If you’re as picky as I am, the state of weirdo venues in New York leaves a lot to be desired. Most gigs I’ve attended have either been at overloud, underlit, beer-soaked bars or underloud, overlit, too-clean galleries, both of which have financial advantages for those who take up the often thankless task of booking. Then there are the rent-outs, unrelated sites that make their digs available for use on evenings and weekends, inevitably with hefty overhead. And there’s always the option of someone’s cramped studio or a risky outdoor post-up. But scattered few and far between are the truly dedicated spaces, which tend to not last very long (an exception being the Living Gallery, alive and kicking since 2012). All of this is why it’s so exciting to have something like INTERCOMM. Their manifesto does the job of explaining what it’s all about (the only thing it fails to convey is how cool the in-house reading library is). The show last night could have been mediocre and I probably still would have had a great time, but it ended up being one of the most kickass bills I’ve been witness to in a while. Let’s get into it.
SPAGHETTI HUMAN BEING, a young Tokyo-based artist gracing NYC with their presence until summer, kicked it off with a high-octane laptop set that gleefully fucked the boundaries between computer music, so-called “deconstructed club”, and extreme dance music like gabber and industrial hardcore. Armed with only a controller, SHB bounced and writhed around the stage area as both preloaded sample tracks and live-processed glitch noise tore through the PA at ear-splitting volume. The mercurial mix of blast and beat immediately had the energy in the room surging, and even though it went on just a bit too long, no one could deny that it was a fitting start to the night.
BENTLEY ANDERSON brought a more patient, focused presence with some loop-heavy, effects-laden extended guitar drone. I’ve seen the established performer and Decontrol operator around at events before, but we’ve never had the chance to meet. I enjoyed the hypnotic layering of feedback and overtones, most of which was driven by various percussive interaction on the body and pickups. Comparisons to 90s Kiwi legends danced in my head, but Anderson’s approach is more active and immediate. The progression was careful and controlled, never fully boiling over yet always satisfying. Low-key but loud.
Things heated up with an explosive first meeting of KA BAIRD and SAM NEWSOME, two accomplished artists who have made radically different but equally significant splashes in the city’s free music scene. I haven’t had this much fun with an improv set in a long time, and it was clear the musicians were having a blast too. Both made use of so many bells and whistles that in other hands would have been distracting, but in theirs it was dynamic, exciting, and hilarious. I doubled over laughing when Newsome scrambled to swap out his handfuls of plastic tubing for a pile of metal mixing bowls as Baird belted nonsense operatics into their overcooked rig. The frenzy of absurdist interplay culminated in a closing of the conduit, with Baird sticking the mic in the bell of Newsome’s soprano sax as he shredded away with abandon. The applause was almost as loud as the performance—well deserved.
Maine’s id m theft able needs no introduction. For me, it was his inclusion on the bill that made the gig unmissable, and the rest of it being excellent was just the cherry on top. It’s one thing to hear Scott Spear’s virtuosic vocal contortions on his multiple decades’ worth of recordings, but it’s quite another to see him do it firsthand. All those years of honing his craft comes through in Spear’s effortless deployment of both his sprawling tabletop setup and his larynx. Each intense burst of surrealist sound balloons from molecular origins into something huge and harrowing, whether it’s a micro-industrial drum solo with chopsticks or a deafening duet with not one but two of Queen’s most insufferable singles. Concluding with the gloriously anticlimactic plink-plunk of billiard balls spun around a circle of thrift-store cups and mugs, it was everything I could have wanted. Also picked up …l…e…t…t…i…n…g…s…, a triple-tape set of “prepared rain” recordings that I’ve had my eye on for a while (order it and other goodies here).
Noise Not Music 