On yellowbluepink, an installation by Ann Veronica Janssens at the Wellcome Collection, London

“Whatever you do, don’t put anything on the floor,” said the wide-eyed, animated attendant at the entrance to yellowbluepink, “and don’t at any point sit down on the floor. You can barely see your hands in front of your face, so people will fall over.”

Those are the last words you hear before stepping through thick air-locked double doors into the haze of Ann Veronica Janssens’ dense, disorienting and ultimately beautiful work at the Wellcome Collection. This ostensibly simple piece does nothing less than invite rumination on what constitutes awareness and consciousness, the limitations of perception and even the nature of selfhood. An immersion in yellowbluepink is to consider that identity is not defined by sensory experience, and in this way it is a revelation – particularly when one is in far from such an ethereal mood prior to entering, having stepped into the Wellcome off the roaring Charing Cross Road.

Once through the doors one is immediately adrift amid multi-coloured mist, or vapour, that changes hue according to the glare of different lights above. Your feet become invisible, and indeed your hands can only dimly be seen at arm’s length. A limited number of people can be in this room (which is, roughly, 10 x 10 metres) at a time, ensuring that bumping into another person is an occasional, rather than constant, hazard.

Initially, the impact is unnerving to the point of nausea. My first reflection was how completely alien and artificial this environment is – there is no comparison for such a shroud of colour in the ‘real’, waking world. When you are completely deprived of sight – say in pitch darkness or blindfolded – you are usually faced with only pure blackness. To be blinded by such a kaleidoscopic fog is, for most of us, firmly outside the realm of recognisable experience, and it is a brave visitor who does not stumble immediately to the anchor of the whitewashed walls.

As the senses adjust, however, one gains confidence in moving about. It was only after I had fingered my way around the entire room’s walls that I ventured out into the middle, and thus understood the full effect of yellowbluepink. The mist, dry and odourless, is overwhelming, forcing the ultimate surrender of your senses and the relinquishing of control and agency. The result is a feeling of disembodied consciousness, unencumbered by space, time and interaction with objects or people. In the accompanying notes for the installation, scientist Anil Seth writes, “By stripping away many of the features that permeate our normal conscious lives, the raw fact of experiencing is given renewed emphasis.”

Though not specifically positioning itself as such, yellowbluepink’s theme is that most in-vogue of concepts, ‘mindfulness’, and exploring this peaceful, unadorned space perhaps represents a kind of meditation. When you cannot perceive anything beyond the changing glow of a multi-coloured mist, you are forced inexorably inward, if only for a short time. There are of course distractions still, such as colliding with others; this is inevitable, with apologies and ‘witty’ small talk between strangers ensuing. Even in this unworldly space, the demands of social etiquette are met.

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The Wellcome Collection installed this work from British-born, Belgian-based sculptor Janssens as part of a wider, ongoing series of exhibitions addressing consciousness and mind. Janssens’ participation comes on the back of decades creating works exploring these themes, many of which are comparable with yellowbluepink. Her Blue, Red and Yellow (2001), in particular, now seems an early prototype for this latest creation. Installed in an outdoor ‘pavilion’ in Berlin, again coloured mist was employed as, Janssens herself stated, “the spectator advances in a dematerialised colour abstraction”[i].

A critical body of work on Janssens has grown steadily in the past decade, including some examination of her potential philosophical forebears. Hippocrates and Descartes are alluded to in Seth’s accompanying text, while Deleuze and Guattari’s “Body Without Organs” theory (put forward in Capitalism and Schizophrenia, 1987) is certainly relevant to Janssens – the impossible striving towards a state beyond distinction between subject and object, or “immanence” as the two philosophers put it, devoid of social and psychological conditioning. It is an unattainable ideal, and Janssens’ work, with its limitations and distractions in the form of walls and other people, is cognisant of this even as it attempts to help the visitor towards experiencing this body without organs, or “deterritorialisation” as Deleuze and Guattari have it.

