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Netsiksiuvik "Ten images from a seal camp" (25') 1999
chamber ensemble
Sample Score - (opens in new window)
Sample Audio - (opens in new window)
Studio Recording Vancouver
The title of this piece means 'place of seals'. The music sets text of Fort Smith, NWT poet Jim Green from a time when he lived in Gjoa Haven, a small Northern Hamlet on the Northwest Passage. This piece was composed while I was studying with Louis Andriessen in the Netherands during the years 1998-1999. Netsiksiuvik was born out of my love of the north. It is highly influenced by the music of Louis Andriessen, Steve Martland, Michael Torke etc... The work uses an unusual instrumental combination of 1 Alto/Soprano Saxophone, 1 Tenor/Soprano Saxophone, 1 Baritone Saxophone, 1 Bflat Trumpet/Flugel Horn, 1 Trombone, 1 Marimba, 1 Piano, 1 Violin, 1 Electric Guitar, 1 Bass Guitar, 1 Soprano Voice, 1 Alto Voice, 1 Tenor Voice, 1 Baritone Voice. This combination is similar to the line up in the Steve Martland Band.
The work is intended to be performed with amplification, especially the vocal parts in order create the proper balance within the ensemble. As a general rule the vocal lines are to be sung without vibrato. As well all performers, with the exception of the pianist, are to stand during the performance. The ten Images are to performed attacca. Do not rush - a more relaxed feel will work better. Do not cut notes short.
Instrumentation:
1 Alto/Soprano Saxophone
1 Tenor/Soprano Saxophone
1 Baritone Saxophone
1 Bflat Trumpet/Flugel Horn
1 Trombone
1 Marimba
1 Piano
1 Violin
1 Electric Guitar
1 Bass Guitar
4 Voices: 1 Soprano Voice
1 Alto Voice
1 Tenor Voice
1 Baritone Voice
Notes:
- Instruments should be amplified, especially voices.
- Voices should use very little or no vibrato.
- All instruments should stand with the exception of the piano.
The 10 Images:
1. Tents Anchored To Rocks
2. Dead Dogs Wooden Boxes
3. Dog Opens Eyes
4. Wake Up To Driving Rain
5. Guns Going Off Like Crazy
6. Slice Down The Belly
7. Bannock Baking In A Cast Iron Pan
8. Stiff Still On A Slab Of Slate
9. Granite Ridges Wind In My Hair
10. Night The Warmth Of The Tiny Licking Flames
Netsiksiuvik by Jim Green
Tents anchored to rocks
round the head of a fiord
walled in by frozen bluffs,
seal nets gridding
the shifting field
of open water between
ice pack and sea. Dogs
lined out on chains
curled up nose to tail,
canoes turned over, dying
calves of greying ice
on the wet boulders.
Tents leaning in east wind
black clouds crowding
down and no one
in sight.
Dead dogs
wooden boxes
oil drums tin cans
blobs of seal fat
wet bits of paper
old caribou skins
torn clothes split bones
weathered rope
pieces of antler
skinned seal carcasses
lying all around like
great bloated maggots.
Dog opens eyes
one then the other
in bright light
of false dawn
stands shakes
in the cold wind.
He yelps
is silenced stunned
when his cry echoes
once twice
right back at him,
lies down
curls up
mumbling.
Wake up to driving rain
wind snapping the canvas
billowing the tent in out
rain slashing down
battering the lurching shell,
and out there
dogs whimpering.
Guns going off like crazy
all the men running
to the rock blinds
on the shore squatting
aiming shooting
into the black sea
where the seals are bobbing
in on the high tide
and the water
is slowly becoming red.
Slice down the belly
cut the skin back
carve off a two pound chunk
of pale yellow fat
set it on a rock,
dig down in
the steaming mass
yank out the liver,
lunch
chunks of fat warm liver
tea and a cigarette.
Bannock baking
in a cast iron pan
over seal oil lamp
fills the tent, later
pulling off warm bread
with dark lines
from the flame, lines
all meeting in the centre
as the dough was turned
so the ribbon of fire
cooks all around
to feel so fine
in my mouth.
Stiff still
on a slab of slate
a small furry
grey caterpiller
taking three years
to become a butterfly.
Summer
so short.
Granite ridges
wind in my hair
boiled seal ribs
howling dogs
raw liver
seal oil lamps
hail on the tent
canvas flapping
tent ropes tight,
meat smells.
Night the warmth
of the tiny licking flames
on the kudlik's lip
inside a snug tent
on a dark windwhipped
day of rain.
Like birthday candles
side-by-side,
a special occasion
embracing you.