Author Archives: Edward Wren

About Edward Wren

Edward Wren is a theatre maker, performer, musician and puppeteer. Founded in 2007, his company The River People won a Total Theatre Award in 2009 and has since toured nationally and internationally.

The Perfect Cadence: Where Music Meets Theatre

I was never able to decide what I wanted to do more, music or theatre. I had been playing an instrument since I was about 9 years old, and I had played in the sort of band that took defiant pride in doing a good cover of Smells Like Teen Spirit. But I had also travelled with my family’s touring pantomime company since I was old enough to hold Cinderella’s glass slipper. To perform seemed natural. Well, to pretend to be deaf when a roomful of children shouted ‘It’s behind you!’ seemed natural. This indecision continued right up to the point of entering university, when I applied to do both theatre and music courses, at separate institutions, reasoning that fate would decide my path. Whichever calling wanted me, I would follow.

Theatre won the toss. And I went to Winchester to become an actor. But I couldn’t repress the desire to play music, and I spent nearly all of my first year in a punk-rock band, growing my hair and completing just enough assignments to pass my course. Acting seemed too pretentious to me then (I occasionally still suffer that feeling), and the cold analysis of old plays by long dead playwrights wasn’t able to satisfy the need I felt for self-expression. I would certainly have rather spent my time as a spectator drunkenly cheering and dancing at a music gig, instead of sitting silently in the dark pondering intellectual quandaries. Arguably I didn’t surround myself with enough good theatre as my folly and my youth urged me to rebel against the institution that theatre represented.

Dusty Preconceptions

There is no doubt in my mind however that many people share the misgivings of my younger self towards theatre; it certainly struggles with a ‘stuffy’ image. I often still wonder why it is that people will flock in their thousands to see a band play a gig, but companies can struggle to fill the smallest venue when they’re advertising theatre. And I think perception has so much to do with it: theatre can be dragged down by its reputation, in the minds of many, as boring, wordy, highbrow art that is more for ‘grown-ups’ than for all. But music has a much more youthful image, exciting and constantly evolving, that speaks to people from all backgrounds. Of course theatre can be all of those things too, but often only to those who work in it or have had regular exposure to its potential. At university I suffered that feeling of apathy towards theatre that plagues so many now, and it looked for a while like I would abandon it in favour of the more seductive mistress of music.

But then a new desire dawned upon me. I had come to terms with the colourful history in my family and I realised I needed to write a play about it. There was something that I needed to say, and the multi-faceted form of theatre was the only way I felt it could be said properly. So I began to write, and as the words came, the music came too.

So I wrote a play called The Ordinaries, a piece about a twisted bouffon family struggling to hide a secret, and I found a partner called Claire to make it with me. Together we formed The River People theatre company in my third year of university. The discovery of other companies such as Welfare State and Bread and Puppet at the same time accompanied a realisation that theatre could be just as exciting and ‘of the moment’ as music is. And my experience in music flourished within our productions as it provided a whole other layer for our storytelling.

With our second production Lilly Through the Dark, a macabre tale of a little girl searching for her father in the land of the dead, music became incredibly vital in my writing. The time spent looking confusedly at music scores in my A-Level paid off as I understood that theatre could be treated like a classical symphony. Each section needed its own rhythm and timbre; themes must be introduced and developed, contrasting shades of tone placed beside each other. It all amounted to the audience developing an understanding of the performance that went beyond the purely intellectual: I was able to bestow upon them a feeling. There is nothing more elusive to describe yet so distinctly clear as a feeling; we seem to understand them on some instinctive level. I realised that by combining music and text along with visuals I was able to transfer a feeling from myself into others, and that became the most rewarding part of my artistic endeavour.

My thoughts return there now as after a year’s break from making theatre I am writing once again. I’m writing a show called Rum Coves and Ragwater. It’s some sort of folky/piratey/cabaret show to be performed by The Waggon Band, which is the eight-piece stompy folk band that spawned as an off-shoot of The River People.

So I’ve been thinking about the unique nature of theatre that has music not just as one of its components but as an essential part of its dramaturgy. It’s an incredibly exciting genre that is breaking new ground and helping to pull theatre away from its dusty preconceptions. There are far too many great companies doing great work for me to hope to name them all, but groups such as Little Bulb, Milk Presents, and Rash Dash are not the least among them.

