4/4/25 - Wangal View from The Canopy

Things are slow, and it feels like they have been for a while. Right now I’m experiencing the effects of vestibular neuritis, which is a thing that can happen after a bad bout of a viral illness. I had a nasty flu nearly a month ago. It lasted for about a week and then I developed different symptoms – a nearly constant feeling of imbalance sort of like being on a large, gently rocking ship, brain fog, fatigue, and mild nausea and headaches on and off. So, a week of the flu, and then all that stuff in a bad way. And since then, I’m less fatigued but the brain fog and imbalance haven’t gone away. I’ve been on medication that I’m not sure has really helped. I think I’m gradually getting better but it’s very slow, and up and down. It’s definitely set off by things, such as what I’m doing right now – typing and concentrating, looking at a screen. This has obviously not helped me in terms of getting much PhD-related stuff done. I’m not sure if pushing through might mean re-gaining mental strength, or whether the effect will be more counterproductive. It’s definitely impacting my writing style. Apologies if there’s anything that doesn’t read well – I’m not sure I’ll have the capacity to read over this when I’m done.

I want to talk about one of my newer pieces, though. It feels relevant to do so. I love where I live. Right now I’m sitting at my desk, looking out the window of my 3rd-floor flat over Wangal Country. It’s 6:30pm and the sky is darkening. Fluffy, low, grey, broken cumulostratus clouds are floating south-westward. Above them is the soft pastel blue of late evening sky, mottled with wisps and clumps of cirrus clouds. In the 2021 covid lockdown times I learned some of the more common cloud types. I can always see a lot of sky from where I am up here.

My flat is called ‘The Canopy’ on my wifi channel for two reasons. The first is that I have a lot of plants in my house and on my balcony. The second is that I’m up at tree-top level and have a leafy vista. I feel endlessly lucky that I can see a generous vista of Wangal Country from where I am. I watch birds, clouds, bats, trees, people occasionally (although my gaze is usually too high up for this) in all sorts of weather. Also, because I’ve been thinking about the pre-colonial landscape, I think about the shape of the land under all the buildings and trees, and how it might have looked before we built the city here. What it might have been like to walk down to the creek before it was straitjacketed into a canal, or up the hill, or along what is now Parramatta Road, which, as I’ve heard a few times was a major travelling route, along a songline.

In December I was in a strange state of not-relaxed-but-not-productive. The heat was getting to me as well. I wanted to use my time for creativity but was feeling uninspired and mildly grumpy. I did also try to relax but it’s kind of impossible to do that at home, as a freelance creative person also doing a PhD. There’s no escape from the feeling that you need to at least use some of your time to make, or get on top of things, or plan, or find opportunities. At times like these I’ve found it cathartic to just pick up my trumpet and improvise, often on a feeling or a memory or with some other kind of inspirational focus. This wasn’t the first time I played to my view, to Wangal Country. Gotta say, I’m starting to really struggle right now with this writing thing. So, I might try and let go of trying too hard with the prose of it, and maybe make it a bit more of a thought flow about the day and the improvisation. Could be vaguely poetic?

Cicadas. Heat, sun, gentle heaviness, humidity. I always feel grateful for this view, living in this place. As I played I let these things fill me, but I also let go of some things. It was both and outpouring and a filling up, something of the substance of what is the Ellen-and-Wangal Country relationship. What Country has come to mean to me and how this is growing. These sorts of improvisations often end up as something quite melodic and tonal. I can’t unpack possible reasons for this right now. Hymn-like or folk-song-like. Simple, slow, re-using similar shapes and turning them around to examine them further. It felt good and well worth doing.

This was all recorded. I transcribed it and turned it into a trumpet and cello duet, with lots of textural tremolo, largely improvised, with chord changes given. I kept most of it but omitted some bits, repeated some bits. It’s a slow build piece, a gradual upswelling. Because when I tap into this that’s what happens, an upswelling of feeling like a feedback loop that amplifies and you get caught up in it, in a great way. And to finish it off, I created a melody out of the shapes of the land going in different directions. One going down to the canal then up the hill, one following the canal all the way out to Gumura/Iron Cove, and one down the hill but then up again following the ridges of the gentle hills in a big arc before coming back around to home again.

I kept the simplicity – as sheet music it looks basic, possibly under-done, but it’s meant to be embellished and washed around rhythmically and have lots of space for texture and shimmer and organic growth. It would have been possible to finesse it more, add more details and specifics, but there was something that felt too sacred about it for that. There is now a version for Underwards as well, which we’ll perform for the first time in a week. And, as with most, if not all of my pieces, the music itself will change over time and sort of develop its own life, as the musicians who play it find a way through it that feels good. Comfort with the music leads to greater playfulness which leads to things that happen that we make happen again next time, or take further next time. So, Wangal View from the Canopy, as performed by Underwards, for those who hear it in a week, could be quite different from a performance in a year. It’s already quite different to the version with cellist Mary Rapp which we recorded and performed earlier this year.

And now, I’ll wrap up. I’ve been going for nearly an hour and it’s dark out across Wangal Country, although the city’s glow on the clouds sets off the silhouettes of the canopy. It’a possible the darkness has made things a bit easier for my focus. Though this was a struggle to write I’m glad I have.