TaTaTa

TaTaTa is a short experimental dance film directed by Denbert Tiamson. Structured in a tripartite performance extensively featuring the director himself, the film explores the implications of reading cinema as a human body—thus subjecting cinema to themes of individual corporeality, thrownness into the world, and solidarity with other bodies.

A nine-minute short with almost no other sources of sound, this project was an exciting and challenging project for me. Three different parts, three different genres, and one major task: to make a score that sounds cohesive yet distinct. As its composer, my job went beyond just writing the music—I was responsible for crafting the film’s soundscape by using not just music but also rhythm, performance, and emotion as my raw materials.

From the very first moment I watched the edit. TaTaTa then asked me a challenging question:

How can music converse with a performance dancing
to an unheard beat?

The Background

For TaTaTa, I entered the picture during post-production; when the sequences were already shot, when the director and editor already signed-off on a picture lock or piclock. In other words, the music came after the visuals.

Still photo from Part I.

Put yourself in my shoes for a moment: you’ve just been handed the piclock and you proceeded to watch all nine minutes of it. Frankly, it’s mesmerizing; in modern slang, it was cooking. But it was the piclock of a dance film with no final score. Though you were also given some temporary music to get a feel for the mood and pacing, you eventually had to turn it off and watch in almost complete silence. And if you’re already scratching your head imagining all this, just consider that this was my position during post-production. And I remember wondering out loud: “I wonder what they’re dancing to…”

But this was all an intentional part of the film’s creative process. During onboarding, the post-production crew and I were told to imagine ourselves performing in our roles—on our own metaphorical stages. We were given liberty to channel our own creativity to respond to the film as best as we personally could.

As for me, I’m not that familiar with the stage (apart from the occasional musical improv gig). But I am confident that any good performance onstage requires its cast and crew to play off one another: interacting, engaging, and most of all enjoying one another’s company. Music may not have been given a human form in TaTaTa, but it was there, dancing together with the visuals, the color, and the edit. My music was my direct response to the ebb and flow of the entire film.

In every corner, cut, and sequence, TaTaTa repeated the same question—and I responded in a language so familiar to me.

The Foundation

My response—the score’s final sound—follows three main genre conventions, emulating the film’s tripartite structure:

• Baroque orchestra :: the BODY at an audition.
• Bebop jazz :: the BODY out in the world.
• EDM trance :: the BODY among other BODIES.

These genres helped me support the film’s progression from a ‘rigid’ and ‘staged’ audition, to chaotic city streets, before finally approaching a kaleidoscopic catharsis. Baroque, already known for its intensity and drama, bridges European roots to a post-colonial Filipino sensibility; bebop jazz evokes a free-flowing spirit clashing against traditional musical conventions; and trance, with its emphasis on sampling and remixing, channels 21^st century intersectionality to consciously bring together all the musical genres we’ve inherited through culture.

All these said, I initially didn’t have experience writing music for these genres before TaTaTa. It was all ambient piano and long synths before this, but I was so engrossed by the project (and thankful for the opportunity) that I readily jumped into the unknown, spending multiple active listening sessions on Spotify. I eventually found my footing on a handful of inspirations: baroque pieces by Bach and Pachelbel; “No One Else” from the play Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812; “Ornithology” by Charlie Parker & Benny Harris; “Satellite” by Above & Beyond; and the titular song “Gouryella.” Bach, Pachelbel, and the Great Comet were all there for a dash of dramatic flair and bravado. And the jazz musicians—coupled with extra recordings from Bud Powell—helped me understand jazz’s chord progressions and complex drum patterns. Finally, “Satellite” and “Gouryella” gave me an old-school introduction to trance music; and I just really liked the tremolo and thump on their synth basslines.

Song inspirations clockwise from the top-left: “No One Else”, “Gouryella”, and “Ornithology.”

The Composition

When I finally began the composition process, the complexity of the challenge became more palpable with the growing complexity of my Cakewalk session. But after more than fifty tracks of MIDI orchestration and automation, I was looking at eight minutes of pure score. Then I pressed ‘Play.’

A clock counts down at an audition—showtime. We enter the key of Bb minor with an ensemble playing in 3/4 time—literally to the count of Ta-Ta-Ta—before imploding under the weight of shackles. A piano whispers a tune picked up by a blazing-fast trumpet improvising over double bass, drums, and the chaos of Manila. Then, a drum soloes while the audience gazes at personal and societal history archived in footage. Recapitulation meets EDM trance when, true to its roots, the very score thus far is sampled, remixed, and digitally crushed into bytes as the film reaches catharsis. Higher, higher, higher, all until—until we return to the audition once more.

Final Cakewalk session for Part 3. Probably overboard for those drums…

The Dance

But the dust never fully settled even in the end. Overseas, TaTaTa found its way to newer and farther stages called Vancouver and Kathmandu.

But at home here in Manila, the film still dances in my mind from time to time, especially in the moments when life throws me in for a loop. Because in those moments I ask myself: “I wonder what we’re dancing to…”