Time Based Art: Day nine of eleven was packed with things, super pretty, super wild, superlicious. Of course, I am still coming down from completing an utter floor to ceiling web redesign upload for NAAU, preparing my work to be on view while the Jupiter weekend-long affair is in session, giving it my best shot as a contestant on the Ultimate Blogger, doing a spot for a cable TV show and other chin-high deadlines. So, yeah, it’s been a buttload of a week. So, you might say that TIME itself, is truly of the essence in every kinetic meaning of the word.

It twas a triple header last night. Well, I kind of cheated in my participation. If you relied solely on public transit, your partner was spending an entire sleep over evening with a whole herd of teenagers locked in a church, and there was so much to do and in various points of town and most of your friends were already pre-booked for other stuff…Hell, you may have been right by my side as I ran from one event to another.

This all started rightly so with the Nature Theater of Oklahoma (“Oklahoma is OK”) and their show No Dice. These guys were the surprise hit last year and I can totally see why they were re-invited back (though I think PICA should have skipped at least a year). This was to be a four-hour production and I thought, oh my, crammed into a tight impromptu office type space with 100 or so people for 480 minutes, hmmmm. Seemed like a test of my will. Well my will broke at intermission and I decided to take in something I had missed the night prior. Though they started the evening by providing pb+j and ham sandwiches with all the fixins, a cold drink and we were off. The space is a raw unused (at the moment) office space (expansion space?) on the second floor of the Art Institute of Portland. The crewd staging was built out to look like some sort of deconstructed office with cubicles. Not many props to speak of, but they were framed nicely by a green satin, vaudevillian stage curtain.

Directors Pavol Liska (love the ‘hawk) and Kelly Copper capitalized primarily on the ability of its troupe’s three main players to project overly cartoony characterizations of overly pop culture addicted (tv surfing, etc.) Europeans in America. They intermittently switched accents from quirky French, Scottish and African(?) tonalities, back to straight talk, all without a flinch. I’m unsure if they were supposed to each be playing dual roles, or if they just decoded the inner voice as a big stage gimmic, it was an effective deconstructionist ploy. Whatever. It was very funny anyway you slice the hammed up overblown characters these folks built. There was the wide-eyed bespecaled mostly mute guy in a cat costume. The chamber organ playing Marie Antoinette donning ice lady in dark glasses. And an anti-glamorous entry from between two wall partiitions, from stage left, of a self-professed diva….and these were just the supporting cast! I enjoyed the way they sort of flatly unveiled the plot aloud live as it was happening, so it was more narration about people doing boring administrative desk jobs and real estate than anything else. Then there was the ‘funky robot’ dance sequence which reminded me of last year’s work, but here, though it got the audience chuckling, seemed faintly out of place. I fell in love with their pro-stance on doing cigarette commericals live on stage as an untapped way of making money to support their artistic bent. But they are super cute and move in mysterious ways. Quirky and in a plain brown wrapped with low production costs and high on the entertainment meter. The NTOO sort of redefine a brand of shoegazer theater that’s welcome in our world of overproduced fluff.

At intermission (though I recommend staying as they were just getting warmed when I left), knowing that there were still things to catch up on I darted to the Someday Lounge to catch up on the evening with both Larry Krone and Holcombe Waller and his show called Into the Dark Unknown: The Hope Chest. Krone was on when I entered the 3/4 packed club. I went upstairs for an optimum view and ran into the multitalented Cullen Hoback (who I sadly learned is probaby doing as most filmmakers who need to earn a living has to, that is moving to LA). Actually if he maks the plunge I am in full support. He explained that he did the vide work for Waller’s piece, so I decided to stay even though my intentions were to just savor a tiny flavor and dart to the Wonder for a night of experimental music. Though I am so glad I didn’t, but let me hold that thought a moment. Running into local artist couple Lee Ann Slawson and Israel Hughes also gave me the fine opportunity to catch up with them a bit.

Larry Krone in concert was a handful of quiet, sad songs delivered as deadpan ditties. His voice and presence is this awkward merge between unplugged fill-in-the-blank country crooner and the next contestant on the Gong Show (ba-da-boom). But seriously folks. Krone, though his visual work up at the Museum of Contemporary Craft (installation) and Elizabeth Leach Gallery (works on paper) are quite interesting and evocative of this backstage, roadshow something-or other, his show is so stripped down you can see through it. With his well worn cowboy hat I’m in line to ride the rails of his funky handlebar moustache. So, yeah, he’s got a lost Marlboro Man thing going on, but I’m not sure much else. And with onstage low-budget lapsed lounge singer drag costume changes (including a matching cheesey backdrop) and all, it couldn’t be saved. Though it acted as opening fodder for the parting of the red curtain.

Holcombe Waller took to the stage with a graceful aplomb, alongside four or so back up musicians. And though we live in the same town (and are both indie gay boys) we’ve never crossed paths other than on email. And I said, this is the TBA Festival and “It’s About Time“! So, for my virgin moment in his realm I was stunned by his absolutely sweet vocal ability and keen lyrics that cross James Taylor with say, a simplified Sigur Ros. Slight in frame, his melodious stylings wriggle into a near shamanistic territory, channeling a centered tonality, with a sense of humor. This was mostly evident on a number he did in French with English subtitles. Even Hoback’s films ebb’d and flow’d right around the sweet sweet song. Lovely and spare, the performance was delivered warmly even as he sat balanced atop two cardboard boxes stacked atop a table. You bet I won’t wait around thinking about seeing him again, I’ll just be there. It was one of the highlights of the festival thusfar.

As a nightcap I thought it would be my duty, being one indulging in the arts of experimental music, to make my way over (mostly on foot) to the Wonder Ballroom. And for the first time I was going to see three legends in the field, Zeena Parkins, Fred Frith and Ikue Mori. For this type of sound collage to work you need to have either a strong relationship base to draw from as a trio, or you just have some fun creating an inprov collage where there are one or two soloing moments that stop the show. This had neither the former or the latter in large amounts. I could only really focus on what laptop wielding Mori was doing rather smartly, and that was to build a strong base for the other two to play. Frith and Parkins both offered some quirky, jerky antics into their work by dropping metallic objects on to a mic’d table to interesting effect, and other prepared elements for their stringed instruments. Though what I expected to be a rather virtuosic experience was more akin to a noise show. Of course, having been steeped in the worlds of Wolf Eyes and donnasummer alike, I come prepared. I remember having seen Parkins rule her chosen harp when in concert with Bjork of all things. I remember her playing chords, and hearing a sensitive vibe that was classically contemporary with her own unique physical style. In this setting I couldn’t hear anything subtle over the rumble of the sonic crush. Frith’s brazen guitar antics were fun to watch as he sort of brushed the textural sounds out of his instrument from top to bottom. The show is a bit of a blur to me, and it wasn’t the one glass of wine either. Some of this was just over-amped and grey. There were moments where everything just completely dovetailed and flew, but those moments seemed few and far between. Now, mind you, this is what I hope to see in a festival of this caliber, the choice of having quality (and proven) experimenters of the sonic arts on stage, but perhaps it was a combination of the sound system and the mix. Whichever, I prefer not to second guess here, I expect to hear the music, and I really only got a loud buzz buzz buzz rather than the abstract trip I might have imagined.

• • •

I will leave you with this image that I shot inside the Sincerely John Head Studio Box Sessions playspace. Attention to detail is everything!

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 15th, 2007 at 10:05 am and is filed under Aural, Sights, Wired. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.