The Barbican, London
27 April 2002
Part of the Only Connect series of live events, tonight was self-described thus: “The history of computer games has also been a parallel history of the development of electronic music . . . this evening’s performances are less illustrations of these sounds and more works informed by this history.”
Well, Plaid set the scene well. They lived up to the computer games connection by serving up music that didn’t seem substantial enough to survive as anything worthwhile without their wonderful visuals. The video projection pulses as it tracks around a space filled with cubes stretching off into the distance, some pulsing yellow in time with the zap-gun beeps and beats; iron girders touch across a shimmering backdrop to create spinning clusters of spokes whose rotations smoothly contrast with the chaos about them; a huge human eye looks around as it gets pixelated, mosaiced and otherwise digitally fragmented; a spinning mandala is revealed to be a circle of arcade consoles flicking through classics such as Defender and Donkey Kong; a simple robot arm videos the two Plaid guys as they twiddle knobs, erratically panning about their mixing board and wobbling with the vibrations.
Coil quickly burst the bleeping digital bubble. Entering to warped Gyoto-style guttural chants, with bowls of incense, white gowns, circular mirrors fringed with fluff on their chests, a couple of them with white coverings over their heads, brandishing leather straps lined with bells, they seemed even more intensely pagan than usual in contrast to the preceding incessant Electronica. Naturally, squeaks and bass rumbles were in evidence. And their luscious visuals of fungi emphasised the crystalline, almost digital quality of tryptamine hallucinations. But they weren’t about to perform some commentary on arcade game effects and the abstractions of machinic audio.
So most of their set was recent material, performed by Coil, computer games be damned. Which I had no complaints about. A hurdy-gurdy and various pipes – on top of the incense and saturated colours of the light show and visuals – gave them a very organic, often ethnic feel. Thinking back to their minimalist performance of Time Machines, it was obvious that they could do ‘digital abstraction’, of sorts – they just didn’t want to.
But as Balance asked for the stage lights to go down so the visuals could be clearly seen for the last track, and we were confronted with a flight simulator screen, it was obvious they were going to make some concession to the night’s professed theme. A deep, ominous whumph pulses away. The plane takes off. The cockpit view switches to a view of the plane. It’s a big passenger jet, soaring into digitised clouds. Balance starts wailing over the entrancing noises. It sounds very Arabic to me – maybe the ethnic strains of the bulk of their show adding emphasis. Are Coil trying to say something here? The plane plunges, and just as its nose hit the ground, it freezes, and then it’s back in the sky. A mantric lyric creeps in: “Boys will be boys / Boys will be boys / Mushroom boys / Mushroom boys / Game boys”. Soon the ground the jet’s crashing into has tall blocks of skyscrapers scattered around. The obvious isn’t depicted; it’s never obvious. The obvious lurks. There’s a creative commentary here on hi-tech games and simulation, and lo-tech terrorism and paranoia, that is unstated, oblique, profound and shocking.
I have to admit I’ve never spent any time with Mouse on Mars, as it were. I was assured they’re worth staying for, so I did. They booted up with some laughably abstract, quiet squiggles and wibbles. Some of the audience applauded with ironic enthusiasm after about a minute of it, and one of the Mice jammed his arms in the air in a mock-rock appreciation posture, which was a small moment of comic genius. Unfortunately, the next 10 minutes did nothing to make me think they would elevate beyond their “specially commissioned” meditations on computer bleepery, and I left with that helpless animated passenger jet arcing across my mind.
-Gyrus-