Immanuel Kant’s labyrinthine concept of “Transcendental Aesthetic” (Critique of Pure Reason, 1781) can also be wrestled with in relation to Janssens – the notion of separating sensation from understanding, and the question of whether space and time, the very things that yellowbluepink toys with, exist outside of the individual’s awareness of them. In yellowbluepink, one’s instinctive, or ‘a priori’ sense of space and time is blurred and undermined in the absence of reference points and locaters. Like Kant, Janssens, by immersing us in her dazzling mist, posits the distinction between the observable and tangible and the transcendent or ‘essential’ – a plateau of consciousness outside of frameworks we use to systemise and perceive reality, such as space and time.

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Of course, sensory deprivation, specifically using coloured light, is nothing new in modern art installation. James Turrell (the subject of a retrospective exhibition at the National Gallery of Australia in 2015) is an obvious influence on Janssens, though Turrell’s installations are often more complex physically and incorporate shapes, compared with yellowbluepink’s more or less complete abstraction.

Closer to home, Sydney played host to Carlos Cruz-Diez’s Chromosaturation as part of the MCA’s Light Show exhibition in 2015. Again, one’s perception is skewed by what Cruz-Diez calls “colour as a material or physical situation”[ii], as the spectator moves through three ‘chambers’, each drenched in a different colour of light that transforms the hue of skin and clothes. Chromosaturation, which was spawned in the 1960s and has been presented in multiple incarnations since then, is an obvious point of comparison for yellowbluepink and possibly an important influence.

Chromosaturation is designed to sharply jolt the visitor into disoriented states. Janssens’ installation offers a more gentle, even compassionate, immersion into a psychological space where the potentially confronting question of existence without material guidance can be asked. The serenity of yellowbluepink is one of its most attractive qualities.

Miroslaw Balka’s disquieting How It Is, at the Tate Modern in 2009/10, also comes to mind, in which one entered a cavernous container in the Turbine Hall to be met with total darkness. However, Balka’s work, with its echoes of the holocaust, was designed more to disturb, to frighten, than offer particular epistemological insight, as Janssens’ might do.

Another piece that uses sensory deprivation to represent something violent and nefarious is David Hammons’ Concerto in Black and Blue (2001). This installation saw all the rooms in a New York gallery similarly reduced to darkness; torches were available for visitors to explore the empty spaces. Consensus among critics was that Hammons, long regarded as a provocateur, had produced a work about slavery and race.

Balka and Hammons, then, look to sensory deprivation to make a political point. So is Janssens and yellowbluepink political in a way too? It so happens that there is an entire book devoted to the subject: Endless Andness: The Politics of Abstraction According to Ann Veronica Janssens by Mieke Bal. A tome that represents essential reading for anyone seeking a more profound understanding of Janssens’ Wellcome installation and her wider oeuvre, Bal sees Janssens’ work as proof that “the debate on how to gain knowledge is not over”. Among the book’s most innovative ideas is that abstract sculpture such as yellowbluepink offers a sense of “empowerment” and equanimity to those affected by the “migratory condition that characterises contemporary experience”. The disembodying immersion in abstraction of yellowbluepink can offer a domain where the rootless and the disenfranchised are extricated from the conditions that make them so. The installation is nothing if not a great social equaliser, and the individual that experiences the blinding mist in this small room can take the political interpretation as far as they wish, to address issues of refugees, race, colonialism, inequality and more.

yellowbluepink is a viscerally confronting and, if one embraces its context, intellectually invigorating addition to Janssens’ body of work. Its ephemeral magic, however, is easily disturbed. After thirty minutes I decided to leave. On my way out a janitor emerged from the mist directly in front of me – he was fixing something or other in the room, and apologised in a strong Eastern European accent. Then I duly stumbled over a backpack someone had left on the floor; my hands broke my fall as I hit the ground and I immediately recalled the attendant’s warning. It hurt – I was back in my body.

i Ann Veronica Janssens, interviewed by Michel Francois, January 2009, http://bortolamigallery.com/site/wpcontent/uploads/2016/01/AVJ_Interview_2009.pdf?fb07eb

ii Carlos Cruz-Diez, http://www.cruz-diez.com/work/chromosaturation/

yellowbluepink was installed at the Wellcome Collection from October 15 2015 - January 3 2016

Review: Bad Weather California, Sunkissed

Bad Weather California: Sunkissed
Akron/Family

Positivity and an outlook of sunshine and roses, in music as in all art forms as in life, can sometimes be accused of gross naivety. So those who believe that profundity can only come from heartache, realism or ideology should approach Denver's Bad Weather California with some caution. These are four young men who have unabashedly chosen life.

