mutek 2003 .[2]: navigating noise & nausea

["tobias c. van Veen" <tobias@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

[mutek 2003] : [2] : navigating noise & nausea

 .. ok, coffee time .. heading into day three .. on three hours sleep .. my
feet are beginning to kill me .. time to hunt out chairs .. drink .. drugs
of all kinds & sorts .. this year is a cold Mutek: the first in which
sudden, 30 degree heat waves have not dominated the atmosphere, lending to
increased drinking and all around heat exhaustion. Although the cooler
temperatures make for increased energy, the colder weather has also
detracted, it seems, from event attendance of the cinq-a-sept, and from the
drive of the festival in general .. there is something about Montr=E9al heat
the puts the city IN heat, adss a life to the terasse, the sweat, the
discomfort, the brain turns mush and the sound sets in ..

--. Yesterday began with missing both panels; as usual, attempting to do
anything during the day while attempting to write and sleep has quickly
become impossible... I am currently missing the panel on digital
distribution, featuring, among others, his Eminence Richie Hawtin and the N=
o
Type crew, but I am satisfied in the fact that the panels are being recorde=
d
& archived. Nonetheless, panels beginning at 11am  -- and this after being
shifted from 10! -- are all but impossible to make on a regular basis when
one is out until 4am the evening previous... By far it would have made more
sense to put this panel--probably one of the most fascinating of the
festival, as well as pertinent in so many ways, political, economic, and by
lieu of the panelists involved--on in the afternoon.

Speaking of the No Type-ers ... After what has been some public critique of
Mutek, even on this list, No Type presented a label showcase at the Studio
yesterday that enraptured the crowd, sucking them into a vortex of noise an=
d
improv electronic performances. Again, the venue did not have that special
touch that has made the SAT label showcases the highlight of a few
festivals, given the street-level access, windows, and monster sound of tha=
t
demised space [RIP] -- I am thinking especially of the Orthlorng Musork
showcase last year & AGF/Dlay's surreal invocations...  And what is with th=
e
sound? At both Studio and Ex-Centris it did not reach nearly sufficient
levels.. we are hear to listen, to hear and be absorbed. If I can hear
myself breathing, if a neighbour opening his backpack overrides the noise
emanating from the speakers, then shit needs to be turned up.

No Type held attention despite the soundsystem's relatively quiet range,
with Sambiland travelling a wealth of minimalist and dub territories, from
sparse and deep broken beats to ambience, leading into the madness that was
to follow: two sets of collaborative & improvised performances featuring
A_Dontigny, first with the precise workings of veteran improvisational
artist Diane Labrosse--on what appeared to be a theramin device, at times;
this performance was intricate, yet harsh in its metallic clamouring of
sound-events. Then came Morceaux_de_Machines who, after an enthusiastic
shout-out from Aim=E9, did not disappoint with his collaboration: vitriolic
improvised noise from strange devices, high-pitched and jagged waves, from
this real beast of a man, getting down and into it-- Morceaux grabbed the
crowd and spun them round degree by degree. To end was Vancouver's coin
gutter, the enigmatic duo of Graeme and Emma carving out one of their more
delicate and restrained sets, and, although improvised, moving through a
taste of their sound, from experimental electro-acoustic to noise, field
recordings, media samples, and dark soundscapes.

