So a fantastic weekend on the freezing south west coast of England at All Tomorrow's Parties, curated by Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Despite the sad absence of Throbbing Gristle (Sleazy having now gone on to an alternative form) and Tony Conrad, was fortunate to see some fine drone, minimal and improvised music.
Chris Corsano and Mike Flower were transcendant as ever, although topped by Charlemagne Palestine, who's minimal laptop drones were wonderfully accented by the rim of his brandy glass and his evocative, improvised countertenor vocals. But the title, however, has to go to the incredible set by Philip Jeck who - with two broken down old record players and a collection of scratched and warped vinyl - sent me into raptures.
John Butcher showed off all his extended saxaphone techniques, which was a treat to see away from the somewhat restrained - and conditioned - improv audiences to which he usually performs.
Francisco Lopez played a fascinating quadrophonic set early (all relative) on the Sunday morning with everyone sat blindfolded in the centre of the room being subjected to, essentially, wind noise and various unidentifiable, distorted sources. All the bar staff - who are probably more used to Abba and 80s revival gigs - seemed most perplexed. Daniel Menche played an enjoyable - although not entirely revelatory - improvised set with various contact mic'ed implements.
The Dead C played an engrossing and abrasive set of guitar noise and Godspeed were what you'd hope for and expect. Borbetomagus, however, were not. I was neither particularly challenged nor eviscerated by their music and there was little in the way of texture or progression to compensate - although there were admittedly problems with the PA.
Somehow contrived to miss Tim Hecker despite, or probably because of, waiting around in the bar for 2 hours to see him. And I have to admit that I had to leave Keiji Haino half way through as the sleep deprivation had by that point taken its toll and it all just seemed too much.
I barely ventured outside for the entire weekend, so no joyous or melancholic walks along the grey sea front just before the dawn, just three days and nights of (largely) challenging music. That the line up extended significantly beyond the usual Pitchfork endorsed bands, which seem to have dominated ATP of late, is a reminder of what made the festival great in the first place.
Chris Corsano and Mike Flower were transcendant as ever, although topped by Charlemagne Palestine, who's minimal laptop drones were wonderfully accented by the rim of his brandy glass and his evocative, improvised countertenor vocals. But the title, however, has to go to the incredible set by Philip Jeck who - with two broken down old record players and a collection of scratched and warped vinyl - sent me into raptures.
John Butcher showed off all his extended saxaphone techniques, which was a treat to see away from the somewhat restrained - and conditioned - improv audiences to which he usually performs.
Francisco Lopez played a fascinating quadrophonic set early (all relative) on the Sunday morning with everyone sat blindfolded in the centre of the room being subjected to, essentially, wind noise and various unidentifiable, distorted sources. All the bar staff - who are probably more used to Abba and 80s revival gigs - seemed most perplexed. Daniel Menche played an enjoyable - although not entirely revelatory - improvised set with various contact mic'ed implements.
The Dead C played an engrossing and abrasive set of guitar noise and Godspeed were what you'd hope for and expect. Borbetomagus, however, were not. I was neither particularly challenged nor eviscerated by their music and there was little in the way of texture or progression to compensate - although there were admittedly problems with the PA.
Somehow contrived to miss Tim Hecker despite, or probably because of, waiting around in the bar for 2 hours to see him. And I have to admit that I had to leave Keiji Haino half way through as the sleep deprivation had by that point taken its toll and it all just seemed too much.
I barely ventured outside for the entire weekend, so no joyous or melancholic walks along the grey sea front just before the dawn, just three days and nights of (largely) challenging music. That the line up extended significantly beyond the usual Pitchfork endorsed bands, which seem to have dominated ATP of late, is a reminder of what made the festival great in the first place.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
really...those kids could use some soap