How, in a postmodern, post-industrial world, in a society that has largely abandoned its religious convictions, do you create a musical representation of Hell inspired by Dante's classic tale of the Christian afterworld? Forget the ponderous, over-orchestrated symphonic works full of doomsaying timpani rolls and weeping cellos - in fact, forget everything. Take a score that refuses melody, harmony and narrative development, a bunch of virtuosic musicians with the ability to wrench unearthly and psychotic sounds out of traditional instruments, new instruments crafted from ice or rubbish, seriously overcranked electronics, and set it all in a building already inhabited by the spirits of dead machines, and you've got John Rodgers' Inferno at the Brisbane Powerhouse. Call me weird, but I took to this performance with a devilish glee and an appreciation of its balance between anarchy and subtle design: the music was by turns painfully noisy (to the point of splitting your eardrums) and ethereally whisper-quiet; at times chillingly still and at others full of hot, violent rage.

Another important reason for the enjoyability of this performance was that, unlike some avant-garde concerts I have seen, this was no didactic sound-sermon preached down at the helpless and clueless audience. The program notes were presented as a fantasy-allegory (narrating a train journey with a group of expert musical cartographers of Hell), avoiding the "directions for listening" paragaph that usually accompanies instrumental music, intended to help the uninitiated to figure out what the music 'means' but usually, and with some justification, merely arousing suspicion that the music would seem like nonsense if left to stand alone. You know the kind of thing, and they could have done it here: "This piece is written in three sections, with each representing one of the three rivers in Dante's Inferno, and each cluster of instrumentation representing groups of damned souls". But they didn't inflict that on us, which helped to create the favourable impression of a relatively 'open' text.

At the commencement of the performance, we entered to find the performance space concealed by black curtaining, behind which clusters of seating were placed to alternate with small groups of three or four instrumentalists, immediately encouraging the audience to forget any traditional concert expectations - there was no hierarchical elevation of conductor above ensemble, with the audience kept at a safe observation distance here. Not only that, but the saxophone, trumpet, trombone and clarinet players were seated above us on steel walkways. This use of the space was very important for reasons other than ones of aesthetics or novelty: it created a totally immersive sonic experience for the audience (especially thanks to the clever use of amplification techniques), and one that was different for each seating section. Besides this, there were so many things happening at once, and nobody explicitly directing your attention, that each individual audience member's experience of the performance was bound to be unique: the trumpeter above you might be releasing air from a balloon into a bucket of water at the same moment that the violinist in front of you began to 'play' his neighbour's cello, using the upside-down violin as a bow, while across the room the guitarist was preparing to crank up the seriously modified Inferno Guitar, sure to burst your eardrums.

While some members of the audience looked like their were in their own personal hells, the time flew for me as I looked and listened from point to point around the room, and sin to sin around Hell: from the intense wailing and fathomless depth-charge of an electric guitar run through some intense effects boxes, duelling with live improvised electronic bleeps and crunches, to the shivering, ethereal sighs of limbo - water crotales played with a cello bow, whistles, and string harmonics. And finally, the end came: the flute and oboe players, hands insulated with latex gloves, retrieve their ice-sculpture instruments from the freezer and improvise in a suicide-pact duet, until first the oboe, and then the flute, melt and break away to nothing but a cold, silent puddle on the floor. It's not everybody's idea of entertainment (and probably not really mine either), but it haunted me for days - and anything that can withstand the constant influx of new sounds, images, and information that we all experience daily must have something going for it. Seven out of seven deadly sins.

Performers

Simon Hewett: conductor
Ingrid Culliford: flute/bass flute/ice flute
Anthony Burr: clarinet /bass clarinet/live electronics
Scott Tinkler: trumpet/bucket of water
Benjamin Marks: trombone/bucket of water
Timothy O'Dwyer: alto saxophone
Ron Colbers: infernophone/trash
Peter Neville: percussion/water crotales/dog whistles/vegetables
Daryl Buckley: electric guitar/demon duck/inferno guitar
Erkki Veltheim: viola/quarter sized violin
Friedrich Gauwerky: violoncello
Andrew Shetliffe: violoncello
Michael Hewes: sound designer/live electronics

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