Alison Knowles/Taketo Shimada - Fluxsweet

Rossbin
RS024

It’s not that there are some things better left unseen, but that there might be some sound-action performances that fare far better if one is actually in the room than come across via a videotape of the event. This disc presents five pieces by Alison Knowles, veteran of the Fluxus group, on both CD and DVD (the disc including an additional performance of one of the pieces by Tim Barnes, not seen on the DVD).

In “Onion Skin Song”, examples of the title object are pressed between sheets of clear plastic wrap and hung in the performing space to be read as a score. When listened to on disc, there’s a certain amount of mystery involved even if you essentially grasp the nature of what’s occurring. Actually seeing Knowles, Larry Miller and Taketo Shimada step into position, dutifully examine the score and then rattle their paper percussion instruments lessens the effect. It may not have been the case were you in the room at the time, freer to concentrate on any number of other activities taking place at the same simultaneously but, eyes drawn to the television tube, there’s something restrictive in play and, truth to tell, the performers look a bit silly. The second piece is a little more inherently charming. “Flux Music Box” uses a couple of small children (coaxed along by women I assume to be the mothers) playing toy record players while Shimada works on more adult turntables. The sounds are of the warped-music-box variety and fun enough to experience though, again, perhaps better only heard than seen.

“Finger Exercises” consists largely of the knuckle-popping, finger-snapping, beard-scratching, palm-rubbing, phony fart-generating variety, deployed willy-nilly by four performers with no discernable sense of sound placement, just ceaseless activity. Not terribly interesting to hear, less so to watch. Larry Miller climaxes the piece by attempting to induce his gag reflex. Knowles is wrapped in a length of white freeze paper, strung with tape around her body, eyes and mouth and then receives a haircut with amplified scissors and razor in “Danger Music #2”, the clipping and buzzing sounds augmented electronically. This one works rather well, actually, the visual aspect striking enough (though, again, I sit ineffectually trying to move my head to get variations in the view) and the music sufficiently complex and intriguing. A variation on “Finger Exercises”, “Nivea Cream” has said product applied liberally to the hands of six individuals who proceed to knead their own and each others’ upper appendages in close proximity to microphones; gurgly, diarrhetic sounds ensue.

These five tracks are all relatively short, between three and eight minutes. The only cut not featured on the DVD is both the longest and most rewarding, Tim Barnes’ 24-minute rendition of “Onion Skin Song”. He utilizes Knowles’ paper instruments as well but either has a larger arsenal at his disposal or, as I suspect, simply makes far more imaginative use of what he does have than the three earlier performers. Not that it’s necessarily Knowles’ prime concern, but Barnes understands more about space and texture than anyone else present at the other performance and, given that this is after all a CD release, the listener is thankful. It’s a fine piece and makes an otherwise iffy album one worth hearing and, if you gotta, seeing.

Rossbin