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Review: Dustin O’Halloran, Bristol Beacon – ‘The art of doing a lot with a little’
Perhaps Dustin O’Halloran’s music is better described by way of simile than by reeling off its technical components. So let’s have it:
Some tracks feel like you’re waking up slowly. You’re short on enthusiasm, but all of a sudden the rising sun casts splintered light on the scene, the birds follow suit with their song, and the richness of life becomes apparent all over again.
Other songs feel like a train ride. The landscape blurs beyond the rain-smeared window. Your thoughts are on some long-gone conversation.
is needed now More than ever
And some are like watching a dog chase its own tail for five full minutes — gorgeous, captivating, but also a touch unsettling.
Make sense? Glad to hear it.
The prolific American composer seemed most comfortable when playing the piano, less so when talking to the audience
O’Halloran is mildly nervy with a mic in hand, but entirely at home tinkling the ivories. And what a platform for self-expression. From solo records to film tracks and collaborations (check out his work with A Winged Victory of the Sullen), his output is as prolific as it is impressive.
This is minimalism with a twist. Looped piano phrases give rise to textural layering from the touring cellist (Charlotte) and violinist (Margaret) — both wonderful players that help make the music fluid and expressive at turns, brooding and world-weary at others.
An Ending, A Beginning is a prime example, with sombre strings wavering alongside a simple motif on the keys. I first came across that track via Bonobo’s Late Night Tales compilation. 12 years ago! How time flies.
O’Halloran co-composed the soundtrack for Lion — a true doozy that rightly earned him nominations for top honours in film music. Its main theme is a thing of beauty, with cello bringing subtle transformations to the piano work, and the violin soaring to send you introspective yet again.
It’s a similar story on the Fossils from the Ammonite soundtrack. He tells us he’s always enjoyed the idea of “doing a lot with a little”. Mission accomplished. The riff on that number is at once mesmerising and morose.
He also plays Sundoor, a piece in collaboration with artist Slater Bradley who put on a mazey exhibition in a round church in Venice. Despite all these works being composed for visual media, they seem all the more soothing and cinematic with your eyes closed.
O’Halloran is on tour with cellist Charlotte and violinist Margaret
Then comes O’Halloran’s latest work, 1 0 0 1, which is a rumination on “what it means to be human”. Released on Deutsche Grammophon — as solid a calling card as you’ll come across in classical music — the record seems to journey from a calm, romantic start, through turmoil and mounting confusion, all the way to now.
We’re treated to the first three parts. There’s the awesome choral opener, and then sharp notes on the violin pointing to discord before a brassy, foreboding ambient landscape appears, matched by visuals hurtling through a landfill of bytes and screens.
Please, for the love of all things moozic, check out that record. Its progression marks “the distinctions between humanity and technology becoming increasingly blurred.”
On the topic of things blurring — some of the solo piano sections are a bit muddy and boomy. Something in the setup, perhaps. But it’s barely noticeable and doesn’t detract from the immaculate concert.
Dustin O’Halloran is producing classical music that mirrors our restless, noisy world but also grants a fleeting escape from it. No mean feat.
All images: Samuel Fletcher
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