queering of old age, a late-life outing of all the dirty little secrets, peccadillos and loves that dare not speak their name. I’m exhausted. It’s all happening at once, hour after hour of transformative performance that undoes perceptions of bodies, lives and love.

Obviously, I am in a rare and privileged position able to participate in all this great work. Many others are not. Like the man I interviewed at the Coming Back Out Ball, who came to Melbourne from regional Victoria alone and on-spec after reading an story in a local newspaper. He hadn’t booked in advance but turned up with his paper clipping and was not turned away. He was glad to be there but wondered why he had to come all the way to Melbourne to experience such an event. Things haven’t changed so much where he is from. And what would his old friends say, the five who died of AIDS in the ’80s? He remembered one lost friend in particular who would have loved the CBOB and we shed a tear together for him in the corner of the biggest party in town.

And what about cost? How could anyone but the extremely wealthy afford a $690 ticket for A 24-Decade History of Popular Music? Not many people. Of course the whole thing should be free and be taking place at MCG, but as it is not, what should be the cost? What value do you put on something that lasts 24 hours and features 150 professional performers? It’s a scale we are completely unaccustomed to in theatre. This show’s endeavour is in the same order as long-form TV series (and they cost a lot more). It could be performed as 24 one hour shows at $30 each. But no, it should be binge-watched, like we do TV (sometimes), in six-hour blocks, because of the (almost) physical impossibility of performing it in one 24 hour go, which has only happened once. In the end lots of tickets were released at lower rates, many paying $60 per night ($10 per hour). I’d hate for discussion of cost to become a legacy of this work in Melbourne. It’s obvious that a show of this scale is impossible without vast levels of funding, but this is why we have Melbourne Festival, to make extraordinary things happen. It’s a completely unprecedented kind of work and so its funding and ticketing scheme are equally novel but certainly not as interesting as the endeavour itself.

Even the six hour block was dizzying. I am still not sure how it is humanly possible to keep all those songs, monologues and gags so pristinely in one’s head, and to stay ‘on message’ so astutely and coherently. And then I remember that for judy, this is life, that is the message. It is not only a performance, but a lived experience, a part of life for someone who has already performed for thousands of hours all around the world. Judy wasn’t built in a day, but over many years through a life lived as consciously as possible. Machine Dazzle might make the frocks, but machine judy lives them. But the term ‘machine’ is too inhumane for Taylor Mac’s creation, which is wrought from the deepest humanity, and the most radical desire for us all to become the most fabulous, fair and forgiving version of ourselves.

There is so much more to say! About the queering of the space (I’ve said a little about time), by causing calamity, moving the front row around immediately (maybe the people who paid the most for their tickets), and allowing free movement throughout the show (I watched the last hour from row two). About the Dandy Minions constantly provoking transformation around you. From further back you could see them better, creating movement and colour throughout the audience, dragging the stage into the world. And of course, about what is actually happening on stage, you know, the entire history of USA in song. It is every show in one. But really, it is life on show, a series of possible lives. And over 24 hours, you might just have time to reconsider yours.

It is now one hour before Chapter II.

JipilJung

Blood Catalogue: Words Of Bloody Wisdom

Why are artists drawn to using blood? Can artists explore blood in a way that scientists cannot? 

I was invited to respond to these questions for the catalogue of BLOOD: Attract and Repel

See my full responses here

 

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Vanitas: an app to die for – Precinct

Article in Precinct 19 July 2017

An app that lets audience members experience Melbourne General Cemetery like never before? Victorian College of the Arts Lecturer in Theatre Robert Walton explains more. 

By Robert Walton, Lecturer in Theatre at the Victorian College of the Arts

This weekend (20–21 May 2017) at the Melbourne General Cemetery, artist Jason Maling and I will test the latest edition of our transmedia app experience Vanitas.

Blurring documentary with fiction, Vanitas is a reflective thriller about life’s great mystery: death. Experienced through their own smartphone and decrypted through the secret language of flowers, each visitor will embark on a self-guided walk through Melbourne’s oldest modern cemetery. Alone.

Intrepid audience members will listen to the app as they wander towards a rendezvous at the centre of the cemetery. It’s a meditative experience that asks you to listen deeply and look closely at the world around you. In Vanitas, not everything is as it first appears.

Rachel Ruysch, Vase with Flowers, 1700. Wikimedia Commons.

A vanitas painting portrays collections of objects symbolic of the certainty of death. We were inspired by a painting from 1700 by Dutch artist Rachel Ruysch called Vase with Flowers (above). Ruysch’s floral vanitas depicts blooms just passing their best, on the cusp of wilting or being eaten by bugs. Her mysterious painting, like all vanitas pictures from that era, reminds us that all living things fade, and that our objects will outlive us and become the last traces of our daily lives.

