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這不是一個典型的音樂會，是一個非常充滿個人色彩的音樂劇場。Laurie將自身經驗經歷化成一則又一則的故事，透過視覺、文字、音樂分享她內心的世界。
前衛、唯美、感性、知性，集結了所有後現代藝術的特質‧‧‧
這個作品跟電影「少年維特煩惱」一樣，帶給我感動的同時也敲醒了我‧‧
很久一段時間 我忘了該如何生活
很久一段時間 我忘了該如寫生活
很久一段時間 我以為真的在生活
很久一段時間 我忘了追逐 瑰‧麗‧詩‧篇
自以為的瑰麗，若寫不出文字是形同空殼的 ~。
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科技×視覺×聲音×故事
美國前衛媒體藝術家 跨文字與夢境的革命性音樂劇場，震撼你的五感神經！
蘿瑞．安德森的特別之處在於她同時是作曲家、作詞家、歌手、更是一位電子聲音裝置的魔法師。──紐約時報
一個對宇宙提出質疑的多媒體鉅作，宛如無條件的愛的哀歌。──倫敦泰晤士報
集視覺藝術、音樂、攝影、寫作、電影、多媒體裝置等創作才華於一身的美國全才女性藝術家蘿瑞．安德森自70年代起即活躍於藝術界，她是前衛音樂的開拓者，亦是引領跨界創作潮流的先鋒。此次帶來的創作《妄想》，是為2010年溫哥華冬季奧運所創作的音樂劇場作品。
透過親自演奏電子小提琴，舞台上的影片和各種聲音裝置，蘿瑞化身為一位說故事者，述說一個引人入勝的史詩故事。透過一個個神秘的短篇故事，引領觀眾探索慾望、身分認同、深藏的記憶與潛藏在每個人心中的迷思，蘿瑞施展點石成金的魔法將精靈、神秘、幽靈船、逝去的親人等意象，轉換成詩意篇篇的舞台聲音與影像，激發觀眾心底深邃的驚駭，最終進入一個幻影般的世界！
演出者：
蘿瑞．安德森 Laurie Anderson ( 1947.6.5 )
出生於芝加哥，是當代知名前衛藝術藝術家。不只在多媒體音樂上有優異的表現，更在聲音裝置設計上有卓越的貢獻。80年代曾經以一首 “O Superman” 登上英國流行音樂排行榜第二名，其演出風格在藝術界掀起極大的波瀾更帶動後續將電子、多媒體加入音樂演奏的潮流，可說是引領當代藝術流行的先鋒。蘿瑞是一位優秀的說故事者，音樂創作往往具有令人震撼的敘事張力，表演也總是跨越純音樂的演奏方式，加入大量文字與多媒體元素，帶有濃厚個人風格。
¢ Zellerbach Hall, UC Berkeley / May 7-8, 2010
Laurie Anderson’s universe is 62 years old, witty as ever, intelligent, politically aware, conscious of its own demise, capable of giving birth to a dog from a human womb, perpetually intrigued by language, technology, and whether or not her mother really loved her. It’s a universe that spends time pondering the last time someone will call its name, “who will own the moon,” and what last words will be uttered before one turns to dirt.
What "Delusion" delivers is the thorough revelation of that universe through hip and artfully crude video projections that illuminate various surfaces and shapes, and through Anderson’s own natural -- albeit stylistic -- voice, with its iconoclastic pauses or, as its computerized vocal distortion, or “audio drag” alter-ego persona Fenway Bergamot.
"Delusion," which premiered at the 2010 Winter Olympics and was sponsored in part by Cal Performances in Berkeley, was inspired by a series of vivid dreams, family history and a heady group of short mystery plays. It contemplates passages of time -- the out-of-time dreams and the all-too-measured time of death, specifically Anderson’s mother. “I was thinking of you, and then I wasn’t thinking of you anymore,” she muses to a sympathetic, gray-haired, Baby Boomer, clock-ticking, hip art/theater crowd.
