- The inclusion of Terry Riley in the packed 30-day programme that comprises Doug Aitken's Station To Station extravaganza posed a challenge: Riley's legend is so imposing that containing it within a single performance is pretty much impossible. How do you distill a lifetime of innovation and influence—from early synthesizer compositions to seminal works of minimalism—into one appearance? It comes down, then, to two options: you either focus on a single aspect of that career or attempt to cram in as much as possible. The July 18th event at London's Barbican trod a uneasy path between the two.
The performance began with a technical hitch. Riley's iPod, which contained the tabla-and-sitar instrumental bed for his opening vocal raga, didn't seem to be connected, so a member of staff had to bound down to the stage to sort it out. Once done, in spite of the spotlit Riley's attractively weathered ululations, the raga seemed more of a gesture than anything else. Nevertheless, his desire to bless proceedings was sincere and warmly received.
When the stage lights went up, the audience was presented with members of The London Contemporary Orchestra arranged around the Tiffin Boys' Choir, signalling the first section of freshly composed material. Relying heavily on the choir and the brilliantly kinetic percussion of Ric Elsworth, Dan Gresson and Sam Wilson (as well as trumpet, flugelhorn and bass trombone), the material found Riley at his most playful and whimsical, the overlapping vocal lines shimmering in a manner reminiscent of his better-known keyboard meditations.
Between these sections, the audience were allowed a glimpse of Riley's abilities as a solo performer, thanks to an extended performance on prepared-then-unprepared piano. Following the gradual removal of the attachments from the strings, Riley entered into a series of beautiful rippling repetitions.
The visuals running through the performance, courtesy of artist Austin Meredith, took in images of clouds, green fields, ever-ascending office buildings and abstracted footage of traffic. Pleasant and well-made but hardly illuminating, they were the least substantial part of the night. Riley's solo Korg Triton explorations, though, were every bit as absorbing as you'd expect. The feathery pads at first seemed anachronistic and redolent of new age, but their effect was eerie rather than calming. Building up a head of steam, he more than justified the contention that his '70s work prefigured acid house and techno, not to mention the current fascination for synth minimalism. Put simply, it was banging.
But given that this is essentially trance music, designed for all-night flights rather than brief demonstrations, it wasn't possible to build up a satisfactory state of transcendence in the few minutes set aside for the synth. Which returns us to our central dilemma. The event was a compelling journey through various aspects of the legendary composer's musical universe. But with its one-hour run-time and fragmented programming, it inevitably felt a bit superficial.
Photo credit: Mark Allan / Barbican