And frankly, when it is done this well, with equal parts musical imagination and all the vivid lyrical colours of adolescent vim, it's very hard not to get on board. Bad Weather California may well irritate some, but in themselves they secure a blissful state of inclusiveness, good humour and, oddly, a kind of meditative calm. From the rock and roll of 'Freaks and Geeks' to the ska-indebted 'I'll Reach Out My Hand', this is unadulterated glee.

The quartet, who are not exactly in the first flush of youth and whose members have meandered in and out of bands since the 90s, have been around for seven years for two significant facts up until this LP. They had released one previous, well-received album on a smaller label (Sunkissed is out on Akron/Family's Family Tree), and they were once backing band to Daniel Johnston, although it is difficult to locate any significant common ground between the two. Bad Weather California are fine musicians, clearly value production and steer away from heartbreak and anything particularly psychological.

Over on the band's predictably exuberant website there is a declaration that Bad Weather California are "taking misfit culture back to the streets" and that the punk ethic runs through their work. But this seems a slight misjudgement – at no point do they approach anything like anger, while there aren't even very loud. But then again, neither is there any strong sort of lazy, mellow, stoned or dappled-by-the-sun feeling. Then there is the charming 'I'll Sing Along', a quite unexpectedly accomplished ballad acting as a measured and calm conversation among the ebullient celebrations of the rest of the record.

To fully express their blissful disposition, they explore close to the full gamut of all those styles that are most suited to joy. The result is that the sound Bad Weather California achieve in the outbursts of high-jinks and youthful pleasure that are their songs (as well as their more staid moments) is often thoroughly reminiscent of Devendra Banhart's fine 2009 album What Will We Be. Both artists invest in the high-pitched, tinkling guitar that is meant to represent carefree high spirits. What Bad Weather California bring to it in abundance, however, is additional funk and sexuality – it is not quite a childish or innocent form of delight we are dealing with.

That's not to say that the spectrum of rock is their sole inspiration. The album's most gripping and satisfying track, 'Let It Shine', featuring call and response vocals and such suggestive lines as "If you don't mind if I go down low shout oh oh oh oh", has such a gloriously perverse instrumental line as to hint at The Beastie Boys and libidinous soul.

There is cock-sure swagger, to be sure. There are also a fair few skater references, but as they themselves would advocate, we must look past that and see just the positives.

Review: Field Music, Plumb

Field Music: Plumb
Memphis Industries

The first thing to get out the way with this exemplary album, which given the critical respect Field Music now garner surely stands as a major release of the year, is its length. Whereas their 2010 masterpiece Measure stood proudly at 70 minutes (and not a second too long), Plumb is finished in less than 36. And within that, there are some 15 songs, suggesting that the Brewis brothers have become quite brutal self-editors, or indeed something significant has changed in their approach.

In fact, the songs themselves are not so different to Measure. That same percussive energy persists, as do the terse little Talking Heads-style refrains and the harmonies that manage the trick of being sonorous and beautiful, as well as somehow demanding and dangerous. 'A New Town' is an example of that – beneath the sophistication of their instrumentation, production and arrangements, lurks a sense of desperate urban unease that has been with them ever since 2007's Tones Of Town and has also been a feature of Peter and David's respective solo albums.

