Things and Things

Having re-read my entry concerning the Attention Screen concert, I realize that it may sound as though I didn't like the performance. This, however, is not the case. I liked it very much. I enjoyed it. I even had a good time.

There've just been some things running through my mind. Things. Oh, for lack of better word! Things. What are these things? Inner things and outer things — what are they, but things and things?

Who wrote that? I can't remember. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was Walt Whitman.

Things, I should clarify, concerning communication and the exchange of ideas; the ecstasy of influence. And those things found their ways into my entry. But, something else that I wanted to say was this: The thing that I find really important and special about such "improvised" music — and I do wonder if anything is ever really improvised — is that everything included within the performance space becomes a part of the performance.

Hmm. As I approached the period of that last thought, it occurred to me that it's not only those things within the performance space which can be included, but all things audible to those within the performance space. Even those things — those sounds — coming from outside.

It will take me a little while to find the point, and I will get a little John Cageian on you here, but during the second half of the show, when Jonathan Scull stepped on stage to snap a few photos of the band while they did their thing, it was obvious to me that Jonathan Scull was now a part of the band. Jonathan Scull had, very clearly and unquestionably, entered the performance. Was it only a coincidence that he, too, like all of the other musicians, was dressed entirely in black?

Jonathan Scull. Was he the umbrella, or was he the sewing machine?

I watched him as much as I watched the others. I listened to him as much as I listened to the others. Jonathan was not only a photographer, but a dancer, tip-toeing and bending and stretching and sliding, ever so gingerly, to and with the music. I wanted to get on stage and join him. The music and everything else was nearly enough to free me. I saw myself leaving my seat, jumping on stage, twirling.

And it's that last sentiment — my desire to also become a part of the performance — which I think is so important. To witness the act of creation is to also create. And, when I stamped my foot into the Merkin Concert Hall floor, I made music. And the woman whose earrings dangled and chimed — she made music, too. And the man who sat before us, whose head bobbed and dropped into a dull slumber — he was a dancer, too.

And, beyond the concert hall, in the lobby, where people shuffled and whispered, where people exchanged money for compact discs, an extra-performance was taking place. And, outside the entrance doors, I could swear I heard a bus honk its horn, somehow impossibly in time with Mark Flynn's thunderous tom hits.

If Mark had heard it, I bet he would have done his best to reel it in. At least for a block or two, before moving on to some other thing.

COMMENTS
Monty's picture

I think that's why we can never really kid ourselves about reproducing a live event. We simply experience things with all of our senses and recreate a fraction of what we experienced. I also think that is why we can become so anal about our music reproduction. Something as trivial as a horn honking or a pair of glasses tinkling can add realism and recreate the illusion. Scents can recreate much the same thing. Out of the blue, you get whacked with a smell that immediately puts you back in the cafeteria of your 4th grade elementary school. Winter funks, Stephen? If I don't get enough solar vitamins, I can get that out-of-sorts funky feeling. Lots of sunshine usually kicks me back into gear.

Jeff Wong's picture

I have to admit, J-10 actually spoiled that portion of the show for me. I found myself getting tense with anxiety... he seemed as if he might bump into the mike stands or trip as he was shifting around taking pics. As he tip-toed across the stage, I couldn't help but wonder if his body might be interfering with the soundwaves and compromise the recording. I worried that his footsteps might end up being the 2007 version of a subway train buried in the background of a track. I wondered if the sounds from the little digital camera might end up polluting the music with blips or digital shutter clicks. It got my stomach in knots and was very distracting and took my head and ears and eyes out of the musicmaking and I was glad when he was done and offstage. I hope he got some nice shots, though.

michaelavorgna's picture

Lautreamont and Cage. Wait a minute, where am I? Throw in some Beuys to boot. And just maybe J-10s footsteps will be part of a new test disk? How many steps can you hear...Always a pleasure Stephen (it was the umbrella and sewing machine that finally inspired comment ;-)

Stephen Mejias's picture

> Something as trivial as a horn honking or a pair of glasses tinkling can add realism and recreate the illusion. < Yeah, totally. JA and I were talking about this yesterday. One of my favorite moments

Stephen Mejias's picture

> I have to admit, J-10 actually spoiled that portion of the show for me. <It's funny, Jeff. I experienced what seems to be exactly what you experienced. There's something strange and beautiful about that. I mean, I had all of the same concerns, I imagined the same little tragedies, I saw Jonathan bumping into the mics and knocking over the instruments...But the pleasure I felt from perceiving him as part of the event far outweighed my concerns.

Stephen Mejias's picture

> Always a pleasure Stephen (it was the umbrella and sewing machine that finally inspired comment ;-) <Thank you so much for reading and for writing, Michael. I wish that I'd mentioned the umbrella and sewing machine earlier.I first discovered the Lautreamont description in Anatole Broyard's "Kafka Was the Rage." I loved it immediately (both the description and the book).

michaelavorgna's picture

I haven't read "Kafka Was the Rage". I'll check it out. I came to Maldoror through Breton, Artaud, Jarry...One of my favorite recentish reads was "Kafka on the Shore" by Haruki Murakami. The Kafka konnection?

Stephen Mejias's picture

>Scents can recreate much the same thing. Out of the blue, you get whacked with a smell that immediately puts you back in the cafeteria of your 4th grade elementary school.<Eek. Don't remind me. I was a 4th Grade Nothing. >Winter funks, Stephen? If I don't get enough solar vitamins, I can get that out-of-sorts funky feeling. Lots of sunshine usually kicks me back into gear.<Yeah, I think that's what it's been. The Winter Funks. But, it's been a lot sunnier lately, and somehow, the cold just isn't as cold as it was a few days ago. Thanks Monty.

michaelavorgna's picture

> There's some father/son struggle stuff involved in there, right?<Yes. It sets the story in motion...Jonathan Lethem's "Motherless Brooklyn" is another fun read. Jonathan also has connections to Murakami - "The Vintage Book of Amnesia" which he edited contains a story by Murakami. J and I overlapped at Bennington but I didn't know him. I was an illiterate argh major. A scribbler.Some writers seem to tie up loose ends. Or maybe put things into new perspective so when you read them and then look back, it's a new view. Or something like that. "Bosch was so surreal"

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