the most memorable live shows you've attended
In thinking of memorable music shows I found that the circumstances typically loomed much larger than the music for me, to the point where the musically interesting shows weren't nearly as memorable as the theatre...Angelus Novus wrote:It's been mentioned before how different the experience of a live performance is from a compact disc.
One major difference, to me, is the series of actions, interactions, physical movements, geographical space, that a live performance is embedded in.
My first really memorable experiences with live music was with the hardcore (punk rock) scene. Looking back, there was alot of crap music involved but the whole tightly knit local crowd of "hardcore kids" made a much bigger impact on me than the music. The most amusing part about this was watching friends do their violent moshing type circle dancing and laugh off the occasional bloody nose that their best friend just gave them. The threat of impending violence mixed with camradarie and a general sense that this subculture opposed vapid mainstream America rang pretty hollow in the end. Maybe the clothes were different, but the the music soundtracked behavior and attitudes that I'd hoped to leave behind. I did like the DIY spirit, though. Pick a show, especially a sweaty house show. '94-'96
1997 or so. Chicago. One of the reasons I moved to Chicago was the music I was listening to in 1995. It was a way out of the suburbs and into musical adventure. So yes, Chicago in 1997 or so. I'd decided to check out the improvised music series at Myopic Books. I rode a friend's bike from Lakeview to Wicker Park for the show. On the way there I rode directly past the (notorious) Cabrini Green housing projects (didn't know any better.. some time later my pal would get stuck up there for his wallet after walking home from a party, and I would see an interesting documentary on the history of how this particular US housing project changed from a good place to live to overtaken by drug dealing to bought out for condos). My head was shaved down to a stubble at the time and for all I know it looked like a pale shining beacon to the black kids playing basketball outside the projects who yelled at me as I pedaled by: "You're in the wrong neighborhood" and "Get back here, I'll fuck you up". heh, I pedaled a bit faster. So I made it to Myopic Books and ventured downstairs where a handful of people were watching the same number of people improvising on various instruments. The music didn't make too much of an impression.. but then I wasn't ready for this quite yet. A girl tapped my head as I crouched watching the music only for her to realize she'd thought I was someone else when I turned. It seemed like a small world, the Myopic improv scene, and I was glad it existed. Later on I'd start to listen to some of this type of music.
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user_2674
Butthole Surfers, Hammersmith Clarendon 1987.
I was in a transitional listening period at the time. I'd spent most of my teens obsessing over Genesis, Rush and, er, Eloy but it'd started to seem a bit stale and tight-arsed. I'd borrowed some LP's off a friend (Swans, Foetus, Sonic Youth etc) and been to see Big Black, but this gig was where I "got it". The turning point came about halfway through the set. The band were grinding out some endless avant boogie riff, the nude dancer with the Fu Manchu stick-on beard was gyrating in front of a film of genital reconstruction surgery, smoke and strobes were flashing. Then ringmaster Gibby Haynes poured lighter fuel into an upturned cymbal, lit it and started bashing the fuck out of it. Flames were shooting up to the ceiling, the dancer danced, the films changed to wildlife footage of insects, security tried to douse the flames, the band boogied on. Sensory overload! From that moment on my brain was rewired into a shape where I could appreciate anything at all if I put my mind to it. I staggered out of the gig really not knowing if I'd enjoyed it or not. Things were never the same after that.
I was in a transitional listening period at the time. I'd spent most of my teens obsessing over Genesis, Rush and, er, Eloy but it'd started to seem a bit stale and tight-arsed. I'd borrowed some LP's off a friend (Swans, Foetus, Sonic Youth etc) and been to see Big Black, but this gig was where I "got it". The turning point came about halfway through the set. The band were grinding out some endless avant boogie riff, the nude dancer with the Fu Manchu stick-on beard was gyrating in front of a film of genital reconstruction surgery, smoke and strobes were flashing. Then ringmaster Gibby Haynes poured lighter fuel into an upturned cymbal, lit it and started bashing the fuck out of it. Flames were shooting up to the ceiling, the dancer danced, the films changed to wildlife footage of insects, security tried to douse the flames, the band boogied on. Sensory overload! From that moment on my brain was rewired into a shape where I could appreciate anything at all if I put my mind to it. I staggered out of the gig really not knowing if I'd enjoyed it or not. Things were never the same after that.
