TD 1
Pathetic fallacy is the attribution of human emot
ions to inanimate things, a technique commonly used in film. Think an intense murder beneath stormy skies or falling in love as the sun emerges. These traits of duality and balance are also strikingly evident in Naoise Dack and his forwardthinking contemporary-classical ensemble Glasshouse. As the creative and artistic core of Glasshouse, Naoise, a classically trained violinist, has an intimate understanding of where classical music is and a unique vision for where it could go. Glasshouse, a group consisting of a rough ‘core’ of musicians who are embellished by the talents of others when and if required, are taking a firebrand approach to a genre whose ageing demographic tends to value consistency and perfection beyond progression and a rawer sound. Progression could be seen as one of the driving forces behind the work that Glasshouse do. Their multifaceted approach to music transcends sound, entering into a sensorial realm where the venue and visual elements coalesce in an intricate interplay that vies for the throne of your emotions. After all, music without emotion would be nothing more than noise. What do Sufjan Stevens and Ólafur Arnalds have in common? Not much besides both been the subject of homage by the Glasshouse ensemble. Stevens, a recent subject, wasn’t picked at random either. Naoise’s connection with the American multi-instrumentalist began around a decade and a half ago, at the time his critically lauded and highly conceptual Illinois album was released. As adults, we don’t choose which memories we retain from childhood. The mind, in all its mystery, tends to remember the way something made us feel, rather than how it looked or sounded. Pain, joy, sorrow, whatever it is, these feelings sustain through time. Its powerful transition into an adult’s psyche can manifest in a variety of ways. Repeated listenings of the album in his father’s car seemed to leave something incomplete in Naoise’s mind as he grew up, a niggling sense of something that was worthy of being revisited, perhaps as a means to try and better understand its place. It was with this idea of revisiting the album that Naoise and Glasshouse set about conceiving their show. Sell-outs in its initial performances, it was revisited yet again late last year at Trinity College’s Douglas Hyde Gallery. A subdued location, with white-walls and exposed ventilation systems, the gallery was a very literal blank slate where anything could have been done, but wasn’t. Eschewing the potential for an extravaganza, the show was instead an emotional and joyous exploration of young Naoise’s soundtrack. There was a bar, there were seats and there were people standing. It didn’t feel like an orchestral rendition. Present were music lovers and people intrigued by this idea they’d read about – a group of young musicians covering a classic indie album. The whole thing was an embodiment of the concept. People shuffled, went to the toilet and stared transfixed by the virtuosic performances. It was, in a word, natural. It was a nostalgic trip that, like memories, didn’t tangle up with anything besides the feeling of being present in amongst the music. For Ólafur Arnalds and their December homage to the recently deceased composer Jóhann Jóhannsson, the motivation was quite different. These two names are pioneers in a field of music that transcends any simple descriptor. Their droning, spatial and minimalistic compositions could adequately be referred to as ‘soundscapes’. They create, as per the modus operandi of Glasshouse, an experience. When approaching the work of any artist, Naoise tells me that they must be orchestral in scope. Likewise, that idea can naturally only be limited by the imagina31