50 Days of Merzbow, Day 9: Yantra Material Action

1982

Tortured warning sirens screech at the listener before melting into surf guitar samples. Welcome to the post-Hiroshima generation, kids. Pots and pans get banged in tune and in sepia, backing away from history. This is the breath.

I can imagine David Lynch listening to this in 1982 and thinking, "If only I'd made Eraserhead weird." This really is more cinematic than most Merzbow. I can only be impressed with how Merzbow has held off on the soundtrack offers over the years. Not that I have hard evidence that he's gotten them. It's just impossible to imagine that he hasn't.

TRACK LIST

1. Untitled // 11:25
2. Untitled // 2:52
3. Untitled // 1:48
4. Untitled // 4:37
5. Untitled // 1:06
6. Untitled // 8:40
7. Untitled // 7:26
8. Untitled // 4:35

50 Days of Merzbow, Day 8: Material Action for 2 Microphones

1981

Thrilling to hear Merzbow's future take hold on this disc. Both the tweeked high-end that was perfected on Music For Bondage Performance 1 & 2, and the the molten thunder that will keep the low-end pinned to the ground for years to come. Forward.

TRACK LIST

1. Hoochie Coochie Scratched Man // 25:31
2. Yumin, Non Stop Disco // 21:14
3. New Acoustic Music No.7 // 23:58

50 Days of Merzbow, Day 7: Paradoxa Paradoxa

1981

Lon Chaney seems to be hiding behind every door on this one, grinding away at something. More primitive drumming a la CAN that would later inspire O Yuki Congugate and half the acts on Cold Meat industry. By the 2nd track the Chaney-mood organ drone gets decidedly weirder and starts to feel more like all the incidental music for the circus horror classic, BERSERK.

TRACK LIST

1. Paradoxa Paradoxa Pt.1 // 46:14
2. Paradoxa Paradoxa Pt.2 // 26:08

50 Days Of Merzbow, Day 6 (5): Collection Era Vol. 2

6 (5)*

1981

Here Merzbow begins to pick, in earnest, at the tectonic plates. And he sounds giddy at the prospects of the Great Falling Apart. Furious sliding of all kinds for the duration. Sometimes it's the edge of a continent falling into an ocean, and other times it's a box of sharp knives spilling across a frozen pond.

TRACK LIST

1. Untitled // 5:17
2. Untitled // 5:59
3. Untitled // 10:35
4. Untitled // 6:13
5. Untitled // 4:53
6. Untitled // 6:51
7. Untitled // 3:14
8. Untitled // 22:52

50 Days Of Merzbow, Day 5 (6): Collection Era Vol. 3

5 (6)*

1981

Merzbow calls it Rock but it is definitely Rock of the funkiest order. The filthy beats remind me of Bloodrock, but the moves on top sound like the soundfield mined by the Bill Laswell/Otomo Yoshide project, Soup, 20 years later. Akita is so far ahead that he's ahead of the musicians and artists who are already pretty far ahead. The two "Gamlan" songs abuse the infinitely layered Javanese rhythms while Merzbow crowds the dinner table with heaping bowls of metal soto.

And I'm pretty sure Merz Scat is not referring to the Jazz singing style. Just sayin'. I'll meet you on the other side. Bring the Coil. I'll grab the staircase.

TRACK LIST

1. Merz Rock 1 // 1:58
2. Merz Rock 2 // 8:23
3. Merz Gamlan 1 // 15:54
4. Merz Gamlan 2 // 5:55
5. Merz Scat // 11:29
6. Merztronics Jazz Mix // 11:45
7. Merztronics Rhythm Mix // 11:17

50 Days Of Merzbow, Day 4: Collection Era Vol. 1

1981

Merzbow's interest in avant-garde Jazz drumming shows up for the first time in this sprawling set, an obsession explored and destroyed 18 years later on his Door Open at 8AM album. Merzbow gets a little funky during the second track, Untitled Material Action. Wasn't ready for that. Then he starts pulling in radio signals from Hell or thereabouts. The spirit of both the water drum and the spring (as in, like, BOING) fills the electronic pulse demons here. The tracks leap from one unseen stone to the next to get across this River Styx. This is an overflowing kitchen sink, flooding a room full of loose and live wires.

TRACK LIST

1. Electric Environment // 24:00
2. Untitled Material Action // 23:57
3. Telecom Manipulation // 18:18

50 Days Of Merzbow, Day 3: Remblandt Assemblage

1980

Akita gets his Dada 101 books out and goes to town. HaHa. "Remblant." So much anti-music starts here. But not to worry. "Scwitters" gets no respect either. I can hear Merzbow burrowing in for the long haul, aggressively plotting out his philosophy and approach to sound. Shadows of music's past appear only to be seemingly for the sole purpose of being rubbed out. It's like Django Rinehart on acid making a baby with Derek Bailey who is just plain drunk. It's all very dying cow.