Neurosis / Grotus / Man is the Bastard / Logical Nonsense @ the Whisky a-Go-Go, LA, 1994-5.
I went to see Neurosis, but the only group I really remember from the show is MiTB. I had heard them on a few split releases, and at the time thought they were sort of boring and weird and slow. Their live set up consisted of a couple of guys playing bass, a drummer, and one guy manning a huge bank of tone generating / signal processing equipment, the sort of thing that nowadays would probably be easily containted in a single laptop, but back then was a giant tower of boxes with dials and switches.
At this point in my life, I was mostly seeing punk bands play shows in people's basements or local community centers; I wasn't used to concerts in clubs with big, powerful house PAs. So, when MiTB opened their set with an incredibly loud, bass-heavy explosion of a song, I was completely blown away. My chest cavity was ringing like a bell in time with the lower bass notes and kick drum.
By istelf, this part of the concert would have sold me on the group's being more than some failure at hardcore. What made the show really memorable, though, was the signal processing. The guy playing the big feedback generator thing was, I slowly realized, not just making random sounds, he was playing along with the other instruments! While this approach to music-making might not be entirely shocking to me now, at the time I was pretty astounded by the idea that pure "noise" could be a part of more straightforward music.
I went to see Neurosis, but the only group I really remember from the show is MiTB. I had heard them on a few split releases, and at the time thought they were sort of boring and weird and slow. Their live set up consisted of a couple of guys playing bass, a drummer, and one guy manning a huge bank of tone generating / signal processing equipment, the sort of thing that nowadays would probably be easily containted in a single laptop, but back then was a giant tower of boxes with dials and switches.
At this point in my life, I was mostly seeing punk bands play shows in people's basements or local community centers; I wasn't used to concerts in clubs with big, powerful house PAs. So, when MiTB opened their set with an incredibly loud, bass-heavy explosion of a song, I was completely blown away. My chest cavity was ringing like a bell in time with the lower bass notes and kick drum.
By istelf, this part of the concert would have sold me on the group's being more than some failure at hardcore. What made the show really memorable, though, was the signal processing. The guy playing the big feedback generator thing was, I slowly realized, not just making random sounds, he was playing along with the other instruments! While this approach to music-making might not be entirely shocking to me now, at the time I was pretty astounded by the idea that pure "noise" could be a part of more straightforward music.
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William Hutson
- Posts: 627
- Joined: Sun May 11, 2008 12:10 am
lil wayne @ (some club) long beach, 2005.
the club was maybe half full, but everyone there knew every word to 'go dj'.
the club was maybe half full, but everyone there knew every word to 'go dj'.
here.
Support!jpeatt wrote:i am mostly deaf for the next two days, and hooked for life.
Michael Gira solo (at Glasgow's King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, support from Devendra Banhart).
I'd been a bubbling under Swans fan for a while (liked their stuff but didn't really know a lot about it) and was quite intrigued when a friend said that he was playing a solo gig over in Glasgow.
"He's doing sort-of folk stuff now..."
Really? OK.
Devendra came on first to muted applause (this was just before his first record came out, I think) and I think people were a bit bemsued by this scarecrow figure in front of them. He sat, cross-legged on a table and just started strumming away...then this voice appeared. I don't particularly enjoy Devendra's stuff on CD, there's something missing from the mix, but when that ghostly voice keened through the tiny venue you could've heard a pin drop. He played a short song, hardly a few minutes long, and just stopped, smiling awkwardly.
Huge applause! The rest of the set carried on in a similar way...a few songs, a little story or anecdote and a lot of charm. A real eye-opener for me.
