Reichian

 

Hospital in May

A little night music strums the inner ear courtesy of composer Steve Reich and his rich rare friends, magical notes every one through the Spotify tube. I hear curious resonances from the days in care, things that go bump in the night. Music for Nine White Tablets in a Paper Thimble, for example, rattles their condition signifiers, loud clicks that pop inside the very brain methinks. Ambient rush of iced water, one mouthful, sends the music down the throat for hours of almost Mozartian pain relief. This music, for which we may send out a small ovation of thanks. Melbourne water, only the best. Don’t say it, spray it. Music for Corridor of Beeping Monitors, the permanent Reichian 4/4 beep at one pace and tone for the entire sequence sets a sort of dripfeed drone as other monitors beep in and out of tempo to the main drive, at least one beep set to draw in thin air the Fibonacci Sequence. Fandom will discern something more than the random. Music for Name, Date of Birth, and Allergies. This repetition masterpiece goes for several days, each performance the length of one patient’s hospital stay. The best way to appreciate the work is to do it yourself. Nurses and doctors at any moment, from admission through to discharge, ask you for your name, date of birth and allergies. Seems simplicity itself. Reich said the same in a recent interview. Reviewers are divided as to whether the effects fall into the category of euphoria or delirium. Music for Deep Breath and Oxygen Tube, in which deep breaths in and out again, in and out again, in and out again restore the collapsed lung, all the while interspersed with cheerful little bubbles of oxygen regularly spurting into nostrils. For further information, listeners are directed to Reich’s seminal lecture ‘The Flow is Going, the Level is Right, the Air is Breathing : Thinking about Oxygen is the Way We Think about Time.’ Music For Blood Pressure Cuff, Thermometer, and Stethoscope utilises these classical instruments of the repertoire into a surging rising and falling heartbeat rhythm, transforming the regular hourly check-up into a percussive anthem that you don’t want to stop. Music for Disposable Medical Gloves. This gem from the Reich back catalogue enjoys a well-deserved revival. Purple gloves, and blue, are thwacked into shape, blown open for palm and fingers, stretched with those stretchy latex sounds, smoothed like the sea, readjusted squeakily, for each new procedure of the visit. Each procedure is subtly different from every other procedure, their repetitions different in every case. Job done, the team of glovers strip their instruments from their hands, rummage them into gaia balls, pop in a bin. Asked about the meaning of this work, Reich replied with his trademark laidback good humour, “It’s simplicity itself.”