February 6th, 2009

Noise Appreciation with John and Rick

Rick Banister

Last Saturday John and I saw Thurston Moore and Mats Gustafsson at the International House at 37th and Chestnut. Thurston is obviously most well known for his involvement in Sonic Youth, but has also spent the better part of thirty years running his record label Ecstatic Peace!, produced a number of solo records, and dabbled in the free jazz scene. Mats Gustafsson is a Swedish free jazz saxophone player. It was a free jazz show.

It was my first free jazz show. I attended with an open mind, half fearing it would be an unironic mimic of the Bill Pullman jazz scene in Lost Highway. Thurston and Mats took the stage, picked up their instruments, and started to produce a cacophony of squawks using chopsticks on the guitar and eastern African click-type noises from the sax, respectively. It progressed thus for ten or so minutes alienating my ears, getting them fairly accustomed to 80dB nails on the chalkboard.

Then the show started. Mats switched to playing a photo theramin, making complex waves of white and grey noise, which played against Thurston's kneaded guitar feedback. I started to feel drawn in by the inclusive envelop of sticky noise. It was around this time I got a text message from John sitting four seats down:

This initial set ran for about 45 minutes, ebbing and flowing between thick, lush, womby noise and the trebly terror of a dentist's office in a machine shop.

After a short break, the encore. Thurston quietly signaled with three extended fingers that this would be a short, short, three minute, short piece. Mats used his thigh as a mute, creating a very convincing ship docking sound. He then started a feedback loop with the theramin, some sort of distortion pedal, and a digital delay, taking it closer to his amp for another layer of feedback. Thurston spent a moment playing with the quarter inch jack on his guitar, then touched the head to the top of his amp. This created a sympathetic feedback loop with Mats's in a totally incomprehensible magic wand sort of way. This big sticky peanut butter sandwich of noise progressed and throbbed for a minute or two. Thurston ground his guitar against the top of his amp, scratching and dragging them around, then let the feedback rest and swirl a bit.

He walked to the center of the stage, bent down toward the shared surge strip, and flicked the power.

Rick Banister

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