Traipsing Through John Luther Adams’s Inuksuit in Rochester, NY [VIDEO]

On Sunday, September 15, a contingent from the Eastman School of Music performed John Luther Adams’s 2009 work Inuksuit, an immersive soundscape written for anywhere from nine to 99 percussionists. Presented at High Falls in Rochester as part of Greentopia, this version featured 40 to 50 musicians, by my estimate.

My primary intention here is to share my personal experience with the piece, as documented in the video excerpts below (apologies in advance for the occasional intrusion of my fingers upon the footage!)

As for a written commentary, I think that Inuksuit–and other compositions written with an outdoor setting in mind–are particularly poignant for the ways that they foster a renewed sense of self-awareness in the listner, in relation to the sounds she hears. In other words, a composition in which the listener is not only free, but encouraged to walk among the performers as he wishes promotes a more active listening.

The danger of feeling tethered to the seat in the concert hall, subtly restricted to a single, static aural vantage point is averted. Rather than having the decidedly more passive experience of “sitting through a performance,” which might otherwise result in a profound sense of complacency, the audience is given the opportunity to “traipse through the sound.”

No one listener’s experience is identical. One’s exact hearing of the piece is predicated on where the music compels you to be, and on the particular sounds to which you choose to listen. In one of the composition’s most volatile moments, I had the immediate and visceral experience of cymbals thrashing wildly in front of me. Simultaneously, I had the secondary recognition of insistent toms, and the tertiary experience of wailing air raid sirens. I was acutely aware of my ability to alter the texture of the piece, and in some way the character of the music, solely based on where my ears told me to wander. My physical location caused the perception of the dynamics of certain instruments to change accordingly, and the layers of the orchestration shifted.

Ultimately, I felt as if the composer had given me the gift of autonomy. I was enabled to access the music on my own terms, and in my own time. But with this freedom seemed to come a greater responsibility: the charge to truly listen.