02: A Night At An Opera

Official Description: Tanya calls to check in on Dan. Mr. Davenport disapproves of this. And Melody hears an otherworldly opera that speaks to her very soul.

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[BRIEF BURST OF MUSIC—TWANGY GUITAR, THEN TAPE DISTORTION.]

[IPHONE RINGS TWICE, THEN CONNECTS WITH A SMALL BEEP.]

Hey!

Hey, how’s it going?

It’s good. Uh, I made it here alive. How are you?

I’m good, uh, I’m good. I miss you a lot. Feels like you’ve been gone for way longer than three days.

I know, me too. Time is weird here, it’s so far removed from everything.

Well, that’s kind of what you were looking for, right? Are you settling in okay?

Yeah, I’m getting there. I’m mostly unpacked.

[LAUGHING, SLIGHTLY EXASPERATED.] Mostly? Dan, are you seriously just living out of your suitcase?

Um. No comment.

[HALF-LAUGH, AWKWARD PAUSE.] I thought I was right. Um, but—I mean, you haven’t told me anything about your job, what’s it like?

It’s cool. Uh, it’s cool, I-I like the whole process of it. The archiving, the digitizing—it feels monastic, like I’m illuminating manuscripts or something.

Oh, cool. And you get to listen to it all, right?

Yeah, I mean, the tapes aren’t like— [HE PAUSES, AND HIS TONE BECOMES SHIFTY AND DISTANT] they’re just housing records; they’re historical, but they aren’t… that interesting in and of themselves.

That sounds kind of.. boring.

I mean, it’s important that everything gets preserved, you know? But, uh, [AWKWARDLY CHUCKLES] anyway, enough about me, how’s the renovation going?

[SIGHS.] I mean, i-it’s pretty good. The new floors are in, ‘cause everybody moving to Brooklyn goes crazy for hardwood floors, um. Yeah, it’s mostly done, I’m just doing some touch-ups here and there at this point. But it’s definitely not as much fun spackling walls without you.

Ah. Well. Just save me a huge chunk of drywall for when I get back.

Seriously, though, I will. Don’t even joke about it.

I mean, well. Unfortunately it is all metal and concrete here, so I can’t really practice.

Really? Ugh, that’s so depressing.

Yeah, it’s kind of cool actually! It feels like a bunker or a bomb shelter, um. Kind of imposing. Like I’m in a military outpost out in the wilderness.

I would get so lonely. Are you using the lamp I gave you? Um, tell me—

[SPEAKING OVER HER.] I will, I will, and I mean, I am allowed to go outside. My Vitamin D will be fine.

[IPHONE RINGS. FOR A SECOND, BOTH ARE SILENT.]

Uh, Tanya, l-let me put you on hold for a few seconds, boss is calling. I’ll tell him to call back later.

..Yeah, isn’t it after work h—

[PHONE DISCONNECTS.]

Hey Dan. This a bad time?

Um, I’m actually on a call with my girlfriend, and this is—well, i-it’s outside work hours, so…

I acknowledge what you’re feeling, but I’m going to have to ask you to call your girlfriend back.

Okay.. well, could I just have two or three minutes to say goodbye?

[VOICE TURNS COLD.] Dan, hang up the goddamn phone.

[PAUSE.]

[INHALES.] Okay.

[HE HANGS UP ON TANYA WITH A BEEP.]

Dan, I’d like to think we’ve established a bit of a rapport, a sort of understanding, built on mutual respect and trust. Wouldn’t you agree?

Oh. Sure, yeah. It seems that way.

So you understand that when I see that trust being violated, it really hurts all the more coming from you rather than some random temp?

[PAUSE.]

Mr. Davenport, I-I—

No, just let me speak for a bit. When I told you to record everything do you remember the words that I used? [PAUSE.] Do you?

I-I—

Just let me speak for a bit; I really don’t like being interrupted. I told you that recording everything is your top priority, Dan. So when I got a little automated email in my inbox saying that the recorder was deliberately turned off for a period of 39 minutes and 22 seconds, I was really perturbed. Could it be a false-positive from the monitoring software?

[PAUSE.]

Wait, the monitoring software—?

But no, the monitoring software was fine. And it wasn’t an issue with the battery or the power. No. The recorder was deliberately turned off. Would you care to explain that?

Wait. Wait. Just a minute—I’m being monitored?

Dan, I understand your concern, really, I do. No one is listening in on you. You are not being monitored. The recorder is. If the recorder turns off, then I get a little email with an exclamation point next to it in my inbox. And that is exactly what happened yesterday. So… do you have any explanation for me?

I had a—I don’t know, it—it was—it was a mistake.

You see, the reason that I get a little email with an exclamation point is that if the recorder is off, then we’re open to a whole host of liability and legal issues. If the recorder is off, and—well, I’d really hate to think this of you, but you could be doing anything. You could be making off with government property, you could be destroying tapes, you could be engaged in corporate espionage. Were you doing any of those things during the 39 minutes and 22 seconds the recorder was turned off?

No, uh—no.

See, I’d really love to believe you, Dan, but I can’t know for sure. [DEEP BREATH.] But for now, I want—I want us to move past this. Do you feel the same way?

