The Plexus Boys together for the first time in a few months (since the Damo gig, I think) and out on the town in Nottingham to the Art Organisation venue on Station Street. David T was an A Bander way back, (another link here, Murray was going to join the lineup for the performances and I tagged along to take photos and do a writeup. We arrived early – spent a pleasant hour checking out the joint as people ambled in and set up – a large, airy space with four pillars at the end of the room that helped to give a stage area some definition. But this would be a night of spilling through barriers – Filthy Turd would spread his pedals and kit out in front – along with a large branch ripped from some unfortunate tree (or maybe ecologically correct windfall?). Branch? It was going to be that sort of night... Skronk, noise, informality – and fun, a light vibe as people arrived and said their hellos – a reunion for many this evening. Like a party slowly gathering – mirrored by the musicians, as, almost imperceptibly, the A Band, playing two sets that book-ended the evening, roughly clustered, coming and going, to-ing and fro-ing until they deemed it correct to – well, start...
''Can you nuts give me a word beginning with an A?'
'Alphabet!'
And off... a slow, spurting straggle as various instruments – saxophones, guitars, keyboards, drums and found objects rattled, hummed, coughed, splattered, rattled and rang – the first time I have ever seen a soup tureen used as percussion... (Please Sir, can I have some more...). At first giving a distant echo of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, oddly enough – the 'small instruments,' discrete sound events and use of space – until the music thickened into a denser movement. So it went, for about twenty minutes, coming together, separating, in and out of rhythms – like some weird mashup of free jazz, out-rock, noise and dadaist cabaret. But FUN! Something the improv scene is not always noted for – and very much a provincial scenario, I suspect (in my championing of the out of London scenes) – the Smoke tends to be a bit drier about these things at times, more serious. What made it work was the physical space inhabited and the way it was played off – the musics/sounds could drift across and take up their individual acoustic area while blending into the larger whole in an almost harmolodic manner – different sound events breathing and interacting, criss-crossing, clashing and combining – or not, staying within a briefly defined area denying an easy resolution. Because there was so much performance area to inhabit... people could wander across, fool around, jump about – visually it was never boring either... Slowly unwinding down to the end...
Johnny Scarr next up on solo electronics, standing at a table full of kit. High-pitched waves of sound with some low and crumbling bass, like a gang of frogs on a distant summer evening. Air wafting through onto a repeated tone... A fascinating but relatively brief set (some of which I unfortunately missed - but listened to his MySpace stuff while writing this - pretty damn good), sharp and focused as a contrast to the sprawling wonder of the opening twenty minutes and keeping the momentum going down a different road... At the end, JS wanders across to flip on some music set up on a far wall – bagpipes? Somehow, that would fit...
Then: Filthy Turd... who despite his no doubt transgressive yearnings had a kind of innocent wonder to his performance... His set up – a bunch of foot pedals, a beat up cd player – that wooden branch mentioned above – and a couple of mikes – which, after a false start, a squalling high note like a clarion call to invoke the gods of NOISE, he proceeded to sing/howl/ into and abuse in general, with insertion down the inside of his trousers in the process of molesting a fluffy toy at one (climactic?) point, the resultant sounds further processed and beaten up across the effects pedals for a glorious ride into sonic absurdities/inventions... Oh, and at the beginning he smacked the floor repeatedly with a hammer...(edging dangerously close to my toes at one point).
'Hello. Fucking dogs are horny. Fucking dogs are hungry.'
(ARF...)
Physical stuff – much leaping around, jerking his body, squatting like a dog and woofing into the mike – I was hoping the floor had been recently cleaned for his clothes' sake (Jesus, I'm getting old) – but this is ART and NOISE so devil take the hindmost howl...
...of which there were many: following a song about dogs, a song about fucking (and I use the word 'song' as a loose enclosure for a scrunched warp of voice, sound and movement) – miked up trousers body thrusting – yo, mike my dick! Fluffy toy involved in on-stage debauchery – the long branch flailing...
His last piece – dedicated to '70's Jamaican music,' (his three loves: dogs, fucking and – 70's Jamaican music -a reasonable trio) – screechbawlingfloorcrawling and a tin can with a mike inserted and rattled around in to produce some fearsome sounds. Iry... (And a cue for more absurdity/synchronicity - as there was no bar - bring your own booze - I wandered down to the Bentinck and had a bizarre and extremely funny encounter with a stage Rastafarian - it was one of those nights... Seen...).
A set of awesomely sculpted noise, as intensely physical as it was smart. And hilarious...
The A Band returned to end the night. Another drifting, undelineated beginning, this time with a more differentiated rhythm under the scattered sounds and fragments of melody – then full throttle NOISE as a ticking beat was kept on the soup tureen (glad to see it back)– Murray wandered over to the electronic organ we had been fiddling with earlier but the volume was not loud enough to compete with the main show, not being plugged into the P.A. Looked good though... The A Band proceeded to build a more rock-y almost groove in places as shreds of saxophones squeal and splatter over the counter-rhythms. Another exoneration of the SPACE – furthered by intermittent swapping of instruments as part of the visual affirmation of FUN. Much loopy dancing about to approach finally the COSMIC WAHOO. Perhaps...
Another great set...
And a great night – almost a new kind of variety performance where improv and bent electronics meet avant garde cabaret with older dadaist resonances, imbued with the gloriously scruffy provincial fun attitude which keeps it anchored – I've been to many superb gigs around the country the last year or two, Northampton, Sheffield, Coventry, Liverpool and Nottingham (more frequently because its just down the road) and there is a different vibe outside of London (where I am frequently as well, so I am able to make the comparison). I think that the dynamic/contrast between capital and more far-flung places is a healthy one to counterbalance the always on-going gravity pull south-east. As a local boy, observer and sometimes player in the game – long may it all flourish. And a big thanks to the Nottingham Art Organisation plus Johnny Scarr/Mantilefor putting on the show... A good interview here about the venue...
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