May 20–27, 1999

music

Sound Barriers

A North Carolina music festival challenges popular conceptions of music.

by Brian Howard

Transmissions 002, May 14 & 15, The Cat's Cradle, Carrboro, NC

Phil Kline, New York guitarist and boom-box composer, stands on the dark stage of Carrboro, NC's The Cat's Cradle behind a table that supports about 15 tape players, each loaded with recordable loops. Kline sings à la Robert Plant, "Wwwwo-mannnn… you neee-eeed me," which then cycles through the sound system. He leans over one boom box, then the next, his head and body bounce rhythmically while belting into the devices' compressor microphones. Each successive loop is then spit out as another layer in this constantly evolving soundscape. After about 15 minutes, Kline runs down the line of tape decks, shutting each off. In a matter of seconds, this descent into clamoring cacophony screeches to a halt, prompting thunderous applause from the 100 or so on hand.

Next, Kline—who started experimenting with tape manipulation as a child and has been conducting experiments like this since 1990—pulls out all the stops. He hands out about 40 boom boxes to volunteers from the crowd, each containing a prerecorded cassette. He instructs his merry pranksters to press "play" synchronously and then to wander freely around the room, and the resultant "composition," a combination of tinkling keyboard sounds and delicate percussion, shifts amoebalike, depending on one's position in thc:e room. Kline then leads the troupe out into the parking lot. The bystanders' befuddled looks are almost as rewarding as the music.

This scene probably fits your idea of a summer music festival as much as Kline, an average-looking 40-year-old with a receding hairline, fits your idea of a rock star. But this type of convention bending is what Transmissions 002 is all about.

The second annual festival dedicated to ambient, progressive and experimental music brings together improvisers and innovators, knob twiddlers and instrumentalists. (Films and sound installations are also part of the event.) The 18 acts, most working sans structure and even fewer employing vocals, stretched, tugged and in some cases completely destroyed commonly held notions of what is considered music.

Portuguese "guitarist" Rafael Toral doesn't play in the traditional sense. Amps to the left of him, a stack of processors to the right, Toral held a guitar on his lap on Friday, letting the tones and feedback multiply and overlap. The resultant formless drone that pulsed and washed over the crowd was so loud and thick that listening eventually became exhausting.

Michigan duo Windy and Carl employed similar techniques on Saturday, but, with just the slightest hint of structure, produced a much more pleasant result. On guitar, Carl Hultgren churned out cyclical waves of hypnotic guitar while Windy Weber underpinned the waves with gentle, rhythmic bass and vocals.

The weekend was full of such dichotomies. Two groups exploring improvised instrumental music produced widely disparate results. The John Randall Pelosi Quartet (plus two), with former dB leader Chris Stamey on guitar, was an exercise in wonking, each piece indistinguishable from the next. Eighteen-player troupe The Micro-East Collective used loosely defined compositions to guide the group through crisper, more tonal exercises.

New York guitarist Loren MazzaCane Connors, wearing a three-piece suit, conjured otherworldly tones. His arrhythmic and scarcely melodic half-hour-long improvisational guitar piece came off like a different but innate language and possessed of the power to transport listeners to alternate mind states.

Kaffe Matthews and DC duo Mikroknytes each incorporated electronically generated tones and violin sounds. Where the Mikroknytes' beat-oriented textures seemed limited in scope, Matthews, who possesses a master's in Music Technology, looped real-time violin samples and, using live sampling software, undercut it with bleeps, crackles and beats to create a rich, chilly web of unorganized sound.

Boston's Cul De Sac and New York's Tono-Bungay both put a unique spin on what it means to play in a more traditional band. Exploring the junction between progressive rock and jam-band abandon, they incorporated drums and guitars with synths, turntables and loops.

The weekend was at times blissful, occasionally excruciating. But good or bad, each act inspired a reevaluation of the type of sounds we want to hear, and which are best left for someone else to appreciate.