To encounter the radically liberated owner of Boner Girl Prods back in the 70s while she studied with Terry Riley, Robert Ashley, Lou Harrison and Maggi Payne, you’d never have guessed she’d only just escaped housewifery and schoolmarmary in Montreal to stick a perfect hard-landing at Mills, kicking up a storm that's still whipping today, roughing up the Bay Area cultural landscape. Since 1985, the maelstrom of Golden's politically incorrect performance-raunch has blown from every direction: WIGband, Gamelan Sekar Jaya, The Golden Path, KPFA/Pacifica radio's Crack o’ Dawn, her "Greatest Hits" cookbook/CD of tasty recipes and tasteless songs, as well as collaborations with Matmos, The Residents, The Hub, and Blectum from Blectum. The forecast for the upper Haight is something wicked, as Golden assembles Tim Perkis on electronics and Theresa Wong & Carla Fabrizio on cellos, to present her four-segment piece, NOT DEAD YET (1 DEAD IDEA pagi, 8 DEAD BOYS siang, 1 DEAD MUM sore, NOT DEAD YET malam).
Put on your synergysuit and swim cap, its diving-only into the sea unleashed by Splendor Generator as they cross the beams of sight and sound in a real-time deluge. No pre-recorded visuals here, Bill Thibault's generative graphics use physics-based motion algorithms to put sight on equal footing with the intricacies spilling from the audible electronics of Tim Perkis, Xopher Davidson [antimatter], and Jon Leidecker. Nonetheless, drinks will be served. Bring your own slippers and towels.
Angst Hase Pfeffer Nase
The Nasolacrimal Revolution follows hard on the heels of the Copernican Revolution with the discovery that a moustache twirled sufficiently and held in place with tears can serve, the way cats' own whiskers do, as antennae directing harmolodic vibrations to the philtrum where they resonate uniquely between septal and orbital bones amplifying gravity waves so weak that they are otherwise undetected despite playing a fundamental role in spinning the Sun. Chris Cooper presumed everyone else was already well aware and only fleeing by repeatedly shearing off their philtral whiskers. Taunting all humankind, Angst Hase Pfeffer Nase is Cooper's lovingly withering critique of fear's own coping mechanism: logic. Mindful of human cowardice, Cooper myofascializes weak forces with stronger, directing gravity through his own hands onto heaps of pie cutters, spinning tops, stiff brushes, long strings, and power amplifiers so as to embolden all who must one day perish.
Too experimental for the disco. Too disco for the noise show.
Too RadioShack 30in1 for the future, too VOS Frac Filter for the past.
Too Satanic for Christians. Too Christian for Satanists.
Too swift for analogue, too hot for solid state.