Mareel, Lerwick, Shetland, 7 November 2012

IT WAS always going to be a tough sell: electronic music created from farmyard animals is never likely to be a big box office hit.

SO IT was not surprising, then, that so many seats lay empty in Mareel’s auditorium as composer Matthew Herbert took to the stage with his four stone-faced companions, to begin what would be an unusual yet hugely entertaining concert.

One Pig in Edinburgh (photo © Queen's Hall)

One Pig is a show built entirely around the life of a single animal. Using field recordings made from the birth of a piglet up to its death at 24 weeks, then its cooking and consumption, Herbert created a vast bank of sounds and samples. From these he built up the nine tracks that form the album from which this show was born.

Everything we hear is pig, whether emanating from a synthesiser, electric drum kit or from the magnificent ‘sty harp’ which forms the centrepiece of this performance. In addition to these sounds, the audience is also treated to the smell of bacon being cooked live on stage as the concert approached its climax. In contrast to much electronic music, this is a truly engaging show visually as well as musically.

Inevitably, One Pig has been described by some journalists as ‘controversial’. But aside from fundamentalist PETA-types, it’s hard to imagine how anyone could truly be offended by it. Musically, this is a celebration of an animal’s life – “a kind of remembrance service”, Herbert has called it – and those later segments leading up to and beyond the death of the pig, are about as respectful in tone as one would hope them to be. This is not shock art, as it has been portrayed; it is a tribute to an anonymous life, and an exploration of what can be created from the most apparently unmusical of sources.

What is perhaps most surprising about the show, given its name and the marketing that surrounds it, is just how un-piggy the sound actually is. There are, now and then, unmistakable oinks and squeals that remind the audience of where this music came from, but for the most part, disguised beneath layers of effects and changes in pitch, listeners are forced to take Herbert’s word for it that these noises are what he says they are. Like a portrait painted with pig’s blood, the content feels distinctly less radical than the concept.

Similarly, those among the audience who had not heard this music before, and who were therefore uncertain exactly what to expect from the performance, were most likely taken aback at just how listenable it all was. There was an expectation – understandable in the circumstances – that this music would be difficult, uncomfortable, or troubling, even.

But that was not the case. The rhythms, most often, were conventional; heads were bobbing and feet tapping throughout the audience. The melodies too were appealing, and sometimes memorable. Overall, the sound was engaging rather than alienating. And that is certainly not a criticism.

The idea that Matthew Herbert has sought to confront in One Pig – specifically the great distance that has grown between people and their food over the past century or so – is a fascinating one, and there is no doubt that artists of all kinds could find fertile ground for creativity within that space. I can’t help but wonder, though, whether electronic music is at something of a disadvantage here. For me, it lacks the emotional range available to writers and visual artists. It creates its own distances, even when trying to bridge others.

Herbert is to be congratulated, despite this. He has taken on a challenging project and made something rather special. One Pig will not appeal to vast numbers of people, that is for certain. And it will not be the last or even the most provocative response to the topic. But it is a worthwhile effort, nonetheless: an exhilarating and absolutely unique live show.

Those who took a chance on the show would not have left disappointed.

© Malachy Tallack, 2012

Links

• Mareel
• Matthew Herbert