Of The Few Small Joys: Aesop’s Sound Fables
There are few small joys left. The sun sets through our phone screen. The corner diner pays twice the rent for half its size. We have deflated the value of the sun and gentrified our neighborhoods, leaving very little intact to enjoy. So, we cloud our present with attempts at curating the past, eager to bring back our small joys. Yet, the TikTok-centered frenzy of 2000s fashion and the pink-haired upgrade to Gossip Girl have been nothing but cherries in a swirl of late capitalist despair. Are we all just going to keep wearing the same clothes and watching the same shows?
Every so often, however, there is a gem—a piece of art, a performance, a film—that brings the past into the present with such wondrous ingenuity that it makes me want to keep breathing air and walking on two legs. I become an enlivened individual with a beating heart and a whole host of positive thoughts about the present and future art world. As an audience member of Aesop’s Sound Fables, I found such a gem.
Aesop’s Sound Fables is a chamber collective that explores experimental sound. They write and improvise live musical performances, which accompany silent films, theater, and natural phenomena. During their most recent show on July 11th at 8 PM in Ridgewood, Queens, I listened to this group live score a 69 minute, 104-year-old film. Their performance was a pleasant reprieve from the aforementioned nods to the past. In fact, I would consider this musical collective to be one of the few small joys we have left.
The show was performed at The Footlight Underground at Windjammer in Ridgewood, Queens. The Footlight Underground is a women-run booking collective nestled in the back of Windjammer. The space is as DIY as its shows—string lights, a disco ball, and a single paper flower hang from the ceiling; a lone painting is pinned just above one of the wooden and cloth sound panels; rainbow stars, a house lamp, and a plastic high heeled shoe decorate the lighting board; a plant is shoved into the corner of the room. A modest stage sits toward the very back of the space, with primitive wooden benches and an assortment of metal chairs neatly placed into rows before it.
As audience members slowly filed in, ambient music played. Green, purple and blue light was projected onto a blank screen. With little knowledge of Aesop’s Sound Fables’ typical turn-out, and a low expectation for the size of any underground arts scene, I assumed the seats would be sparsely filled. But after about ten minutes of ambient music the house was full. I knew, then, that I was sitting among exceptional company, and that this show was going to be quite special.
Once everyone found their seats, an MC named Andy introduced the film we were going to watch—Charlie Chaplin’s “The Kid.” Andy explained that the film had its world premiere at Carnegie Hall over one-hundred years ago, and that it possessed an interesting blend of comedy and drama. “The Kid” is about a budding relationship between a vagabond man and an orphan boy, who is abandoned at birth. It follows the inception of their meeting and then jumps to “five years later,” when the man has found an unlikely friend and partner in crime in the kid. The film is endearing and playful. It is an earlier work of Charlie Chaplin, who wrote, directed, and starred in it.
After a brief introduction of the film, Andy spent a moment describing how he got involved with Aesop’s Sound Fables. Upon seeing them perform in Bushwick, he became enthralled with the way they brought old films to life with such virtuosity. He wanted to find any way he could to further support their performances. Andy’s enthusiasm alone made me want to crawl up to the front row. After introducing Mike Nowotarski on guitar, Rosalie Avery on Bassoon, and Fox Indigo (also known as Gillian Orwell) on Cello, Andy made his retreat, and the show began.
As Chaplin’s “The Kid” played in black and white film, the green, purple, and blue light held steady on the screen—a detail I admired dearly for its suggestion of modernity. The lights quite literally colorized the film in live time, just as the musicians were to score it in real time. In many ways, these complements to the film itself were reminiscent of live theater, where an orchestra and lighting still plays such pivotal roles in a performance.
Having never seen “The Kid” prior to this night, my experience of the show was unfiltered by preconceived judgment. As I watched, my emotional journey coincided beautifully with each turn in scene, and this was further elevated by the live score. Typically, when a film is scored, the musical composition is created last. This would have been the case if “The Kid” had been scored one-hundred years ago. However, during Aesop’s Sound Fables’ live scoring, the melody was so well matched to the pace and emotional arc of the film that it felt as though the film had been made for this score rather than the other way around.
Each new act break was accompanied by a change in tempo and melody. Heavier moments were supported by a slower, melancholic resonance. Humorous moments were granted an up-tempo, airy sound. Fight scenes and dramatic dreamscapes were the most playful. Even the way the characters walked was carefully attended. What I enjoyed most was the way Charlie Chaplin’s character and the child had their own personal melody, which was used repeatedly to underscore the swells in their growing familiarity to one another.
I felt nothing but trust for Mike, Rosalie, and Fox Indigo. These musicians were very clearly experts in their art. They knew how to use sound to define relationships and personalities. They understood the delicate balance between humor and sorrow that Chaplin was trying to strike in his film. Aesop’s Sound Fables mastered the meeting of sound and emotion. Even in their silent moments, I heard meaning. For sixty-nine consecutive minutes these musicians played, and not once did the audience’s attention waver. Likewise, I had never before been so enraptured by a silent film. If it weren’t for the score, I would have lost interest after about twenty minutes. Instead, I was so invested that I was surprised when the film ended.
After the show, I spoke with Mike about the origins of Aesop’s Sound Fables and where they are headed next. He mentioned looking into live scoring a natural space—what will be yet another small joy, no doubt. On my way home, I tried to imagine what it would sound like, whether the wind would inform a turn in phrase; how Mike’s guitar, Rosalie’s bassoon, and Fox Indigo’s cello might converge to add color to our graying natural world, just as they had done with Chaplin’s black and white film.
As the memory of this more recent show still lingers in my mind, I look forward to the next one. It will be interesting to see how this brilliant group of musicians might interact with nature in lieu of moving image—spotlighting the physicality of the present rather than a portrait of the past. Perhaps Aesop’s Sound Fables is doing more than enabling our obsession with the past. Perhaps they are pioneering a next, much needed wave. One that promotes an appreciation of what once was, and a curiosity for what currently is.
