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 Montréal-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 colour
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 floor
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 years
for this moment. The show was rammed, a large section of the crowd comprised
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 talking
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 take
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 TO
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 left
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 could
be seen .. mohawks at age .. 50 ? .. impressive: hardcore and fucked until
the end, Coil I think only communicated with those who knew their history or
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 some
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 controller
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
---McGill Communications------
ICQ: 18766209 | AOL: thesaibot


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