(Evan Caminiti and Jon Porras of Barn Owl spend many an hour simply gazing into their belly buttons. © 2008 Benjamin Luk.)
In an effort to cover all that is wild, wacky and new in the constantly shifting world of indie music, I found myself out at Hoko's last night catching a drone concert hosted by friends Jesse Turpin and Kris Charlton of Twee Death Presents. As new indie promoters, they happen to be doing pretty well for themselves, lining up a fine selection of upcoming shows, the most recent of which featured San Franciscan doom-and-gloom ambient music-makers, Barn Owl. (Not to be confused with The Barn Owl Band. That would just be downright embarrassing, though Catherine Miller on the far right in that photo is oddly sexy to me.)
But wait, you say. This is a "LOCAL EXPOSURE" article. What are these dirty filthy Americans doing in a Canadian article about regional independent music? Well, in this case, I'm not here to only talk to you about Barn Owl. Plenty of local talent opened up for them (though some were more talented than others), and they deserve a shout out as well.
First up, we've got Aerosol Constellations, another drone outfit out of Vancouver, and a perfect introduction to the rest of the night. As I walked in on their performance, a small cluster of scruffy hippie types had already arranged themselves in crude semicircles on the floor, sitting cross-legged, many of them with their eyes closed, as though meditating. Having had run-ins with cults before (which is a very long story, I assure you), I was about ready to run to the hills when I heard something that made me decide to stay: the deeply evocative thrumming that the musicians sitting on the stage, also cross-legged, were producing with nothing more than a few effects boards, a cracked crash cymbal and what appeared to be some sort of pitch pipe. Music that spoke not in words and chords, but in moods and images, suggesting dark dystopian futures and Gaiman-esque ruminations on technology bringing about the end of the world as we know it. So that was that. I stayed.
But wait, you say. This is a "LOCAL EXPOSURE" article. What are these dirty filthy Americans doing in a Canadian article about regional independent music? Well, in this case, I'm not here to only talk to you about Barn Owl. Plenty of local talent opened up for them (though some were more talented than others), and they deserve a shout out as well.
First up, we've got Aerosol Constellations, another drone outfit out of Vancouver, and a perfect introduction to the rest of the night. As I walked in on their performance, a small cluster of scruffy hippie types had already arranged themselves in crude semicircles on the floor, sitting cross-legged, many of them with their eyes closed, as though meditating. Having had run-ins with cults before (which is a very long story, I assure you), I was about ready to run to the hills when I heard something that made me decide to stay: the deeply evocative thrumming that the musicians sitting on the stage, also cross-legged, were producing with nothing more than a few effects boards, a cracked crash cymbal and what appeared to be some sort of pitch pipe. Music that spoke not in words and chords, but in moods and images, suggesting dark dystopian futures and Gaiman-esque ruminations on technology bringing about the end of the world as we know it. So that was that. I stayed.
The next group was a little something called Orlando Magic, which may sound like a promising indie band but they're really not doing themselves any favours with a band name that, when Googled, yields nothing but basketball sites. I mean, they're not as bad as local band Basketball, but that's another can of worms entirely. Either way, remember a fellow by the name of Tom Whalen? Probably not. Well, it turns out that the guy I got to snap the photo of me and Dan Deacon back in January is a musician himself. And though his overwhelmingly gleeful mashup project gr8-2000 is a force to be reckoned with (albeit a vaguely irritating one, mostly because I never thought I'd have to hear the Vengaboys ever again on God's Green Earth), Orlando Magic was clumsy and falling all over itself trying to be a high-energy show. Mind you, it's their first ever performance. Come to think of it, that alone should tell you all you need to know about them.
(Tom Whalen of Orlando Magic, busting a musical nut all over his Les Paul.)
ahna followed that admirably, and stuck out in my mind that night mostly because they achieved both ends of the drone music spectrum; that is, at times, they were like a freight train barreling uncontrolled across a futuristic anime metropolis, and at other times, they were as dull as washing the family dog. However, I have to applaud Anju for realizing that a live concert is ultimately a form of performance art, and for following through on that realization magnificently. Watching her, trancelike, psychotically saw the bow of her synthed-up violin back and forth across her tuning pegs was almost hypnotic and once again, nearly had me running from anything even resembling Kool-Aid.
Of course, V.Vecker stuck out in my mind too, if only as a wall of noise that, well, was just a goddamn fucking loud wall of noise. On their MySpace, they have no music up and the first thing you see from them is "sometimes you have to check for blood in your shit", by way of greeting. I say, first of all, that not having any music up on their MySpace was probably a smart move, as that might dissuade anyone from coming out to see them. I also say that sometimes you have to check for shit in your music tastes. And then, you should flush immediately.
After the longest ten minutes of my life, Barn Owl finally took the stage, just two simple long-haired artistes, a guitar and a bass, and countless layers of effects and distortion. Opening on a gentle minimalist thrum, then crescendoing into what must be the sonic equivalent of walking alone along the deep, dark ocean floor, Barn Owl's music spoke of isolation, ships lost at sea and, just as they finished their first movement, hope; all without ever uttering a single word.
Meditate on that.
Special thanks to Jesse Turpin and Kris Charlton of Twee Death Presents.
(Tom Whalen of Orlando Magic, busting a musical nut all over his Les Paul.)
ahna followed that admirably, and stuck out in my mind that night mostly because they achieved both ends of the drone music spectrum; that is, at times, they were like a freight train barreling uncontrolled across a futuristic anime metropolis, and at other times, they were as dull as washing the family dog. However, I have to applaud Anju for realizing that a live concert is ultimately a form of performance art, and for following through on that realization magnificently. Watching her, trancelike, psychotically saw the bow of her synthed-up violin back and forth across her tuning pegs was almost hypnotic and once again, nearly had me running from anything even resembling Kool-Aid.
Of course, V.Vecker stuck out in my mind too, if only as a wall of noise that, well, was just a goddamn fucking loud wall of noise. On their MySpace, they have no music up and the first thing you see from them is "sometimes you have to check for blood in your shit", by way of greeting. I say, first of all, that not having any music up on their MySpace was probably a smart move, as that might dissuade anyone from coming out to see them. I also say that sometimes you have to check for shit in your music tastes. And then, you should flush immediately.
After the longest ten minutes of my life, Barn Owl finally took the stage, just two simple long-haired artistes, a guitar and a bass, and countless layers of effects and distortion. Opening on a gentle minimalist thrum, then crescendoing into what must be the sonic equivalent of walking alone along the deep, dark ocean floor, Barn Owl's music spoke of isolation, ships lost at sea and, just as they finished their first movement, hope; all without ever uttering a single word.
Meditate on that.
Special thanks to Jesse Turpin and Kris Charlton of Twee Death Presents.
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