Sean Branagan - Light Forms, October 11th – November 18th 2007

VINEspace
25a Vyner Street
London E2 9DG

It’s a hot old time in London this week, what with the Frieze Art Fair rolling into town. Especially in Vyner Street last Thursday evening, it would appear. The usual hectic First Thursday seems to have become Second Thursday, and tonight the street is awash with art punters and free beer.

So, is Branagan’s ‘Light Forms’ — described in the blurb as a collection of ‘video beings’ — great and good? Consisting of video projections onto various custom-made surfaces, these works function as electronic portraits. Two walls of VINEspace feature faces shone onto the distorted and disrupting surfaces. Oddly for a video work, the projected faces seemed to betray no obvious narrative, the expressions and gestures seemingly as static if they were painted or carved. Perhaps it is the absence of sound in these ‘talking heads’ that strips away the narrative, but as I watch the lips in ‘LIGHT FORM: You’re the reason our kids are ugly — Conway Twitty 1978’ repeatedly mouthing the word ‘sorry’, I do feel that it is speaking directly to me, and I appreciate the apology. Albeit a silent one. This is a rather self-referential show: like much of video art, it is about the technique and technicalities, rather than a stunning vision. The frankly obscure and seemingly-unrelated titling, and almost-unfathomable accompanying press release, which claims that ‘these pieces make significant efforts to democratise the component elements of video art’ all betray this fact. In this day and age, ‘new’ media in the arts should be able to stand proudly next to any other medium, and not feel insecure, or the need to justify its existence.

On the other wall, ‘Dva Moodges: YELLOW’ and ‘Dva Moodges: PINK’ project the action — such as it is — down to the ground, stretching the looped figures into dissolving tinted pools across the floor. The spilling of coloured light into the space, and the fact that these two are projected ‘into’ patterned Perspex containers at least give the works a three-dimensional quality which was lacking in the previous pieces.

Later my companions and I went in search of the Vedett beer that everyone but us seemed to be clutching, and whilst we talked and chatted amongst ourselves, soaking up the busy atmosphere and free beverages, one of our number decided to spontaneously conduct an impromptu interview for the cameras filming Ben Roberts for Al Gore’s Current TV. Ben curates, makes work for and drives the Benjamin Street Gallery. This gallery is a van that he drives to various art events and places to promote his personal brand of photography. The subsequent interview is one piece of video art that I can’t wait to see.

Richard

The Mix Tape As An Expression of Love

I just recently finished reading High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby, and it started me thinking about when I got my first mix tape from a boy. We were 15. We, the whole lot of us lil' wanna be punkers, would all get together and hang out downtown in 'Bland' Rapids, Michigan. I was trying to be all cool and show off on his skate board when I fell and scraped my leg pretty badly. After helping me up to a bench, he pulled the tape out of his Walkman and placed it into mine. "I…uh…made this for you last night. Hope you like it." My heart soared. I listened to that tape over and over again. I had never felt so much love while listening to Black Flag, the Butthole Surfers, and the Dead Kennedys before. Every song held a meaning for our relationship. I now had a better understanding of how he felt about me thanks to one 90 minute Maxell.

I loved making tapes and would make individual mix tapes for friends on their birthdays and for Christmas presents. I would spend hours with my music collection all over the floor trying to figure out what the recipient would like and how to best put the compilation together, fading songs into and out of each other. I was quite proud of my work. Inevitably I would call the tapes, "Stuff-n-Things for…" and then try to do something funky to the cover. For lovers, however, the creation of the mix tape was more difficult.

The last compilation tape I made for a lover was about eight years ago. Tapes were beginning to be old news at that point, but my boyfriend at the time had a tape player in his car, not a CD player. Making that tape was an agonizing feat for me as I wanted to give him something he would enjoy with songs that subtlety expressed the growing deep affection I had for him. On top of this, he was moving and I wanted to express some sadness without being too depressing. I didn't want to freak him out or scare him away with an overwhelming display of affection. In the middle of making it I called my friend, Julia, and asked her opinions. Should I put this song on it? Would he think this if that song were on it? What about this other song instead which expresses the same sentiment, but…? Julia is a very patient person.