Mid sets, I'd nipped to the bar and saw Gira himself sipping on a glass of water. I did the fanboy thing and sidled up..."Erm, I'm sorry to disturb you but I just wanted to say that I'm really looking forward to hearing you play and I hope everything goes OK for you." He looked over at me with those piercing eyes and then took off his cowboy hat (Yep! Cowboy hat!) and shook my hand. "Thank you very much, sir. I hope you enjoy the show."
Michael Gira called me SIR!
Gira's set started pretty soon after that and he stalked on-stage, guitar in hand. "What did you think to Devendra? Some boy, eh? Some boy... Well, I've got a few songs for you tonight and this is the first one."
And everything exploded.
I don't know how he does it but Gira can turn from a polite, quiet guy sitting with an acoustic guitar into a utter FURY within seconds. Utterly devastating. I'll always remember the massive end of "Michael's White Hands" and standing there, stunned, wondering which would give in first; his guitar, or my ears.
After the gig, Gira manned the merch table himself and signed everyone's purchases, charming as ever.
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negative potential
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- Joined: Tue May 13, 2008 8:45 am
SeventhHarmonic wrote: In thinking of memorable music shows I found that the circumstances typically loomed much larger than the music for me, to the point where the musically interesting shows weren't nearly as memorable as the theatre...
Agreed. Live music is always about the accompanying ritual. Live music is always embedded in spatial context, like all art.
If you haven't read David Toop's Haunted Weather, he has some very interesting things to say about this sort of thing, using as one example the decontextualization involved in having a Brazilian dance group performing in a European concert house.
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negative potential
- Posts: 701
- Joined: Tue May 13, 2008 8:45 am
speaking of space, that is what Tilbury's Feldman is all about. Space. And time. And how both stop.
I forgot where I encountered the idea, but someone remarks that Palais de Mari - which I think was Feldman's final piano piece? - is a distillation of all of his late piano work.
Experiencing time stop is just an eerie phenomenon, but exhilarating.
I forgot where I encountered the idea, but someone remarks that Palais de Mari - which I think was Feldman's final piano piece? - is a distillation of all of his late piano work.
Experiencing time stop is just an eerie phenomenon, but exhilarating.
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user_1697
Steve Lacy Quartet, late 80s, in a discotheque. The concert hadn't been announced in the papers, probably some strange accident of last minute booking, the venue never held jazz concerts. There was just a note on the door which luckily I'd seen earlier that day. The disco was a cheap kind of place which tried to look like immoral adventures could happen there, in front of the stage there was a vast dancefloor, then rather dark stalls were a few people sat, maybe 20 or so, most of them regulars not into the music. So the band starts, must have been with Steve Potts, probably Avinel on bass, Lacy's working group in any case. They were amplified and of course sounded absolutely shitty, probably the bartender doubled as soundman. So my brother and I sneaked up to the stage, tried a couple of positions until we discovered that the only way to have decent sound was to sit on the stage. Trembling a little, we were young and shy, the stage wasn't big. From our new privileged position we also could see that to the musicians it must have felt like playing to an empty dancefloor, you couldn't figure the peolpe in the stalls.
The music was completely hilarious, the quartet were playing to themselves, doing little games like trying to throw each other, or who could work in the silliest quote. During a Potts solo Lacy grabbed a shaker, danced slowly around the drums shaking it, then cheered the other Steve on into another chorus and yet another.
Clearly not the best music these guys were capable of playing, too ridiculous for that. And they didn't let us in on the fun, completely ignored us. But to have the joy and uninhibited creative personalities of these musicians at arms length in a sort of private concert was a wonderful experience. We couldn't only hear but feel who'd be taking on whom next, the physical reactions of the players to what the others played, the split-second answers. I have been (almost) as close to great music again, but only here, where the musicians left the boundaries of their aesthetic (and perhaps because I was part of the situation that made them do so, and therefore understood), and where they made no effort to "present" their music, did I feel I could think along with everything that happened, could take it all in.
Still, with the last note, Dolphy's Law as always applied.
