#rccworld

RCC’s production this year was unexpectedly simple. Silence of the Heavens is a depiction of an idyllic pond, inhabited by dragonflies and lotus leaves. The movements and music by the members vividly illustrate the brief moments in time as the sunlight breaches the clouds, dragonflies dart about, and lotus buds delicately bloom. That’s it. RCC’s straightforward show this season can simply be summed up using a few succinct sentences.

Yet somehow, when I watched this performance live, it left such a profound influence on me, of which I never experienced before in a winter drumline show (and very rarely in any piece of contemporary art for that matter). This impact was not created in spite of the shows simplicity, but rather because of it. By surrendering to the show’s simplicity, I discovered insurmountable complexity.

For a show ostensibly about tranquility, one would think of adjectives such as “still”, “calm”, or even “spiritual”, and the opening does seem to follow that spirit. As soon as the members finish setting up, a solemn tone fills the stadium. The members on the floor enter a deep bow while sitting in seiza. Their costumes are vibrant, warm and inviting. The music begins with a lone timpanist and a hollow sample from the synth. As the rest of the front ensemble enters and the battery begins to move, we feel a beautiful melody slowly rise from the vibes, we hear a narrator describing the water and it’s inhabitants, we see delicate movements from the battery as they imitate a water’s ripple, curl up to resemble an insect egg, personify a dragonfly, and longingly reach for the heavens.

However, the audience is never allowed to settle into this depiction of tranquility, the tone shifts as our previous illustration of serenity becomes disrupted. Instead of the soft gentle tenor moment, we witness rhythmically and emotionally intense snare features. Instead of poignant meditative body language, we experience chaotic and high velocity movements from the members. The lilypads stable foundation is disturbed as the members imitate thrashing waves and scatter them throughout the floor. Instead of the delicate melodic climb, we hear a flurry of mallet runs played at aggressive heights. Then, just as sudden as the transition into this thematically antithetical tone, we abruptly shift styles again, re-entering the picturesque view of serenity.

As the production progresses, more contradictory ideas can be seen strewn together as if completely natural. Musically, there is the stark contrast from the playful and rhythmic second movement of Maurice Ravel’s Piano Trio Pantoum to the heavy and poignant third movement Passacaille. Visually, there are a collection of small moments that silently sow the seeds of contrary notions: members emulate the sporadic and restless movements of dragonfly while adjacent to the still and patient lilypads, body lines depicting the rigid lines of wings smoothly transforms into the soft curves of leaves, the floor’s density continually changes (quickly transitioning to and from a boisterous floor to one bereft of life) as members move around the lilypads. The cymbal players transition from their loud and rigid metal on metal technique to a feature that communicates through expansive and delicate motions by replacing one cymbal with a wooden stick. Even within the show’s title, the word “silence” seems at odds with the typical characteristics of any form of musical production.

Of course, contrast isn’t anything new. It is a common tool that not only creates excitement for the audience, but also allows the performers to display their range of musical and visual competence to the judges. But there is a key difference in how RCC uses this contrast. Silence of the Heavens dances at the intersection of juxtaposition, making unannounced grand jetés to and from the seemingly incompatible. The shifts in mood defies expectation, unafraid to completely ignore the motifs the performers were actively setting mere seconds before. Yet, most importantly, all of this is happening under the guise of the same theme, as if there is no disparity occurring whatsoever.

As the dull green lilypads turn over to reveal vivid pink flowers, the bass drums are quietly placed on the ground off in a corner of the floor; the members tilt their head down, respectfully bowed, as if the sacred spirituality of the moment demands their humility. Next, one of the most awe-inspiring bass features I’ve ever seen comes to life, as the members skillfully and casually display their technical prowess. The tenors join in to aid and cooperate in this moment as split singles cavort from drum to drum. Finally, the feature decelerates and diminuendos to a halt, ending just as modestly as the feature began. This must be the true essence of “purity”, just like the narrator dictated. But immediately after, there is a minute-long snare feature. The snareline initially seemed to follow the established demeanor of the bassline, but slowly, this moment transforms into an overt display of self-assertion and swagger (as far away from any hint of modesty and humility). Not only is this shift unmotivated, the narrator continues to describe this segment as uniformly as the one that came before; his booming voice echoes throughout the venue: “beauty, serenity”.

