Gallery giggery. Performance-as-installation. Sound creation so subtle as to resemble a type of internal martial art. This music isn't spectacle, it's a distillation. A performance captured for posterity by a myriad of recording devices...the audience is less participant-in-real-time than estranged remote-viewer..(quiet..we're making history here). Three acts, with a fourth assembled from diffuse players/party-goers.
The None Gallery basement is such a great setting for performance. So ramshackled and gnarley. Concrete and dust and bottles'o'beer, I have to commend the dancer for performing in bare feet. Actually, I have to commend the dancer for performing full-stop - I have never seen anyone interpret free-noise with dance. No defined rhythm to grasp onto, unless you count the percolating pulse of naked speaker against concrete. Yes - this was act number one : Dry Soket - another clever working title (prize for who can list 'em all!) for the stalwart gallery ensemble of Boufis, MacKinnon and Wilson, featuring contemporary dancer Josh Rutter. The sound crew were seated on the floor and manipulated a cavalcade of sound devices - some of which were hooked up to a series of diagonally aligned( rather like a classic vector graphics game) multi-sized speakers on the concrete floor. They were a delight to behold as grainy signal forced one particular speaker to splutter and rattle - a curious electro-acoustic pitter-patter of wood, concrete and rubber. A little performance in it's own right. MacKinnon blurs the line between art and music by incorporating his current installation motif into the 'onstage band' format. But it was Rutter who commanded the most eye-balling. Painfully slow martial art-like movements, slo-mo convulsions, a bizarre figure stalking and glaring and searching, as if possessed - opening and closing the door in some ghostly sorta shamanistic/demon absorbing way, agony his expression - one couldn't keep ones eyes off Rutter and his tense, truly clever interpretation of what the sound was doing. Or going. Or whatever. Nigel Bunn, seated next to me, mentioned something about DDT and its effects. Bravo.
Beer number 6 and next on was Eye, the power trio of Porteous, Stapleton and Thompson. An elegant arc of a set - perhaps based on
a classical formulae - i don't know, the tension was coaxed up to a climax, there was the plateau of madness, then it all calmed down again and found resolution - perhaps an analogy to passing storm? The erotic arts? Somthing more cerebral perhaps - even paranormal? Either way it was awesome - a personal highlight was the primordial circular drone emitted from a Tibetan bowl -- always a pleasure to absorb. Such a simple device - such a gorgeous sonic result.
Crude played next. Unashamedly antithetical in its approach to the last 2 acts. More animal than cerebral. Animal yet mathmatical yet lap-toppy industro beats w/ slimey sax abstracts. Yokel vocal. Did they like it? Crude has no idea. Crude woke up next morning and said. "That gig did'nt actually happen". Crude don't care. Crude on crude. It still suits the galleries tho'. Says me. The glitch bogan fron nowheresville, southland.