The music was completely hilarious, the quartet were playing to themselves, doing little games like trying to throw each other, or who could work in the silliest quote. During a Potts solo Lacy grabbed a shaker, danced slowly around the drums shaking it, then cheered the other Steve on into another chorus and yet another.
Clearly not the best music these guys were capable of playing, too ridiculous for that. And they didn't let us in on the fun, completely ignored us. But to have the joy and uninhibited creative personalities of these musicians at arms length in a sort of private concert was a wonderful experience. We couldn't only hear but feel who'd be taking on whom next, the physical reactions of the players to what the others played, the split-second answers. I have been (almost) as close to great music again, but only here, where the musicians left the boundaries of their aesthetic (and perhaps because I was part of the situation that made them do so, and therefore understood), and where they made no effort to "present" their music, did I feel I could think along with everything that happened, could take it all in.
Still, with the last note, Dolphy's Law as always applied.
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user_4602
Legendary Pink Dots - 25th Anniversary Tour - 2006, Stubbs, Austin, TX
They were the portrait of controlled chaos. The tunes were so wild and elegantly restrained at the same time. I had a strong feeling that it was probably the closest I'd get to seeing Kraftwerk in an intimate setting. I was surprised, too, that they played a ton of the great Ka-Spell solo tunes from the China Doll series.
They also got points for having the most impressive product table I've ever seen. Three fold-out tables completely filled with different LPs and CDs. They must have had the majority of their discography with them.
They were the portrait of controlled chaos. The tunes were so wild and elegantly restrained at the same time. I had a strong feeling that it was probably the closest I'd get to seeing Kraftwerk in an intimate setting. I was surprised, too, that they played a ton of the great Ka-Spell solo tunes from the China Doll series.
They also got points for having the most impressive product table I've ever seen. Three fold-out tables completely filled with different LPs and CDs. They must have had the majority of their discography with them.
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potatocircle
- Posts: 269
- Joined: Wed Mar 18, 2009 1:21 pm
Jimmy Giuffre 3, Charleston, SC, May 1993
I had become friends with some college jazzheads while I was in high school and they indoctrinated me into the good stuff. Within a month, I was an Eric Dolphy nut.
After a couple years of listening to jazz, I still hadn't seen anything live. I saw that Jimmy was coming to town and I wanted to go. I got my parents to let me go with these pals 'chaperoning' me to see the Jimmy Giuffre 3.
The show was in a big old theater, the kind with all kinds of shit painted on the side. When the concert started with Paul Bley sticking his arm into the inside of the piano ("what's he doing - looking for his wallet?") asked some people nearby, I knew we were in for a treat. Steve Swallow's woodgrain electric bass sounded fANTASTIC in this hall, and Jimmy's clarinet...what can you say - the guy STILL had a raging rumbling tone popping off.
The guys looked great - dressed all in suits, feet tapping, and... playing some moody as hell abstract music.
Me and my pals moved closer row by row as people got up and left (the auditorium wa sadly less than a quarter full by the end, but man we were all mesmerized) The place was so empty we walked onstage afterwards and talked to the guys. Jimmy had his son (or grandson) escorting him around (his feet were not moving far off the ground when he walked - he seemed like a well-worn 72) but man he was all smiles, just beaming about their set and how excited he was that young kids were into it. It brings tears to my eyes right now just to think about it - he was just SO gracious to have us really embracing his music.
he filled that auditorium up with squawks, jutty little clarinet lines and such beautiful clarinet purrs - all of it bouncing at the most unexpected angles off bley and swallow.
I can't think of a single record of his that doesn't still pry me open
I had become friends with some college jazzheads while I was in high school and they indoctrinated me into the good stuff. Within a month, I was an Eric Dolphy nut.
After a couple years of listening to jazz, I still hadn't seen anything live. I saw that Jimmy was coming to town and I wanted to go. I got my parents to let me go with these pals 'chaperoning' me to see the Jimmy Giuffre 3.
