“Dilate the rainbow space raucous in time, Ionized laughter, clock’s fury to murder absent . Cut off my head, its figure rolls in blood! Tou, ahi! mané, mani, Tou, ahi! mané, mani.”
Harawi is the last of three song cycles that the French modernist composer, Olivier Messiaen wrote for voice and piano. The title comes from an ancient Andean tradition that combines Quechua poetry, music and ritual, that now is a point of contention among liberals and academics regarding appropriation. Traditionally, these songs were sung as laments, as contemplations on death and the mysterious promise of transcendence, of hope contained within unbearable sorrow. Messiaen was drawn to these songs as they reflected the drama and tragedies of his life at that time.
Harawi’s staging is minimal, barebone black, with a grand piano at its center, a black box for sitting, and a black stark mound of paper or fabric to balance the other two. The wardrobe of the four performers is also black—an ironic twist since Messiaen had synesthesia and associated words or sounds with color. But everything about this hour-long performance is distilled, making the midnight tone the perfect setting.
Julia Bullock, a shining star classical vocalist, whose global rise is unquestionable, begins both the show, and a year-long residency at Cal Performances. She is seated in profile, almost facing the equally acclaimed Conor Hanick at the piano. It is as if she is there, not to sing for the audience, to perform, but to conjure and liberate Messiaen’s spirit, submerging herself fully into every part of his composition. With her first note, she establishes everything about Harawi and her embodied talent that combines intelligence with heart and presence.
To this simplicity, choreographers/dancers, and former Batsheva company members, Bobbie Jene Smith and Or Schraiber solemnly walk onto stage. At times they are like ghosts occupying a space without taking it over, at other times they appear as the characters and muses of Messiaen life, interacting with Bullock as her shadow or lover. Early in the work, Schraiber’s dancing is the most animated, like traditional Andean dancers, with hints of musical theater, all that jazz moves, moving with Bullock whom he romantically hugs. But this explosion of movement is brief compared to the rest of the slower moving and sensual choreography, with Smith’s thigh-length hair flicking across the stage like a fertile untamed nymph or a call of the wild.
Song is seldom sung with eroticism and sensuality the way a dance is danced—but Bullock sings while being kissed, embraced, lifted, spun, turning her back to the audience, and most brilliantly, when lying on her back during the final section, her feet touching Smith’s feet, also on her back motionless. Bullock sings to the night sky. Her singing is choreographed, and the choreography of Smith and Schraiber feels sung.
Another innovative song/dance fusion occurs when both dancers walk backwards, Smith landing behind Bullock who is seated, melting into her, and Schraiber into Conor Hanick’s backside at the piano who continues playing uninterrupted by the dancer’s intimate, undulating contact with his back. The pianist dances—his fingers scurry, his backside also performs.
Hanick plays with breathtaking crispness and spotless technique. He understands the soul that Messiaen’s work, presenting it in a humble and unassuming manor, considering the length of the music he has dissected. He plays fervently with the piano lid down as an equal team player not wanting to overwhelm Bullock’s seamless tone and range, but to complement.
One needs the experience of seeing, of being with Harawi rather than just listening to it. Only then can you touch fully touch its underlying, fever-like madness. And Messiaen, who loved dance and theater, would undoubtedly be thrilled by the subtle theatricality and liberties taken with his piece, turning a duet for voice and piano into a pulsating, moving quartet. But the sooner one lets go of any ambition of understanding the libretto— Messiaen’s poetry written in French with Quechua words and phrases, often using repetition and even gibberish—the sooner the surrealist flow can cast its ephemeral spell.
At times, Harawi feels so elusive it barely exists—like a phantom whose presence is felt but not seen. Yet it exists and captivates without logic, with neither an arc nor crescendo it will impress itself into one’s psyche in a timeless fashion. This indelible feat is the exquisite gift of four talents, and the vision of Zack Winokur, the Artistic Director and co-founder of the American Modern Opera Company.
Harawi is an auspicious opening show for Cal Performances 24/25 Season and says much about the stellar vision of its Executive and Artistic Director, Jeremy Geffen.
David e. Moreno