This feeling is mostly conveyed through their remarkable words, which are both poetic and distinctly gritty at the same time. Kitchen-sink drama would be an insubstantial way of describing it, but banal domestic scenes and grim references to the unsavoury running about of 21st century life define their imagery. This is most poignant on the album's finest track 'Sorry Again, Mate', a neatly packed triumph putting one in mind, as is often the case with Field Music, of Peter Gabriel-era Genesis. It's the bombastic chorus matched by the lonely and isolated vocals of the verse that does it. And also like Genesis, childhood and nostalgia sweeten the mood further on Plumb, such as on the wistful 'From Hide And Seek To Heartache'.

Meanwhile, 'Choosing Sides' and 'Guillotine' are fascinating in their subtle and atmospheric depictions of life amid financial ruin across the land. The messages that lurk within their art often exist so peripherally as to easily pass the listener by, especially when you have such strange and ambitious prog-infused, orchestral pop music behind it.

The brothers' desire to incorporate chamber music and that awful buzzword, 'baroque', into pop music is one they have talked about frequently, but they can balance that with what is an innate instinct for the accessible and catchy. As well as the elaborateness of both classical music and prog, they are fans of Prince and Funkadelic ('A Prelude To Pilgrim Street' heads in this sort of direction) and let's not forget they were once part of a tight-knit Sunderland collective with The Futureheads.

And it's a love for the immediately satisfying that perhaps explains why the album is half the length of its predecessor. It's not that the point they are making is less complex or intricate (or brilliant), it's just that that want to make it a lot quicker, in order to get this latest project out the way and continue on their restlessly eclectic journey.

Live Review: Pajama Club @ Oxford Art Factory, 13/6/11

When Neil Finn reformed Crowded House in 2007 it put a firm stop to the interesting things the 53-year-old was doing on his own. While it would be a stretch to call his solo work experimental, 2001’s One Nil, as well as his dalliances with film soundtracks and the like, saw him embracing synthesisers, reverb, effects pedals and other strange noises of the future.

The Pajama Club, where Finn is joined by his wife and erstwhile wallflower Sharon along with New Zealand ‘music personality’ Sean Donnelly and Brisbane indie jewel Alana Skyring, allow this side of him to be fully indulged. It’s been rather too long since the world saw Finn’s freak flag fly.

Playing their fourth show ever tonight, they made the promotional push of playing their forthcoming album in its entirety, a record that from tonight’s showing promises to be full of dramatic space-rock flourishes, touches of Talking Heads-style keyboard from Donnelly and a meandering ‘jam’ quality as to call to mind the work of Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. There is even enough of a sprite within Finn on this project to take one back to 1980 and Split Enz’s suitably eccentric True Colours album.

The only song available to be heard by fans prior to the show was ‘From A Friend To A Friend’ (released online), actually far from being the strongest song in their set, that honour falling to their propulsive (and unknown) opener, Sharon maintaining a one-note bassline for its entirety while her husband brought the track to a shuddering climax on his good old red Gretsch Firebird.

That richness was heard again on ‘Diamonds In Her Eyes’, while some more familiar melancholic chord changes could be found on the comparatively sedate ‘TNT For Two’. Mention must also go to a strangely awful duet between the married couple about carnal etiquette featuring Neil on drums, and a quite spectacular mid-set medley that saw ‘Suffer Never’ (from the first Finn Brothers album) mutate into Tubeway Army’s ‘Are ‘Friends’ Electric?’ That was the only nod to Finn’s past all night, ensuring that this project has a special energy of its own.

Track-By-Track Review: WIT'S END by Cass McCombs

The new album comes out April 11 in the UK and April 26 in the US. It's Cass's fifth record and sees him as reclusive as ever, and continuing the rather browbeaten poetic melancholy of his previous LP, Catacombs. While on first dozen or so listens this does not seem like his best album, each song is a universe on its own, making WIT"S END deserving of a piece-by-piece breakdown. Because what else is there do to.


'County Line'

With soft organ, slow tempo and shivery guitar lines, this opener immediately signifies WIT'S END as carrying on where Catacombs left off. This one was shunted around the internet as a pre-release taster of the new stuff, for good reason. Melodically this is probably the most satisfying song on the record, complete with a nifty refrain reminiscent of Pink Floyd's 'Echoes' and, by association, Phantom Of The Opera. The overall impression, however, is of a cross between 10cc and The Band. Have you ever considered the vague vocal similarities between Cass and Richard Manuel?

