I love Stanley Kubrick. Fucking love him. He made me 2001: A Space Odyssey at the impressionable age of 9... I never looked back. In fact, if it wasn't for the dear respect that I hold for his family, especially Vivian who had an uncredited role in the film playing the part of 'Squirt', Dr. Floyd's little daughter, I'd dig him up and live with the corpse. There'd be nothing else to do. My ultimate aim in this life is to collect all of Kubricks films on DVD, watch the lot of 'em in chronological order back to back, take a gun and blow my fucking brains out. There's some way to go though. I've got 2001 and A Clockwork Orange, my little droogies, the special edition of Dr. Strangelove which recently arrived and for which I'm still discharging huge wads in my pantiloons and, also, Eyes Wide Shut his, sadly last film, passing away as he did suddenly just over 2 years ago on 7 March 1999. You heard it all before but I will have my say...absolute master of his craft bla bla bla, performances bla bla bla, realism bla, technical accuracy bla bla, lighting, score bla bla bla,bla bla. For 2001 he had Alex North (Spartacus, Cleopatra, Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?) compose an entire score [1] only to abandon it in favour of Strauss's Blue Danube, Khachaturian's Gayane Ballet Suite and, groundbreakingly, 3 pieces by Hungarian avant garde composer Gyorgy Ligeti.

Being the Kubrick fanatic and, due to 2001, a Ligeti enthusiast, I attended 1996-1997's "Clocks and Clouds" series of Ligeti retrospective concerts at London's Royal Festival Hall and also was present at a talk Ligeti gave prior to one of the performances. No lie I was this fucking close to the Maestro himself! My bitch, who accompanied me at the time was so cuntingly rude prior to the proceedings that I nearly fucking strangled her. How dare she defile Maestro with her presence!

Anyway, being on the Royal Festival Hall's hit list, amongst others ,it was brought to my attention that this Jocelyn Pook Ensemble was performing their/her material from Eyes Wide Shut, billed as "Kubricks final film score" plus a new piece for answer phones set against strings and voices and work sampling spoken voice, western strings and contrasting western and eastern vocal styles. Well, I was onto the box office hotline before you could say "one minoota droogie", credit card (now blacklisted) handed, screaming abuse down the line demanding the best fucking seat in the house. I got it.

March 14 2001 slowly crept up on me. Bit like Foot and Mouth. Entering the Queen Elisabeth Hall (it's the same complex as the RFH and the Purcell Room for those of you who've never been) and plonking ones PVC jean-clad sex butt on the dreadfully uncomfortable leather'ish seat (which cost me a hot E12'50 plus post/admin fee!) you are face to face with a strange sight. Dragan (Dragon?!) Aleksic's 'installation' consists of 3 Star Prak giant "beam me up snotty" transporter tubes and a rectangular projection screen on an annoying slant with silly-billy gold lunar-module-decent-stage foil mini skirt wrapped around it's base. A control desk to the left of this vision completes our first impressions. I was a trifle early and so missed the dishing out of the programs and couldn't be fagged to prise my handsome ass (stuck, PVC the leather...noisy) from it's hideously uncomfortable seat. Sod it. The audience is your usual concert going sophisto bunch. All seated in chairs of torture, we resemble a giant cake of humanity...there's a few fruits here and there in the mix. And one or two nuts. It's to be expected. I still think that you can't beat a sweat filled hole, er, I mean to go see a performance in, but this is the Queen Elisabeth Hall so we've got to make do. Odd crew all these pseudo toffs, look like they've just come out of hippydom. Filthy, slimy freaks.

The lights dim. Thank fuck I don't have to look at the audiences ugly faces any more (although I did spy one dark skinned bespecticled almost-nymphet to my upper left during the interval... yum yum yum) and Abdilah Chhadeh. I believe it is he, takes charge of the control consol and...fuck! Yes! He looks and dresses remarkably like Dr Who circa Tom Baker period! Standing at the controls of his Tardis! Fucking excellent!

