‘Out In The Hills’ was billed as ‘a queer festival for everyone’, and in Alan Cumming’s first year as Artistic Director of Pitlochry Festival Theatre, the inaugural festival promised just that. It was an explosion of theatre, music, film, writing, dance, spoken word and exhibitions, curated by Lewis Hetherington, and is flagged as ‘a festival that celebrates all things LGBTQIA+’.
It was a risk in mid-January in the Highlands of Scotland, when snow – out on the hills at least – is likely, but oh how joyful to be in the beautiful Pitlochry Festival Theatre with an audience out to enjoy themselves. So writes Sass MacDonald for theQR.co.uk…
Evelyn Glennie and Juano Diaz: A Unique Collaboration
If the audience who came to listen to visual artist turned author Juano Diaz and percussionist Evelyn Glennie’s improvised collaboration, Slum Boy, thought they knew what to expect, I think they found themselves to be mistaken. I’d seen Glennie’s collaboration with poet Raymond Antrobus—both deaf artists—and marvelled at it. Whilst elements of Slum Boy were similar—a collaboration between a writer and a musician was always likely to be—this took things to another level. Glennie’s silence at the height of the heart-wrenching raw emotion of Diaz’s reading was, I think, a genuine reaction and one which heightened the authenticity of his voice.
Creativity of the Highest Order
So what to expect then? First of all, a black and white projection of scenes from Diaz’s young life and the loss of his father, accompanied by Glennie’s masterful use of some of the weirdest instruments you’ll ever see or hear. If it’s percussive, she will use it; and if it’s not already percussive, she seems to be able to find a way to make it so. But this is not being oddball, this is creativity and musicality of the highest order—music that is felt in the body in a way that is rarely experienced.
Glennie’s silence at the height of the heart-wrenching raw emotion of Diaz’s reading was, I think, a genuine reaction and one which heightened the authenticity of his voice.
Next (spoiler alert), Diaz’s nine-year-old son—we didn’t know this was who he was till the very end of the show—read an account of what we’d just seen on screen. With his back to most of the audience, he was clear and assured, and the music picked up on this change in tempo and timbre beautifully.
A Story of Survival and Resilience
Then Diaz himself read from his book, brought to tears from time to time. This is a very raw account of inadequate parenting and neglect, and a young child’s love for his mother despite that neglect and deprivation. And it’s about resilience: not just surviving, but thriving. Take a look at Diaz’s artwork online—it’s fantastic and sells for remarkable prices, unsurprisingly.
This is a challenging show for the audience in part—the story and projection are brutal and harrowing—and yet Glennie’s ethereal music counteracts that in a very beautiful and sensitive way.
And then there was a Q&A session with Diaz, Glennie, Diaz’s husband, and their son. The audience was full of curiosity and questions about lots of aspects of the whole thing, such as how it had come about and how their son felt about being asked to participate. Mainly, he did it for his Papa (Diaz), and that made us all teary again!
This was (perhaps ‘is’ should it be repeated) a challenging show for the audience in part—the story and projection are brutal and harrowing—and yet Glennie’s ethereal music counteracts that in a very beautiful and sensitive way. It’s not a simple soundtrack; it’s a reaction from her heart. And soul. I can’t recommend it highly enough.
Featured Image: Slum Boy – Juano Diaz and Evelyn Glennie – Poster
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