'The Lonely Doll'

For all his originality, Cass McCombs has a few songs in his back catalogue where, probably not deliberately, he has sounded exactly like another artist. Look at 'Full Moon Or Infinity' (Elliott Smith) or 'Subtraction' (Morrissey). This is Cass doing early Leonard Cohen. It's all there, the slow ups and downs of the vocal line, the absurd repetition of the title line and the cutesy xylophone. Cass's touch is to throw in some swelling Hammond organ, and to do his usual trick of coming up with a short and tuneful vocal refrain, and repeating it throughout the song without aberration. Magical.

'Buried Alive'

Backing vocals make their debut on WIT's END on this one, even if they are fleeting. Soon we meet the most mysteriously arresting line of the album in 'If I'm alive or dead I don't really care/Just as long as my soul's intact', and indeed in this one it seems that unlike the previous two songs, he is making a point of articulating the words. Of course, they offer expressive little vignettes rather than a coherent message. The organ/harpsichord line in this one is very lovely, with that same Baroque quality as the Beatles' 'In My Life'. The song peaks with a delicious mantra of 'Maybe I'm wrong/Maybe I'm waking for the dead'.

'Saturday Song'

This piano-led number is probably the bleakest song on the album. At no point does it snap out of its state of ominousness, with McCombs unusually exploring the lower end of his vocal range, and indeed after a couple of albums steering clear of the Morrissey influence, this sees him paying his respects once more. A little over-long maybe, 'Saturday Song' will not be the one most listeners skip to.

'Memory's Stain'

Much better. The 'verse' melody is in his typical high croon, but unlike so many of his songs, this one has distinct sections - perhaps four. Even a chorus. Its diverse nature is further proven by the ups and downs of his voice, and there are the familiar phonetically impressive lines as 'I have a confession/In the form of a question'. Dare I say this has a certain air of Sufjan Stevens to it? Again, he ends the song on a startling note, with a beautiful meandering section that sees the most wonderful use of bass clarinet this side of Rufus Wainwright. A real highlight.

'Hermit's Cave'

In some ways, you could say that WIT'S END and Catacombs come as one project, with the former being the sequel to the latter. This is another sparse one, driven by a riff reminiscent of Bryter Layter, which is interesting given that for all McCombs' singer-songwriterly credentials, Nick Drake is not an obvious influence. Interesting here is this song's emotional energy.'Hermit's Cave' begins with a kind of buoyant youthful expressiveness before it comes to an existential crash in its chorus. The juxtaposition is depressing, and beautiful.

'Pleasant Shadow Song'

The penultimate track has the least accessible melody, but also some of the most attractive chord changes and instrumental arrangements. Unlike the rest of the album, this one will take a few listens to grasp. A previous song along these lines must be Catacombs' 'The Executioner's Song'. A full album of this looser style of songwriting might be too much, but this proves McCombs as capable of expressing more than one melodic idea in a song.

'A Knock Upon The Door'

The return of the bass clarinet, and a banjo and even a saxophone for this final slog. This is a perfect encapsulation of Cass McCombs' songwriting style. A single phrase is composed and then repeated for nine minutes, yet the song passes through countless landscapes due to its changing instrumentation and arrangements and the different vocal intonations allowed by the words. Cass doesn't repeat himself once, apart from always returning to the title line. The essence of this song, and indeed a large part of his art, is this: to see how far he can get from his point of departure before returning again. It's often not very far, but he certainly makes the journey worthwhile.

Live Review: De La Soul, Enmore Theatre, Feb 10

I've been to some concerts recently. And even had a good time at a couple, proving there is still life in the old dog yet. Writing about them, however, is another matter, but I did have to ease out the following as a favour to someone.