Walking the elusive line between music and theatre

It’s tricky though, getting the balance right. I want my own work to be fundamentally entertaining, a function that should be the first concern of every theatre-maker. (It seems pretty obvious but I’m amazed at how many seem to forget it.) But that doesn’t mean it can’t be meaningful. I want our audience to think as well as feel, so it should somehow have an application to them personally. I need to get it right, so I’ve been going to see lots of theatrical productions that are particularly music-centric. The problem I’ve often noticed is that the two components of music and theatricality can struggle to match each other: it’s often the case that one element has a stronger presence than the other. Of course there is constant crossover between the two in general within theatre. But when music is set up as a driving force in a theatre performance but is not balanced well in the dramaturgy then the whole thing quickly falls apart like a cake in the shower.

The genre has a wide spectrum and far be it from me to state what is right and wrong, but I have this magic moment in my head (which I have seen fleetingly in many productions) when the elements chime together just right and the music soars – it elevates our understanding of the action, unadulterated entertainment fuses with profound meaning, and the audience go nuts. It’s a moment we’ve perhaps touched on as a company but not something we’ve really nailed. It was in the ending of Lilly Through the Dark: when Lilly let go of the ribbon that held onto the moon, her acceptance of the loss of her father was underpinned by some sweet harmonious humming, a motif that had been building throughout the play. It was one of those moments, when it came off right, when I could feel the audience sharing in Lilly’s revelation. It’s that resonating feeling which we touched upon fleetingly that I’d like to have threaded throughout our new show. So I went out to see as much music/theatre as I could, seeking inspiration.

The Raun Tree, created by Dom Coyote, is an example of a great music gig with strong theatrical leanings. The apocalyptic fairytale is told through ten songs; the band more or less just play them through, and it is the lyrics and the progression of the music that tells the story. It’s the sort of show that, if you went to see it expecting a music gig, would impress you with the amount of theatricality within it. But if you went to see it expecting a theatre show, you would perhaps be disappointed by the lack of theatricality in the presentation. The music alone though evoked a clear feeling of the world Coyote was travelling through; its broad scale and haunting depths gave my ear so much to digest. But the images presented on stage couldn’t keep up with it, and it didn’t touch me as deeply as I wished.

The Tiger Lillies, who are among the legends of music/theatre for their much praised Shockheaded Peter in 1998, even walked the line between the two genres with mixed success in their recent production of Hamlet with Republique Theatre Company. The opening scene did make me gasp with sudden wonder (I’m not often a gasper), and for a few more moments throughout the play they nailed that elusive blend wonderfully. But sadly these moments were fleeting. The rest amounted to a high-quality production of Hamlet with the occasional appearance of the Tiger Lillies, who would perform their usual style of music, which offered a reflection on the themes in the piece but couldn’t drive it along. After a while, they even began to drag it down through their reluctance to provide effective storytelling in the music.

Where to lay the theatrical tracks?

The crux of the challenge is perhaps the decision of where to place the focus of the piece. What carries the performance? Is it the story? Is the story hidden in the songs, or is it in the text? Is the music the focus or does the music just serve to underpin the action? I think if this is clear from the outset then the experience comes together far better.

In Io Theatre’s production of The Snow Spider the focus was clearly on the ensemble storytelling. The music just served to underpin that, which is perhaps why it was so effective when you realised how brilliantly it was composed, and how the cast weaved it effortlessly into the story. It didn’t need to tell the tale itself, it just evoked a feeling and lifted my understanding of the piece to another level.

In a recent piece I collaborated on with the Flanagan Collective, Beulah, the style was very similar. The focus of the piece was the story, which was told didactically in the text. The songs we wrote to punctuate the narrative didn’t need to get any information across; they just needed to capture a feeling that would help to shade the story. By not placing it at the forefront, and gambling the show’s efficacy upon it, the music was able to exceed its expectations and elevate the experience.