>From there it was on to Ex-Centris, which I probably should note e|I mag wa=
s
sponsoring -- hopefully a few of you received a copy of the mag ... The
Ex-Centris performances were far more tailored to a particular sound this
year; in previous years the juxtaposition of rhythms, beats and experimenta=
l
work resulted in crowd confusion which, although the diversity provided
counterpoint, often left the show as a discontinuous experience. This year
the Ex-Centris programming has been well-rounded and tailored to a deep
listening experience. Starting the night--which was once again packed and
sold out--was Montr=E9al's Mylena Bergeron ... who began with a whistling
refrain into electro-acoustic soundscapes that played off overtly
representational video (a wreck of car in a desert landscape played off her
whistling cowboy ambient ... ambient-acoustic-country?). Long pauses betwee=
n
tracks, a few of which were captivating, set the stage for short listening
spans; I would have liked to have heard the work more intertwined. Moreover=
,
the guy who simply pressed "play" on the video component insisted on
standing for the entire performance, direct stage left, thereby blocking a
good 40 paying customer's view of the screen. One word: idiot. If 242.pilot=
s
could crouch down at the same angled-table full of laptops while actually
doing something, this guy could have had the brains. An "interesting"
performance, but one that left me wondering as to why Bergeron was picked
for Mutek.=20

Next was the Reconnaissance trio of Australians Martin Ng and Oren Ambarchi
and Austrian Tina Frank, who began before beginnings were realised, with
acute and small tones that slowly, with a restraint rarely heard in
improvisation, collided into a careful tinkering of line noise from stock
turntables, effected and prepared guitar, and other forms of delicate
feedback. A treat that brought back fine memories of Janek Schaefer's
stand-out performance last year. A few surprising and shocking, if not
violent feedback spikes shook the audience out of quietude; a few tittered
and laughed, genuinely unsettled ... at the same time, a madly psychedelic
generative-video of geometric lines, cubes, holes and sprawling grids
flipped representational schemas from 2d to 3d, interpreting the sounds as
they were processed ... hands down one of the better performances of the
day, which was perhaps only matched by the anticipation for Tim Hecker's
return. Since Tim's performance at Mutek 2001, much has happened--namely,
out of a few Montr=E9al-based artists, Tim has perhaps, along with Akufen,
reached into the farthest depths to plunder his own sound, and walk the
creative wire... unabashedly romantic (it's his eyelashes..), in both
demeanour and sound, Tim Hecker's performances are lush and evocative
explorations ... and this was not a disappointment .. to warm up the
audience, a few audio experiments from the 242.pilots vid collective
(including Kurt Ralske) warmed up the crowd, mainly abrasive lines, colours=
,
and biting, cutting hard-edged sounds. But the main course, if not dessert,
was Hecker and the Pilots. While I drifted off from the video--which was
colour-toned and soft, generated and delicate, with broad swatches of colou=
r
occluding swathes of source photo + video, lost in a haze, or a fog, yet
perhaps too bright, not blue enough for what I imagine in terms of Hecker's
soundscapes--I was rapt in a deep slumber with Tim Hecker's improvisations
through chunks recognisable from _Radio Amor_ and (I think) _Haunt Me Haunt
Me_ ... I had a dream, while lying down and listening, and feeling the floo=
r
rumble from tones that we could not hear, so deep they were, of creating a
deep listening show where Tim would play for a good 2 hours ... and at
volumes much higher than Ex-Centris seemed capable of that evening .. who
knows: it may indeed happen .

Rush, rush: yes, this day is a long one, for from here it was off to the
mega-theatre-hall Metropolis to see COIL. Some had been waiting 10, 20 year=
s
for this moment. The show was rammed, a large section of the crowd comprise=
d
of young, fat and LSD trippin' goth kids, replete with eyeliner, boots,
GAP-black-pants, the whole fucking works. A trio of them insisted on talkin=
g
through a good 20 mins of Coil's set, even trying to phone someone, direct
stage left. I almost gave these goth kids their self-desired suicides...
eventually a few of us told them to shut the fuck up, and they couldn't tak=
e
the heat under the pressure of LSD so they bolted with their inflatable,
blue alien doll. Sweet mother. If you're going to do LSD .. take the ticket=
,
take the ride... deal with it ... embrace it .. quit whining, dump the
cellphone, lose some weight, and wash off the wanna-be makeup. If you want
to get weird, get WEIRD. And for chrissakes, if you came for Coil, LISTEN T=
O
COIL.

.. alright ..

