After much ado – the usual complications and SNAFUs – the 1SSUE16 Private View duly arrived yesterday (Saturday 21 April).
Firstly, and most importantly, I can report that it is a truly excellent show. As my partner commented, it deserves to be in a more prestigious venue. Nonetheless, great work by Richard Cox.
Secondly, the PV was well-attended and deemed a success by one-and-all. I spent an enjoyable couple of hours chatting with Phil Mead (who I’d never met before) and catching up with a few friends: lovely to see Sue Hunt and Glen Manby after what seems ages.
Richard Cox and friend:
Superb set submitted by Heather Parnell. Some of the best stuff she’s done in ages:
Marega Palser. I really like her work. Reminds me somewhat of early Bryon Gysin:
Carefully-wrought moirés by Tom Martin:
The show is on at West Wharf Gallery until 26 May. Open 10am – 4:30pm, Thursday-Saturday.
I’ve been re-reading and reviewing quite a lot of stuff that’s quite central to the way I think about music, art, culture, etc. Following a deep delve into Luigi Russolo and the Futurists I somehow made my way to overhauling what I knew (or thought I knew) about electronic music in Germany. Following a brief mention in David Stubbs’ superb Future Days: Krautrock and the Building of Modern Germany, I chased down this wonderful piece of music which, unbeknown to me, I already sort of knew (see below).
Manuel Göttsching’s E2-E4 is just so good on so many levels. The same two chords for nearly an hour. No explicit melody to speak of. Sequenced. Improvised. Technological and synthetic but wholly organic. Ambient but great to dance to. It even has a long guitar solo, and, man, I can’t tell you how far I would usually go to avoid one of those. But the track just feels great.
The icing on the cake for me is this, taken from the sleeve notes:
At the end of 1981, when I came back from a long tour (with Klaus Schultze) I still felt ‘in a concert mood’ for a few days and so one evening I gave a ‘Manuel Göttsching solo concert’ in my studio, just for myself. I luckily had the reflex to press the red ‘record’ button on the tape machine.
When I listened to the recording afterwards, I was somewhat confused. The music flowed in total balance and even after listening again and again I couldn’t distinguish any flaws or breaks. There weren’t even any of the usual technical glitches such as crackling, dropouts, distortion, or abrupt level changes.
Nothing was too loud or too quiet. Over the years I’d made many session recordings in my studio, but none of them had produced such a perfect and rounded result over this duration and breadth. I found it almost uncanny. And a problem.
After my last release […] I had resolved to produce a new solo LP. I had envisaged an all-encompassing composition for which I had planned a whole year from the development to the finished production. I had already developed a whole range of themes, but they were all loose ends of pieces: the greater overall work was still a long way off.
And here I was with a finished, faultless recording, which I had written, played, and produced within the space of one evening.
What a great story. Any musician would figuratively give their left arms to have this type of wonderful experience. To be in the zone. Not consciously creating, just creating. Letting it just come pouring out. So satisfying, so sweet…
And the reason I already sort of knew it, one of my favourite dance tracks from (ahem) “back in the day”:
Let’s just keep this short: I was not at all impressed with Rachel Whiteread’s work. I found the show to be like wandering through a large and utterly soulless superstore, some surreal marriage of B&Q and Ikea, truly hideous in its lack of emotion.
My comment on the day: one trick pony.
So, leaving my companions cooing and purring behind me I hastily departed for pastures anew. Like the lonely cloud, I wandered romantically and oh so wistfully through the Tate for the next hour or so:
Unknown Artist: The Cholmondley Ladies c.1600-1610