While some of the contrasting ideas are more drastic than others, all of these narrative devices establish an extremely conflicting sentiment. To say that this left an unsettling feeling in me is a vast understatement. I fell deeper and deeper into this jarring dissonance; my idle spectating became an internal struggle, begging for any modicum of consistency or meaning. This internal strife voraciously grew, consuming every single one of my sense up until...

Silence. Silence disseminated throughout the stadium. The battery stripped their instruments, their bodies free of those tools that so easily sowed the seeds of disparity. Sounds of water penetrated the air. The members coalesced into a lotus bud, to actively craft one final blossoming. 

As if nothing at all had happened, the lotus bud quietly waited for it’s moment to blossom. In such noble decorum, I can sense the silent music of the heavens.

The emotional instability carefully crafted since the beginning of the show was swiftly purged in those last few seconds. The narrator’s words were straightforward yet cathartic, the silence uncanny yet welcoming, the lotus flower indifferent yet purposeful. As I sat in awe, I realized how limited my world-view was compared to one of a simple lotus bud. Where I saw inconsistency, the lotus bud saw normalcy. Where I saw disarray, the lotus bud saw opportunity. Despite all of the discrepancies that were transpiring within this pond, the lotus bud patiently waited and fulfilled its purpose. It was beautiful.

With RCC, I discovered a repudiation of my myopic perspective of life. I continually tried to find the causal mechanism behind the dramatic shifts, but instead, I should have been striving to understand the relationships between these contrasting tones. Peace is not the absence of strife, but found through realizing the inextricable nature of calm and chaos; it’s about acknowledging that the inevitable triumphs and tragedies that consume us are one and the same. Presence is not found by always looking towards the next thing, greedily coveting pleasure; it’s found by fully living in the moment, expecting anything and nothing at the same time. Fulfillment is not the single minded pursuit of happiness; it’s strengthened by actions that precipitates great suffering as well. Meaning is not crafted in spite of death; it’s produced and pursued because of the ephemerality of existence. Learning how to die is the equivalent of learning how to live. This is the essence called life.

When I first began hearing about RCC’s show and seeing snippets online, I initially thought that the show would portray some ancient tribe or clan that was entrusted with the duty to guard trees and preserve balance. This is likely influenced by the few moments where the members would depict archaic rituals that seemed to illustrate a religion devoted to venerable trees. But when I was able to watch the show in it’s entirety, I began to believe that the so-called “Guardians of the Breath” are simply just the trees themselves.

The tree motif can be seen throughout the production. In the opening scene we see the trees in the back corner with the members sprawled through the ground as a metaphor for the trees’ roots entrenched in the earth. They contort and shape their bodies slowly and deliberately as the first sample plays. When the front ensemble enters, the movements become more sporadic and the members begin to spring to life. We see members use their legs to symbolize twigs and branches sprouting out of the surface. Slowly more and more members are able to get to their feet; the unison impact everybody is standing fully upright. This whole process mirrors the early life cycles of a tree; demonstrating how trees are able to grow and flourish from the surfaces of the earth.

The first spoken sentence guides the viewer to the perceived significance of the guardians. “They have been here for ages…”. It speaks of the timeless nature of the trees from the narrators/viewers perspective; the trees have been existent far longer than imaginable. But since the trees have been a constant attribute to the planet, this sentence could also be interpreted that the guardians are likely taken for granted. We may still appreciate them from time to time, when it is convenient for us, but we do not fathom the sense of weight and importance of these trees. The guardians are seen as unchanging, unfailing, able to withstand the passage of time; this may lead to the wrong conclusion, that our choices and consequences can do little to change that fact. We see the trees packed closely together in the back corner, away from the foreground. They remain still, solemn, untouched and untarnished.

In the second movement we begin to see the manipulation of the trees. They spread out and their presence is now at the forefront. This new attention is not benevolent as the members wade through the trees, uproot and displace them, and even strike at the guardians with their sticks; the trees are now being seen as resources to be hacked and chopped. The music begins to quicken in pace; the atmosphere feels frantic and the drill is demanding. The trees are stripped further away and spread throughout the floor; what once was a dense and firm ecosystem becomes sparse and thin. It is still known that the guardians are necessary, but not enough is being done. The drumline stops playing and circle towards a lone tree. There is a strong effort to help that single tree thrive, but this miniscule act is insufficient to change the current tide. At the concluding moment of the movement, as the wind howls a cacophonous chord, we see the another tree fall; this marks the beginning of the consequences given the choices made.