Yes, of course.

Good, good. Because [HALF-LAUGH] I don’t like doing this, Dan. The whole stern talking-to, it’s not really my scene. Now, I really hope we can rebuild the trust we had. Of course, the first step in that road is me being sure that you’ll never turn the recorder off as long as you’re employed at the Housing Historical Committee of New York State. Can we come to an agreement, Dan?

...Yes.

That’s all I wanted to hear. Okay now, nice talking to you. Buh-bye. [HE HANGS UP.]

Christ. [LONG PAUSE, FABRIC RUSTLING.] Well… shit.

[FOOTSTEPS. SUDDENLY, THE LIGHTS BEGIN TO FLICKER, AND THERE IS THE LOW HUM OF THE POWER TURNING OFF.]

No, no no no no no….

[JUST AS QUICKLY, THE LIGHTS COME BACK TO LIFE WITH THE SAME LOW, ECHOING HUM IN REVERSE.]

[RELIEVED SIGH.] Stupid old…

[SOUND OF LIBRARY SHELVES BEING ROLLED OUT. FOOTSTEPS. A TAPE IS INSERTED INTO THE TAPE PLAYER AND BEGINS.]

—typical minimalist bullshit. [MOCKINGLY HUMS SOMETHING RESEMBLING A PHILLIP GLASS TUNE.] Got the critics hard, but what the hell is that worth, right?

[LAUGHS.] I started the recording, if you don’t mind.

Hell no, go ahead.

I appreciate that. [BREATH.] Melody Pendras, February 20th, 18:40. Floor 6. What did you have for breakfast today.

Uh… Lucky Charms. They’re magically delicious. Sound good?

Actually… [PRESUMABLY ADJUSTING VOLUME.] Could you tell me what time you got up?

Mm.. okay? Around 1 or so. You know… night owl? I do my best work when the whole world’s asleep.

You sound great. Could you tell me your name?

Tamara Morris.

Thank you. How long have you been living in Visser?

Mm.. couple years. Two or three.. [SHE LAUGHS.] Oh, shit, it’s been a while.

And why did you decide to move to Visser?

[SHE LAUGHS AGAIN, THEN PAUSES.] Uh… it’s cheap? I wanted to stretch the grant money out as long as I—you know, as long as possible. Probably should have moved to Wisconsin, somewhere with dirt. But I can’t write surrounded by nature. Anyone who says birdsong is beautiful is lying. It’s just screaming. It’s—horny birds screaming.

[POLITELY.] Hmm. [TAMARA SNORTS.] Tell me a bit about what you write.

I write opera.

Oh, interesting. I’m sorry, all I know about opera is the fat lady with the—

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the fat lady in the Viking helmet.

Sorry.

No, it’s alright. Wagner’s the dude you’re thinking of. And he’s awful, racist as shit. Uh, the opera I write is more… uh.. [SIGHS.]

You can take your time.

This is going to sound super pretentious, but whatever. The opera I write is more real, you know? Full of objects and flesh. I like to use sounds you’d hear on the street. Everyday sounds, you know, to pave the road between the ear and your vocal cords with wider lanes. Music that doesn’t sound like music until you get to this point where it does. Are you—are you following me?

..Yeah, I get that.

People always say that, you know, but—okay, I’ll—I’ll show you.

[SHE BEGINS TO PLAY A RECORD. IT’S A STRANGE, LOOPED PIECE OF AVANT-GARDE MUSIC, A SERIES OF WEIRD RUSHING NOISES THAT SEEM TO GO IN AND OUT WITH TONES HUMMING EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE.]

Okay, so this is a recording I made of a block party in the summer, but I took the tape and played it at quarter-speed, then recorded that and played it at quarter-speed, and on and on until I slowed it down by about two hundred times. [WITH AN EDGE OF HUMOR.] If you listen close you can almost hear the band.

It’s… unique.

Yeah, I know it’s difficult to listen to, but see, that’s the point. Now, what’s supposed to happen is the song should play on this stage with these hooded figures, dressed in all black, and they’re supposed to move soooo slowly… so almost—it’s almost imperceptible, right? [INHALES.] In the stage notes, I ask for one of the figures to be holding a knife, but all the directors have ignored it because they’re fucking cowards. [LAUGHS.] The opera ends when the audience decides to leave, you see.

Ah.

Yeah. Whatever, it’s an early work. You want to hear something else?

Sure.

[SHE STOPS THE RECORD WITH A CLICK, THEN LAUGHS.] Nice to play for someone that isn’t an art critic for once.

[SHE PUTS ANOTHER RECORD ON THE RECORD PLAYER. THIS ONE IS A SERIES OF IMPACTS, THEN A PAINED YELP OR GROAN, ALL LOOPED TOGETHER.]

What is this?

Me. Being hit. [CHUCKLES.] The actors are seated at a table, it’s like, a party, you know? They’re all laughing and joking, but they’re all kicking each other, hard, under the table. With boots. The whole thing is called “Dinner Party Music”.

Oh.

It’s alright; it’s not for everybody. [SNORTS. PAUSE.]