So, he moved 300 miles away, and we attempted a long distance relationship. Having summers off, I went to visit him intermittently-a little over a week there and then about a week at home. It was during the second or third round of my visits that I began to feel insecure about our relationship. I had a feeling things were not going to work out. Plus, I knew at that point that I would be leaving the country, perhaps permanently. His plans were similar to mine, but our destinations were not the same. Trying to distract myself, I went through his music collection pulling out albums I didn't own. "Make a list of what you like, and I'll make you a tape," he said, and my mood lightened. He must really love me; he was making me a tape.

He gave me the tape the next time I came to visit. He even put some artists on the tape that I had not requested, such as Bruce Springsteen. Being from New Jersey, he is a huge Springsteen fan. While I have an appreciation for Springsteen's song writing talent, I do not consider myself to be any sort of fan at all. However, I found myself listening to the tape over and over again searching for some hidden meaning in the selected songs and their order, and I was disappointed. There didn't seem to be any deep feeling or hidden meaning behind it. It was just a group of songs that all sounded good together, just an ordinary tape like that you would make for a friend. And, indeed the platonic nature of the tape was the giveaway. We broke up on my next visit.

After that I made one last mix tape…for me. It was called "The Ultimate Break-Up Tape." I very carefully selected songs to express the stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. It was a kick-ass tape if I do say so myself. I later gave it to another friend who was going through a break-up.

And now the mix tape is practically extinct. Its end is due to the onset of Mp3's and the like. Making mix CD's is easy, a bit too easy. It's so easy in fact that you can make the same one for many people. I have a friend who compiles all the music he has purchased over the year and makes a Christmas CD, which he gives to away. While this is a great answer to the traditional Christmas card, it does seem to be about as personal as one of those Christmas newsletters detailing the events of people you only ever hear from once a year. I now make CD compilations for people, but it just isn't the same. There can be no replacing the mix tape with a mix CD. In my opinion the mix tape was a true expression of feeling due to the toil put into the making of it. I find it sad that it has now become obsolete.

I also find it sad that I no longer own a tape player.

Heather

Dawn Shorten - The Cloud Series, 4th - 28th October 2007

Seven Seven
77 Broadway Market
London Fields
London E8 4PH

What were the skies like when you were young?

The Cloud Series does what is says on the tin: a series of framed paintings of cloudscapes. Also dotted around the room were double-mirrored map sections, which, when one knelt down and looked into the reflective panels, went on forever.

Seven Seven is a small space, no larger than a standard London living room, and these are small works. However, Shorten's little fluffy clouds are grand in scale, and reminiscent of miniaturised old master cartoons, suggesting a timeless quality. Painted in white gouache on translucent film, and mounted over grey card, the monochrome palette and diminutive scale draws the viewer towards the mark-making technique. The drafting film almost fails to hold the pigment, and as one gazes at the surfaces, the gouache almost moves.

The maps, partly by virtue of their positioning, seemed intimately connected with the paintings above. The clouds, much like the East London night outside, seemed a little lacking in variation, in terms of subject matter, if not brushstrokes, but this did emphasise the technique and presentation of the works.

This show, by virtue of its classical allusions, suggested a grand scheme on a small scale, offering little patches of space for your own blue sky thinking.

Richard

Sonar - Dia ultimo: Sunday 17th June 2007

Looking at the schedule, we certainly weren't going to be able to make a day of it on our last twenty-four hours of music and multimedia in Barcelona. According to my Sonar veteran companion, there are less and less acts each year during daytime, and they certainly appear to have misplaced at least one stage - SonarLab. It's actually been moved to the evening event, but I miss the cosy marquee full of label showcases.

