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 Feel
the Noise
By
Josh Potter
Between
a Rock and a Tiny Bell
Rensselaer
Polytechnic Institute Armory, April 25
While most universities pool their rainy-day funds for a springtime
showcase of has-been douche-rock (seriously, Saint Rose—Eve
6?), RPI’s version of a Bacchanalian purge was wholly figurative
and exponentially more enjoyable. Marking the end of the Experimental
Music and Performing Arts Center’s (EMPAC) spring season,
Between a Rock and a Tiny Bell featured five acts of diverse,
dissonant, and decidedly experimental music, with just enough
performance art to snug up the acronym.
It’s been said that noise is the new punk, but the way SoCal
noise-rockers Health pranced and pounded their way across
the Armory stage, it could be said that their noise is a new
sort of pop-rock. The band followed the likes of Animal Collective
in their self-conscious approach to muscular musicianship
where everything is rendered a drum—vocals included. At times
the quartet forsook instrumentalism entirely, crowing through
three effects-laden microphones over primal drumming. With
the drive and precision of a metal band but the post-everything
disregard for occult posturing, many songs drifted into a
dystopian new wave that would have translated a little better
in sweatier digs.
Before abstract music became cerebral, atonal musicians toed
a precarious brink between aloof insanity and hyper-alert
genius, slinging hand-packed pockets of vibrating air at any
listener lucky enough to share their physical space. Free-jazz
godfathers Han Bennink and Peter Brötzmann are still toeing
that line. With a practiced outpouring of improvisational
ecstasy, the sax-drum duo conjured a near-continuous stream
of ideas that remained mostly independent of one another (Bennink
swinging below Brötzmann’s lament or oompahing while his straight-man
trilled Debussy). Incredible counterpoint developed as passages
intersected at a seemingly arbitrary rate before miraculously
coalescing to close each piece in a moment of staccato synchronicity.
Not to be outdone by Health’s roiling antics, Bennink once
rode a snare-roll off his stool and into the middle of the
stage for a drummer’s version of soft-shoe automatic-painting.
Blarvuster are a bagpipe-fronted rock band, rounded out by
fife and fiddle, who perform funky minimalist variations of
Scottish reels in a certain gray area between responsive improve
and meticulously arranged chamber music. And it just makes
sense. By sequencing simple melodic passages, the band allowed
ideas to refract through the ensemble to great hypnotic effect.
Drawing on Philip Glass’ variety of minimalism (in a time
when Steve Reich is more commonly emulated), each piece spun
like a garden ornament, whirring at the rate of wind generated
from a drummer who would have been at home in the Mahavishnu
Orchestra.
Brooklynites Zs displayed exactly how far experimental electro-acoustic
music has come since jazz’s emancipation. As much no-wave
as free jazz, the trio offered a compelling vision of what
might have transpired had Arto Lindsay collaborated with Albert
Ayler. Mimicking the sustained squeals and circular overtones
of the saxophone, the guitarist performed primarily with harmonics,
as subtle tone-poems emerged from each of the band’s protracted
arrangements. What seemed to arrive spontaneously proved to
be meticulously composed before it descended into delightfully
disjointed bedlam. Between the deadlocked tractor beams of
guitar and saxophone tweakery, cymbal-less drums pulsed at
a black-metal dirge.
The term “psychedelic” almost invariably comes up when talking
about Black Moth Super Rainbow. The fact that they’ve logged
serious time on the road with the Flaming Lips practically
ensures this. However, with a sound akin to Air and a set
that synchs to a progression of short videos, “cinematic”
might actually be a better descriptor. With analog synth and
processed vocals, the band laid down incredible amounts of
space as two sanitation workers torched roadkill on screen.
The band seemed at their best when providing a proper soundtrack
to the short, campy narratives and workout videos; a turning
point came, however, when the band pushed a swelling tide
of prana up through the chakras of a video yogi to conjure
some authentic bliss from the ironic premise. Attention now
turned to the band’s musicianship, BMSR followed a Japanese
Alice through a dismembering chandelier, past gum-popping
valley girls to close the show amid a rain of plastic flesh
in a classic Invasion of the Muscle Men toy commercial.
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Eat
Me
The old and new guard shared the stage Monday night at the
Washington Avenue Armory, as emo first-wavers Jimmy Eat
World co-headlined a bill with wildly popular “newcomers”
Paramore. Singer-guitarist Jim Adkins (pictured,
left) and his fellow Jimmies are nearing the end of a tour
supporting their latest disc, Chase This Light, released
last October. Pop-punkers Paramore would be nowhere without
lead singer Hayley Williams (pictured, right) and that’s
working out just fine for them as their year-old Riot!
album is nearing the million-sales mark worldwide.
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