The show was in a big old theater, the kind with all kinds of shit painted on the side. When the concert started with Paul Bley sticking his arm into the inside of the piano ("what's he doing - looking for his wallet?") asked some people nearby, I knew we were in for a treat. Steve Swallow's woodgrain electric bass sounded fANTASTIC in this hall, and Jimmy's clarinet...what can you say - the guy STILL had a raging rumbling tone popping off.
The guys looked great - dressed all in suits, feet tapping, and... playing some moody as hell abstract music.
Me and my pals moved closer row by row as people got up and left (the auditorium wa sadly less than a quarter full by the end, but man we were all mesmerized) The place was so empty we walked onstage afterwards and talked to the guys. Jimmy had his son (or grandson) escorting him around (his feet were not moving far off the ground when he walked - he seemed like a well-worn 72) but man he was all smiles, just beaming about their set and how excited he was that young kids were into it. It brings tears to my eyes right now just to think about it - he was just SO gracious to have us really embracing his music.
he filled that auditorium up with squawks, jutty little clarinet lines and such beautiful clarinet purrs - all of it bouncing at the most unexpected angles off bley and swallow.
I can't think of a single record of his that doesn't still pry me open
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user_353
Yeah that Wire article really should've been called "60 concerts our current staff went to as long as it took place in London". What a disappointment.
Then again I don't really get around much either but a couple I saw last year rank very high amongst my short list (short in comparison to many others here)...I'm pretty bad at describing why a show meant so much to me (especially since the person beside you could just as easily call it shit and be as right as you are) but yeah...
Charlemagne Palestine at St. Jean Baptiste church in Montreal, first time I'd ever been in that church which is an absolutely beautiful structure. We were told upon entering that you'd be able to see better from the bottom deck but the sound would be better upstairs, so up we went. I didn't take the pic but this was kinda my vantage point (you can see Palestine on the "central" balcony in red): http://static.flickr.com/78/166259967_3 ... c7.jpg?v=0" onclick= "window.open(this.href);return false;
Anyway he of course played the organ, his wine glass, and offered up some vocals but all I remember was completely losing track of time entirely during the organ performance and just hoping it would last forever. I guess like any truly great show. It was a beautiful summer evening/night, the venue couldn't have been more appropriate, and the music was just amazingly pure and beautiful. I don't know if anything could top it.
Another show I saw last year, this time at the Victo fest, was the Borbetomagus and Hijokaidan collaboration which is pretty much the exact opposite of Palestine...of course, it was everybody playing as loud as they possibly could and really just a huge mess, but it was a shocking display of aggression and endurance (the latter on the part of the performers and on the audience). Amazingly I don't think anyone left, which is some kind of Victo miracle. I remember it started with Junko screaming into her mic and I just knew everyone around me, and myself included, were thinking "it's not really going to be this loud for the whole set, is it?" but was it ever. At one point Don Dietrich stuck Junko's mic (obviously turned up higher than the others) into his sax and almost blew my synapses on the spot. I left sweaty and I hadn't even budged from my seat once until it was over - it WAS Victo, after all.
It was good reading everybody's contributions, some real interesting reading to be done in here. Nice topic, Jon.
Then again I don't really get around much either but a couple I saw last year rank very high amongst my short list (short in comparison to many others here)...I'm pretty bad at describing why a show meant so much to me (especially since the person beside you could just as easily call it shit and be as right as you are) but yeah...
Charlemagne Palestine at St. Jean Baptiste church in Montreal, first time I'd ever been in that church which is an absolutely beautiful structure. We were told upon entering that you'd be able to see better from the bottom deck but the sound would be better upstairs, so up we went. I didn't take the pic but this was kinda my vantage point (you can see Palestine on the "central" balcony in red): http://static.flickr.com/78/166259967_3 ... c7.jpg?v=0" onclick= "window.open(this.href);return false;
Anyway he of course played the organ, his wine glass, and offered up some vocals but all I remember was completely losing track of time entirely during the organ performance and just hoping it would last forever. I guess like any truly great show. It was a beautiful summer evening/night, the venue couldn't have been more appropriate, and the music was just amazingly pure and beautiful. I don't know if anything could top it.