Conducting the symphony

Of course it is far easier to compose music for others when you can build upon the themes they have created. It came together so easily in Beulah because all we had to do was be musicians and write some good songs. When I do it for myself I’m being a writer, a musician, a dramaturg and a critic all at the same time. The text spills out of my brain along with the music and the visuals; it’s sometimes hard to know where they should all go. Some sections of text will suddenly make much more sense as a song, and some bits of song sound so much better spoken, and indeed as Claire the co-artistic director of The River People often tells me, it’s sometimes best to shut up and let the images speak for themselves. All the while I’m trying to bottle that elusive feeling that I want to get across and constantly asking myself ‘Is it boring?’.

But we always say, once the script is written, we need a good frame. All productions need a good frame so the audience can understand immediately how to engage with it. The frame could be how storytellers or a narrator greet the audience, the setting or the staging – however we choose to present the first few moments of the piece. The frame might give the focus to the storytelling or the music, but whichever it is, it should be clear from the outset what element the audience should follow primarily. A good frame can make everything better.

But then the magic is created when the other elements are weaved together – how the components of the orchestra clash and build, working both individually and as a whole towards that moment of perfect cadence, where even the most resolute non-gasper can’t help but emit a pale breath. It’s the sort of moment all theatre-makers strive towards, but it seems so much more possible through the subtle alchemy of music and theatre.

So much so that I’m immensely glad my relationship to music and theatre developed as it did, in equal parts. It’s a very exciting area to be working in. I believe it’s the best chance that the theatre industry has to inject new life into an artform that carries the burden of its reputation and struggles to keep up as commercialism and technology expand our options for entertainment.

And as for my own work, I don’t doubt that I’ll crack it eventually. Through judicious application of a frame, a clear driving force, and careful crafting of all the components, one day I shall discover the right ingredients for that perfect cadence that I so emphatically seek.

Io Theatre Company: The Snow Spider

Io Theatre have brought together a stunning ensemble of musicians and performers to stage Jenny Nimmo’s novel The Snow Queen. The seven-person cast use captivating vocals, all kinds of percussion, a recorder, two violins, a clarinet, and even a full-size concert harp to tell the fantastical story of a boy who has inherited the craft of magic from his ancestors, members of the long line of ancient magicians that run through Welsh folklore.

The tight and talented cast are captivating from the beginning as they display the best of ensemble storytelling and bring to life characters that vary from wonderfully colourful to touchingly real. The music, directed by James Lark, really cannot be faulted. From the outset it carries the piece; the prominence of the harp sets a magical tone punctuated by mysterious lingering discords that really bring to life the majesty of the Welsh valleys where the piece is based. The vocal skills that the cast display go further in creating a magical resonance in the air. The lighting, designed by Pablo Fernandez Baz, also does an excellent job of reflecting the shifting mood of the piece as the main character Gwyn struggles to come to grips with his new-found powers.

But for all this skill on display, all the flashes of ingenuity in the direction by Delyth Jones, I still found myself struggling to keep up with the intricacies of the plot. Too much of the storytelling was focused on the characters simply discussing what was occurring. Arguably this is the challenge faced when adapting a novel, but there seemed to be some missed opportunities to tell the story in a more visual way. I also felt the piece was too long, and that the plot could have been simplified in order to create a more digestible experience. However, the children that sat in the row alongside me at no point lost interest, and even emitted a quiet shriek of excitement when the evil magician appeared towards the end as a towering dark figure.

In the over-saturated genre of children’s theatre it’s so refreshing to find a production of such high quality that never patronises and provides a memorable experience for its audience. With my minor quibbles aside, this really is excellent theatre that tells a complicated story very well. The talented cast weave magic into the air, creating a scintillating atmosphere that lingers and provides a thrilling backdrop to a fantastical story. Take your young ones and experience it yourself.

www.iotheatrecompany.co.uk

Compagnie MPTA / Mathurin Bolze: Du Goudron et des Plumes

Very occasionally, one will come across a piece of theatre that blows away all preconceptions of what a theatrical experience can be, a performance that occupies a special place in the mind of the observer and becomes a benchmark by which to measure all other experiences, often recalled and never forgotten.