So, there wasn't much else for it but to post the previous day's Sonar summing-up and hang about in SonarVillage listening to seemingly-Hendrix obsessed French turntablists C2C. Their cutely-crafted and crowd-pleasing assemblage fitted the Village stage well, being outdoors and thus the perfect setting for the 'party music' end of Sonar's spectrum. It was a good sountrack for finally soaking up some (weak) sun.

Our main event for the daytime, Mira Calix, wasn't due on until 5pm so we, again, had time to kill. Instead, however, we took time out (of the venue) for a spot of shopping and picture postcard pick-up.

I left Martin watching Mira Calix just prior to her timely ending, due to slice-and-dice duties. Another storm rather of the teacup variety, although this time my meal was augmented with tinned tuna to take away the vegan taste. The reason for rushing back was not the quality of the laptop ambling (and touching, ambiguous overhead - literally - projections) but an attempt to cram a mealtime into our busy evening schedule. Although, as pleasant as the set was - and it was, save for the odd spot of seemingly unintentional digital distortion - there is only so much visual stimulation to be experienced from one woman stood at a (very funky) red laptop and some artful animations. I did leave feeling that this non-performance could be experienced just as fruitfully in the comfort of my own (borrowed) home whilst performing domestic duties.

The plan, after so-so supper, was to make another, more successful, visit to SonarRama for Audio Kinematics followed by the Blackout Concert #20, en route to the SonarBus to SonarHangar to indulge in some Devo. We made a rapid dash up Las Ramblas to the venue, not arriving in time to take in Audio Kinematics, but a few minutes early for Blackout. Eventually the doors were closed and we were led into the smog-filled basement. "Tres' Blackout Concerts consist of attentive listening to the machine derived buzz present in the venues where they take place. During the concerts these sounds are gradually switched off and create different moments of silence based on their location and intensity. The concerts end when the maximum level of silence and darkness is reached." It certainly was intense, and far from a turn-off for the 20 or so minutes that the performance lasted. What WAS, or should have been, a turn-off was the fact that some members of the audience refused, as requested, to switch off their phones. Others were insistent on taking photos, and this undermined the blackout concert concept somewhat. Personally, I found the time spent listening to the ambient sounds (including, it has to be said, some squeaky shoe time from Martin) around me gradually decrease around me as the gloom grew a welcome break from the bustle of Barcelona.

Heading to the venue a little earlier, and the lack of a headline act of the stature of Beastie Boys made for a much smoother transit. we grabbed a drink and headed for the stage as Devo's intro music was drawing to a close. What followed was a set peppered with tunes that I recognised from my misspent youth, and whilst I appreciated that I was in the presence of a group who had been a formative influence on many of my generation, I found their '80s rock stylings and posturings incongruous to Sonar's Sound, and their quirky time signatures and keys rather laboured. Once they stripped to their shorts from chem-suit looking garb, they resembled nothing more than a middle-aged workout session. I toughed out the entire set, plus encores, and then we headed to catch what we thought was the end of Mogwai. Sadly not. I shall say no more about them, but I was not expecting pseudo-prog rock during my time here.

Things picked-up somewhat after Mogwai left the stage, very late. Hip hop stylings followed from Razhel and his cheerleader / DJ-JS One. We hung around for hip hopper Mala Rodríguez (think Spanish Nelly Furtado as a starting point, but with far more talent) via a stint in front of Black Devil Disco Club, before wending our way back to the apartment to sleep a little and pack-up for the journey back to London later that morning. Our Sonar sojourn was over.

Sonar - Dia Tres: Saturday 16th June 2007

A bit of a frustrating day three in the Sonar house(hold). Which, it would appear, may be haunted. After having the distinct impression that someone, or thing, was making an impression on me as I lay in bed in the early hours, Martin mentions in passing that he heard 'someone' moving around in his room, also. They seem benign, whoever 'they' are, anyway. Which is something. Or nothing - perhaps our sun-stroked imaginations?