Another show I saw last year, this time at the Victo fest, was the Borbetomagus and Hijokaidan collaboration which is pretty much the exact opposite of Palestine...of course, it was everybody playing as loud as they possibly could and really just a huge mess, but it was a shocking display of aggression and endurance (the latter on the part of the performers and on the audience). Amazingly I don't think anyone left, which is some kind of Victo miracle. I remember it started with Junko screaming into her mic and I just knew everyone around me, and myself included, were thinking "it's not really going to be this loud for the whole set, is it?" but was it ever. At one point Don Dietrich stuck Junko's mic (obviously turned up higher than the others) into his sax and almost blew my synapses on the spot. I left sweaty and I hadn't even budged from my seat once until it was over - it WAS Victo, after all.
It was good reading everybody's contributions, some real interesting reading to be done in here. Nice topic, Jon.
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user_1697
Hey, may I do a clunker? The rules just say "memorable," if "good" is a prerequisite Jon needs a first amendment.
Arnold Dreyblatt, early this century in an art space. The piece was to be an re-enactment of some 70s master performance of his, I'm too lazy to google it up, he'll do that kind of thing, it is that one.
First thing in the door, I see a guy standing around leaning on a double bass with funny strings on it, and I say (not to him): I'm sure he can't play, no musician would hold his instrument that awkwardly. The satisfaction of having been right would be the only one that evening.
First movement: a kinda dronepiece. Dreyblatt sawing on the strings, while his assistant tried to keep his e-bow from falling off a dulcimer with little success. Now this was already pretty bad, as, probably to have a trademark, Dreyblatt strings his bass with piano wires, and though they do produce overtones quite easily, the sound has no depth, you can buy bass strings for a reason. So, I was bored, but it's just art you know, doesn't hurt.
Second movement: proposed whack-out. Dreyblatt beating the strings fiercly with a bow, trying to avoid hitting the corpus of his instrument, left hand just limp on the fingerboard. The assistant doing some percussions, I forget which, doesn't matter. The rhythm is, shall we say: involuntarily agogic? No fierceness here either, there's no anger in these men. They pound away happily, in the name of art, and the rhythm is like when somebody plays the congas on a house party, 3 on 2 and you're the king. Folks, this is art, stay on the crotchets. As stoically as you can, as loud as you can, as long as it takes to faint with fatigue. But no, the guys are starting to feel jazzy. A smile creeps up on Dreyblatt's lips. The hips start to move. Then, after a particularly off triplet, a budding smile, a beam of appreciation to himself: so who says white men have no rhythm?
Dude just earned his doctorate on the topic.
So why's this been so memorable for me, apart from the fact that it's the only time I've been ashamed for a performer instead of just plain bored? My first thought even during this was: so that's what it's really been like. Figures. Ok, Dreyblatt is not a pioneer, he's second rank, but most events in that golden past of lofts and daring outsider art will have been as lacklustre. And then, I myself had been happy making noise as long as it pissed off some people. Never done that again. Whatever you do, it must have the potential to be great. An agenda and no inhibitions just ain't enough.
Which means: haven't done much lately. Still feels better
Arnold Dreyblatt, early this century in an art space. The piece was to be an re-enactment of some 70s master performance of his, I'm too lazy to google it up, he'll do that kind of thing, it is that one.
First thing in the door, I see a guy standing around leaning on a double bass with funny strings on it, and I say (not to him): I'm sure he can't play, no musician would hold his instrument that awkwardly. The satisfaction of having been right would be the only one that evening.
First movement: a kinda dronepiece. Dreyblatt sawing on the strings, while his assistant tried to keep his e-bow from falling off a dulcimer with little success. Now this was already pretty bad, as, probably to have a trademark, Dreyblatt strings his bass with piano wires, and though they do produce overtones quite easily, the sound has no depth, you can buy bass strings for a reason. So, I was bored, but it's just art you know, doesn't hurt.