[SHE PUTS ANOTHER RECORD ON.] Okay, just one more, I promise. [THIS ONE IS A SCREAMING, DISCORDANT CACOPHONY OF VOICES. DISTANTLY, A GRINDING VIOLIN PLAYS.]

What’s this opera called?

“Purgatory”. It’s a cast recording. The whole thing happens in complete darkness. I choreographed the whole thing with a former teacher of mine, this modern dancer from Argentina. Had to stop performing it when the union picketed it. [SHE CHUCKLES, THEN STOPS THE PLAYER.] What’d ya think?

Um, I… I really don’t know. I feel a bit… dizzy after listening to them?

Yeah, they have that effect. It’s intentional, though. I’m—I’m into giving people a new perspective, if you know what I mean?

Okay. So, Tamara, tell me about your experiences living in this apartment building.

[CUTS HER OFF WITH A BURST OF LAUGHTER.] I mean, it’s fine, right? Don’t go on the eighth floor unless you want some really insane drugs from the club kids. Avoid the historical society because they’re weirdos and who cares about what they get up to. But, I mean, it’s—it’s not like I really care about the whole thing, right?

You don’t?

[SNORTS.] Not when I’m working on my magnum opus.

Oh, tell me about your magnum opus.

[SIGHS.] “Magnum opus”. Worst phrase in the world. Even if it weren’t the name of a goddamn condom, it would still be phallic as hell. Yeah, I bet you impress every other dude in the lock room with your big swinging magnum opus. [SCOFFS.] But… it’s not finished yet. Just a rough draft. [SHE GETS UP AGAIN.] Sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t play anything else, but—

No, no, I want to hear it.

[ANOTHER RECORD BEGINS PLAYING. THIS ONE IS GENUINE MUSIC, A BEAUTIFUL AND ODDLY MELANCHOLIC PIECE OF STRINGS AND VOICE.]

It’s… beautiful.

[SMUGLY.] Shocked?

...No, I-I just wasn’t—

It’s fine. I moved here to write it. I was having these… dreams. All set to music that I would forget as soon as I woke up. I’ve been trying to bring the music out. You know, into the waking world? It’s easier in Visser; the place has good energy.

[BRIEF PAUSE AS THE PAIR JUST LISTEN.]

So, what’s this piece called? What’s it about? [HER TONE IS NO LONGER ONLY POLITELY INTERESTED OR AMUSED; THERE’S AN UNDERCURRENT OF REVERENCE TO IT NOW.]

I don’t—I don’t know what it’s called. It’s about—it’s about. ..I’m interested in the totality of human experience and how difficult that is to stuff into a narrative. The ideas that can’t be expressed in language, how something greater than a story can shift the way we see the world, like—like calling someone by a wrong name so many times that it becomes the right name. So that they believe it. The idea of the piece is to create music that can demolish barriers. And to get people to build their houses with the debris.

[A PAUSE. THE MUSIC BECOMES SLIGHTLY MORE DISTURBING.]

Are you starting to feel nauseous?

[SHAKILY.] Yes.

[TAMARA, WHOSE VOICE HAS HAD A SELF-DEPRECATING EDGE OF LAUGHTER UP TO THIS POINT, SUDDENLY BECOMES MORE SERIOUS.]

This song isn’t close to being finished, but when it is, it’ll be beautiful. And true. It’ll change the world.

I think, um—I think I should get, uh… [SHE GETS UP AND BEGINS TO STUMBLE AWAY.]

Bit disappointed—but yeah. Probably for the best.

[MELODY OPENS THE DOOR AND WALKS OUT INTO THE HALL, BREATHING HEAVILY AND UNSTEADILY.]

[FROM INSIDE, SHOUTING.] You can still hear it through the wall! If you’re going to be a goddamn coward, you need to go as far away as possible!

[MELODY KEEPS WALKING AWAY, AND TAMARA’S VOICE FADES.]

[DAZED.] Shit.

[FOOTSTEPS, AND THEN THE TAPE ENDS.]

[A PAUSE. DAN SIGHS.]

[IPHONE RINGS AND THEN BEEPS.]

Tanya Molova is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.

Hey Tanya. It’s me, Dan. I mean, you probably already know it’s me. Sorry I-I had to hang up, um… it was an urgent thing. Anyway, again, I’m really sorry, just… call me back when you get the chance, okay? I like hearing your voice. And say hi to Puddles to me. I l… um. I’ll—I’ll talk to you soon.

[PHONE BEEPS AS THE VOICEMAIL ENDS AND HE HANGS UP.]

[PAUSE.]

[DEEP BREATH.] Hey, this is Mark Sollinger again. So it looks like so far no one’s come forward with any information about Dan, but I’ve got a lot of audio from him, so I can keep this going for a while. Subscribe in iTunes, leave a review. You can also visit the website, archive81.com, or follow us on twitter @archive81. We’re also on Facebook. I-I’m just trying to get this out there as many places as possible. And if you know anything about what happened to Dan, email me at archive81podcast@gmail.com, that’s Archive the numbers Eight One Podcast At Gmail Dot Com. Thank you.

[END OF EPISODE TWO.]

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