Anyway...frustrations all round today, as the event we opted to see at Sonarama - a short trek along La Rambla, made more scenic by taking some back streets and my stop-off for photo opportunities in the old local market, Sant Josep - until my camera died. Curses! - was Feed at 4pm. On arrival at 'rama, we were asked to sign a form stating that we didn't suffer from, among other things, migraines and low blood pressure. Which Martin does. And anxiety, which surely we all do at some point in our lives? Cue heated 'discussion' over the legal technicalities of disclaimers and his refusal to sign, which I won't bore you with. Suffice to say, it wasn't going to happen. Not that there was much else anywhere else that we wished to see, until Sunn O))) came up at 5pm. Cue frustration number two. Sunn O)))'s set was rammed. Or at least we couldn't get into SonarHall. All entrances secured, no pasa, etcetera.

Fortunately, after the delaying tactic of a detour via the Editorial Fair (lots of fashion / lifestyle mags, and The Wire, as ever) we (along with lots of others) managed to at least get to the mezzanine floor at the side of the Hall part way through the set, and could hear the sons of Sunn O))) grinding out their wall of sound, and feel the repercussions through the floor and glass barriers. This afforded an advantageous vantage point for the not-even-two-thirds-full Hall (HOW annoying!?!), but no more than an occasional glimpse - when someone left - of a dry ice-shrouded stage through gaps in the curtains along the edge of said hall. Around 5.40pm, the officious, seemingly-haphazard and rather unnecessary crowd-control restrictions were lifted, and we moved inside. Unlike entrance restrictions, the dry ice in the house HADN'T lifted. To see anything of what was occurring on the stage, I had to stand right next to a speaker. Which made my hair, quite literally, stand on end. Loud? What? I was rewarded for this endeavour by seeing the vocalist slowly crawling his way off, stage left, on his stomach. That was enough for me. Or anyone with any sense of theatre and artistry, I would imagine. I moved to the middle of the room, to survey Sunn O)))'s prowess from a safe distance.

Not that, in theory, there was much to see. With the vocalist, at this point, having exited stage left, there remained a bass player and guitarist, shrouded in both mystery and smog. And wearing cowls. This mystery, and sense of immortals feeding from a higher power, was somewhat tarnished by their occasional swigging from large beer bottles (in silhouette), but I have to admit that, much as I wanted not to like the powerful drones pulsating from the stage, it was an awe-inspiring, and quite literally physical, presence. The resonant frequencies worked because of the sound: huge amps and everything well-balanced. And all the time it sounded as if it was just about to end. Or begin again. Just as I REALLY thought it was going to end, the vocalist returned. The smog was clearing, but he was garbed in what looked like medieval costume, and seemed to have no arms. It all added to the sense of otherness I was starting to experience. All in all, Sunn O))) went down well with this London judge, and I left feeling that I had definitely had an experience, even if I wasn't sure what exactly it was.

So. About last night. By the time we got to Las Ramblas, on our way to see the Beasties, I wasn't feeling all that well. Too much Sunn O))), and not enough sun, I suspect. There was the usual long queue for buses, getting longer by the minute. And a longer-than-usual wait to enter the venue, once we disembarked. The Boys' set had started when we made it into the huge space with seemingly-miniscule stage at the end. And it was filling-up fast. Within ten minutes of us taking up position to the left of the sound desk the half of the 'room' behind us was also full of bodies as far the eye could see. Have never seen so many people at any one show in SonarClub. The set-list was as varied as the Beastie's output, moving from punk rock to lounge jazz via massive hip hop beats. Sabotage and Egg Raid in particular got the crowd's bodies moving. A lot. They may need to dye their roots these days, but they never deny them. And Mixmaster Mike was on fine form. MMM - goddamn that dj made my night. We moved off to the professional area in search of refreshment and respite. Caught some of Uffie's set whilst queueing at our conveniences, discussing with a man from Cardiff whether it was indeed her (it was, she was just on early. And shouting a lot) and the provenance of Welsh as the oldest Celtic language. How very British, although not very rock'n'roll.