In much of Australian culture, death remains taboo. For a variety of reasons, we are unable or unwilling to talk about it. In fact, we often go about our lives as if death is a fate that will not befall us personally. Australia also has the second highest uptake of smartphones in the world.

Hence, we have made a smartphone app as a vanitas for our own times. The interface itself is based on Ruysch’s painting with each flower representing an episode in the story. Like the flowers in the painting, you are drawn to some episodes first and then chance upon others along the way. The shift between guided and random order allows the audience to weave their own connections with the threads of narrative we present.

The story mixes documentary, autobiography and fiction and is told wholly through remixed audio fragments taken from interviews with a variety of experts on the themes of vanitas, flowers, life and death. We find out about the secret language of flowers, witness a cremation, and talk to botanists, historians and professionals from the death industry.

We are lucky to have Southern Melbourne Cemeteries Trust in our city; world leaders in forward thinking about the future of our cemeteries. Those we have worked with from the Trust’s team have been great collaborators and have helped us to understand how death practices have evolved over the last century and how they might develop into the future.

What is clear is that Melbourne General Cemetery in Parkville is a place of extraordinary national importance. It is a haunting museum and art gallery of lives past, like the shadow of the city itself.

And, with 300,000 people buried there, it’s certainly the biggest venue I have ever played. But the dead are what you’d call a captive audience.  On the whole they are very well behaved bunch; they don’t give much back. They seem to be enjoying the show so far, yet we live in constant fear of a standing ovation.

The audience on the weekend can expect a meditative experience exploring themes of death and transience. Ticket holders can arrive any time between 10am and 4pm on their chosen day.

Audience members will be asked to come with a fully-charged smartphone (Apple or Android) with an Australian mobile number, email address, access to the internet (there is no WiFi in the cemetery) and headphones. Once booked, they will be sent an email with information on how to download the Vanitas app before coming to the cemetery.

Vanitas was commissioned as part of In Your Hands – a new series of artworks and installations that invite audiences to create experiences mediated through hand-held technology – by Arts House through the Australia Council’s New Digital Theatre Initiative. Tickets are available from Arts House. Admission: $10

Sign up for the Faculty of VCA & MCM’s free monthly enews.

Find out more about Theatre at the Victorian College of the Arts. 

Banner image: Jason Maling and Robert Walton.

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Launch dates for “It’s All Allowed: The Performances of Adrian Howells”

Deirdre Heddon and Dominic Johnson’s new book about the performance work of Adrian Howells will launch this year. I contributed a small chapter on Adrian’s pedagogy and can’t wait to read the rest this brilliant book cover to cover.
Launch dates:
Gilmorehill Centre, Glasgow, Saturday 18 June, 7.30pm
BAC, London, Monday 4 July, 7.30pm
Get your order in now at www.intellectbooks.com
Confirmation Presentation 1

Lecture: Transmedia Dramaturgy – Theatre, Smartphones and Networked Performance

Confirmation Presentation – 4pm 16 December 2015 – Art Auditorium, VCA

Please join me at this public lecture followed by a discussion.

Do hybrid media performances require a transmedia dramaturgy?

The aim of this research is to examine the dramaturgical, philosophical and aesthetic capabilities of performances deliberately expanded to spread across and be experienced through the everyday technologies of a ‘networked culture’.

I will present an overview of key literature and focus specifically on the findings from a series of experimental performances delivered on smartphones over the year (The Asphodel, Still Life and Dark Telephony). I will introduce the first prototype of the Vanitas project, presented at Arts House in November, which was deployed across an app, voice calls, SMS, webpages, maps, an installation and Errol and Victoria streets in North Melbourne. I will conclude by laying out some of the challenges of researching in this field and outline my plan for completing this research over the next two years.

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Journal Article: Bewildering Behaviour in Australasian Drama Studies

My paper Bewildering Behaviour: Practice as Research for Audiences and Other Creators of Immersive Performance was peer reviewed and published in Australasian Drama Studies 65, October 2014. It was a special edition called Digital Performance Futures in Australasia guest edited by Gorkem Acaroglu and Glenn D’Cruz. Please contact me if you would like a copy or to discuss this area of research.

 

Conversation Piece by Lucy Guerin Inc

Season Overview for HOT: New Dance and Performance from Australia

The works in this season are representative of the distinctive and sophisticated dance and performance being made in Australia at the moment. These artists combine fresh, urgent ideas with rigorous technique to create experiences that will fascinate, absorb, delight your senses and entertain you.

Continues…

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