35 feet long and 17 feet high, a chamber that reacts to its occupant reflecting and amplifying their output ad infinitum… a secret location perfect for the stringent power of Colin Stetson’s horn mastery.
Concrete dust blankets us in a light, toxic haze as a single light is dragged into place and Colin warms up powerful lungs. There are no run-throughs though. From the first note, I am lead on a performance odyssey that demands a reciprocal discipline of the document. Thousands of notes to the end, here stripped of any visual distraction. A big, black cave for a monster to scream in.
The execution is an antidote to cynicism. This is work, and it is impossible to walk away uninspired. As the player lurches forward and heaves to catch his breath by the end, so too does your mind seek a beat to catch itself, process the sheer magnitude of the experience it has barely kept pace with. These videos though, are two dimensional at best. If Colin Stetson plays even remotely close to the place you live, you will suffer deep regret if you do not seek him out. Stop reading this article, and check his tour dates now. I’m not even going to close with a proper concluding paragraph. Go find out when he is playing and get off the internet. This is music to save your life.
Originally published April 30th, 2013 // La Blogotheque