The spire of Dunwich’s All Saints Church, which fell from the cliffs, is sometimes spotted poking from the surface of the North Sea. Last year, church ruins were unveiled during a drought at Ladybower Reservoir, whose creation drowned the village of Derwent. And soon, because of climate change, we may see Norwich Under the Water.
A church bells tolls the fourth hour as people mill about the Norwich Cathedral cloisters, unaware of the danger. The bell becomes a drone: an elongated toll, a suspension of time. Bill Vine‘s hour-long composition runs concurrent with the sound of the community: the bell, the church, the land, the people all face recurrent flooding by 2030.
The composition is also an homage to Gavin Bryars, as apparent in the cover art, which honors John Bonis’ art for The Sinking of the Titanic. While Bryars’ work was post-submersion and Vine’s is pre-submersion, they share an elegiac quality. While listening to Norwich Under the Water, one feels as if the disaster has already occurred. Bryars also lends his voice to the recording, sharing a shaky yet endearing rendition of Harry Cox’s take on the Norfolk folk song “Windy Old Weather.”
The piece unfolds patiently, allowing time to comprehend the impending flood. The cello and clarinet are used sparingly at first, while the electronics rise like water. Children play, oblivious. The land has become a sinking ship, the ozone layer the new iceberg. After the first quarter, the music begins to expand; at 18:30 one can hear intimations of rushing water. The tone is one of inevitability; even Vine does not suggest that anything will stem the tide. This feeling lends the project an air of deep sadness, akin to the nobility of the band playing as the Titanic sinks. Near the halfway mark, one can hear distant singing and closer piano: a pre-echo, a foreshadowing. Rushes of air suggest a breathing mask. At the midway mark, the bells toll again.
The piece was commissioned to accompany a dance piece by Vatic Theatre; one would love to see the physical interpretation of these tones. One can imagine the entire stage as a tank that slowly fills as the dancers go about their business, noticing nonchalantly, some exiting the tank, others staying to extract every last moment in the village of their ancestry. Outside the tank there are warnings; within the tank there are tides. Finally the set is completely submerged. The church bells, resilient, continue to toll their water-logged notes. Is it nothing to you, all who pass by?
While naught of it is mentioned in the liner notes, some will find the release date of September 11 especially fitting. Sorrow is sorrow; loss is loss. The Titanic sinks; towers fall; a city sinks beneath the sea. The composition stretches tendrils across time. In the 45th minute, the cello joins the bells in the lament. The music rises, glorious in its concluding moments, and Gavin sings, one final fling before the waters close in. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 