At times, "Delusion" bogs down from the weight of emotions that precedes true feeling, rather than its topic of death as time. Anderson admits her ambiguity that surrounds her mother and how that represented her mother’s passing. She then reflects that frozen emotion by showing a dreamlike projection of her dead mother lying on the floor with a sequence that drags on longer than necessary. By comparison, fleeting brilliant vignettes, like the rain sequences when Anderson’s live image is projected onto her graphically projected silhouette as she poetically speaks alive, are poignant and could have been stretched out longer.
Accompanying Anderson’s electronically augmented violin, with its various filters that create different harmonics and overtones, is the dynamic saxophone playing of Colin Stetson and Dan Weiselman -- a one-up collaboration in the Bay Area only. This inserted collaboration, along with Anderson’s inclusion of up-to-the-minute socio-political commentary, is unique to "Delusion," allowing for a low-risk improvisational aspect to her highly controlled performances.
Baby Boomers can’t help but want or expect Anderson’s to do the unplugged version of “Oh Superman” for her encore -- but, in fact, the piece performed with her two mighty horn players was by far the most engaging and melodic music of the entire performance.
David E. Moreno
¢ 2010.10.20
Two years ago in Campbell Hall at UCSB, Laurie Anderson, distressed over an America at war in Iraq, wondered whether we might just start over. But “oh, my brothers,” she intoned in “Homeland,” “oh, my sisters. How do we begin again?”
Back in Santa Barbara on Tuesday night, she repeated those lines in her latest work, “Delusion,” which Anderson will present again Thursday in Royce Hall at UCLA. “Homeland” (recently released on a Nonesuch CD) was Anderson unplugged, at least as far as multimedia was concerned. Puzzling over our state of affairs, she had come to see images, and our dependence on screens, as a distraction. She turned to narrative and music alone, sharing the stage with three backup musicians.
In “Delusion,” the screens were back. But as Anderson’s mood has turned darker and she has gone deeper and more inward, the beautiful, enveloping video helped keep us in touch with the outside world. Behind her was a cinema-sized backdrop, and three other surfaces of different shapes and materials –- including a sheet-draped settee -– were also used as screens. Anderson appeared alone, dressed in tight white shirt and loose skinny tie, looking both hip and vulnerable. She too, when she covered herself with a sheet, could become a video screen.
Over the years, Anderson has looked in corners, under the sofa so to speak, and at the broad countryside to reveal how we often fool ourselves. She has relied on razzle-dazzle media, Buddhist detachment, lush chordal music, polished stories and precisely modulated narration to remain an extraordinary outsider. Had she been a 19th century novelist in Russia or China, we’d be reading her offbeat tales to know how life then and there was lived.
But in Delusion,” Anderson turns inward. She can’t begin again without confronting endings. The delusions are the ones about dying and she poses questions. How are we to face up to the fact that we all fight a losing battle? Or, as Anderson asks about last words, “What are the things you say before you turn into dirt?”
Her mother’s last days, and her complex reaction to them in her dreams, are one theme. A tear, she says, “runs from my right eye because I love you. A tear runs from my left eye because I cannot bear you.” You don’t lie to someone who is dying, but what do you say? And, by the way, who owns the moon?
As always Anderson plays her electric violin and operates a synthesizer. Besides creating a cushion for narration, music here just as often takes over from talk. There are moments when Anderson hardly seems able to continue speaking and only the violin can continue the thread. The video, such as a stage encased in rain, provides visual mood music.
Anderson can, of course, still be wry and entertaining. Fenway Bergamot, her smarmy male alter ego created by lowering her voice through electronics, turns up. But even old Fenway appears to have developed a bit of an inner life.
To reveal too much would be to spoil amazement. A supreme dramatist, Anderson makes nearly every sentence a dramatic surprise, every visual image a bolt of wonderment. So I won’t complete her cute remark about punctuation.
