In 1996 my group had a week-long residency in eastern Berlin, and throughout the week a parade of characters came and went - high-end and refined conceptualist sound artists mostly, like Zbigniew Karkowski and a pair of handsome guys from Survival Research Laboratories and so on. But there was one 'old' guy there all week who we had no idea who he was or what he was doing there - he said his name was Charlemagne Palestine and he could talk like five New York jews at once, always smiling, always colourfully dressed, always accompanined by a few stuffed toys and often a bottle of red wine. We just assumed he was some guy who 'split from the whole fucking programme' in the 70s and ended up in amongst a bunch of German hippies. Twelve years later, I finally found out who he really is...

The UK premiere of his piece Schlingen Blangen, a six-hour solo work for organ, was held in St. Giles-In-The-Fields church - in the no-man's land between Neal St., Denmark St. and Charing Cross Rd. St. Giles was the patron saint of outcasts, so as we wait for the church doors to open at 4 pm it seems appropriate that together with a rag tag of minimalist music fans hanging around the churchyard, a soup-kitchen van is doing good business for the assembled homeless, who chat aimiably, ask what we're doing here and cadging cigarettes where possible.

My main concern before this concert is "SIX HOURS???!!!"

As we go into the church Palestine is already in the early stages of Schlingen Blangen, a quiet two-note held chord that over the next 6 hours gradually increases in complexity, intensity and volume. Once you spot the fluttering, running melodies created by the interraction of the overtones and harmonics, it's difficult to know if one is listening to a drone-chord or Art Tatum practicing his scales on amphetamine. It only takes about 15 minutes to realise that most of the musicality of Minimalism is created in the brain of the listener (I realise I've been listening to Reich, Glass, Young etc. for years but obviously never loud or concentratedly enough to 'get it' fully)

And so it builds and builds and builds and builds, the church becomes the speaker cabinet, every organ pipe a seperate synthesizer. At various points I'm hearing the complete works of Popol Vuh simultaneously, swarms of violas and double bass resonating through the wooden pews, a two-note motif every 30 minutes of so becomes a mighty riff worthy of Angus Young (no relation of LaMonte), different notes and intervals appear as you walk around or move your head from side to side. Palestine is gradually working up into a swaying trance like a big tree in a storm, a lot of the audience lying full-length around the church, some adopting the rocking demeanour of a religious possession. People read, knit, draw, come and go (the man from The Wire stays for all of 40 minutes) but a surprising number really are there for the whole damn thing.

By 21:00 he's got his forearms across both manuals of the organ and it sounds like a duel between Sunn 0))) and My Bloody Valentine. Then, leaving a mighty chord held with wedges in the keys, he gets up and reaches behind the console. The reading light goes out and 10 seconds later the organ gradually expires, making a wierd crystalline tinkling sound as it breathes its last - it sounds just how I'd imagine it might when the Universe dies, heartbreaking and beautiful and impossible to stop, so you might as well enjoy it.

As it turned out, hearing this music for six hours was no more demanding, or different, than going sailing or walking etc. for that time - sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's a little uphill, but when you get into the rhythm of it there's plenty of time to enjoy the view.

Thank you.

Anyway, only a couple of weeks till The Fall.

Cheers Fritter - I really wish I'd gone now.

Sounds like a collective act of meditation, (id have said prayer which is the same thing, but too many people have forgotten that, and cant be made to remember).
Nice post Fritter.

Great review! Thanks for that. Sorry I missed it.
I'm still really enjoying the double set I picked up recently, 'From Etudes to Cataclysms'. As you say - the music is mainly in the mind of the listener. He's a fantastic talent I think... brilliantly single-minded.

Smart. I'm still sort of glad that it was you there and not me. How many times did you need a pee?

How was Sarah Silverman?

No alcohol, no pee.

Sarah Silverman was a crashing disappointment, stumbling through years-old material for 40 minutes and accidentally revealing herself to be nowt but a boring future hockey-mom, when she came back on for an encore and tried to improvise without her now-obviously well-prepared routine to hide behind. Although 'try' implies that she was making some kind of effort. She resorted to that desperate standby the Q&A, but amazingly no one asked her "Do americans know the expression 'Dying on your arse?'". It was interesting to see someone fall from grace so completely.

No pee? Six hours? You are some sort of superhuman.

Pity about SS- I bet there were some very disapointed people. Lots of celebs.

I can go a very long time with peeing or pooing or blinking if necessary - I sometimes wonder if I have a bit of robot in me (I never met great uncle Tron, but I hear some great stories about him)

Fuck the celebs, they wouldn't have paid £40+. Neither did I, as me and my mate have an ongoing "in kind" system - but I was shocked when I got home and actually looked at the price of the ticket, it worked out at a pound a minute. So I now have to take him to at least 2 things to make up for it, one being The Fall at Hackney.

£40? Crikey. There are lots of very funny and thought provoking stand ups out there that can be seen for a quarter of the price.

On the upside, I don't feel bad about missing her now.

Yeah, but what really hacks me off is that I woke up this morning with a cold, and now my living room looks like a Tracey Emin exhibit.

If you want to see the exact routine she did, rent or borrow the DVD of her film Jesus Is Magic - her stuff is funny and they probably edited out the grumbling crowd.

I find it excruciating to watch an act die on his/her arse. I saw it happen earlier this year to that Iranian comedian, Omid Djalili. He played a 'corporate' -- one of those in-house, boozy, private engagements where you simply CANNOT do your usual act. You must include some gags about the company itself, its rivals, its bosses, its workers, etc.

He came on and did 20 minutes about George W. Bush. Fuck me, did he die on his arse. Total silence.

Worse, he had to stay on the stage for the next 2 hours and present about 35 awards.

Yes, usually it's stomach-churning to see someone drowning on stage, but with her it felt like she hadn't really bothered in the first place - so one felt slightly detached, like watching a fly dying or something.