In the next movement we start off with a solemn piano playing in the background. The trees are now just remnants of their former glory. The words “battered and bruised”, “abused by our own choices”, “storm clouds gathered in the sky” are echoed through the sound system. Here is the turning point of the show as everybody pulls together to try to change the tide. The music turns hopeful; the members’ understanding, deeper appreciation and their sense of responsibility to the guardians are now easily visible. Hopefully it is not too late. There is a powerful resolve to start fresh; the members assemble together to try to make amends. The last image is a young tree standing tall as the members are scattered around it, back to their roots.

An obvious interpretation of the show would be a message of the tragedy of the commons, a story of the tragic deforestation of a limited resource everybody relies on due to our own choices. This is an important issue that I believe needs to be put into the spotlight, but as I watched the show live I began to have a different interpretation. I began to deeply question what the trees represent; this show about trees didn’t seem to be just about trees anymore. This thought began to manifest itself during the powerful turning point of the show, when Adam Watt’s “Life on Earth” was sampled. An overwhelming sense of introspection overtook me as I intently observed the closer; an inspiring feeling kindled inside myself that I could not explain. The previous performances I watched were all of high caliber, but none captivated me to contemplate my own choices, my own life during the performance. It was an astonishing show.

I couldn’t fully account for what triggered the excitement of feelings. Later I discussed with some of the performing members and the staff, but I was still unable to find words to describe the profound effect. It wasn’t until later, as I began to listen to the referenced song, “Life on Earth”, was I able to draw a more satisfying explanation. What I did notice was that the lyrics used, as well as the song itself, has nothing to do with deforestation or trees at all. I could sit here and dissect the entire song, but just the chorus should be fine for the purposes of this post. The chorus summarizes the intent of the song succinctly; part of it was sampled in the closer, but the show did not use it in it’s entirety.

This is life on earth. You live then you die. I wanna know it’s worth. I wanna know the reasons why Life on earth Gets me down Unless I understand It’s supposed to hurt. This is life on earth.

The rest of the chorus changes the meaning of the resolution quite drastically. One could argue that since the design staff chose to only use a select portion of the lyrics then the interpretation should only utilize the chosen content, but I always believed that the context is equally as vital to understand the true meaning in any work of art. The sample ends with the line “Life on earth”, but that isn’t even the end of the sentence, it’s an incomplete thought. The full chorus describes an attempt to define and understand life, one that is a downtrodden life, intentionally painful. This doesn’t seem to be a narrative just describing the tragedy of the commons, but one that describes the tragedy of self.

“This is life on earth. You live then you die. I wanna know it’s worth.” This line can be related directly to the fact that tree’s give life. They produce the air we breath, they give us the possibility of life on earth. Trees create a solid foundation that constructs the environment that allow us to not only live, but allows us to give life meaning. The trees symbolize our support system in life. This aspect is open for interpretation, dependent on the viewer. It could be family, spirituality, religion, or any pillar of life that provides essential support that has been present throughout your life on earth.

“Unless I understand it’s supposed to hurt”. Could it be that the strife, the destruction brought upon the guardians, or our support system, is inevitable? This isn’t a simple story of “don’t harm the trees”; these trees were always meant to become desecrated and abused. It is an inevitable cycle that occurs on earth. This cycle motif can also be seen throughout the show. When the members pay tribute to the trees the drill forms a rotating sequence that is repeated multiple times. Many of the body movements throughout the show, especially the beginning and ending charts, utilize revolving motions and cyclical body shapes. The way the show ends mirrors the beginning, with the foreboding opening sample which is reiterated for emphasis as the members lay on the ground repeating the slow and deliberate contortions. This cycle, the mistreatment of the trees and the need for rebirth, continues throughout the ages.

This is a lesson of perseverance. Of being able to acknowledge and deal with hardships regarding matters we deem vital through self-reflection and revitalization. We need to be able to understand how we define our support system and to appreciate our pillars no matter if it is a peak or a valley. It is expected to use and expend our support system, but the support system itself needs aid just as we do. And finally, it is inevitable that we make repeated imperfect choices throughout our lives which will leave us battered and bruised, but how we deal with it is the true meaning of life on earth.