Second movement: proposed whack-out. Dreyblatt beating the strings fiercly with a bow, trying to avoid hitting the corpus of his instrument, left hand just limp on the fingerboard. The assistant doing some percussions, I forget which, doesn't matter. The rhythm is, shall we say: involuntarily agogic? No fierceness here either, there's no anger in these men. They pound away happily, in the name of art, and the rhythm is like when somebody plays the congas on a house party, 3 on 2 and you're the king. Folks, this is art, stay on the crotchets. As stoically as you can, as loud as you can, as long as it takes to faint with fatigue. But no, the guys are starting to feel jazzy. A smile creeps up on Dreyblatt's lips. The hips start to move. Then, after a particularly off triplet, a budding smile, a beam of appreciation to himself: so who says white men have no rhythm?
Dude just earned his doctorate on the topic.
So why's this been so memorable for me, apart from the fact that it's the only time I've been ashamed for a performer instead of just plain bored? My first thought even during this was: so that's what it's really been like. Figures. Ok, Dreyblatt is not a pioneer, he's second rank, but most events in that golden past of lofts and daring outsider art will have been as lacklustre. And then, I myself had been happy making noise as long as it pissed off some people. Never done that again. Whatever you do, it must have the potential to be great. An agenda and no inhibitions just ain't enough.
Which means: haven't done much lately. Still feels better
JULIEN OTTAVI/TOMAS KORBER. ErstQuake 2, Collective Unconscious, NYC.
I had a chance to meet and talk to both guys a bit during my time in the city before the fest, though not about music. Very nice guys both. I witnessed their previous sets during the fest, both played two, each very different. Tomas played pretty nice, but in my opinion unexeptional set with Rowe, and one than was quite noisy, with Tim Barnes, that i didnt like much at the time, but in hindsight really would like to hear a recording of. Ottavi played two sets, which provided very fertile ground for discussion and a healthy dose of controversy. His set with Dion Workman verged on inaudible for much of it's first third, and wasnt much louder than that in its later part. His set with Rowe was played solely of shortwave radios. so, obviously the idea of each duo was clearly set before it started. What would he go for in his third set?
Before the set Julien delivered a short speech, the main message of which was, if you don't like harsh and loud, you better go outside, rather than suffer. And set started, Ottavi in front of his laptop, Tomas with his gear. First thing the audience ehard was bass rumble, probably coming from Tomas. "Hm, nothing especially loud, the dude was just kidding", I thought. Oh, how wrong i was. With a move not unlike in martial arts movie Ottavi struck his hand into the keyboard, and I literally jumped in my seat, as the sound coming out of the speakers were something more akin to what you'd shear during a John Wiese gig. Audience was sitting there confused and bewieldered, and absolutely unaudible Tomas seemingly angry and frustraited, still trying his best to make himself heard. His attempts were absolutely futile, as Ottavi was unstoppably moving towards his (likely) goal. The goal was finally achieved about 3/4 through the set, when a flash of could be seen coming from the right speaker, and the glory of Zbigniew Karkowski was finally achieved by the French guest.
Needless to say, I had a blast. Sure, I was feeling for Tomas, but Ottavi provided me with my daily dose of ear-blasting air streams. And the set became easily the most controversial of the festival, which likely was another of Ottavi's goals.
The blown speaker provided a long break between this and last set (beautiful, but i fell asleep). And I had a chance to talk to Julien. "That was pretty loud", I think I said, "I still have this feeling in my ears". "Oh, it's ok", he replied, "You go outside for a few minutes, and it's fine".
I had a chance to meet and talk to both guys a bit during my time in the city before the fest, though not about music. Very nice guys both. I witnessed their previous sets during the fest, both played two, each very different. Tomas played pretty nice, but in my opinion unexeptional set with Rowe, and one than was quite noisy, with Tim Barnes, that i didnt like much at the time, but in hindsight really would like to hear a recording of. Ottavi played two sets, which provided very fertile ground for discussion and a healthy dose of controversy. His set with Dion Workman verged on inaudible for much of it's first third, and wasnt much louder than that in its later part. His set with Rowe was played solely of shortwave radios. so, obviously the idea of each duo was clearly set before it started. What would he go for in his third set?