TRACK LIST

1. Remblandt Assemblage // 9:44
2. Voice of Scwitters // 2:09
3. Theme of Dadaist // 9:39
4. Hans Arp // 1:47
5. Tape Dada // 5:52
6. Music Concret // 2:34
7. Prepare Guitar Solo 1 // 17:32
8. Prepare Guitar Solo 2 // 3:59

50 Days Of Merzbow, Day 2: Metal Acoustic Music

1980

Caravaggio. This is the horrible treble of Thomas' finger feeling its way around Christ's wound, groping for faith. Although, here it sounds like Thomas doesn't quite trust his own hand and has opted for a scalpel. Keeps hitting bone.

Also, BB King. Merzbow keeps doing that slam chord that BB King uses at the beginning of a song to slap his band onto the One. Except, tonally, Merzbow is closer to Albert King.

TRACK LIST

1. Balance of Neurosis // 46:59

50 Days Of Merzbow, Day 1: OM Electrique

1979

The first song is elastic and sequencer-driven. All junked up like Christ, this one. What a place to start. By track 2 the piercing begins in earnest. Remember those closely-miked albums from the 70s where you can hear the sound of the tips of the guitar player's fingers grazing the steel strings? It's like that only it's the tension in Masami Akita's ankle muscles coming through the effects pedals. It feels like Merzbow is scratching at the back of your skull from the inside.

TRACK LIST

1. OM Electrique Part 1 // 31:17
2. OM Electrique Part 2 // 7:55
3. Untitled Taped Drum Solo // 8:59
4. Untitled Guitar Solo // 10:25

Incoming: 50 Days Of Merzbow.

I found Merzbow's 50-CD Merzbox, a collection of archival and out-of-print recordings, on this excellent sharity site last week. Now I'm listening to it.

All The Way.

Sharon Butler

Sharon Butler's paintings in On Display, a show curated by Hrag Vartanian at STOREFRONT Gallery, are a microcosm for the entire show. When I first looked at the paintings, I wished that Butler had pulled back a bit. The more time I spent with them though, the more they started to come together. Her instincts had been right. Mine, wrong. In the end, Butler's overdrive minimalism worked for me.


Joy Curtis

And so goes the show. The onslaught of conversation among the pieces is almost too much at first. But then, settling in, getting used to the language, it opens up. Joy Curtis' floor sculptures serve as a lynchpin for the show, adding infinite angles on top of the ones already chatting away on the walls in Butler and Cathy Nan Quinlan's paintings.

The gesture of the "project space" in the front of the gallery is a nice touch. It's a quiet space of invention, letting the viewer in on the original secrets. It's the moment before the artists and the curator all decided to go too far, but as Bryan Ferry said, sometimes "All the way is far enough."

I've posted more photos over on my tumblr site.

Sharon Butler

Cathy Nan Quinlan

Joy Curtis

Installation

From 4-6 today, there will be an artists' discussion AND a birthday party for Abstract art at the gallery.

Love That Burns.

He seemed to be doing this out of love, out of the need to tell the truth in a place where it seldom finds its way off the floor. Yep. Dread Scott was burning money in front of the Stock Exchange today. It was beautiful, confusing, and cathartic. He moved right through the green wall and took us with him, like a shepherd. Walking through the fool's fire of unfettered capitalism, he sang and burned his way into a ticket for disorderly conduct.



He repeatedly sang, "Money to bur-rn. Money to burn." while burning the money he had attached to his clothes and also that of any passersby who had their own money to burn. The crowd was a mix of lunching Financial District workers, deliciously confused tourists, and a smattering of people like me who had heard about the action on the internet. The mix of the two major elements, fire and money, guaranteed a certain tension. Money is food and rent until it's been recontextualized by a flame. Then we have to think about it.



The tension snowballed when the police showed up though. They seemed as confused as the tourists, but mostly because it seemed that they were unsure if the artist was doing anything illegal. After a number of phone calls and on-the-spot consultations I heard one of them tell Scott that he was being consider "disorderly." This was followed by more consultation, and a ticket was issued. The burning had stopped, and the singing along with it. Scott was waiting now for the moment of repose. His job done, it was time to go.



His walk to the subway felt like a one-man Jazz funeral without the music or New Orleans. It was slow, deliberate, and replete with some kind of mad grief. I was in tears. Dread Scott had put his hand into the belly of the Beast, and found the terrible end of something. It was messy. It was over. Most unsettlingly, it was quiet.

During the performance, a couple curious traders had come over to see the action. They seemed mildly amused. This was a joke, really. They obviously felt at home. After it was all over they went back inside for the afternoon and ushered the Dow down 148.89 points. Burn.






Pre-Bonus track BONUS: Dread Scott has posted a video of the performance.

BONUS TRACK: Fleetwood Mac's Love That Burns

Hello Frederick J. Osterling!

What a surprise this was. The other week in Pittsburgh I was walking from the ToonSeum to the Mattress Factory. I took an alternate route and came across this perfect little landmarked building. Turns out it was the home and studio of Pittsburgh architect Frederick J. Osterling (1865-1934). Research revealed a number of buildings that weren't especially interesting or innovative, but with the occasional moment of architectural grace. But this building? This shit is magic. I will pretty much spend the rest of my life envying its present inhabitants. All it takes is one great building, kids. And this is a great building.


