The Family Tree

Théâtre Varia

20.21.22.23/05 > 20:30
60'
Fr

Born in Milan, Claudia Triozzi moved to Paris at the age of 23. Now this dancer turned choreographer is exploring the range of her voice, like a tightrope walker feeling her way along her vocal cords, in the space of a spectral visual installation comprising veils, like shrouds, hanging on the outside.

The Family Tree of course refers to her genealogy. In it she traces her origins by chanting a list of family names to the tune of a nervous breakdown. A strange ritual for magnetic singing, at the outermost limits of the recital, the installation and the performance.

With:

Claudia Triozzi, Xavier Boussiron

Concept & realisation:

Claudia Triozzi

Music & score:

Xavier Boussiron

In collaboration with:

Claudia Triozzi

Texts:

Claudia Triozzi

Lighting:

Cathy Olive

In collaboration with:

Véronique Bosi

Sound:

Manu Coursin

Concept videotape:

Claudia Triozzi

Video Recording:

Isabelle Griot

Administration:

Sophie Pulicani

Distribution:

Damien Valette

In collaboration with:

classe/klas/class CE2 & CM1 (Sylvie Müller) - Ecole Jules Simon de Montpellier, L'Inchoeurrigible, choeur d'enfants et d'adolescents du CNR d'Aubervilliers - La Courneuve (direction Marie Joubineaux), Elio di Tanna (piano)

Thanks to:

Chiara Gallerani, Alain Dalis, Grégoire Maisonneuve, Olivier Charlot, Babeth Martin

Stage Manager:

Ollivier Philippo

Coproduction:

Le Quartz - Scène nationale de Brest, Rencontres Chorégraphiques Internationales de Seine-Saint-Denis, Laboratoires d'Aubervilliers

Supported by:

Ministère de la Culture et de la Communication, DRAC Ile-de-France, CCN Montpellier-Languedoc-Roussillon Programme ReRC, Association Française d'Action Artistique (AFAA) & l'Ambassade de France à Bruxelles

Presentation:

KunstenFESTIVALdesArts

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Born in Milan, Claudia Triozzi moved to Paris at the age of 23.

Now this dancer turned choreographer is exploring her voice’s range,

like a tightrope walker

feeling her way along her vocal cords,

in the space of a spectral visual installation comprising veils, like shrouds,

hanging on the outside.

The Family Tree obviously refers to her genealogy.

In it she traces her origins by chanting a list of family names

to the tune of a nervous breakdown.

A strange ritual for magnetic singing,

at the outermost limits of recital, installation and performance.

What was it exactly that you experienced, read or saw that triggered off the idea behind your creation?

I start by writing a ‘song’. I say ‘song’ because it’s about trying to find a tune that can be both ironical about the meaning, as well as distancing or diverting it.

Is the project positioned literally or metaphorically in the context of the society in which you live?

“I’m tired of you, you’re sick of me, but don’t leave me, you are my lost quality”. Excerpt from the song Depression.

It’s about everyday depression, but with this nuance that it’s only referring to mine. Riprendo la frase di prima: it’s “writing lyrics” in a metaphorical sense by displacing their meaning and intention. The song provides a distance because of the melody. The melody of the other.

If the starting point for your project is a piece of writing, where did it come from?

Self-taught amateur jumps, I’m jumping just a hair’s breadth behind you, don’t turn round ahhh…! A lesser gioioso. Excerpt from the song Saute.

Often in writing it’s about having a good concept or idea before starting out. That’s not how it works with me. I’m in favour of being an amateur; I like self-taught people who try harder, with the advantage of perhaps having decided to be lesser: “what a relief!” “who do we think we are?” In my musical collaboration with Xavier Boussiron, this is how the encounter took place (amateurism), with the nostalgic element coming from soundtracks to Italian film: Ennio Morricone e altri. Oh it’s great to be one’s own amateur!

Amateurism too in the opportunity we’re presented with. Song: Femme vieille et riche qui aime le jeune garçon. The weakness of the moment we’re given. Excerpt: “She’s tired of you, Marie Madeleine is her name …”

After all we still have the possibility of giving ourselves the same worth, measuring ourselves by not over-estimating ourselves, let’s say a form of politeness towards our ancestors. Song: It is my level.

I don’t speak English very well… but the name of my mother is Vera.

The name of my little sister is Giovanna.

The name of my big brother is Alberto.

The name of my father is Donato.

The name of my similar sister is Flavia.

E non ascoltare l’entourage qui dit c’est trop tard

It’s my level It’s my level, It’s my level

Level – level – level - my level!

Inside us, space is our finiteness in time, two rocks for sitting down on, curtains, carpet; the corner you prefer… a kind of vocation of dressing up a promise.

Excerpt: “You can’t always assemble authentic panelling – overcome decoration”.

What kind of relationship do you want there to be with the audience?

The distance between us to be shortened. The spectator-visitor brings confusion. A desire to say: stay close to me, simply being able to catch sight of people still, stripping them of their role as spectator; the pleasure of being confronted with these aptitudes we hide away in the dark and find again at the baker’s, assessing the grimace, doubt, laughter, passivity…

What do you like doing most?

Being a baker or on stage?

What do you hate most?

Hate? That’s hard to say. The education I’ve had makes me tend to forgive.

Conclusion

The family moves away through successive layers of voices. It’s not easy to have just one set of words to music. We don’t sing systematically out of love. Even if repetition and the tune give an appearance dissociated from pride. What do we do when we listen?

Fine

Claudia Triozzi


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