Talliston is certainly difficult to describe, but I think the word ‘surreal’ is a good place to start. Representing so many eras and places inside one house left us with many different potential musical influences to contend with - a possible stumbling block in creating an event that enhances, rather than disrupts. However, as we’ve mentioned before, the Talliston’s dreamlike quality struck us as an interesting line of thought to follow.
To gain insight into dream-logic and generate ideas that could be used in our event, we began compiling our dreams in a document (otherwise known as ‘The Dream Chamber’). Here’s a little peek into what goes on behind our eyelids at night... * * * “Home” in a dream is always your childhood home, but sometimes ‘the garden’ is the tiny shattered yard of a friend’s house 200 miles away, & the street, despite being the one your childhood home was situated on, will eventually become one of the wide avenues linking Chorlton to the rest of Manchester. On this street it’s always the middle of the night, the lights a queasy sodium yellow. These spaces sometimes seem bolted on to each other (e.g. in the manner of a poorly executed school ‘Design & Technology’ assignment from the early 90s), & at other times float inside one another in an uneasy sharing of the same dimensional coordinates. * * * I’m queuing up to go swimming at a huge complex that resembles a grotty northern casino. Once I’m in and have taken my time getting changed I’ve lost the people I came with and it’s unthinkable to find them here as there are dozens of floors each with a complicated network of pools, some interlinked, some separated by brown carpeted areas with leather armchairs and round tables that are also leather clad…. ...I climb on to a stack of the leather padded round tables and look down. I get a true perspective of the layout from here and start to piece things together in my mind but I suddenly become aware of how precarious my situation is. The stack starts to wobble and as I fall I decide to close my eyes and relax as real, sleeping me takes over and decides that I’ll either land in water or wake up. * * * People are lined up either side of a cloister and taking it in turns to perform a song or piece of music to contribute to the festivities. I've lost sight of Gary and think it's a shame he's missing it as he'd love this. He appears just in time for it to be his turn and, thankfully he has his trumpet handy. He starts an improvised duet with a trombone player opposite him who I don't recognise. It's great, loads of energy and intricate beautiful textures. The trombone player's initial motif was really cool but he doesn't go back to it. Tullis is just a little way down the line and, we all know how important it is to Tul to squeeze all you can out of a motif... He is obviously frustrated and feels this other trombone player has missed an opportunity BUT he feels it would be rude to get his trombone out... So he jumps up, runs down the line to where the two guys are playing and starts singing this first motif, over and over, dancing around the performers as they carry on, happily including him in their piece. * * * In the dining room at a childhood home. My sister looked out of a window that shouldn’t be there onto the wrong street. Instead of a park, there was just a brick wall. She planned to redecorate the street so it looked exactly like another street she knew. After our meal, we improvised. I sat in the music room and played the piano. She sat at the bottom of the stairs (which were the wrong way around) and played various objects that I couldn’t see. In our dreams, identity of place and person shift and change. The ‘narrative’ seems entirely logical while it is experienced but upon waking the stranger aspects become clear. Elements of this may end up within the walls of Talliston, as, indeed, may some of your own dreams… Rachel |
time is different here...
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