William Brittelle’s “Millennium Rift” project with filmmaker Isaac Gale brought “retrofuturist” AI-infused alternate reality multimedia to classical music. The work-in-progress presented at Arrow Street Arts Oct. 20 felt like an exciting worldbuilding experiment in contemporary music, reminiscent perhaps of a Wagnerian opera cycle or a Tyler, the Creator album.
Audience members shuffled into a black-box theater, greeted by a stage set with microphones, synths, a large percussion kit, a saxophone and an electric guitar, all awash in cool blue light. For this performance, Brittelle made some introductory remarks, saying he conceived of “Millennium Rift” during the pandemic as a project for his alter ego, mailer_daemon, a reclusive composer and hypertext poet who retreated into the Mojave Desert at the end of the 1980s. The musical part of the performance would be accompanied by a video made in collaboration with filmmaker Isaac Gale using artificial intelligence. Brittelle told the audience he saw AI not as “hypercapitalist” tool but as a way to create “open-ended dialogue and exploration.” He welcomed his collaborators — the members of the Metropolis Ensemble, and the vocal group Roomful of Teeth — to the stage.
The piece opened with a projected video of a golden field with a warm ’80s synth accompanied by narration (presumably from an AI-generated voice in the video). A Brutalist concrete structure stood out from the otherwise sepia-bathed landscape. The narrator, speaking in the second person, drew the audience into this alternate version of the 1980s with oddly specific callouts of certain products, like the paint for the Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit, the Yamaha CS-80 and the Roland SPD-S Sampling Pad, getting laughs from the audience. (“Millennium Rift” is drenched in ’80s references, many of which were lost on me.) The narration straddled the line between seriousness and satire, which worked well at first, only to grow tiresome as the narrator droned on. This was one of several sections in the multi-movement piece that simply went on too long, detracting from the work’s promise.
Finally, we moved from the fields outside to inside of the concrete structure, and the “in-video” musicians were introduced: a choir of eight druids (on stage, Roomful of Teeth, though not dressed like druids) and players clad in slim black outfits and abstract silver masks (Metropolis Ensemble). Laser-projected sacred geometric shapes appeared in the video as the performers commenced.
Then the lights shone on the musicians, and, like many of the iconic sounds of devices in the ’80s booting up, the music began with a glissando into a lush chord (I’m looking at you, THX logo). The ensemble got off to a rough start. It was a significant challenge to coordinate among so many musicians, sounds and electronics, with Cameron Beauchamp valiantly leading the ensemble through choppy seas. However, the seasoned musicians soon found their footing.
Different pieces of iconic ’80s sounds clashed and collided in the first two movements. Phil Collins-style drum pad beats were interrupted by a heavily reverbed sax solo, which then transitioned to plinky arpeggiator lines. Melodramatic vocal lines clashed with chittery yaps and hits. This hyper-eclectic sound collage style was something that Brittelle used to great effect in his previous collaboration with Roomful of Teeth, “Psychedelics.” However, here it was overwhelming and disorienting. Perhaps that is more true to the experience of the Information Age, but it felt jarringly anachronistic within the context of the piece.
After the first two movements, another video interlude began in which a dancing minotaur accompanied by two imps emerged and receded back into the mist. A similar format would continue for the rest of the piece, brief video interludes with odd characters popping in like hallucinations in a fit of AI-induced psychosis.
The journey through the sounds of the ’80s continued in the next movements. A particularly catchy quartal guitar riff played by Thann Scoggin began “Pyramids.” Strange vocal utterances reminiscent of maybe the weirdest moments from David Bowie or Talking Heads’ discography dotted throughout “The Doldrums.” Throughout, information overload remained an issue, and eventually the sounds of the different movements began to meld together in my mind; it became harder and harder to distinguish between them. It felt like Brittelle (or his alter ego) was trying to balance an honest pastiche of the ’80s with ironic humor. While he skillfully navigates this blend with timbre and instrumentation, a defining characteristic of ’80s music was extremely memorable riffs and melodies, not just iconic sounds. Before the music of the ’80s was kitschy, it was catchy; that was missing from the piece.
Another short video interlude with a humanoid swan carrying a metal bird that turned into a disco ball played before the next movements. This is where the most memorable movement of the performance happened, the “Cave of Brahma.” Raspy vocal-fry growls transforming into chords began the song. As the chords laid the groundwork, Steven Bradshaw sang passionately overtop. The movement eventually combined into the richest and lushest texture we hear in the entire piece, with soprano Estelí Gomez soaring in the stratosphere at the climax.
Coming down from this special moment, the video began again. However, this time the vocalists continue singing in chords similar to those played in the beginning while the video plays and the narrator signals an ending. This was the only time in the entire piece when the musicians and video played at the same time. Doves flew through the virtual building as the voices imitated birds: it felt like the piece was drawing to a close.
There is, however, one more movement, “Death in the Matrix.” It established a sensual, sultry mood, with a slow jam groove and breathy vocals. Virginia Warnken Kelsey’s velvety alto voice wove through the melody effortlessly. It was a nice way to wind down, but in the arc of the whole piece, it felt like an afterthought.
After the last movement ended, the video once again played, returning us “outside,” back to the golden fields. The building slowly receded as the narrator droned on with philosophical musings. mailer_daemon’s ultimate goal was neither “search” nor “escape,” but “surrender.” An interesting sentiment for our times.
While quite clearly a work in progress, with wrinkles from balance to pacing that need to be ironed out, “Millennium Rift’s” core ideas and concept are innovative and exciting. The work is being created under the auspices of the Brown Arts Initiative and the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s “Technology and Our Humanity” series, which has a focus on AI in music, and it is a perfect fit. I’ll be looking forward to seeing this project develop. With the unstoppable engine of technological progress marching us toward an uncertain fate, perhaps “Millennium Rift” is a nostalgic trip down memory lane with sepia-tinted glasses: we’ve been here before.
A stronger
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