In a shopfront gallery on Brunswick Street experimental composer and
performer Ernie Althoff sets up his homemade music machines on a table.
The machines are simple structures that are designed to simultaneously
be played, play by themselves, and respond to the vagaries of a spinning
pendulum, the wind, or any number of other external elements. It is
mid-winter and some of the audience have gone out in the freezing wind
to smoke, others are poring over stands of CDs and records for sale.
Leads are plugged in; tiny motors begin to rotate, sending the fragile
self-playing instruments into motion. The crowd are still conversing,
but slowly, attention turns to the machines. Vertical strips of sheet
metal twist like leaves in the wind, catch on suspended nails, or touch
the inside of an empty tin can. The turning and spinning create a
pleasantly arrhythmic series of chiming tones. He places a golf ball in a
large flattened bowl, moving it around, producing a kind of rolling
bass. He adds a shaker to the mix, waggles metallic clapping sticks,
taps a toy drum. Irregular yet synchronized. He is constantly adjusting,
shifting, and varying his devices. The effect is an intimate sound
experience.
Read the full article here in Overland
Read the full article here in Overland
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