Tag Archives: opera

Nabaz’mob

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In this post, the story of Nabaztag is taken from Wikipedia, with some notes by myself.

The word Nabaztag (“նապաստակ” which in Armenian language means rabbit) indicates the wifi rabbit conceived by Rafi Haladjian and Olivier Mével and produced in 2005 by the French company Violet.

The object, sold from June 2005, by the end of October 2006 had reached 35,000 copies in France alone. At the end of 2006 a more advanced model was introduced, the Nabaztag: tag that supports mp3 streaming via the internet, has a microphone to receive voice commands and an RFID reader with personalized tags to receive commands. This model also has PULL technology, which means it can query the server on its own initiative. As of September 2007, there are more than 180,000 Nabaztags around the world.

On October 20, 2009, Violet, struggling for insane management, is bought by the well-known software publisher Mindscape which puts on the market an even more advanced model called Karotz with webcam and greater memory capacity. Soon, however, even the latter entered into crisis. On July 29, 2011 Mindscape announced the shutdown of Nabaztag’s management servers, creating 180,000 orphans in one go, but made public the code for managing multimedia “bunnies”, making it possible for different user communities to create new servers. However, the various user communities have favored alternative solutions, based on the Opensource OpenJabNab, Nabizdead and OpenNag projects, simpler to implement than the original server (called “burrow”, referring to wild rabbit burrows) Violet / Mindscape but without support for older first generation Nabaztag units. The user communities born in the immediate closure of the “official” server support only Nabaztag: tags.

Later Mindscape is acquired by Aldebaran Robotics, a company specializing in toy and amateur robots, which sells Karotz’s stocks without developing the product, despite the fact that it had incorporated and clearly visible hooks for accessories and extensions. Finally, with a shocking announcement from its CEO, it communicates the shutdown of the Karotz servers for February 18, 2015, thus marking the end of the project whose existence remains entrusted to amateur servers.

Since the creation of Nabaztag, Antoine Schmitt is its behavioral designer and Jean-Jacques Birgé its sound designer. Together, they also composed the Opera Nabaz’mob for 100 communicating rabbits, which won the Prix Ars Electronica Award of Distinction Digital Musics 2009 and an excerpt of which can be seen in this video.

The video on this page is a shorter excerpt, but the audio is better.

Invisible Cities

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Invisible Cities (2013) è un’opera di Christopher Cerrone, compositore e librettista, ispirata alle Città Invisibili di Calvino, pubblicato nel 1972.

La fruizione è inusuale. Il palcoscenico è la storica Union Station di Los Angeles. Non c’è separazione fra gli strumentisti, i danzatori, i cantanti e il pubblico: tutti si aggirano per la stazione e il pubblico può ascoltare la musica dovunque, essendo dotato di cuffie wireless (il main sponsor è Sennheiser). E devo dire che ambientare quello che, sia pure solo in superficie, è un racconto di viaggi in un luogo deputato ai viaggi è una bella idea.

Perché l’opera narra, appunto, il racconto di Marco Polo a Kublai Khan. I suoi viaggi e le favolose città che ha visto: alcune reali, altre frutto dell’immaginazione. Città di desiderio, di segni, e di memoria.

La musica è semplice, quasi minimalista, di quella tipica tonalità americana che, grazie alla ripetizione, annulla il dramma tonale per diventare quasi drone music (ma si può anche sentirvi la netta influenza di Escalator Over The Hill di cui potete leggere fra i collegamenti, sotto). Il video, qui sopra, è una playlist in 9 parti.

Note dal sito dell’autore:

The music of Invisible Cities is the result of my first collision with Calvino’s extraordinary novel. For years I had been unable to bridge categories of music, thinking that a work could be either lyrical or conceptually rigorous, but not both. Calvino’s novel, however, is both a tightly structured mathematical work, yet also opens with the gorgeous line:

“In the lives of emperors there is a moment which follows pride in the boundless extension of the territories we have conquered, and the melancholy and relief of knowing we shall soon give up any thought of knowing and understanding them.”

After reading that sentence—so pregnant with meaning, lyricism, mood—I immediately began composing. I imagined the sound of a unearthly resonant and gong-like prepared piano, the ringing of bells, and wind players gently blowing air through their instruments. All of this would support a lyrical and deep voiced Kublai Khan who is slow moving and sings with gravitas. I imagined there would be two women, two high sopranos, who always sing together in harmony: they would be the musical personification of the cities that pervade the novel. And of course, our Italian explorer would be a tenor, light and quick moving, melismatic, and deft.

As with Calvino, there are many formally derived components to my opera. The orchestra is split into two (left and right) halves which alternate melodies to create the whole. The left part is associated Marco Polo, the right is associated with Kublai Khan. And the opera is structured as formally as the novel, always alternating Polo and the Khan’s conversations with Polo’s stories of le città.

To borrow a term from of one of Calvino’s favorite writers, Jorge Luis Borges, Invisible Cities is a garden of forking paths. As the work progresses, you might find yourself wandering back to the same place in Union Station again and again only to find new things happening each time. In the same way, the same few musical ideas of Invisible Cities are revisited again and again, just from vastly different perspectives. As we grow and evolve, the same objects in our lives can acquire such different meanings. That above else governs what Invisible Cities is about: how our memories change as we get older, how our map of the world gets larger, and how our past is always being changed by our ever-shifting present.