Royce Hall fell silent last Wednesday night during the
“Organica” concert as the first refrains of the
Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby” bellowed from an unseen
source. On a large screen images flashed of incongruous L.A.
freeways, and a disembodied voice began to sing.
Suddenly the 74-year-old Royce Hall Skinner Organ rose
majestically from below the stage, and upon it sat the renowned
German orgelmeister Christoph Bull, whose limbs glided quickly and
effortlessly around the instrument’s foot pedals and five
keyboards. With grace he manipulated the timbre-change buttons
along either side of the keyboards, acrobatically using his toes
when his fingers were occupied.
Bull dominated the massive instrument, working its over 6,600
pipes through a motley repertoire ranging from Charles
Mingus’ soulful “Ecclesiastics” to the final
movement of Mozart’s “Jupiter” symphony.
All pieces were accompanied by a barrage of projected images,
mixed live by artist Benton-C Bainbridge. The most successful
visual sequence consisted of video close-ups of parts of the Royce
organ, such as the pipes and wood engravings, mirrored and
fractionized to create mesmerizing geometric shapes.
The show was a variety act, a grab-bag and a catch-all, meant to
showcase the versatility of the organ and appeal to a broad
audience. Bull accomplished these tasks with expert precision.
But perhaps more salient was Bull’s unforgettable
personality. If his original impression was that of a rock star,
the illusion vanished when he started talking. Although not shy, he
was awkward and loquacious ““”“ an endearing but
embarrassing combination.
He approached the front of the stage, crossing his hands in
front of him, bowing and thanking the audience. He made cute little
jokes like “this [Mozart] piece has a lot of notes,”
and then sometimes corrected himself out loud, saying things like
“I should have left that one out.” At all times he
stood with a slight forward inclination of his body and a
mantis-like rubbing of his hands, which created an air of humility
and discomfort.
Within the first act, Bull decided to promote his CD
“Organica,” which had been completed just in the nick
of time for this concert, arriving at Royce Hall only 30 minutes
before. The audience was well informed of this and other trivia
regarding the 12-track LP because Bull talked about it in great
detail ““”“ extended, laborious detail.
After prattling on for several minutes, Bull declared that he
was going to give three CDs to audience members who could answer
his arbitrary questions like, “Who won the 1934 World
Cup?”
Royce Hall erupted into a din of hollered guesses, most of them,
cleverly, being “Germany,” which turned out to be
incorrect. It was suddenly a third-grade classroom on the day when
the police officer visits and announces that the kid who can guess
how many precincts are in the city of Los Angeles will be his
special cadet.
Bull requested that people raise their hands to guess, and he
started calling on respondents. This went on for an inappropriate
amount of time.
Finally a man correctly guessed “Italy,” and was
summoned to the stage to collect his reward. But instead of
immediately giving the winner his prize, Bull decided to first read
the CD’s track listing to the audience, including details
about each song ““ all while the poor guy was standing in
front of the stage looking uncomfortable.
Indeed, the show was an exquisite blend of uncomfortableness and
cuteness, with its crowning moment being a performance of
“Oompa-Loopa Doompadee-Doo” by the Harvard-Westlake
Children’s Chorus. There’s always been something about
seeing a few dozen preteens dressed in red shirts, white suspenders
and white gloves singing and dancing the most ridiculous song ever
written which sends chills down the spine, and this night was no
exception.
“How do you follow that?” asked Bull rhetorically
after the adorable tots had taken their final bow. He then
proceeded to follow it by hyping his CD until an audience member
ran up to the stage and bought one just to shut him up.
The night concluded with one of Bull’s original
compositions, a pretty but unremarkable tune about world peace. It
ended with John Lennon’s refrain “All we are saying is
give peace a chance,” to which Bull encouraged the audience
to sing along. The audience members rolled their eyes and mumbled
along with him for an irritating number of bars sans accompaniment,
before the house lights finally came on.
-Andrew Wenzlaff