Juliet Fraser: Skin

Skin has become something of a party piece for me. I have performed it twenty times (and counting), with ensembles all over the world. It’s disappointingly rare to build this sort of relationship with a piece of contemporary music — we bemoan the labour-to-reward imbalance of constantly learning fiendish new pieces, but what is missing most in this parade of premieres is the opportunity to get past the adrenaline of the first few outings and settle deep into the material, to craft one’s interpretation.

Very little music reveals itself fully in rehearsal. The expressive intentions of the piece often only become clear to me in performance, when my focus is suddenly on affect rather than technique or accuracy. It’s as if the conversation only really hits its stride on stage. Rebecca’s music is dense and complex, in terms of the practical arrangement of each sound but also in terms of the emotional impact these sounds can convey. A subtle adjustment to the pacing of a phrase, for example, can bring forth quite a different side of the character I am playing. People often comment on the ‘visceral’ quality of her music, but I wonder if the drama they are sensing is rather to do with the risk inherent in the spontaneous decisions we performers have to take on stage as we juggle the combustible tension between head and heart.

Another way to express this is to discuss the virtuosity of the piece. Plenty of vocal repertoire is virtuosic (coloratura arias, for example), and in Skin the material is evidently virtuosic in its use of high notes or particular techniques, but this is always in service of the drama, never just for its own sake. The virtuosity here is not about flamboyance but about the finely calibrated relationship between the voice and the instruments. Pitches are passed between us, shifting and tilting in colour or density, so that the voice is embedded in the ensemble rather than set in front of it.

Though Rebecca has described as ‘the absolute catalyst’ for the piece a short fragment of Samuel Beckett’s The Ghost Trio, the majority of the sung text is formed of her own words, which emerged during the compositional process. A secondary source is Molly Bloom’s monologue from Ulysses by James Joyce, an extract of which appears in ‘text fragments’ that are whispered, mumbled, inhaled or reduced to airless, percussive plosives and sibilance. Text is treated more as sonic material than comprehensible narrative; neither is it reserved for the singer, as whispered syllables echo through the ensemble or a rolled r in my part is matched by a flutter tongue elsewhere. This reinforces the sense that we are one entity, that together we give voice to a woman’s interior world of thoughts, sensations and self-discovery.

The recording featured on this album is of the second performance, given at Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival in 2016. I remember the thrill of that performance. It was a pivotal year for me, as I tried to launch a solo career, and working with Rebecca was in many ways the key to a new world of music-making. We’ve worked together on other pieces since then, but I will forever be grateful to her for taking a risk on me, a very green and frightened diva! Skin is like a perfectly tailored suit; cut to fit, yet accommodating a little growth. I doubt it will ever go out of fashion.

Juliet Fraser, November 2022

This article was originally published in our Friends' Newsletter, Autumn 2022. Alongside articles like this, our quarterly Friends Newsletter is packed with behind-the-scenes updates on recordings and education projects, as well as invitations to see our work in action plus opportunities to meet composers and artists; find out more about becoming a Friend here.

Main article image: Juliet Fraser performing Nether by Rebecca Saunders, 2019 © Janet Sinica

NMC's Discover platform is created in partnership with ISM Trust.