Mathurin Bolze and his Compagnie MPTA have created nothing short of a masterpiece with Du Goudron et des Plumes, a blend of physical theatre, dance and circus which takes place on an awe-inspiring set that lifts, lowers, swings and turns. The piece has no words and no obvious narrative, it as rather an exploration of an incredibly unique space by five astonishing physical performers. But the playful way that the performers explore their surroundings allows the audience to place their own narrative on the piece. And the sheer disbelief fostered at the spectacle unfolding before my eyes left me content at times to abandon reason and simply enjoy the action, the like of which I have never seen before.

It begins gently as the set comes down from the ceiling and the performers explore their surroundings, which have a feel of a post-apocalyptic desert island. Relationships begin to evolve as they play with the most obvious areas of the space. The movement varies between bouts of frenetic energy similar to free running or capoeira, to tender tones of love or loneliness.

As the show develops the set slowly reveals more of its secrets, the performers begin to explore hidden areas above and below, and we’re treated to wonderful surprises. The set begins to swing and a whole new area of play opens up as the piece becomes mischievous; toying with our sense of relativity the performers stop suddenly on the floor while the set moves around them. Moving from mischief to rebellion, the laws of gravity are bent and broken as simple yet incredibly effective set pieces play with our perspective. One man stands on top of the set while another man stands upside down beneath him suspended by his feet, creating a bizarre reflection as they move in and out of time with each other.

A stunning shadow sequence takes the play into a whole other world as brown paper drops from beneath the set, and the performers scrabble around unseen beneath it. Shadows are thrown from alternating perspectives; images appear, fade and merge with each other. It’s all executed with such impeccable skill I couldn’t keep up with how they were doing it; it soon ceased to become shadow puppetry and began to look more like animation. Then the paper is recklessly torn and an atmosphere of destruction descends upon the castaways.

We begin to feel pangs of danger as a girl walks in high heels along the edge of the platform, occasionally slipping, seemingly tempted by the fall into oblivion, while the others begin to delight in disaster, creating havoc by destroying plasterboard. A lone trumpet begins the battle call as the set slowly tilts at a terrifying angle which looks as if it should throw them all off it. And as the pandemonium reached it’s zenith I was unable to stop myself from crying out an expletive as the girl grabs onto a rope and throws herself with wilful abandon from the fearful structure and swings high over the stage. Gradually the storm passes, the chaos subsides, and a calm comes across the stage once again. The characters begin to work together, moving the structure to their will and towards a common goal. And the piece finishes in a powerful image, unmistakably saturated in boundless hope.

I had to sit in my seat for a little while after it had finished to take it all in. Without any exaggeration, the most incredible thing I’ve witnessed in a theatre.

www.compagnie-mpta.com

Mojisola Adebayo and Mamela Nyamza: I Stand Corrected

A backdrop of jarred and splintered wood, set at odd angles across the back wall, and a thin gravel path leading to a gathering of dustbins at the side of the stage evokes the backstreets of Cape Town in the studio of the Oval House Theatre.

The lights come up on Mamela Nyamza, who appears suddenly, head down in a dustbin, her legs flailing out the top. Through a mesmerising movement sequence she struggles to find her way out and the piece begins. The story follows the fictional story of Charlie, played by Mojisola Adebayo and the sudden disappearance of her fiancé Zodwa, played by Nyamza, on their wedding day in Cape Town. The play explores the difficulties of being a black lesbian in South Africa, and is dedicated to the numerous lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and intersex people who have suffered hate, rape and murder.

With such a weighty subject matter Adebayo, who also created and directed the piece, does an excellent job of keeping the atmosphere light, and Nyamza’s dustbin choreography even injects a shade of dark humour in the early sections as she dances with the rubbish bin, copying poses from fashion magazines. Rajha Shakiry’s wonderfully sparse stage design does excellent work in evoking a strange atmosphere that feels both beautiful and dangerous, the splintered wood contrasting perfectly with the wedding dress seemingly suspended in midair by gold balloons.

Charlie addresses the audience as if they were the wedding party, apologising for her partner’s absence. The sold out audience were exceptionally warm to her advances and traces of dialogue began to form between her and the crowd, as they respond to her greeting in an African dialect, and offer pithy comebacks when she sets up a microphone stand and asks, ‘Am I straight?’

