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above: Participants in a Creative Process Session, the Creative Music Workshop's regular series of drop-in classes, held in the Saint George's Round Church Parish Hall, Halifax, Nova Scotia. opposite page: Andrew MacKelvie (with saxophone) listening during the October 2023 edition of New Hermitage & Friends, a monthly series held at the Halifax pub Ramblers. of chairs. The whole scene had a vibe and an atmosphere that made it seem more like a group therapy session or twelve-step program meeting than a musical get-together. It soon became clear to me that this was by design. The sessions usually begin with a group meditation, which typically lasts from five to ten minutes, or a listening practice. “You start with the awareness of listening, and you pull it into the 360-degree sphere and expand it,” MacKelvie says. “Then you listen in a way that’s non-hierarchical, non-judgmental. If you notice yourself thinking about the things that you’re hearing, you just touch that thought and come back to listening.” Then there might be a discussion, and then they’ll get into exercises. During the session I watched, the focus seemed to land on considering, listening, and reacting to the aggregate. “The total of all the sound in the improvisation is the music,” MacKelvie says. “It is the ‘nth’ member of the ensemble, the third member of a duo, et cetera.” In one exercise, half the participants began a rhythm by thumping on the floor or on their bodies; the other half, once they’d listened for a while, inserted their own rhythm into the sequence, and the two groups went back and forth for ten or fifteen minutes. Later, Gibling began playing a sequence on her harp; the neighbouring flutist listened for a while and began their own sequence; Gibling dropped out, the flutist continued, and a guitarist began the process anew. While the exercises, players, and focus can change every week, the structure of that day—conversations and exploration—was slow, intentional, and open, creating an atmosphere in which players could not only participate without fear of judgment but also deeply consider their choices and investigate why they might make them. It seemed to have far less to do with music—although music is primary here, of course—and much more to do with the actual textures of creation. The questions are simple but certainly fundamental, and perhaps not asked frequently enough: What can I offer this space, this moment? What is it offering me? And what do we make together? Questions like this clearly drive MacKelvie. At his house, he speaks about the introduction of movement-based artists to the CMW, the on the cd: Another Place; Light Through the Rubble; Naturally Spaced 34 musıc works #147 | winter 2023/24 H O R S E M A N M A T T B Y P H O T O S
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connections between dance and music, and the differences and similarities between silence and stillness, and wonders aloud whether it is possible to bring them into some sort of communion. “How can my silence have weight? I think with movement, there’s a potential energy in stillness,” MacKelvie says. “Because you’re like, well, that person . . . their arm is like this [gestures]. And there’s a physical element to this: It has to move. How can my silence have that same weight? How does it build? Is that something that can actually be felt? Or is it just an intention that I’m putting into it?” There aren’t necessarily any concrete answers, but places like the CMW provide spaces for artists to sit inside these questions. At the end of the final set at Ramblers, as his friends play in a circle around him, MacKelvie—sitting close to the ground—clutches his saxophone close to his chest with his eyes closed and a soft smile on his face, as he often does; the essential method for exploring these ideas, it seems, is listening. MATT HORSEMAN was born in Winnipeg, Treaty One Territory, and is based in Mi'kma'ki (Nova Scotia). His photography and writing have been published in National Geographic, the Globe and Mail, Canadian Geographic, VICE, No Depression, the A.V. Club, FADER, and other publications. His article “Jeremy Dutcher's Gift for His People” (EDIT magazine) won the silver medal in the Short Feature Writing category of the 2019 National Magazine Awards. In 2020, he published his first book, Two Rivers (Axis Mundi Press). In 2022, he was nominated for the National Gallery of Canada's New Generation Photography Award. LINK: < newhermitage.ca > < andrewmackelvie.com > FYI: In 2021, New Hermitage released its improvised live score for the 1922 Swedish horror documentary Häxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages, which was performed and recorded in front of an audience at Halifax’s Al Whittle Theatre on Halloween night 2020. winter 2023/24 | musıc works #147 35

above: Participants in a Creative Process Session, the Creative Music Workshop's regular series of drop-in classes, held in the Saint George's Round Church Parish Hall, Halifax, Nova Scotia. opposite page: Andrew MacKelvie (with saxophone) listening during the October 2023 edition of New Hermitage & Friends, a monthly series held at the Halifax pub Ramblers.

of chairs. The whole scene had a vibe and an atmosphere that made it seem more like a group therapy session or twelve-step program meeting than a musical get-together. It soon became clear to me that this was by design. The sessions usually begin with a group meditation, which typically lasts from five to ten minutes, or a listening practice. “You start with the awareness of listening, and you pull it into the 360-degree sphere and expand it,” MacKelvie says. “Then you listen in a way that’s non-hierarchical, non-judgmental. If you notice yourself thinking about the things that you’re hearing, you just touch that thought and come back to listening.” Then there might be a discussion, and then they’ll get into exercises.

During the session I watched, the focus seemed to land on considering, listening, and reacting to the aggregate. “The total of all the sound in the improvisation is the music,” MacKelvie says. “It is the

‘nth’ member of the ensemble, the third member of a duo, et cetera.” In one exercise, half the participants began a rhythm by thumping on the floor or on their bodies; the other half, once they’d listened for a while, inserted their own rhythm into the sequence, and the two groups went back and forth for ten or fifteen minutes. Later, Gibling began playing a sequence on her harp; the neighbouring flutist listened for a while and began their own sequence; Gibling dropped out, the flutist continued, and a guitarist began the process anew. While the exercises, players, and focus can change every week, the structure of that day—conversations and exploration—was slow, intentional, and open, creating an atmosphere in which players could not only participate without fear of judgment but also deeply consider their choices and investigate why they might make them. It seemed to have far less to do with music—although music is primary here, of course—and much more to do with the actual textures of creation. The questions are simple but certainly fundamental, and perhaps not asked frequently enough: What can I offer this space, this moment? What is it offering me? And what do we make together?

Questions like this clearly drive MacKelvie. At his house, he speaks about the introduction of movement-based artists to the CMW, the on the cd: Another Place; Light Through the Rubble;

Naturally Spaced

34 musıc works #147 | winter 2023/24

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