The rest of the evening was spent in SonarLab, listening (and in Martin's case, dancing) to dubstep from the likes of DJ Skream (who was indeed a hoot. In a good way), watching - and in my case snapping, the dodgems. Shooting the breeze, indeed - before heading for the bus again and some not-at-all-earned rest.

Sonar - Dia Dos: Friday 15th June 2007

Am now over my initial 'first-ever-blog-whilst-not-at home' excitement. And the fine Chinese (plus Blixa) were, sadly, somewhat of a let-down. White (pictured) were alright on the night. In patches, anyhow. But there was no let-off - of 47 Rockets - at the end of that particular piece, despite them being very evident on the recorded version. I suspect that this may be something to do with fire regulations, but still. All-in-all, still the best music we've sampled, thus far.

We had managed to miss FM3's Buddah Machine performance prior to this. Although I did purchase a Machine of my own from the Record Fair. This is now rather anachronistic and inaptly -named. Hardly any record-companies were in evidence, now that the music world has finally gone (mostly) digital. The stands this year are predominated by promoters and clothing companies, so perhaps 'Lifestyle Fair' would be a more fitting handle? I went for the classic white Buddah Machine (a little, transistor radio-like plastic box, that plays a short loop when you switch it on), 'to match myPod', BEFORE I saw the olive green pressing that they also had. Sadly, another €20 for this one too was pushing the boat out a little too far, despite the lovely little lapel badge and stickers that came with. Haven't dared open the packaging yet. And not sure that I ever will.

SonarMatica was, as ever, a delight. For me, anyhow. Martin's scepticism, when consulted later, was in full effect. But there was lots to see and do, from silver balloons which moved as you approached, to a simplified, gallery version of Philip K. Dick's scramble suit from A Scanner Darkly, which took the faces of the (small) crowd (there were three of us when I joined in) assembled in front of a screen and shifted them onto someone beside you. Philip Worthington's Shadow Monsters and Tool's Life by minim++ were personal favourites. Lots of fun to play with, throwing up surprise results as the viewer interacted, and difficult to do justice to in a few words.

I also, in my haste, forgot to give an honourable mention to one of the shorts we'd seen earlier in the day. Luz Lenta, directed by Dionis Escorza, was gorgeously shot, and beautifully crafted, depicting light revealing and erasing people, objects and colours across spaces, with what looked like a mixture of real-time film and stop animation. Pure visual poetry.

But back to the music. FM3 took to the stage, amidst accusations (not unfounded) from Martin of prog rock, or even emo tendencies. Blixa eventually made it to (the back of) the stage a few minutes into the piece, looking very dapper in a dark suit. He then proceeded to shout a lot, through various effects, his voice - at times - a low rumble. Having seen Neubauten in their Haus Der Luge period, and not knowing what to expect, I was a little disappointed. A little more theatre, at least. We promptly left the building, and headed to SonarComplex.

Big mistake. Complex was full of noise and (largely) empty of people. This was Jazzfinger, apparently the heirs to Zoviet*France's noise throne. Although this seems to be more to do with the fact that a) they're from Newcastle and b) sit on the stage to do whatever it is they do. Bowing and scraping at guitars, mainly. We gave them our very own jazz finger(s) in double quick time, and headed back to the apartment. Harsh? They were, so I do feel justified in giving them so little of my time.

As suggested in the previous post, Thursday night was downtime, before the main events (Beastie Boys and Dizzee Rascal tonight; Devo and - showing my local AND hip hop sympathies - Mala Rodrîguez on Saturday) to follow. So, an evening of beers, going through my many pictures from the day and a late night amble, and ramble - dodging beer and body sellers with equal vehemence - along La Rambla to the port. Oh, and another attempt by Martin at some filming. The camera has now been set up for another 'Nothing Happened Today', but arriving at the harbour with a dead camera battery meant no 'lights on water' footage, save the little that he managed to capture on his smaller stills unit.

Richard, for Funkturm

Five a day

Every day in November, the homepage of Richard's portfolio will feature five photographs taken during the previous 24 hours. Starting today.