NEW WEIRD PLANET MICRO-FEST V1.1

What planet are you on?

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On 02 Feb at Doncopolitan HQ I portaled down a hall bedecked with voodoo skulls, and then to the catacombed interior of New Weird Planet.

We slurped on organic mead and scoffed vegan curry from Green Thumb. I took in the low lit, art infested space where Shamanic Healer Suzanne beat her double sided ritual drum. One side female, the other male – one removing energy, the other returning it.

Experimental Sonic Machines…

In a dark corner, an experimental sonic machine dwelt in the shadow of a helmetted and cloaked P.K Rollings, chanting and dancing. His rabbit-eared robot drummer sparked into life beating out a metallic and insistent rhythm. Electronically bowed instruments purred into life, completing the cacophony of modern yet primitive music.

Floodlights…

As we gathered about the stairs, we were drawn to local artist; John Alexander’s distressed cine film flooding disconnected footage of croquet games, old rollercoaster rides and cop films through partition windows; all accompanied by angular electronica.

Dark Static…

Glenn Moss, guitarist with Fallen Trees, wove delicate melodies across moody, atmospheric, furred up samples. His ambient soundscapes put me in mind of a cross between Twin Peaks and FKA Twigs.

Pulselovers…

Mat Handley played a twenty minute medley with no vocal. His synths delivered minimalist soundscapes, partnered with glacial guitar work by Passion-Play’s Tony Nicholson.

Tape Noise Dex…

Once the complicated array of pedals and lights found their place, it was a thrill to watch this shadow play with accompanying synth, guitar and flute. The narrator regailed us with riddles, thoughts and the passing of time.

Mangabros…

The three noise demons, Craig, Paul and Jade unfurled their sonic flag. A flag with many colours, each representing a glitched and distorted version of mood and texture. Beaten road signs and mannikins met with scrunched samples, guitar poetry and porn confetti. The human beast in emotive bursts of anger and rage, beauty and sadness.

This was a wonderfully bleak and fitting end to an evening of specially disquieting performances.

As we stumbled out into the new Winter night, wrapped up against the metaphor of cold air, I thought about how Doncaster’s art rock circle had finally been squared.

Let’s have more of this kind of thing.

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This entry was posted on March 2, 2016 by in Uncategorized.

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