It had been four years since his last album when Gurrumul Yunupingu completed Djarimirri (Child of the Rainbow), just two weeks before his tragic death in July 2017. Recounted in a 2017 documentary, the album represented the culmination of an illustrious career; a marrying together of the many complex worlds he had been forced to navigate as a Yolŋu man and musician.
It has been four years since Buŋgul was first set to premiere at Darwin Festival. Commissioned as part of the Major Festivals Initiative, it brings together traditional dance, music and videography to transport audiences into the world of his album. Supported here by the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra for the RISING festival, it is a singular achievement; a lovingly rendered, and expertly executed homage to a titan of Australian music that thrillingly replicates the power of his music, as well as the man behind it.
Nebbie Burrawanga and James Gurrawiwi. Photo © Buŋgul by Anna Reece
The 90-minute show, like the album, is divided into 12 sequences that bear the name of a particular aspect of Yolŋu culture and lore (introduced with title cards that specify moiety, clan and language).
A circle of thick sand is laid across the Hamer Hall stage for the nine performers – many of whom are kin of Dr G – to embed each song in the Country of its origin. Similarly, warm yellows and reds (lighting design by Mark Howett) light each performer’s yellow nargas in the buttery sunburnt warmth of Gurrumul’s native North East Arnhem Land. Miriam Dhurrkay Yirrininba, Gurrumul’s niece, described her uncle as someone who was “born to feel the nature”. Here, a team of expert technicians, performers and makers have converged to replicate this feeling on stage.
Extreme close-ups dissolve into sweeping panoramas and breathtaking landscapes. On stage, flecks of sand catch the light of azure seas, cracked earth and detailed paintings projected from above. A narrpiya (octopus) from Yirritija artist Shane Dhawa Bukulatjpi or a djarimirri (olive python) from artist Djul’djul Gurruwiwi paint the performers in a world of startling detail and colour, while the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Erkki Velheim, accompanies each track with confident orchestrations.
Each of the 12 sequences are choreographed like a well-oiled machine. The overhead projections dance beside onstage performers while the orchestra swells to lift Gurrumul’s voice before backing off to allow for elements of body percussion to fill the 2,500-seat venue. Video designer Mic Gruchy and sound designer Steve Francis work together perfectly, with transitions smooth as butter and cuts between live and pre-recorded scenes barely perceptible. It is a triumph of organisation, and a true marrying of technical ingenuity and theatrical spectacle helmed with restraint by directors Don Wininba Ganambarr and Nigel Jamieson.
Ganambarr and Jamieson have directed the show with a clear understanding of what makes Gurrumul’s music so affecting. The performance is suffused with the joyful energy of collaboration and the shared language of culture. Sequences of ceremony stripped of orchestration often follow each track, allowing the performers to revel in each individual buŋgul.
Meanwhile, splashes of humour and spontaneity avoid the possibility the show might appear too clinical or artificial as a result of its tight execution. An extreme close-up on screen, for instance, or moments of playful audience interaction create an air of casual intimacy that complements the emotional poignancy of the music beautifully. Quiet moments of comradery between the performers and touches of improvisation are particularly welcome.
The orchestra, while gorgeous, often seemed to pull back to ensure it did not overpower Gurrumul’s pre-recorded voice. The restraint would be barely perceptible were it not for moments when the onstage performers sang on their own. Left to accompany themselves – with body percussion, vocal chanting and two talented vocalists side stage – the lively and athletic ensemble of performers were able to respond to, and build on, one another. It’s a dynamic glimpse into a ceremonial process of collaboration and connection to Country. Likewise, the orchestra seemed to revel in purely instrumental moments when the musicians were able to showcase their immense sound without the restraints of a pre-recorded track.
“The Yolŋu world”, as the Buŋgul program notes, “is defined by two opposite sides…. Both halves are required to find balance.” Ultimately, this show is a towering testament to such harmony, balancing ceremonial choreography with contemporary orchestrations, theatrical spectacle with quietly intimate detail, and technical ingenuity with naturalistic tableau. It is, as the name Buŋgul implies, a ceremonious gathering seamlessly rendered in theatrical form: a marrying of dance, song and culture that thrums with a barely contained electricity that should not be missed.
Buŋgul will be performed again at Hamer Hall, Arts Centre Melbourne on Thursday 15 June at 8pm. More information here.
