Indigo Bar

Shirokuma Presents

Indigo Bar

You know that scene in Lost in Translation where these two dudes are wondering out loud to one another whether  or not its Bob Harris and they’re just out of frame? Playing at Indigo Bar was just like that for Rod and I…except our two dudes needed to hear each other over the roar of the crowd, and the crowd wasn’t roaring for us, but despite us.

 

“Bro, yeah. I see what they’re doing. They’re like connected.”

“WHAT?”

“THEY’RE, LIKE, DANCING BRO”

 

And bro, let me tell you, I was definitely dancing. I felt I did some really good work that night.  I honed in on Rod’s playing and felt like I really pulled it together.  To this day that painting remains one of my favorites of all time despite the shinnanigans.

And the shinnanigans are as follows:

– The place is an actual busy & hip bar filled with twenty-somethings getting drunk and setting the mood to no doubt boogie down to no less than two Kylie Minogue songs throughout the night.

– House music started playing right at the beginning of the set. We had to stop the performance, ask the bar to cut it off, and reset. Which is not an easy thing to do especially with TSC’s notorious vibe-sensitivity. (But which still wasn’t as bad as Anton’s sandy vaginitis sensitivity).

-The crowd was EXTREMELY close and may or may not have even have been aware that we were performing despite Rod’s necessary consistently loud drum playing.

Bro, Rod was not, like, dancing. He was put off not being able to really demonstrate any subtlety.

(Note: Anton was too busy and could not attend, but foretold most of the above.)

-Angie

 

 

Painting owned by Martin Wilson.

Aberdeen

SOUND Festival – Aberdeen

Aberdeen

We had made it a habit of attending the SOUND Festival in Aberdeen every year we had been in the UK. This year was no exception. Since Serg was staying with us at the time, we figured it would make a great road trip/vacation. I managed to book us a gig at a nice venue in Aberdeen, and we were off. The car was loaded to capacity with the three of us, a massive canvas (to be assembled at the venue), quilts/pillows, and quite a bit of gear.

Since this was more of a ‘solo’ show, with some support, I planned for a different type of setup. I went with a nearly all Ciat-Lonbarde setup running a Sidrassi, Cocolase, Namasitar, and Radio Zither. There was also a toy piano and a banjo.

We broke the set into three sections. The first was some solo improv on toy piano + electronics. This was followed by an inspired performance of ‘The Ocean’s, Like, Right There’ from my eventual Jew Point Owe release. Last came a ‘cover’ of Regina Spektor’s Apres Moi, and by ‘cover’ I mean we used it as a setup for some very noisy, noisy, improv. It was intense.

Angie made a beautiful painting, using lots of tape, which created some great sounds when being applied/removed.

–Rodrigo

 

 

 

Painting owned by Bill Thompson.

Fuel

Blank Media Presents

Fuel

This performance was shared with the incredible Caro Snatch who had as guest the talented Mr. Mark “Shirokuma”. This line up of TSC included myself on electronics and a processed microphone with Anton, Angela and Rodrigo on their usual set ups of guitar, paints and drums, respectively. During Caro’s set I brought in a frankfurter to eat inside Fuel, which happens to be a vegetarian establishment. I was immediately accosted by some hipster with a curly mustache who asked me to take my wiener outside. I grudgingly ate my hot dog by a dumpster, in the rain, without shoes. After Ms. Snatch’s spellbinding set we took the stage.

The performance was inspired. Split into two sets, the first half was marked by an abrupt yell by yours truly, hollering, “Choke on my frankfurter!” or some shit as Rodrigo threw all manner of cymbals, pots, sticks and bobs in my direction. And, oddly enough, I got a chance to speak to my whiskered, meat-abhorring nemesis about the incident later at Anton’s digs. All was swell.

As I recall the quartet was hot fire that night, displaying a range of dynamics and flexible improvisation, bolstered by Angie’s acrylic drips, strips and splatters; clumpy, dense, sponge colored textures. I added sweeps of circuit noise and foreign vocal timbres to the backdrop of Anton’s aeriform wall of loops and layers as Rod worked with tonal and percussive deviations. He had a tube in his mouth, for God’s sake. To top it off Angie was swarmed by onlookers marvelled at the final product of her painting, and if I remember correctly she sold that painting that very night.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

-Sergio

 

Painting owned by Laith Gibani.