Brian Slattery Photos
Conor Perreault, part of the Volume Two collective that runs Never Ending Books, was seated at an organ in the State Street space. He let out a long, low bass note from the instrument’s foot pedals.
“You’re all set,” said Tim, a musician who was setting up a laptop rig. “Get a brick.”
Perreault left the room for the yard behind Never Ending Books, and in fact returned with a brick, which he placed on the pedal. The sound went on and on.
“Fantastic,” Tim said.
The two musicians were among a small, dedicated group who gathered at Never Ending Books on Saturday afternoon for the space’s Drone Workshop, billed with the tagline “Bring your instrument. Play a note. Hold it.”
Perreault was there to co-host the event with Kip Wilson of the New London Drone Orchestra, which describes itself as “s protean collective that manifests sustained, layered, gradually evolving, timeless sound.” The New London crew and Perreault had teamed up before in July to produce drone music at Never Ending Books. Saturday was to be “another trip to the Drone Zone.” The instructions were to “bring yerself and a soundmaking device [e.g. a musical instrument*] and we’ll all make drone music together. There will be some scores and exercises to help things along. No opportunity necessary, no experience needed.” Following the asterisk led to the caveat that the soundmaking device “doesn’t have to be a musical instrument.”
Wilson had brought a speaker that was receiving signals, they explained, from synthesizers hooked up to sensors on the Hudson River that were translating wind and water conditions into sound. They turned on the speaker, which began to emit a low thrum with longer, distant notes rising out of it. “It kind of goes nuts at sunrise and sunset, but right now it’s kind of mellow,” they said. “Enjoy.”
Perreault took his station at the organ. “Feel free to start when you’re ready,” he said. Other participants had brought a singing drum, an accordion, recorders, and electronics. Tim, at his laptop, added to the Hudson River soundscape with whooshing sounds that faded in and out. The accordionist responded with long, shimmering notes out of the bellows. A singer added her voice. The recorder joined in, as did this reporter on violin. The music started serene, but climbed in pitch, reaching a keening intensity. Somehow we all knew when to end.
“That went very nicely,” Wilson said. The participants agreed to keep the doors open; the street noise felt like part of the workshop too. “Sirens!” Tim said. “All ambient sounds welcome.”
Wilson asked each participant to introduce themselves and say a little about what drone music meant to them. They went first. “Drones for me lately have been a way to control time,” they said. “When we play this music together, we go into a different place, and a different time.”
Ben, from New Haven, echoed Wilson’s sentiments, saying drone music “calms me down.” He also saw the workshop as a chance to try out the recorder he’d been practicing on. “It’s been cool learning a new instrument,” he said.
“The reason I came today is to interact on a sonic level with human beings,” Tim said. Meanwhile, like Ben, Lauren saw the workshop as a chance to try something new. “I got this accordion last year but have only played it in front of Ben,” they said. “But I can hold a note.”
“That’s why I started with the New London Drone Orchestra,” Wilson said with approval.
Amy came for “the meditation,” she said, citing jazz musician Chick Corea’s idea to “hear the note before you play it.” Danielle, the singer, was “always looking for ways of controlling my breath,” she said. She also “loved the feeling of floatingness” that came about from participating in drone music. “I feel like I’m the laziest,” she said, for singing rather than playing an instrument.
“Or the bravest,” Perreault said. For himself, playing drone music was another way to improve as a musician. “Someone said to me, ‘Start before you’re ready,’ ” he said. He passed that encouragement on to the workshop participants. “Everyone’s invited. Everyone gets to do their thing. It fits the ethos of this space one for one.
Wilson suggested the group try a musical idea from composer Pauline Oliveros. “Wait until a note appears in your consciousness,” they said. “Sing the note sweetly,” whatever the word “sweetly” meant to the singer, using all the breath available in the lungs. Then “join a note that someone else is singing.” Then alternate between the two. The group tried it. Chords shifted and moved in the air, sometimes with the purity of Gregorian chant, sometimes with the density of jazz. Tonalities were found, moved away from, and found again, until an ending felt right.
“That felt good,” Perreault said.
“We should do that a lot,” Ben said. “Maybe try it on a bus sometime.” The others laughed.
Perreault then had a idea to try: Each participant would think of a note and a number between 1 and 10. At the drop of a hat, each would then play their note that number of times. The group tried it. It seemed promising. So we tried the same idea with two notes. That went even better.
“We could do three,” one participant said.
“What is this, jazz?” Perreault joked. The group settled on three notes, repeated as many times as they felt. The music bloomed in the space and finished.
Wilson then had the idea to split the group into three smaller units, the general idea being that each group would create a sound to pass along to the next group. We began. Sound shifted to sound, voice to voice. Then, without needing a prompt, all the musicians began playing again. This time, however, the texture was different. One group of musicians latched onto the general idea of creating short, repeating patterns of notes and rhythms, while another made long, languid tones. The music moved slowly and quickly; it was energetic and peaceful, urgent and serene. Once again, we all seemed to know when to end.
“I forgot that was the one that started with three groups,” Danielle said at the end.
“The group consciousness took over,” Wilson said.
“I didn’t know if we were supposed to stay in our groups,” another participant said.
“I think we did it right,” Lauren said.
To check out upcoming events at Never Ending Books, visit its website.
