What intoxicates us – 25 years of Nico and the Navigators: “sweet surrogates” at the Radialsystem
Wisps of mist waft through a wintry landscape. Beneath the large-format video projection, a group of people lie rubbing their eyes as if they have just fallen into the world. "And when we are tired, art should inspire us", the lines of poetry from "Künstlerweihe" by Hugo von Hoffmannsthal then lift the scenery completely over the threshold of romanticism. The anniversary production makes this little journey through time clear right from the start: In "sweet surrogates", art itself takes centre stage.
What use is it as a place of refuge in times of permanent crisis and uncertainty? How much collective intoxication can still be experienced with it today? The chamber version of "Lost in Loops", which was shown this spring, is intended to explore these questions. What initially sounds like bulky fare becomes a light-footed ride through the references with Nico and the Navigators. And the company, which was founded by Nicola Hümpel and Oliver Proske at the Bauhaus in Dessau in 1998, has already plucked some top-class musical works from its repertoire: Schubert, Mahler, Rossini, Britten, Schütz and Handel, to name but a few.
But what characterises the Navigators' special signature? Making classical material permeable for today's eyes and ears? Combining music, text and movement like a collage in such a way that the themes resonate as if by themselves? Lend even the most existential questions a bittersweet lightness? You could answer all of the above at this point! And there is another aspect that makes the productions, which so readily embrace the musical heritage, appear to be in tune with the times: the use of technology. Nicola Hümpel and her colleagues were among the first in Europe to experiment with VR glasses and augmented reality in the theatre space.
In "sweet surrogates", it is the live cameras next to and above the stage that control and enhance the visual pull of what is shown. The Taiwanese soprano Peyee Chen raises her voice to baroque heights in close-up, holding Patric Schott and Martin Clausen by their heads like marionettes. When zoomed in, their faces become landscapes of rapture and agony. In general, the ensemble's performance resembles elementary particles, always walking the fine line between ecstasy and crash. There is no going back, only forward. Just like in real life.
In this eclectic cosmos, it comes as no surprise when Bob Dylon appears next to the mad monologue from "Die Meistersänger von Nürnberg", spilling out "buckets of rain". When sheet music has a fast-paced rendezvous with a wind machine or a lonely breakdance suddenly seems to capture all the sadness in the world. At the end, the thematic bracket even closes for the sea of fog from the beginning: with an enchantingly fragile version of the Beatles song "Here comes the sun". Happy birthday!
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