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Do fantástico inventor e compositor e desafiador de convenções Harry Partch e a sua opus magnum: “Delusion of Fury”.
““Delusion of the Fury” begins with a long instrumental overture, the Exordium. A gently droning main theme on a dulcimerlike instrument sets the mood as other instruments enter with delicate sliding figurations, speckled bursts of percussion and sustained chords that sound entrancingly off-pitch. Eventually the overture breaks into a playfully jerky dance. Then six dancers perform a kinetic ballet until the protagonists in Act I appear.
A pensive young pilgrim (the agile, boyish dancer Steven Reker), who has slain a princely warrior in battle, approaches a temple seeking absolution, conveying his remorse through halting, fitful movements. But his victim, now a restless ghost (Whitney V. Hunter, another dynamic dancer) arrives at the same shrine.
In an unexpected twist the ghost is resentful when his son (the lithe Mina Nishimura) shows up, hoping to see his dead father’s face. Seemingly affronted to have his spiritual space intruded upon, the ghost takes on his son in a wild battle dance. This effort empowers the ghost to live again and rechallenge his slayer. By the end the father learns that clinging to feelings of fury is a delusion. The act ends with his chanted supplication, “Pray for me.”
Act II presents a sardonic tale of a deaf hobo (again Mr. Reker), confronted by an old female goatherd (Rachael Bell), a well-meaning busybody. A quarrel ensues. The villagers take sides in a volatile dance and then drag the combatants before a befuddled, nearsighted judge (Mr. Hunter), who orders a cessation of hostilities and leads an anthem to justice.
The music abounds in myriad colorings, exotic harmonies and percolating rhythmic vitality. The characters sing-speak, mostly in a language Partch made up. When the orchestra chants, “Oh wee oh,” it’s hard not to think of the Wicked Witch’s marching minions in “The Wizard of Oz.” What comes through, finally, are Partch’s inspired musical and theatrical instincts, not to mention his humanity, born of years as a hobo in midlife — a difficult yet enriching experience he never seemed to regret. ”
(Tommasini, 2007, nytimes)

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