When De La Soul Is Dead was released in 1991, it was a strident deconstruction of everything that had defined the trio three years earlier on their debut 3 Feet High and Rising. That album saw them at the forefront of a strange new age for hip hop, one that involved fluorescent colours, advocated peace and compassion and had a surreal sense of humour. The daisy age phenomenon allowed De La Soul commercial success, yet some in the rap community deemed them lightweight, hippies, or worst of all, hip hop for white people.



De La Soul Is Dead was a cutting, ironic and relatively dark riposte to all that. It distanced them from the acts who followed their lead and returned them to the less exuberant, more profound territory of the pre-daisy years, with a sound more like Eric B & Rakim than the Jungle Brothers. Twenty years later, they are playing Enmore to pay tribute to this landmark release. The enthusiasm and the heart are all there, but they failed to honour De La Soul Is Dead, preferring instead to tread their well-worn path of dance-happy party music.

These days, De La Soul cruise around the world like the Harlem Globetrotters, performing shows that are more exhibitions of hip hop than anything original. Naturally, there is nothing wrong with that, aside from them being a little one-dimensional in their hell-bent desire to entertain, negating the changes of pace and overlapping samples that make their music so extraordinary. This was one of those typical shows, apart from the absence of Maseo, whose flight was cancelled from the US. Long-time producer Prince Paul filled in on decks.

True, they did play a number of De La Soul Is Dead’s best tracks, with Trugoy and Posdnous careering through ‘A Roller-Skating Jam Named ‘Saturday’’ and ‘Ring Ring Ring’, while 3 Feet High was honoured with ‘Potholes In My Lawn’ and ‘Buddy’. It was a good show, but anyone who came expecting something in the spirit of their fine second album would have seen its message swamped by the deafening sound of a good time.

Reviews: PVT / BARB

Here are a couple of reviews that won't see the light of day otherwise. The bright and the iffy of Antipodean music, so it is.

PVT
***
Church With No Magic

Rugged Sydney synth merchants back with a third album and a new name.

Pivot, or PVT as they are now known after a legal challenge from an American band with the same name, have always dwelt in an ominous, more hip and subterranean realm than the likes of comparable Australian acts like Cut Copy or Midnight Juggernauts. This is largely down to the fact they are signed to Warp Records, who are so credible it hurts, what with the giant figure of Aphex Twin still an influence on all their releases. Church With No Magic tentatively moves away from the consistent electro bang and clatter of 2008’s O Soundtrack My Heart and instead features pounding crescendos and peaks and troughs of experimental – almost industrial – noise, best evidenced on the imperious 'Light Up Bright Fires'. Preventing the record from being too abrasive are the mellow pop vocals of singer Richard Pike, which take a much more central role than ever before. Church With No Magic is an impressive evolution, though one senses PVT’s true potential is still to be realised.

Key Tracks: 'Light Up Bright Fires', 'Window', 'Timeless'


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BARB
**
BARB

Young luminaries pool resources for first album together.

Whenever a so-called generation of artists emerges from a certain part of the world, those involved are usually quick to disassociate themselves from such a thing, eager to be seen as individuals and not the result of a ‘vibrant scene’. The current golden generation of young Antipodean songwriters, however, have always seemed eager to celebrate themselves, and so it is that BARB has emerged, a veritable supergroup featuring Liam Finn, James Milne (a.k.a Lawrence Arabia), EJ Barnes, Connan Mockasin, and Seamus Ebbs.

The warmth between this lot is admirable, but unfortunately the project falls down simply because of a lack of personality. It seems all these talents are deferring to each other with none injecting their full selves into the songs, and thus the album is a rather gutless, ill-disciplined mess; BARB lacks the wit and charm of Milne or the soul and passion of Finn. Songs such as 'Lot To Learn' and 'Characterful' feel like the result of half-hearted jamming, waiting for something to happen that clearly never did. ‘A Time To Contemplate’, sung by Finn, marks the only occasion any kind of firm direction is found, a spooky, frenzied track marked by Finn’s familiar electronic experimentation. But it’s not enough, considering the undoubted flair of the artists involved.

Key Tracks: 'A Time To Contemplate', 'Beatman Hasn’t Eaten', 'Counting Sheep'