Before the set Julien delivered a short speech, the main message of which was, if you don't like harsh and loud, you better go outside, rather than suffer. And set started, Ottavi in front of his laptop, Tomas with his gear. First thing the audience ehard was bass rumble, probably coming from Tomas. "Hm, nothing especially loud, the dude was just kidding", I thought. Oh, how wrong i was. With a move not unlike in martial arts movie Ottavi struck his hand into the keyboard, and I literally jumped in my seat, as the sound coming out of the speakers were something more akin to what you'd shear during a John Wiese gig. Audience was sitting there confused and bewieldered, and absolutely unaudible Tomas seemingly angry and frustraited, still trying his best to make himself heard. His attempts were absolutely futile, as Ottavi was unstoppably moving towards his (likely) goal. The goal was finally achieved about 3/4 through the set, when a flash of could be seen coming from the right speaker, and the glory of Zbigniew Karkowski was finally achieved by the French guest.
Needless to say, I had a blast. Sure, I was feeling for Tomas, but Ottavi provided me with my daily dose of ear-blasting air streams. And the set became easily the most controversial of the festival, which likely was another of Ottavi's goals.
The blown speaker provided a long break between this and last set (beautiful, but i fell asleep). And I had a chance to talk to Julien. "That was pretty loud", I think I said, "I still have this feeling in my ears". "Oh, it's ok", he replied, "You go outside for a few minutes, and it's fine".
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I saw him about the same time. Probably the same tour.Tapir wrote:Steve Lacy Quartet, late 80s
Memorable, sublime and a klunker at the same time.
I was at the performance space ( Race Street Gallery ) helping to set up, banging on the piano for the sound check. My Friend Scott was bringing the band over from Ann Arbor in a borrowed RV, which is a story in and of it's self.
The band wandered in, late afternoon. Lacy and Potts, elegant as hell. Avenel looked one hip motherfucker.
Then this guy staggered in. I thought he was a street person who'd wandered in but it was Oliver Johnson. Very drunk. I was told he'd drunk a six pack and a half pint of whisky on the drive over. Finally Bobby Few, very pale and haggard. His right hand was swollen to the size of a grapefruit " I don't know what happened to it. It just swelled up last night ". Irene was lurking somewhere.
I thought " Damn, this will be an interesting show ".
But it was a wonderful show despite Johnson being overly bombastic and occasionally off-tempo. And Few playing one-handed.
They were real pros's.
After the show Lacey, Potts and Aebi just wanted to have dinner and go to the hotel, but Johnson and Few wanted to catch a few drinks.
Now in Grand Rapids ( a very Calvinist town ) on a Sunday night the selection of bars was sparse. They wound up at the Carousel, a near wino level bar run by a very, very fat man.
Oliver Johnson was in a very feisty mood.
He started a long and cruel ( and very funny ) commentary on the size of the bartender ( he was indeed huge ) which culminated in suggestions on how he should lose his bulk " Man, you need to get on the yogurt train, baby.."
We were 69'd and tossed onto the street with threats of violence hurled in both directions.
What a show.
“In a kind of middle-aged crisis, it dawned upon me that there was a possibility that music might not even be an art form.”
Morton Feldman
http://soundcloud.com/doug-holbrook
Morton Feldman
http://soundcloud.com/doug-holbrook
Sept 18th 2004 ErstQuake1 second night, Greg Kelly-Sean Meehan-David Daniel trio.
ErstQuake1 was my second encouter with live EAI (the first being Keith & Fennesz a few months earlier). While the entire fest was really enjoyable, this set was the standout for me. So quiet, still and just perfectly beautiful. Every note/sound was exactly where it should be.
ErstQuake1 was my second encouter with live EAI (the first being Keith & Fennesz a few months earlier). While the entire fest was really enjoyable, this set was the standout for me. So quiet, still and just perfectly beautiful. Every note/sound was exactly where it should be.
barrychabala.com