The making of Siren at Trafo - Budapest 12-17 Jan 2011

Siren: Trafo-Budapest 14-16 January 2011 www.trafo.hu

‘Siren is an installation of remarkable conception and innovation. It is also quite a remarkable experience.’ (British Theatre Guide)

Siren ‘Hums with beauty’ (Metro Daily, Auckland).

Siren is ‘An amazing spectacle’ (Daily Telegraph), ‘Mesmerising’ (New Yorker Online)

‘Walk into Ray Lee's installation and you'll see a carefully ordered layout of metal tripods, ranging in size but all topped with motorised rotor arms bearing speakers at each end.

Pathways are - for our own safety - edged with barrier wires. When the calm, dark-suited performers make the necessary connections, the reasons for keeping your distance become clear: the arms whirl round at dazzling speed, and as they do, the air fills with wonderful spirals and eddies of sound that build in tonal textures as more and more tripods come on-stream.

Lights dim right down, so as the darkness is ultimately sparked by whizzing trails of tiny red fireflies - the "on" lights of the speakers. But by then, the hardware has become the handmaiden to your own journey through a thrumming, choral soundscape that alters with every step you take.

Bees buzzed, church bells chimed and the rumoured harmonies of cosmic spheres lapped round my meanderings. But who knows what others heard as they drifted past the oscillating "voices", or lapsed into meditative stillness against walls where reflections of the speeding lights traced lines, like night-streams of traffic on nameless autobahns.’ (Glasgow Herald)

‘Siren begins with a set of instructions given to the audience before we enter the auditorium. We are asked to remain silent, but are encouraged to wander around the room.

Inside, we discover a field a steel tripods – equipped with motorised arms and mounted speakers – standing in frozen formation. Two men (Ray Lee and Harry Dawes) dressed in identical suits begin to animate the tripods, using a circuit board and a screwdriver to activate and “tune” the drone emitted from each speaker. The men climb ladders to reach the highest tripods and listen intently as they adjust the pitch of each tone. Gradually the sound builds, producing not so much a chorus of sirens as a pulsating and strangely harmonious chord.

The sensory impact is heightened as the tripod arms start to move – slowly, then more rapidly like a forest of wind turbines that shimmer with invisible music. As you move from one part of the installation to another, individual “instruments” emerge from this virtual orchestra: a resonant bagpipe, an ethereal choir. The sound envelopes you, yet the effect is soothing, not overwhelming.

Finally, the house lights disappear, and the red LED lights on each speaker glow and flit like vibrating fireflies. In this world, the invisible has become visible. We are literally watching sound as it moves through space. Since Lee offers no interpretation of his work, audience members are free to form their own associations. For me, the experience was akin to a guided meditation – a carefully choreographed ceremony where science and artistic endeavour unite to create a mesmerising journey into the nature of sound.’ (The Age, Melbourne)

‘After a while the room is vibrating with electric transmissions that, yes, initially bring to mind air-raid sirens, but they meld into a symphonic surge that never quite peaks, opting to remain in a state of tantalizing immanence. I can pick out individual threads by relocating myself in another part of the room. Sometimes I linger with the higher frequencies. Other times I back myself against a wall and let the force of the bass register overwhelm me.

I notice some people drifting about the installation with their eyes closed. But the visual is intoxicating as well: all these towers with spinning red lights; a silent procession of spectators flowing around them like pilgrims at a shrine.
Taking in Sirens is a bit like ingesting a mild hallucinogen, than waiting for the buzz to hit. And it does hit. Without warning the theatre lights go out and the spinning red dots are all I can see. It’s like watching fireflies from a back porch, except the porch is on Mars and the fireflies are red and following predetermined elliptical patterns. Each one traces its arc at a different rate. The velocity is increased. The overall acoustic pitch also seems to rise. Buzz buzz. Most of us have stopped moving. We’re waiting for the spaceship to land, or for the wormhole to appear. Eventually the spinning slows. I feel the disorienting warp of time. I’m being stretched.

One by one, the tripods stop spinning. Each one is turned off, subtracting sound from the overall composition, until there is silence in the room. (PLANK Magazine, Vancouver)