Thursday, May 10, 2007

Blink Blinkblink: (a)Rousing Digital Unease

Sit down, anywhere, and listen. When I tell you to, look. Tully was out, and wants to share with you a priveliged experinece called "Primary Colours" scored and tweeked by the seemingly elusive, yet actually amiable, Blink Blinkblink.

Dear Tully found himself at The Mile End Cultural Center/Main Hall. The ground was forested with chairs, not locked, but in-strategically positioned in a curious theater motif: early signals of unconventionality? (considering the first set was supposed to take place in pitch black). Us children sat edged forward and square shouldered, staring at the stage, where Blink Blinkblink loomed like a cross between a dystopian fascist god and paranoid circuit-switchboard operator channeling amphetamine devotion and chocolate wired nightmares.

Translating an audio/visual experience into a linguistic one is always a highly metaphorical activity. In the case of last night's experience, technically accurate descriptions would look like a binary code representation of a
Barely Legal centerfold: sure there are erected Ones and womb-like Zeros, but no hint of dewy flesh--a discreet corner or conspiring crevice that inexplicably becomes the focal point of attention and arousal. Speaking of rousing and arousing, time to put away the porn.

Blink Blinkblink's audio-scape was a short-circuit super-charged metaphore. Imagine a zoo, but instead of animals, this zoo housed computers, electronics, stereo equipment, printers, circuit breakers, and maybe even some primitive robots (now there's a moronic ox). During the daytime, parents push their little offshoots around, watching the caged beasts do their thing ("Look dear, it's scanning, feed it a page of daddy's Barely Legal"). But this show is not the family tour--the bright, gaping, enthused gush of of turnstile-happy visitors. No, I am a lone night-watchmen, with suspiciously cute cap and uniform, extended flashlight, and caffeinated vibrations. The zoo at night is not quite silent, it breathes, and dreams (especially the scanner). Here is an old PC drooling bits of giga-liva (drop, clank). There, a mixing board arching its toggle switches, cracking its wire (rrrrr...). There is an unease as I am on my own but not quite alone. Something is stirring, and every step or breath I take I fear the sounding alarm of digital revolutions, and my own vainglorious demise in a grumpy old shredder. This is how I can describe the first part of the show.

The second part saved the crowd's impending doom and awkward glances by throwing up some colour on the wall: primarily primary, but I am no artist. Needless to say this solved the paranoid enigma of whom to ogle and where to stare. Soundwise, think of a desperate house beat so muffled it seemed like an entire island rave had been kidnapped, beaten, bagged, boxed and thrown into an attic where it must feed on its own sweat and vibrations to remain vital (oh so vital). As the sounds broke through, so did the disjointed voices, just maybe preempting the uneasy attempt so many like myself would have in describing what we just experienced. If sight and sound can never be directly transformed into words, Blink Blinkblink just sucks up language into his program--a de-evolutionary trip from symbols into the imagination, where meaning becomes just another space-jet for effect.

(shit, this is way too long, sorry kids)



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