I’ve never understood what I’m supposed to do at the beach. Should I swim and embrace frivolity? Should I immerse myself in the beauty of light and sound? Or should I just ‘relax’—whatever on earth that means? I end up swinging back and forth between all the available possibilities, and what I take away is inevitably odd; not the memory of a dazzling sunset, but rather the indelible image of a dying shorebird.
This is the way in which Yi-Ting Lu’s An Unopened Seashell is oceanic. It’s not pretty in a cliched way, like some JMW Turner painting of an open sky. Nor is it bombastic, drowning the listener in swells and waves. Instead, it’s delicate, fickle, and surprising. It demands attention and an open mind from the listener.
Lu is a Chicago-based composer, originally trained in Taiwan, now a graduate student at Northwestern University. Her debut album contains five solo works that echo and recall one another, as the bounds of each instrument are pushed and the lines between them blurred. There are times in Half Decorations where the timbre of the harp is flattened so much that its twang becomes almost indistinguishable from that of the guitar we heard two pieces prior. Later on in Sewing in Thin Air, we hear the drumroll repetition of a single, high piano key; the speed and pitch are intensely reminiscent of an earlier harp tremolo.
Yi-Ting Lu — Photo by Ian Liu
Slimy Tracks, featuring Dan Lippel on guitar, opens quietly as three ethereal notes chime us in. Throughout the first half of the work, it seems like a melody is trying to break through, but it is thoroughly masked by unceasing glissandos that span huge intervals, which give the piece a dizzying and almost psychedelic air. Halfway through, Lu abandons the swing-set sound for delicate finger-picking runs, which culminate in a furious burst – making Lippel’s technical virtuosity clear.
This rapid, percussive drill transitions seamlessly into Taxidermy. Here, Ben Roidl-Ward plays the bassoon in a lonely, haunting fashion; you can almost hear a foghorn blaring through the mist. As the piece progresses, we hear more and more of Roidl-Wold’s breathing, lending a power and tension to the work that is reinforced by accelerating atonality.
When performed live, the harp soloist for Half Decorations is supposed to add Christmas ornaments to their instrument one-by-one. In the absence of this lovely visual, what instead captures the listener on this recording is the run of minor second intervals. Harpist Ben Melsky acts as a self-contained ensemble in this piece; the lower notes sound like an accompanying piano, while the intermittent percussive slaps of the strings add rhythmic layering.
Prepared harp for Lu’s “Half Decorations,” May 24 album release recital — Courtesy of artist
Sewing In Thin Air opens with pianist Lam Wong playing on the keyboard’s highest octave, where the sound is so taut it may as well be a plucked harp. Wong plays loosely, as though wondering where he is going, leaving the audience, too, unmoored at times. But the piece closes with a determined fury: the waves were teasing and playful, earlier, but now the tide is rushing in.
The work is supposed to evoke Lu’s memories of her father, who patiently sewed her school uniforms when she was a young girl growing up in Taiwan. The memory is warm, but the piece itself is cold and metallic; the pianist’s articulation is almost clanging. The music conjures sharp, bright, tangy imagery that ultimately feels at odds with the inspiration behind the piece.
As someone who also fondly recalls her father’s at-home tailoring, I found the discrepancy jarring. This disconnect between programmatic intent and the listening experience persists throughout the album: the compelling track titles and detailed liner notes often get lost in transmission. Lu creates vivid imagery, but you’re left with the sense that she isn’t always painting the picture she meant to.
The final and titular track, An Unopened Seashell, features Thomas Giles on alto saxophone. Heavy gasping is interspersed with virtuosic play. Giles’ quiet shrieks and loud taps evoke an interior ecosystem: maybe the inner world of a seashell, but maybe also crickets in a forest, birds on a seashore, or an unoiled motor on a small, faraway fishing boat.
Towards the end, we hear less and less ‘music,’ and more and more ‘breath,’ as though the sea is settling in for the night. The compositions on An Unopened Seashell are coherent and thoughtful intellectual exercises, but unfortunately, the experimental techniques often lose their novelty after a few minutes. The album would benefit from a demonstration of a wider array of Lu’s potential creativity: more melodic grounding, perhaps, or stronger rhythmic centering. Still, the listener can’t fail to be impressed by Lu’s technical mastery: her knowledge of each instruments’ potential and capacity alone is extraordinary for a young composer. Knowing that Lu has the chops to shine, listeners can anticipate her next album with curiosity and hope. Her potential seems limitless, even as the sea.
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