Having kept the electronics on a very tight leash in L’œuvre au noir, James Dillon reins them in almost completely in the seventh work of the Nine Rivers cycle, éileadh sguaibe. Like its predecessor, the work was also commissioned for the Paragon Ensemble, who gave the first performance in January 1991. The title, in Scots Gaelic, approximates to “gathered up in pleated folds”, referencing the kilt and serving as a descriptor for Dillon’s manipulation of material, which he has described as “folding sound”. The electronics, as i’ve said, are negligible, so the piece is simply heard as one for brass septet and percussion. Despite éileadh sguaibe‘s brief duration (about which more later), Dillon establishes a fascinating relationship between these two groups, which in many ways feels like a continuation from L’œuvre au noir (and almost sounds like a larger incarnation of Richard Barrett’s superb piece for trombone and percussion, EARTH); in part, it’s inspired by this stanza from Rimbaud’s La Bateau ivre:

I, who trembled, hearing at fifty leagues off
The moaning of the Behemoths in heat and the thick Maelstroms,
I, eternal spinner of the blue immobility,
Miss Europe with its ancient parapets!
(translation by Wallace Fowlie)

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The third and final part of James Dillon’s Nine Rivers bears the subtitle ‘Melanosis’, another reference to alchemy, this time ‘blackening’. This is, in fact, the first of the three stages of the alchemical process; Dillon began with the middle stage (leukosis), followed by the final stage (iosis), so the connection he’s making is not a straightforward one. The connotations of ‘melanosis’ (also known as nigredo) are rich and thought-provoking, implying a cleansing kind of disintegration which has a psychological/spiritual parallel in the ‘dark night of the soul’. This is overwhelmingly emphasised in the sixth work of Nine Rivers, L’œuvre au noir. That title—usually translated as ‘The abyss’—comes from a 1968 novel by the Belgian writer Marguerite Yourcenar, in which she sought to allude to “what is said to be the most difficult phase of the alchemist’s process, the separation and dissolution of substance” (from the book’s introduction). This is intense, rather daunting stuff, and a quick glance at the instrumentation of Dillon’s piece makes it clear that this abyss is one into which he intends to dive headlong. L’œuvre au noir is scored for bass flute, bassoon/contrabassoon, tenor-bass and bass trombones, harp, 2 cellos and a double bass—notwithstanding some higher pitched doublings and percussion (plus a live electronic component), this is an utmost dark, bass-heavy ensemble; ‘noir’ is right. Read more

The opening three works in the Nine Rivers cycle alternate between homogeneous and variegated timbral groupings; the fourth piece, La femme invisible, continues this using a mixed ensemble comprising the three percussionists from L’ECRAN joined by a piano and wind octet (two each of flutes, oboes, clarinets and saxophones, with assorted doublings). Dillon completed the work in 1989, and it was first performed in June of that year by Music Projects/London under Richard Bernas’ direction, and they subsequently recorded the piece for inclusion on the same CD as East 11th St; to date, they’re the only works from Nine Rivers to have been commercially recorded.

While not wishing to get too analytical, one unavoidable aspect is the audibly clear way that Dillon has constructed La femme invisible. There are 10 sections, each of which is initiated in the same way, with a loud strike on a suspended C# bell. The sections are organised with equal clarity, from a small number of basic structural components, which i would characterise as follows:

• cadenzas – which always follow the bell strike, a highly florid, rhythmically diverse tutti occupying a single bar of around 10-13 quavers (♩=66)
• tuttis – of varying length, usually relatively short and always rapid, in which rhythmic similarities are commonplace (♩=168)
• trios – slow, lengthy episodes involving smaller chamber groupings, containing some of the work’s most lyrical material; percussion is always involved (♩=40)
• ‘stases‘ – brief moments when the music slows almost to a stop, during which sustained notes (sometimes ornamented) are played (♩=26)

Not all the sections in La femme invisible make use of all these components—the sixth section consists of just the cadenzas—but most use at least two. Such overt construction as this is interesting in light of the first line of the relevant stanza from Rimbaud’s Le Bateau ivre:

At times a martyr weary of poles and zones,
The sea, whose sob created my gentle roll,
Brought up to me her dark flowers with yellow suckers
And I remained like a woman on her knees…
(translation by Wallace Fowlie)

“Poles and zones” would be a rather fitting description of La femme invisible, and i wonder whether the eponymous boat’s weariness is reflected in the somewhat repetitive manner with which the piece unfolds. The unrelenting bell notes, always C#, certainly become wearying—or, at least, feel increasingly oppressive—although the content of the work’s modules continues to change and vary throughout. But it would be difficult to describe this as ‘progress’ or ‘development’; perhaps the strongest analogy would be variations, not so much on a theme as on a variety of behaviours, which are subsequently revisited, reimagined and reordered (one thinks of Birtwistle’s Endless Parade, examining a common idea from a number of discrete vantage points). In its own way, this too could be heard to contribute to the aforementioned ‘weariness’, but if that sounds slightly defeatist, it’s simply due to the fact that La femme invisible is a decidedly difficult work to get a grip on; despite the clarity of its structure, and indeed its familiarity (the CD has been available for almost 20 years), the work still seems as impenetrable as ever—fascinating but enigmatic, allusive yet elusive.

La femme invisible brings the first part of Nine Rivers, ‘Leukosis’, to an end. In last year’s world première it was performed by members of the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra (supplemented by a number of ‘guest’ players), conducted by Jessica Cottis.

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Following the large-scale “triumphant hubbub” that is East 11th St NY 10003, the second work in James Dillon’s Nine Rivers halves the number of percussionists and adds six violins. L’ECRAN Parfum (‘SCREEN perfume’) was composed in 1988, and received its first performance the following spring by the Oslo Sinfonietta. At 10 minutes’ duration, it’s the shortest piece in the cycle, but there’s absolutely nothing slight about it; on the contrary, L’ECRAN Parfum is a searing demonstration of Dillon the dramaturgist, cramming into its brief span a bewildering and almost infeasibly intense dramatic outpouring. In his programme note, Dillon demarcates the piece in two parts, one “constructed around the continuous iteration of three superposed prototypical forms of pattern — spirals, meanders and branching”, the other “constructed upon the iteration of a single texture, gradually altered by a continuous ‘rallentando’”. He also quotes another stanza from Rimbaud’s Le Bateau ivre, continuing from the previous one:

The storm blessed my sea vigils.
Lighter than a cork I danced on the waves
That are called eternal rollers of victims,
Ten nights, without missing the stupid eye of the lighthouses!
(translation by Wallace Fowlie)

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