Unravel, directed by Sarah Cox, was the shortest contribution to Aardman's Live Earth trilogy of 2007, at only 92 seconds long, although probably the most starkly harrowing in its message. Unlike its two sister installments, which both leaned heavily on the humor angle, Unravel approaches its subject with an earnest, elegant simplicity, in evoking two almost oppositional connections - the technological connections that make the world seem closer than ever from a dimensional/communicative standpoint, and the extent to which all life on Earth is inherently interconnected - and how the former, while ostensibly uniting the world, is having a disastrous effect on the latter. The Earth is depicted as a ball of yarn, with various patterns intricately interwoven into its surface, representing an assortment of plant and animal life and their corresponding habitats. A trio of aeroplanes encircle the globe, each pulling a thread behind them; we see the far-reaching impact of their movements, as the threads continue to unwind and the habitats and the chains of life they support are gradually depleted. Finally, the pulled threads reassemble to form the following words: DON'T LET IT ALL UNRAVEL.
The first observation that has to be made about Unravel is that the animation is beautiful. It is a truly enchanting piece to look at. The various figures, woven out of fabric, emit a warm, handmade quality; lush greens and blues in which everything seems alive but also delicate, all of which makes its ceaseless destruction all the more distressing. The second observation to be made is that, for as wonderful a short as it is on the visual front, it wouldn't pack half as weighty a punch without the sonic factor. The most intriguing thing going on in Unravel is the beguiling choice of audio accompaniment, credited in the closing titles to "Two Young Girls From Burundi". Rewatching it over and over, I couldn't pinpoint quite what it was about this track that made it so haunting - it seemed to convey both the beauty and the elegance of this fragile world but there was a cry of despair in it too. It felt like the rhythm of the Earth, a hum or a heartbeat, desperately trying to preserve as the odds grew increasingly stacked against it. I went in search of this recording in the hopes of gaining greater context, and eventually managed to locate it on an LP, An Introduction To Africa, released by WOMAD in 1985. There's no specific information on who the two young girls really were - their names and their stories remain a mystery - but the accompanying booklet had this to say about the nature of the song:
"On this opening track, two young Burundi girls sing Akazéhé which is a song of greeting. This type of song is recited everywhere - from large celebrations to when people visit each others homes. This style of singing is not only common to Burundi, but can be found all over Africa. It requires a highly accurate breathing technique as there is little room for pause. This song, recorded in 1968, displays the curious ululating voices which create a polyphonic effect."
It seems that this recording was culled from an earlier release, Musique Du Burundi, put out by Ocora records in 1968, in which the girls are credited under their French moniker, Deux Jeunes Filles. There, it's preceded by an Akazéhé from just one girl, which itself sounds strangely familiar; I can only presume that it was incorporated into some Deep Forest remix.
What is it about the recording that makes it so powerful in this particular context? The knowledge that the song in question is a greeting certainly makes it all the more ironic that it accompanies images of life being slowly erased. But I think it also has to do with the song's unassuming nature, and the anonymity of these two small (yet compelling) voices, calling out from a planet where everything is ultimately interlinked. They become the vitality, and the helplessness, of every individual living thing adding up to one.
Live Earth - Unravel a from dg andson on Vimeo.
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