A dramaturg, though, might suggest Anderson cut down on her own musical exclamation points. A crescendo rather than quiet contemplation of her profoundly illuminating reflections on how we die three times is the delusion of catharsis. If she hadn’t ended her show with a climax worthy of a Romantic-period symphony, she might have saved herself the necessity of a quiet violin solo as an encore.
But in this powerful, moving, incredibly rich work, Anderson has already stripped bare her –- and our –- deepest, most troubling communal delusions. Perhaps it is simply asking too much not to let her keep the comfort of an extraneous climax here and there.
-- Mark Swed
¢
IN ITS SECOND SEASON, ArtsEmerson has made a good thing happen with the Boston premier of Laurie Anderson’sDelusion, which runs through Sunday, October 2nd at the Paramount Center Mainstage.
While composed of newer material, Delusion is classic Anderson. Her honed performance style is so distinctive that everything she does seems to constitute a larger opus, and this is no exception. Being uniquely and recognizably Anderson, it’s simply too familiar to evoke surprise.
But it does astonish. There’s a reason why Anderson–unlike countless others who have tried–has successfully built a huge career on the once avant-garde quirkiness of talking in funny voices in front of video screens. The woman’s a genius.
This show uses four screens. One is the right size and shape to serve as a bench for Anderson to later sit. The others are larger, but even the largest screen is not so big as to dwarf the artist.
A few minutes into the orchestration, Anderson takes the stage. With her familiar cropped hair and mannish-clothes, she seems an instantly aged version of her impish 1980s self. At the proper moment, Anderson, electric violin in hand, opens with her trademark cadence intoning “I want to tell you a story…about…a story.”
A press release describes what follows as “a series of short mystery plays” although the division between individual vignettes isn’t always obvious. As telegraphed by the opening line about stories, Delusion goes on to explore the relationship between reality, representation and perception. This is nothing new for Anderson. Many of her works–such as last year’s Homeland–explore the social construction of reality on a national or global scale. But Delusion is more concerned with individual identity, memory, and emotion.
¢ Boston Premiere of Laurie Anderson’s “Delusion”
by JOHN STEPHEN DWYER on SEPTEMBER 28, 2011
Contrasted to Homeland, this new piece is also more melancholy. It’s awash in deep, interesting, Halloweeny sounds but anemic when it comes to hook-laden melodies. Here, Anderson dons no Great Dictator-esque mustache and eyebrows like she did in Homeland. But her vocal alter ego, long referred to as “the voice of authority,” is still prominently featured.
This male voice seems to have mellowed into a kinder entity over the decades, and it finally has a name, Fenway Bergemot (Boston connection unconfirmed), given to it by Anderson’s spouse Lou Reed.
For a “story about a story” there’s actually not a ton of narrative offered. Themes arch, but an arching narrative is absent, and the individual “plays” tend to to be cryptic and dreamlike. Anderson talks about the Russian space program, her dead mother, her supposed Hiberno-Scandinavian ancestry, and the belief in fey–but these wandering ruminations often trail off or blend into music.
In exploring this work’s themes such as loss and existential angst, Anderson remains one more concerned with raising topics and posing questions than dully suggesting answers.
As a result, Delusion is largely characterized by sounds, images and ideas divorced from context and necessitating audience members engaged enough to bring it all together (or not) in unique ways tailored for each individual in the moment. Anderson has indicated that Delusion is a work in process, and that narrative elements are becoming more explicit via these ongoing revisions.
But the aforementioned impressionistic interplay between artist and observer is the essential magic of artists like Anderson. Delusion, in its current form, probably has just the right measure of ambiguity for this process.
Delusion is an amazing and moving performance piece by an artistic legend, so be careful not to waste a ticket on someone who can’t handle its unconventional structure, 90-minute length, or lack of an intermission. For those who can, Delusion is a heady and satisfying experience.
** 其它作品
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