Still Standing Silent was first performed by Julia Milsom as a solo dancer with musicians some years back, whilst this new version features Milsom alongside Kristian Larsen and two classical and two jazz musicians.  Not having seen its first incarnation I am unable to draw any parallels between the two. 

The gorgeous St. Michael’s Church School Hall is ideally suited to the piece; the hall’s beautiful proportions and sense of modest grandeur perfectly matching the tone and scale of the performance.  The only quirk is the location of the Hall at a busy intersection which means the sounds of cars accelerating by become part of the soundtrack – although this seemed to lessen as the piece progressed, or perhaps I simply stopped registering them.

The audience is seated in a ‘U’ at the entrance to the hall, allowing for a long performance space, broken up midway by four music stands centre stage.  The performers all enter together from the door at the back of the hall wearing a colour palette of mainly black and red with a little white, the four musicians and Milsom walking forward while Larsen stays at the back.  The relationship between the foreground and background is an enduring and satisfying element of the performance, providing an interesting perspective not afforded by a standard stage, and gives a sense of spaciousness that means the performance fully inhabits the space.  The performers are all ‘onstage’ for the duration of the piece except for Larsen who leaves via the back door of the stage prior to its ending.

Milsom beginsa solo in close proximity to Kime on bass after removing her tailored black jacket and dropping it onto the floor. Later she removes her hair tie, and later still rolls up her sleeves.   Milsom is a supremely skilled dancer and completely commanding in her presence.  Her movement vocabulary is extensive, powerful and fully embodied, making use of both her face (mouth wide open) and delicate hand motifs.  There is a sense of the unpredictability about her which makes for compelling viewing.

As she recedes to the background, Larsen makes his way to the foreground. In his dark shirt buttoned to the top and dark trousers brings to mind the image of a Tai Chi/Kung Fu master — with a movement vocabulary that is quick and virtuosic, often tracing unanticipated arm and hand patterns. His contained sensibility is a nice foil for the more expressive and explosive Milsom.

The musicians for the most part are situated two on each side of the hall, though they all move at certain points to good effect.   At one point all but the percussionist come to stand at the middle music stands and later again Derrick walks between the two rows of back seating.  A combination of notated and improvisational music is successful in providing a well structured yet open feel to the music.  This is also true for the dancers, both experienced and accomplished in the use of improvisation (Real Time Composition).  The attentive quality of listening and responding between the musicians and dancers is evident throughout, resulting in a cohesive group dynamic.  

The duet between the dancers evolves throughout, from solos to moving alongside each other to partnering to breaking apart to soloing again. At times Milsom rips through the space, literally climbs the walls, thrashing against them. Then later to moments of partnering, one memorable sequence sees them predominantly on the floor, rolling, turning, spiralling and arcing in dim lighting to slow, sustained, somber tones.

The lighting is limited to red and a soft white, often dim, matching the sombre feel of the piece. At one point a red downward spotlight outside the back door at the end of the stage shines on Milsom slumped on a chair like a bored prostitute, while Larsen in the foreground mutters his way through a solo leading to a moment of silence – one broken perhaps a little too soon by the clarinet.

Another striking episode sees Milsom pick up her jacket to replace it with one of the music stands which she brings to the foreground.  After a time, supported by the rising tenor of the musicians, she becomes some kind of crazy conductor or demented priest at the pulpit, eventually making a frenzied exit to the back of the hall only to be pulled into an embrace by Larsen leading to a tender ‘tango’.

Most exquisite is the ending, Gretchen La Roche’s gorgeous clarinet piece developes into something haunting and very beautiful. With Larsen having exited the floor, the two women are together, la Roche foreground and Milsom background, her dancing now more introspective and contained.  The melody is broken by staccato sax sounds as Derrick makes his way through the audience and the percussionist moves to the back of the hall, a big spotlight illuminating empty space and the performers stretched throughout the space.  The last of the clarinet’s notes hangs like a tiny silver thread before vanishing into a crystal silence. 

A compelling and evocative piece of work by six accomplished performers at the top of their game.

e.

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