2 shorts by Stuart Napshaw
Noise at the Greens
I walk into a gaggle of raggedy dressed folding table top analog pedal heads crowded into an outsiders corner at The Greens Hotel bar on Sunday night. In the crowd are black-teed anglo youth, bald and goateed anglo grown men, audiophiles and the occasional extinguophile (destructopod, y'know?). Everyone is kind despite the harsh sound, this is to be predicted in a music genre primarily based on venting the deepest channels of oblivion. Some in the crowd talk to me like I don't get it, and I don't in most cases, but they're gentle in their judgement. "Biofeedback's not for everyone, friend." Not many girls here, some, but not many. A show like this can easily be dubbed "Angry White" or " Focus on Alienation", titles well deserved by everything else in the whole effing world that I find irresistible. "I like it because you don't" the crux of my interest. Make it your own, make it your own.
I am late to the show because I lost a pool tournament that I should have won. I lost to a player who was not of my caliber so mood is low for me, he won by luck. Pissed and recovering I read about the show in last weeks SN&R after my final loss. The concert listing screams to me and started 30 min. ago so I blow the pool hall in need of distraction. The idea of allowing multi bladed echo razors drive into ones' ears? Severing the connections and thoughts of failure on the billiard table? To this a fervent YES, I'm in.
Now I sit on the comfy couch in The Greens Bar being served Sierra Nevada by kindly hotel staff. I'm waiting for the next 'collective' or 'concept' or 'trio'. From the corner of my eye, outside the window, I spy a youth of about 4 years old through the large pane. She sits quietly at an outdoor table and waits, stares into space, wrapped in her blanket. I find she is the daughter of 2 members in 'Al Qaeda', a San Francisco based noise music group here to play this night, going on next in fact. Her mother approaches and plays with her through the glass, laughs and taps back and forth with her on the window, adorable. Later I see her rearranging her blanket on the stage floor while her mom and dad fiddle at the knobs and switches on their tables before performance. Once show's started this little girl moves and takes front row in a bar chair for Al Qaeda's display of waffling ornamental ramps and peaks. She wisely covers her head in the blanket during the louder parts. I am concerned for damage to her hearing when the show begins, fully prepared to voice myself to management, I stop. The ever responsible parenting of Al Queada keeps the decibels low and the girl unharmed. At the finalé she cheers and claps with everyone else and hugs her parents telling them "That was so Nice!" I was raised in my youth with Sesame Street, Free to Be You and Me, and Never Ending Story over and over and over. I would never want to change that, but in my heart of hearts I envy this child of noise.
Xome takes the stage holding a small wired box (I call it a buzzbox) above his head like he is about to swing down a baseball bat. This tiny box controls small untamed geiger counter ticks through the speakers and he paces the stage exploring, sniffing for sources of electro pulse in his arena. He is announced by the MC and readies himself, gives a few seconds for the audience to take a deep breath. In a flurry of commotion my senses activate to his craft and buzzbox. I begin to laugh prolonged and earnestly in excitement, it's the best. He's hitting things, hitting himself and his instruments, staring the audience in the eye then looking past them and folding over to slap his hand on the table. The noise changes by the second, the afterlife never felt so close to reality. There are bands that play with their backs to the audience. I find this rude, patronizing, and convenient because they won't see "Who threw that!" Xome is here, he's distinctly aware of himself, the audience and his performance. Throw things at Xome he'll snap you in the head with his electromagnetic pulse. He smacks the duct taped guitar pedals on the plastic table with a butting forehead then holds his box up to an existing fluorescent wall light for a source of stable frequency, the shape takes noise. The plastic table full of instruments slides and bumps on the floor and he falls on the ground and rubs the box on his front pants' zipper. The show ends when the duct tape holding his instruments gives way and pedals fall to the ground. Greeted by big cheer he is noticeably agitated because I think he wants to play for longer, but only recieved 10 minutes. He deserved longer, I wanted more. The 4 year old girl comes in from outside holding her mommies hand, he waves at her, "I heard you!" she says and dances for him.
Quote from Xome "I am often asked by onlookers to explain the onslaught of sound presented to them. I ask these people to simply listen, watch and feel. I feel that a form of music that requires one-hour dissertations on what it is and is not loses its true essence and romantic appeal. Just enjoy!"
'Yeah, No'
"you talked again last night, you mumbled about looking at the ground. you talked a lot more than you used to do. you think it could be related to..."
"i don't know"
"you said 'she's just not into it Stuart, she's just not into it.' and you said 'how do you know?'
and you said 'she's like a channel. she can just turn it off.' Macy's is having a sale on kids clothes. i was wondering if maybe you and I could go look together, save in advance. is everything all right?"
"yeah, fine... no, it's not. we can go shopping if you want, i'm free"
"hey hey hey hey: i'm the last person you should feel insecure around."
"well, i do anyway. no."
"it could be for any reason, neither of us knows why, but, we'll pull through. if we can have faith we can have nothing stopping us. now c'mon, what did mom tell us she said to dad when this happened. YEAH."
"sunspot activity."
"there ya go, that's probably why right there. sunspot activity"
"but dad was so much older when he was affected by sunspot activity."
"hon, you've always been more sensitive than your father. hey hey, its okay."
"dont tell me how i feel, how would you know how I feel. you may be sensitive but there's no chance that you could interpret the thoughts I have about you right now."
"oh, im certain, you know everything about how i feel too. you've probably catalogued it all."
"hey hey hey hey by the way i wasn't the one who started this and you know what you're saying is bullshit. lets go to Macy's"
"i dont want to go to Macy's anymore."
"fine. click!"
-loose leaves feng shui