REVIEW: No Music Festival part II

[Soddy]

The Nihilist Spasm Band is a phenomenon best seen to be believed.
Doubters got their chance to become believers on Saturday when the
Forest City Gallery, in conjunction with the Ontario Arts Council,
presented the second instalment of Canada's "first ever noise
festival."
First? Perhaps. The first to feature the King of Noise himself,
Jojo Hiroshige/Hijokaidan, in his Canadian debut. The first to extend
over two days. The first to present such an eclectic assortment of
auricular luminaries: from Chicago electro-acoustician Hal Rammel to
New York underground fixture Thurston Moore to Toronto harshead Alan
Bloor (AKA Knurl) to Chicago minimalist Alan Licht. The first, in any
event, to seriously rock my ass.
You wouldn't expect to hear music at something called the No
Music Festival and fortunately, expectations were fulfilled. Jojo
Hiroshige set the tone - that would be one no-holds-barred megablast
of pure raucous guitar squall - and together with The Nihilist Spasm
Band and "surprise" guest Alan Licht delivered, as promised, no music
at all.
Well, I'm exaggerating. Quite a lot of music was getting played
-- you just couldn't hear it beneath all that infernal racket.
The evening opened on a surreal enough note. First a nervous
spokesperson for the mayor of London got up in front of the
night-quite-sold-out crowd of 200 or so and delivered a vaguely
prepared speech, thanking the Nihilist Spasm Band for helping put
London on the map. She may even have believed it at that. Then a
rather more enthusiastic Ben Portis (esteemed organizer) did his bit
to smooch noisehead hiney and extend thanks left and right. Finally,
a soft-spoken Jojo gave a little prepared speech of his own. "Noise
is difficult to understand...Noise is beautiful...It gives us
images..." Pause.
KABLAAAOW! Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty? A distinct interval of
time passed. And it was loaded. Loaded with awesome, face-blistering
whiteout. Deep in the cesspool we call the International Noise
Underground, the dirt on Jojo is that he doesn't quite live up to his
lofty title. Time to move on, old king, and relinquish that crown to
more deserving up-and-comers. Clearly these people are joking. If
tonight's performance was any indication of Jojo's usual mode, that
crown ought to be welded onto his close-cropped pate.
Three words: total aural saturation. I was getting images all
right. Images of bliss and grandmaul seizure. Half the show is Jojo's
manic, epileptic, gesturing at unseen forces. The other half is the
custom-noiseguitar-based air-particle implosion. A constant state of
scathing, accelerated, metallic static. From where I sat, most of the
audience seemed to be getting something out of it, if not complete
understanding. But frankly, Jojo bellowed as the next selection
kicked into gear, "I don't give a damn!" after which followed a
non-stop volley of incoherent verbal invective. Trembling with rage
and the images in his head, it wasn't long before the King had worked
himself up to an almost religious fervour, first invoking the demons
within (you have to scream really loud so they can hear you back
there), and then casting them out with a blaze of glorious
fuzzscrape, wringing his hands in spiritual ecstasy. At last he was
joined on stage by Junko, Queen of Noise and Hijokaidan lead
screecher. The two served up a comparatively muted duet which
showcased Junko's unique vocal talent for peeling paint with the kind
of visible physical exertion one normally reserves for sipping a nice
cup of tea. God I love that voice!
The Alan Licht school of No Music was up next. Pulling out an
electric guitar, a delay pedal and a smattering of lesser toys, the
poker-faced Alan simulated three minutes of crunchy crankshaft
avalanche. Inevitably, and perhaps necessarily, it all caved into
long, shimmering dronefest special a la KK Null. The perfect
opportunity for aural recuperation and you can bet my ears were
paying attention. Somewhere along the way, time disappeared, but it
couldn't have been longer than 20 minutes.
Finally, the main event. Spewing mock seriousness and goodwill,
the deep-voiced Bill Exley - a dead ringer for Santa Claus in his
trim years - presented the Nihilist Spasm Band without so much as a
hohoho. Covering such hit classics as "Stupidity," "I have Nothing to
Say" and the ever popular "No Canada," NSB proved that not only were
they the first noise band, but probably the first grindcore band as
well. While Mr Exley gave his best Napalm Death-meets-Pavarotti
impersonation the rest of the band did their best to turn Canada's
First Noise Festival into a free-jazz hillbilly hoe-down. Individually,
each contributing member did not produce all that much noise. But add
the "bass" (a three-stringed two-by-four) to the "violin" (AKA Pratt-a
various) to the various species of "guitar" to a set of drums and the
world's biggest kazoo and you got yourself one enormous cacophony of
competing sound. Every so often, the cacaphony would dissolve into
moments of inspired improv, punctured by occasional bursts of helpless
laughter from members of the audience (I couldn't help myself). Other
times the sheer force and density of the aural mass would simply
overwhelm the senses.
The Spasm Band's set ended with a series of Spasm Jams featuring
most of the billed artists from both instalments. Highlights included
an impressive dose of crackling guitar scree from the ubiquitous
Thurston Moore, a jazzed up drumming routine from the charming Aya
Onishi (of Osaka punk band Sekiri), a bowed whiner from the ingenious
Hal Rammel and his half-guitar half-iron-maiden monstrosity and of
course, the mighty King of Noise.
But the evening wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. Now came
the fun part. Mr Exley invited everyone (space permitting) to attend
Interplay II, wherein all the artists from both No Music instalments
got a chance to mix 'n match styles and obsessions in a tiny basement
dungeon with an equally tiny wooden platform that doubled as stage.
Each brief performance seemed to be organized on the fly, but that
didn't rule out the possibility of truly inspired combos. First up,
the next generation of Spasm Banders, including the virtuosic
son of the late Greg Curnoe (one time Spasm member) among other Spasm
kids. Things get a bit hazy after that, as something approaching
twenty different jam sessions followed. Memorable moments include an
Alan Licht/Jojo-propelled guitar explosion of massive feedback-
drenched squawk and a Thurston Moore/Junko/Aya screechfest-banshee
Blue Murder-a-thon. Junko's shrieking fits did an equally good job
drowning out the acoustic violin antics of Terri Kapsalis, as did
Jojo's torrential jetengine tests to a frustrated Knurl and his
malfunctioning amp.
Knurl got his chance for redemption in the final session when
about a third of the festival performers were called up to fill the
stage to over-capacity. Erm. Let's see. John Boyle on three-bell
kazoo, John Favro (Murray Favro's youngster, by popular demand) on
cheap-o synth and voice, Alan Licht, John Clement and Thurston Moore
on guitar, Knurl on contact-miked fireplace grate, and two more guys
whose names elude me on drums and guitar respectively. The assembled
group turned out over an hour of beautifully dense, thunderous
blowout, complete with about ten false stops and fifteen shifts in
focus. Yes there was music going on in there, but I don't think
anyone really minded.
No closing speech, appropriately enough. I think the noise
pretty much spoke for itself.

sodomy non sapiens,
Jason
---
"I am 28 years old, I enjoy a quiet life and hate noise of all kind."

-- Bill Exley/The Nihilist Spasm Band (1967)