Technical navel-gazing: alongside lift doors and the hissing of heating pipes, the trickling of water rivulets is captured using contact microphones. (Photo: Antonia Beeskow)
In the first week of August, the team for the new opera production ‘OPER OTZE AXT’ met in Berlin to focus on composition and libretto. For five days, we concentrated on choral parts, concepts, noise frequencies and the question of how the main character Otze makes himself audible in song in the piece, when his musical freedom actually lies in the negation of conventional means? Are the sonic elements from the metallic resonances of a drainpipe, medium wave radio frequencies, old Stasi protocol recordings, which we use musically in the same way, a way of dealing with complex themes such as propaganda, power or physical-mental disorientation without talking about them directly? During a conceptual rehearsal, I thought about the image of the dog Nipper in front of the gramophone funnel – ‘His Master’s Voice’. Actually, the iconic image is an expression of the quality and clarity of the record sound, so that even a dog cannot distinguish the artificial disembodied voice of his beloved caregiver from the real one. We discussed whether the spread of an ideology, but also of a fixed thought, is ultimately reflected in what you hear and remains there, much like a catchy tune that won’t let you go.
The composition team of OPER OTZE AXT consists of the Slovakian composer Richard Grimm, who is largely responsible for writing the compositional drafts, as well as Mathias Baresel, Frieda Gawenda and – writing here – Antonia Beeskow. The last three of us will also appear as singers and actors in the productions later on. In the production, I’m focussing on the sound design and the transition from miking to acousmatic experimentation and loudspeaker music. For some scenes, however, I would also like to see a kind of fusion between classical compositional form and live sound design and editing. Over the last few days, I’ve been looking for sounds that could later be triggered as textures or samples by the orchestra or the singers. I made some field recordings at the place where we rehearsed: metal struts, a washbasin, the resonating body of a lift or the slow seepage of water in a washing trough with contact microphones. On the one hand, I am interested in the change of perspective, the unknown in the sound, the hardness and coolness of the materials. On the other hand, I hope that we will fan out a sound spectrum that is irritating: contrasts, shadows and (in)audible frequencies emerge between wood, metal, harmony and noise. Perhaps the transfer from string quartet to granular synthesis reflects the dramatic course of the story we want to tell.
