You know, I really thought that last post about letting your kids wander around alone in a city would’ve been more contentious. Apparently not. Gotta say, the TCL readership is waaaaaay more liberal than I ever could’ve imagined. Cool!
Or you’re still reading. Sorry, it was kinda long. I’ll do my best to keep this one lighter.
Nothing much to say anyway. The Music Garden is supposed to communicate through other senses.
Nuit Blanche was one of those rare nights when the “Bohemian” artist set get to … no, are encouraged to get their lazy asses out of bed extra late. Getting there at half past six in the evening is actually arriving early, ten at night is when things are just starting to get going, and two in the morning is about right to avoid the big crowds and still get a good walk in. I chose the third option and managed, with the assistance of my favourite energy drink, to stay up until closing time. I couldn’t think of any other night to do this than Saturday.
The event was both hoote and anny. It’s hard to know where to begin; so many strange things on the street that night.
First, there were the kids on acid who stumbled onto mindblowing, totally fucked up shit … oh man, this is too much man! it’s too much!
I made that part up. The imaginatively named “Rabbit Balloon” at the Eaton Centre only had a few tired-looking security guards around it. The kids on acid (and E, and K, and all the other letters too), were freaking out on the edge of Grange Park behind a truck blasting out what sounded suspiciously like happy hardcore. I wasn’t partial to it back in my youth, I’m not partial to it today, whatever it’s being called now. Just a bit too spazzed out for me. I like my music a bit mellower these days.
Hmmm. Except not this mellow. This was called “Dirge for Dead Slang” and I guess it was supposed to be some sort of lamentation for outmoded language. It had this monotonous soundtrack playing over loudspeakers that was a tad too loud, so no one could really hear what the ghosts were listing off. Intended?
Just down the street at City Hall, was this:
This had the unfulfilled title “Beautiful Light: 4 LETTER WORD MACHINE”. I stood around for a few patterns; not letters. As I was leaving, some words … French? I thought this was supposed to be the “4-letter word” machine. I can think of a few to try maintenant, and they’re in English. For an English audience. I was imagining they would at least flash “bull” and “shit” in alternating sequences; isn’t that why it’s in front of City Hall?
My next stop was at this performance, the “Dead Philosophers’ Limbo”:
Radios were alternately brought out into the crowd (I kinda wasn’t paying attention to what was being read on them), and then brought into the center and piled onto one of the girls in the middle. Then, in slow-mo, the dancers came back and removed them. The middle girl jerked around a while, now surrounded by the other dancers, each holding a pose. They alternated between each other, taking turns to move in interesting ways.
I didn’t get it…
It’s been a soggy couple of days in the city. When it wasn’t outright raining, a maritime mist kept everything slick, and the fog that followed ensured it stayed that way. I was starting to feel a bit under the clouds as I sat on the Dundas West streetcar, wondering what the heck I was going to write about today. See how much I care about you?
I was flipping around the idea of mentioning some of the outrageously asinine conversations I’ve been overhearing lately on the same route, but that was quickly dismissed when I spotted this thing:
A giant demi-sperm stuck to a wall; brilliant! At first I thought it might be an installation that spilled across the street from the AGO, but a mere two photos later, a goggle-headed face appeared from behind the glare in the window beckoning me in.
This actually happened some time back in March. I kept putting off writing about it until I completely forgot. Until today, that is.
I was schlepping groceries from Chinatown on my way home when I spotted the worm (called Nessie). Steve Mann’s get-up initially startled me, mostly because he looked like an extra from a Mad Max movie. But those dreamy eyes…
Without a second thought, I lept up those steps with bags, camera ‘n all, and parked myself in the middle of the space.
That’s Steve at the back there.
As you can see, the stuff inside is even more interesting than the halved spermatozoa stuck to the outside. The bathtub is actually being fitted to become a musical instrument called a Hydraulophone. Instead of blowing air through the pipes as you would with a standard instrument, this one uses water which vibrates various pipes, each of which is tuned to a produce a different frequency. In this case, the instrumentalist sits inside the tub, which is often done up for public appearances to look like a real bathing scene. Except here the lady sings and plays the tub. I know, I’m blushing too.
It’s an exact science and Professor Mann’s the man in the field. He does the Hydraulophone thing professionally, between stints as a teacher and a cyborg, I guess. I can barely hold down a job and a blog, so I have to respect the guy. He’s also got a permanent Hydraulphone exhibit in front of the Science Centre. I accidentally dropped one of Oliver’s poops while disposing of them behind the building; it’s probably still there. Just doesn’t really compare somehow.
At least I managed to go the whole post without making any off-colour references about music being made by inserting fingers into wet holes. See how much I care about you?
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