The weight, when it arrives, feels all the more heavy as a result as she begins to explain the response of the policeman to whom she reports Zodwa’s disappearance. Embodying the character very convincingly she relates his homophobic and hateful remarks. So begins a shift in the style of the piece, from the suggestive and reflective movement sequences of the first half, to the aggressive and didactic approach Adebayo adopts when she tackles the hatred that lies in the play’s heart.

The shift in tone is not a comfortable one: as she refers to herself in the most hateful terms imaginable it is a far cry from the beautiful wedding imagery we have so far enjoyed. But I suspect this is the aim of such aggressive presentation, to make the audience squirm, to present them with the stark reality of the vicious intolerance that some gay people face.

For Adebayo is preparing us for the cruel end that claimed the life of Charlie’s fiancé at the climax of the story. She presents the facts plainly, as they are, with no need for representation or interpretation. And the grim reality, which was then contrasted by a beautiful movement sequence ending in a tender kiss, left an audience member beside me in floods of tears. And the standing ovation they received at the end was testament to the validity that the piece held with the audience. A powerful and effective piece of theatre that is tackling important issues with both artistic flair and determined force

Andrew Poppy: Shiny Floor Shiny Ceiling

In Shiny Floor Shiny Ceiling Andrew Poppy has created a piece of abstract experimental music theatre described in the programme as: ‘An opera entertainment, 9 songs in search of a territory, 7 voices in search of a song.’ It is more of a concert than a theatrical performance: Poppy provides vocals for much of it, donning dark sunglasses in a spot on centre stage. Other songs are sung by guests, introduced by Poppy, or by video projection which is cast onto a gauze at the front of the stage. The minimalist music he creates walks in the footsteps of composers such as John Cage and takes its place proudly at the far edge of what is popular, challenging listeners’ conceptions of what music should be and how it is put together.

It begins with an abstract collage that consists of snippets of spoken words set to sparse music; the jagged rhythms and dissonance have a feeling of jazz or beat poetry. It feels very inaccessible to an audience member with little to no experience of minimalist composition and the whole thing has an air of pretension, certainly not helped by the dark sunglasses that Poppy chooses to wear when he speaks into the microphone.

The individual songs that follow do not help the atmosphere of pretence that is fostered from the beginning. The titles given to each song are nearly incomprehensible and do little to help our understanding of the themes being presented. The more memorably cryptic among them were ‘The seamstress of the corridor’ and ‘Henry fortune, the lucky horse’.

Consequently I very quickly lost any ability to apply meaning to the performance and found myself distanced. Adding further to my dissatisfaction was the music itself, which was unfortunately not to my taste at all. Each song followed the same formula of sparse instrumentation, weird dissonant synthesised sounds, a reluctance to keep to a regular rhythm, and a frustrating tendency to repeat the title of the song over and over; it was all reminiscent of the worst that the 80s had to offer. I might have been able to enjoy watching the music being created live but only a few piano parts were played by Poppy on stage; the rest was recorded – including one aggravating moment when a singer called ‘The Ghost of Rilke’ mimed along to a recording. With no degree of skill. In fact the miming was so bad I became convinced it must have been a specific choice by the director. But the programme had no director credited, and this I feel is at the root of the problem. The abstract ideas are perhaps credible as individual pieces but they do not come together at all well in a theatrical context.

The projections which at first seemed so promising soon suffer from repetition, each one using the same ‘photo negative’ effect, and they lose all their potential to provide any interesting moments. I had hoped that the performers on stage would interact with them somehow, or that they would be used to deepen our understanding of the meaning of the songs. But each one played out the same and they soon became frustrating to watch.

However much it jarred with me personally it is undeniable that there is much skill on display here. The piece is very professionally produced: the lighting, designed by Marty Langthorne, is very good, and all the performers are notably skilful in their execution – particularly Margaret Cameron who delivered an excellent vocal performance as Persephone.

But by the end I’d little patience left. Experimental theatre is important; it can help to push the boundaries of what a theatrical experience can be. But it should still leave an opening for the audience to place their understanding. Without the possibility to derive any meaning, however subjective, the experience is incomplete and any lasting impact on the audience is irredeemably diminished.