The performance begins with 'Messages', the telephone answering machine piece embroidered with strings and singing. A sort of delicate, gentle version of Clara Clamp's outstanding 'September' from Susan Lawly's Extreme Music from Women compilation CD [2]. Everything here is delicate in fact...so delicate that, even though it pleases, at the same time you just want to play something real horrorshow violent and agressive to destroy it... japans Kyohfu Shinbun is the band I had on my mind at the time! Jocelyn herself,her little stickiwick-insectiweck-like easily snapable white arms enhance the 'delicate' theme, in her long shimmering ultramarine dress her hair looks almost as good as mine this wonderfull evening. In fact that dress would probably suit me too. But would our Jossy-poo understand? Don't think so honey. Phwoor! I wanna be her (wo)man! I mean the flyer photo's just don't do her any justice at all, all that Dragoon Arsenic candle waxy effigy bust and stuff. A frail looking elegant and pretty little thing, it's quite enthralling to comprehend the awesome power that she commands.

Forget the so called 'installation' with the big Star Schmeck beam me up snooty transport tubes. And thank fuck the back /front/ side I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-you-call-it, projected string musician silouettes on the screen only last, in the main, for the first piece because I want to see the performers, not phantom shadows! Sticking a vocalist in a bloody tube, all rainbow coloured and sparkely and blurred is Just fucking irritating. Bad enough my middle aged eyesight is starting to screw-up without this arty farty poo poo and plop plops.

As we traverse into song titles such as 'Hope in Adversity', 'Saffron' and 'Butterfly Song' one is put in mind of Steve Reich's mature period works, for instance 'The Cave'...another performance with these damnable installations and umpteen bloody screens. It doesn't really work for me, in case you hadn't noticed, becomes a bore, "give it to me, pink and raw" [3]. The last piece in the first half, 'Calls, Cries and Clamours'... Mira Calix [4] would quite possibly like the Jocelyn Pook Ensemble, it's well girly stuff and I'm enchanted. But where on earth does one get names like Pook and Calix?! Why can't we nave good regular names like Simmons. Bennett and Yamanouchi? ha! Only kidding!

After the interval things really begin to hot up (especially within the depths of my PVC strides), the hated fucking installation actually begins to show signs of improvement! Displaying what looks to me like white jiz floating in bathwater (Draggy-poo's would have you believe it was wax or some such nonesense), a regular occurance during my seasonal hosing downs. Then we are 2 treated to our old friend the red red kroovy on tap, slowly painting filmy streaks suspended in a clear (jiz free) fluid... reminds me of my prostate operation when I viddied the ol' monitor above my beddy. Ug, I can't look anymore. But now, to illustrate the Kubrick film score 'Migrations' the screen projects a backdrop of white-yellow-hot flame which does actually work rather well, complimenting Manickam Yogeswaran's (?) amazing voice as the other Eyes Wide Shut piece 'Backwards Priests' jogs your recollection of the films buxom human toilets standing on the red carpet all nagoy in just their panties and elaborate maskies. Wonderfull music! Now we are wisked into 'Saints and Sinners' or is it 'Take off your Veil'? whatever, I can't see my non-existant program anyway, but this time our screen is showing us an aerial flypast view of waves and surf dizzily speeding by ever faster as the music reaches a long, lovingly drawn out climax! Oh yes, this is fucking good! I love it and yeah, it is all sex! Wow!

We leave the Q.E.H, in love with the world, in love with Jocelyn, in love with Dr Who over there, in love with Manickam Yogeswaran (?) who's jewel encrusted golden suit would have made Liberace himself retch, in fact in love with the whole gorgeous ensemble! And I cry. Tears. Real tears.

Yep, Stanley certainly knew something brave and good when he heard it. Hmmrn...! think I'll go get my shovel after all.

References

Alex North's 2001-Jerry Goldsmith/The National Philharmonic Orchestra.CD 1993 Varese Sarabande Records VSD-5400
Various Artists-Extreme music from Women. CD 2000 Susan Lawly SLCD023
Lyric from the song 'Hungry for pain' on the Whitehouse CD Thank your lucky stars special edition CD, 1997 Susan Lawly SLCD018
Try Mira Calix's Oneonone LP/CD 2000 warp Records Limited. Warp 73 for the LP. I'm fucked if I know the CD`s catalogue number, it's late (1:08am) I'm tired and I'm going to bed. Goodnight.

Gary Simmons
www.no.net/stillinstoneage