Coil came out in white fur suits reminiscent of a Yeti version of Sun Ra ..
slowly they walked out .. the relationship was evident: the one one the lef=
t
played the keyboards with dramatic pause and aggressive execution--he was
the master [perhaps even the Top .. if you know Coil .. ]; the other
sequenced tracks in Live on a Powerbook, and he grooved a bit .. responding
with warmth to the darker and colder Coil, and his gaping eyes .. once the
hoods came off, we saw their age; both had shaved heads, although grey coul=
d
be seen .. mohawks at age .. 50 ? .. impressive: hardcore and fucked until
the end, Coil I think only communicated with those who knew their history o=
r
who know something of the genesis of industrial music in the heyday of the
'70s performance-art scene .. in any case: Coil played the beginnings to a
few tracks, although only once dropping an industrial broken beat, and
refraining from any 4/4 (although at one point it seemed they were building
to it), spending much time in their ambient excursions before tapping into
rhythms, playing three distinct tracks with pauses that melded into
others... the tension generated by Coil was immense, and by the end the
entirety of Metropolis was one way or another captivated. Detroit
technoheads speak of "educating" the crowd: this was such a performance,
with Coil demonstrating the direction of rhythm, the importance of
repetition, the ways in which sounds need not be busy, but need be
relational, to speak to each other. Later, the response was mixed .. those
who knew Coil were blown away, picking up on the references, the gestures;
those who knew nothing of Coil thought their performance irrelevant.
Regardless of their relevancy today in terms of an innovative force, seeing
Coil, in all their weirdness, their dark industrial tinge, their refusal to
accede to contemporary performance schemas, even, served as a historical
reminder of a past that is perhaps even less-known and appreciated than
Detroit techno: '70s industrial, the whole nexus of Throbbing Gristle,
Genesis P-Orridge, Chris & Cosey, etc... right down through Skinny Puppy,
Thrill Kill Kult, Front 242... the goth kids don't get it either, although
they are, to an extent, attempting to rebel in a teenage way that shows som=
e
hatred for society--in fact I was speaking to someone last night: what can
kids do today to rebel? what counterculture is there that hasn't already
been consigned to the trash? isn't 'counterculture' or 'subculture' or DIY
even a cynical joke? is there hope?--where was I: yes, Coil, Coil, Coil.
Time to go back and listen all over again. There is much to learn.

Next was Philip Quehenberger, who sang little shitty ditties over noise
records. Kind of so-lame it was cool, but it wore thin. As Dj Fishead noted=
,
he played an entire set of noise that should have been cut for 30 seconds
worth. The noise became boring and overdetermined. With so many excellent
noise practitioners--and DJs.. Aleph Empire.. Fishead.. Doormouse--why
Quehenberger?

Finally .. yes near the end, was the "Iggy Pop" antics of T. Raumschmiere.
Well, hardly Iggy Pop -- the rhetoric of the Mutek flyer being a little
overzealous. I mean Iggy Pop ate chickens and shit. Live chickens. This
tattooed guy just rolled around with his mouth open, stood on the table,
jumped up and down, all to his post-retro-new-wave-industrial-techno that
kicked some serious ass, Shitkatapult in tha house and all that, had us all
bangin' and jumping around and waving, kicking out the booze, smokin' the
spliffs, as Metropolis emptied into the night .. but please: the antics of
Felix Kubin and Nova Huta last year bested this dude hands down. Let's see
some real shit. I wanna see someone smash their Powerbook. Throw their Nord
Modular into the audience. Fucking light, at least, a shitty MIDI controlle=
r
keyboard on fire, pick it to bits, put keys in your mouth, singe your teeth=
,
sing with electricity, go into spasms .. that would be some Iggy Pop shit .=
..
lick a 96 degree processor and scream from the burns .. hell ..

tobias c. van Veen -----------
http://www.quadrantcrossing.org
http://www.thisistheonlyart.com
------------- tobias@xxxxxxxxxxx
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