Check out The Union Trust Building. Like I said: Not especially interesting or innovative, but definitely some moments of grace, especially near the top and the way he takes you there. Plus, some fascinating restrictions were placed on the building by its previous owners, the Diocese of Pittsburgh.

Like, Totally.

I'm pretty confident that BRAVO's new show, Work of Art, will be as ridiculous as all the other formulaic endeavors of Magical Elves Inc. And when I say that I mean that I'll probably like it. But that doesn't mean I won't make fun of it. Also, someday I will use a complete sentence.

Tonight I'll be live-tweeting the first episode from the WNYC studios with a rag tag group of art lovers and geeks organized by C-Monster. When Paddy Johnson of Art Fag City saw a preview of the pilot back in April she said that the show won't embarrass the art world. What a shame. That's OK. For that, we have reality. Srsly.

Here's the HeartAsArena link on Twitter. Hashtag to be determined.

BONUS: Art Fag City's program guide to the contestants.

It Takes A Train.

Nicolas Frasier

Look. I'm heading out of town for the weekend, but for those of you staying here, let me plan yours. It's simple. Get thee to Paterson, NJ to check out the downright locomotive powers of curator Olympia Lambert who pulled together the massive Escape From New York group show. Installations, sculpture, video, performance and (YES!) painting fill a gorgeous behemoth of a building that once housed a silk factory. In other words, there's something for everyone, and much of it quite damn good. Standouts include Robert Schatz, Nicholas Fraser, Christopher Saunders, Thomas Lendvai, Micah Ganske, Kate Gilmore, Alison Blickle, William Powhida, Bruce High Quality Foundation, and Jen Dalton (Loser or Pig, YO?!?! Choose one NOW!) It takes a lot to laugh, it takes a train to get to NJ. Get on it.



An Xiao in performance (2nd shot w/ Thomas Lendvai in bkgd)


Sean Slemon


Alison Blickle


Micah Ganske


Kezam

No Main Veins.

I was struck by this photo from Marina Abramovic's Lips of Thomas on view at Sean Kelly Gallery through June 19. Like all good art, it made me think of Slayer. More specifically, it made me think of the legendary Slayer fan who had their name carved into his arm. If it's an aware intention that makes art, then Marina has that covered. The Slayer fan: maybe not so much.


I'd argue that the search for ritual and meaning bonds the two acts together though, however artless the Metal-headed cutlery application might be. For better or worse, one way or another, sometimes we find our way in.

No Death.

Kassia Meador

Monster Children: With all the new ways to express one's self--video, social networking, TV, podcasting, blah, blah, blah--one could argue that still photography is a dying art form. What do you think?

Kassia Meador: That's like saying that painting is a dying art form. How can art die? It's the only thing that's really constantly sustained. In their happiest times people make art, and in their saddest times they do, too. I think that statement is crap.

Like A Setting Sun.

Fariba Hajamadi, Father and Son, C-print, 2004.

Yesterday, Christopher Knight offered some ideas for Los Angeles County Museum of Art's BP-sponsored entrance. I would add a couple C-prints from Fariba Hajamadi's "Oil Painting" series to Knight's short list of Benglis, Frankenthaler, and Burtynsky. It's not exactly Gulf-related. Oh, wait. That's right. It is. It's just not the Gulf of Mexico. Gulf. We're hearing the echo of that word, right? Probably not. Same oil. Same blood. Same distance.

Besides Hajamadi I also thought of Josephine Meckseper's 2008 auto stampede at Elizabeth Dee. I thought of Viggo Mortensen's t-shirt on Charlie Rose. I thought of these two fuckers pushing a Porsche up 10th Avenue. I thought of St. Vitus. Then I thought of all my Saint Vitus records. That made me think of the how the needle fits so snuggly into the vein.

Like all good junkies we know the floor, but only as a delivery system. And here we are again, sucking on sand.

Cue Neil.

Get. OUT!

Been psyched for this show, and now it's here. The thankfully and utterly mad Olympia Lambert has pulled together the massive group show, Escape From New York in Paterson, NJ. One of the reasons for my psychedness is that I'll get to see so much of Olympia's taste up on a wall, actually LOTS of walls. I'm also psyched because it's been too long since I've seen the work of Christopher Saunders (I mean, srsly. Check him the fuck OUT. See below.), Alison Blickle, Boyce Cummings, Micah Ganske, and Robert Schatz on a wall. Also über-psyched to see what Man Bartlett and An Xiao have up their mighty sleeves. Psyched as well to discover some new artists along the way. So, yes. You guessed it. I'm TOTALLY FUCKING PSYCHED! And you are too.


Christopher Saunders, Solid Air

Where Angles Fear To Tread.

I mean, you see it, right?


One of the unexpected surprises I found with Kate Gilmore's Walk The Walk was how well it worked with its surroundings. Not just the park, but all the angles that hold it.

Another surprise was the sound. Inside the box it sounds like being under a stage during a drunk and angry musical.

Also, there's the control. I'm not sure if she's gained or lost control by not being in the piece. I mean, who's more powerful on the stage than the director? No one. Deep yellow God.



Walk The Walk is only up through Friday, running (or rather, walking) from 8:30am to 6:30am every day. So, go see it now.