V.19 No.28 | 7/15/2010
An egg sucked away my sense of time.
My bandmates and I have been building a giant piñata for many hours (or days, by the time your read this). It will be a black egg, lowered from a warehouse ceiling, full of light and gifts. It’s really fucking big.
After parasitizing my love, attention, sleep, energy, the big black egg can only hatch something out of Eraserhead. It’s doomy that way. Doom piñata. Drying under my AC, awaiting yet another layer. Always another layer.
I dreamed about this thing all night. There was a real yolk in it when we smashed it open. It burned the skin.
There is paper mache in my hair as I type this.
I will cart the egg and some local musicians to Denver today. We are going to DIY, feminist, outsider music festival Titwrench. I went last year, and it’s maybe the most “fun” I’ve had in a minute. Fun is a dumb word—I returned to Albuquerque in July 2009 with many new friends and at least a year’s worth of inspiration.
Sometimes Nick Brown complains that when we go on trips and blog, it’s like a horrible vacation recap over dinner at your couple friends’ house. Except there’s not even any fondu. Also, such blogs may have the air of “I went somewhere neat, while you were stuck in your life. Let me tell you about my good time.”
But I’m pretty sure Titwrench is a great, big deal. As big as the egg. As conscientiously sculpted. As full of light.
And the point of the coming blogs, friends, is that you may not have heard of the women performing there. You may need to.
I’ll tell you more when I get back. You can come over for slide night.
V.18 No.31 | 7/30/2009
On: Goggles, Crushes, a Saw Factory, the Wrench
Rain and rain and rain
+ sweaty me + facepaint = eye bath in the blazes. Later, I will dump 4 oz. of beer directly into my left eye when flailing dancers erupt because the Hot White chick is twisting on the floor all pained and sexy and furious. I should have worn the goggles.
Night two of Titwrench.
Let me tell you about Rusalka. Crushing, just crushing. Audience presses in tight, clumps around her table on the floor. We contract as she pulses. Some people get all choked up. And I don’t think it’s because they’re sad.
Christina the Hun plays drums and sings/speaks/shouts. Her drumming punches one in the neck? Nah. More like a hearty back slap that stings. Her lyrics definitely finger one’s guts. She finishes each song with a sheepish chuckle.
Burrow Owl reads like some high-frequency priestess ushering in piercing, saw factory-like sonics with slight movements of her raised arm.
Hell-Kite’s voice is probably my favorite of the weekend. And that’s saying something because singing talent squirts amply from the Tit(wrench).
And more. More I didn’t film.
Someone else will have to tell you about night three. Jobs, etc., yank us back home. Driving out of Denver we wonder: How will the festival organizers make it through another night? After Friday, they look spent. After Saturday? Damn. And still, another frantic, astonishing evening in front of them. Can’t wait for 2010. Thank you, women of the wrench.
On: Cake Batter Air, Avant Opera, Composting
NOTE: Hell-Kite is playing Albuquerque tonight on its way back from Titwrench. Friends, get thee to the house show.
No parking at a noise(esque) show? I’m sure it’s occurred in history, but not in mine. We roll up in our mom van (blue Toyota, three-disc CD player from the ’90s, drives like a champ) to Rhinoceropolis, an outsider venue in Denver’s industrial district.
Tired. Late. Stinky. Sitting among piles of gear and a delicate giant albatross puppet. Happy though. Way happy. Everyone involved will echo the sentiment in these next 48 (or so) hours, but an all-girl, DIY, experimental music fest is fucking good for the soul. Camaraderie. Inspiration. Best of all, the music is unfailingly phenomenal. A-games all around.
The room is hot. Hot Paris Hilton hot. And hot temperature hot. Stuffy. Who can live in humidity? The air is cake batter and I’m trying to suck it in through my pinhole nostrils.
Catch a beautiful set by local Sybil Vane. (Can’t find a web presence for her. Anyone else?) Showtunes. Lounge. Opera. Hilarious narrative about turning 30, about breaking bottles in the street after a relationship ends only to fall asleep to the sound of her neighbor sweeping up the shards. Brutal. Hilarious. The pianist shouts down the backyard partiers. Then spotlights his homemade man tits in honor of Titwrench. Vane closes with “Like a Virgin” and rounds it off by screaming about what it’s really like to lose one’s virginity. Walks up to me first to screech in my face. I must look alarmed—sister dies laughing next to me.
I only take two video clips all night. Stupid. Nothing personal, just burnt documentation on my part. All performers were something to see. But festival organizers had someone filming every night. When/if those become available, I’ll blog it here.
Tomorrow: Night two. Beer in my eye. Noisier.
V.18 No.30 | 7/23/2009
Friday a.m. I’ll be loading local noise chicas into a minivan (thanks, mom!) and driving out to Denver for what promises to be one nipple-twister of a music fest. We’re going as Milch de la Máquina, a group that formed around the beginning of ’09 just to play in the all-girl experimental gathering Titwrench.
We’re bringing: string instruments, black feathers, thumb piano, goggles, many fx, bass, contact mics, voices and a giant albatross puppet with car speakers for eyes that requires all four of us to operate.
I mention this only to point you to the lineup, curated by Sarah Slater. (Descriptions ganked right from the Titwrench page.):
ASHLEY PAUL and ELI KESZLER (Dissonant clatter improv from Providence, RI)
BAST (Dance from San Francisco, CA)
BECCA MHALEK (Improv by Ex-Nightshark saxaphonist from Los Angeles, CA)
BOYS LIFE (Debut performance from Denver, CO)
BURROW OWL (Harsh noise from Vancouver, BC)
CHRISTINA THE HUN (Drummer/Singer extraordinaire from Fort Collins, CO)
DÖERSOVIT (Post-Riot Grrrl from Denver, CO)
EMILY FREMBGEN (Deep folk from Denver, CO)
FANCIE (Multi-media artist/composer from Berlin, DE)
HELL-KITE (Dark experimental folk from Tempe, AZ)
HDOT (Video Art from Denver, CO)
JUANITA WOW (Burlesque from Denver, CO)
LADY PARTS (Avant-chamber pop from Denver, CO)
LAST EYES (Experimental solo from Denver, CO)
CHRISTIAN TEENAGE RUNAWAYS (Glam Post-Punk from Denton, TX)
LUST CATS OF THE GUTTERS (Garage love rock from Denver, CO)
MARLO EGGPLANT (Experimental noise from Seattle, WA)
MARRIED IN BERDICHEV (Ethereal noise from Denver, CO)
MUTATING MELTDOWN (Noise-Punk trio incl. members of Finally Punk from Austin, TX )
NIGHT OF JOY (Dreamy no-wave from Denver, CO)
ORIGAMI HANDS (Lap Steel/Synth duo from Fort Collins, CO)
RACHAEL POLLARD (Folk from Denver, CO)
ROMA X MANKILLER (aka Joy Von Spain-Industrial noise with vocals from Seattle, WA)
RUSALKA (Harsh electronic noise from Vancouver, BC)
SALINA GOMEZ (Video art from Denver, CO)
SYBIL VANE (Avant-opera-punk from Denver, CO)
TIT 4 TAT (Collective experimental from Denver, CO)
(VIA) (Electronic fluids noise from Denver, CO)
YELLOW ELEPHANT (Sweet ambiance from Denver, CO)
ZAYANTE SPOILS (Avant cello-voice-distortion from Boulder, CO)
Evolution of a Criminal at KiMo Theatre
A gripping documentary by Darius Clark Monroe.
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