I heard years ago an experimental-new-music radio broadcast “Drivetime Underground” hosted by composer/performer Niel Luck. On that particular episode, his featured guests were  composers/performers Loré Lixenberg and Adam de la Cour. Amongst the wonderful parody of traditional radio; upbeat hosting, kitschy jingles, audience phone-ins and spontaneous avant-garde vocal improvisations; an interview was slowly conducted. Adam de la Cour was on the show promoting his new B-movie, Mr Topps.

As explained by de la Cour, B-movies differ from A-movies by their placement at the beginning of an evening in the cinema, a warm-up act for the main feature if you will. These productions were often made on a shoestring budget, a fraction of their A-movie counterpart. B-movies continued life in direct to TV or Video-Tape release in the 90’s, in the contemporary landscape I suppose anyone can make a movie on their phone and distribute it online, whilst cinemas seem to be exclusively reserved for blockbuster spectaculars.

By any normative definition of what constitutes a “quality” media experience, B-movies often aren’t “good”, yet they consistently find a cult followings and sometimes even mainstream appeal. In understanding experimental music through the lens of B-movies, we can also examine the other qualities that overlap the two; ambitious beyond their means, DIY, cheap. 

The dwindling resources seem to paradoxically give rise to more ingenuity and creativity and no one is paid enough to be non-sincere anyway so performances are only elevated by the will and dedication of the performers. In a phrase that has stayed with me forever, almost becoming a motto for my own creative aspirations, Adam describes the B-movie / experimental music overlap as:

“High Concept, Low Budget”

I’m talking with Annika Furmann in the first of two intervals between three demos presented as part of the first edition of “Work in Progress” in Toinen Kerros. She tells that the project has arisen from a difficulty in funding ambitious experimental projects, hence, gathering a little bit of funding allows the work to proceed a little bit. 

Sounding very pious and humble I glance over her shoulder to the various partitions and hangings that Annika and her scenographer collaborator Karoliina Korhonen have attached to the ceiling of TK – its a collage of materials, textured paper to cellophane to a paper screen and finally full newspaper inserts. Beyond those partitions are boxes, little boxes filled with ticky-tacky that were central in the excerpt of the labyrinth piece we just experienced. One of the boxes, wired up by Jukka Kääriänen, contains within the voice of Sarah Albu – though it seems only Furmann could adequately provoke it to speak. Its indeterminacy and reluctance intrigues us audience members ever more. 

The performance is backed by some theatre organ music composed by Miika Hyytiäinen it trots along spookily providing an apathetic accompaniment to the absolutely insane soprano part. Kääriänen is gloomily hanging out in the corner providing some interactive soundtrack on his jazz-master while we orient the maze and play with the boxes ourselves. 

This is hardly a small effort though! I respond to Annika gesticulating to the installation they have assembled behind her. It’s a work in progress, she laconicly replies. 

For the purposes of this review, I think it would be more natural to comment on the third, most “complete”, project of the evening. It’s a virtuosic song cycle for soprano and tape written by Hyytiäinen for soprano Iida Hirvola. “kalama musi lili” is complete in the sense that the music is composed and set, the performer is practiced and interpreting Hyytiäinen’s score with theatrical flair of her own ignition. Throughout the WIP #1 event, the audience has been called on for commentary after each performance – its an opportunity to ask further questions about the work, the larger ambitions and specific reasonings for things – after Hirvola’s offering it’s hard to make comments on the performance which captivated us completely from beginning to end. We instead turn to exploring the ideas of the piece, which contains many quirky details;

The libretto is written in Toki Pona – a constructed language with only 123 total words (compare these roughly 102,000 words in modern Finnish today). It’s a language devised by Canadian linguist Sonja Lang as an attempt to implement minimalism into language, aiming toward a more calming experience of communication, Hyytäinen explains to me briefly. For example all the animals in this language say “moo”, whether it’s a dog or a cat or a fish or so on. 

No one in the audience spoke toki pona, despite its eerie Finnish sounding words, so much of the meaning was lost on us. The performance feels like a sermon from an alien – they are convinced in what they’re saying, and through conviction alone they’re gonna convert us! It’s a powerful premise, powered once again by haunting organ sounds reminiscent of 60’s sci-fi. I can hardly think how I would improve this, though Hyytiäinen is eager for our two-cents.

The second performance of the evening was Wilson Tanner-Smith’s “Survey” – It’s his first foray into a hyper stylized universe of his own devising. if one were to describe it as space-opera the ambition is closer to Jodorowsky than Lynch. 

As with many of Tanner-Smith’s more theatrical performances, the cello, and his skillful playing of it, become a stylish prop for exploring larger concepts. Clad in a spandex one-piece complete with cape and shades, the titular and sole performer know as the messenger scans the audience while in continuous monologue. In a particularly absurd sequence, the messenger hands the cello to an audience member with a suggestion “play something fancy” – the request is immediately answered with Bach. The bombastic-uber-confident caricature continues to sell us on the idea of the Super Deluxe; a luxurious and decadent society living among the stars off the riches of an ambiguous and apparently abundant substance. 

The paradox of this material being both valuable and abundant is the central conceit of the play: who determines value? What is taste in a post-scarcity society?

The messenger preaches on about worth and luxury, with a noticeable lack of it himself – his most prized possession – the cello, which is on loan “from the queen of finland: Suomen Kultuurin Rahasto” – is seemingly his passport to the upper echelons. An insecurity reveals itself as each sentence ends with a mantras reassuring us that he is very rich, and very skilled and very very expensive. 

A  natural foil to these words is the humble industrial-kitchen-turned sonic-arts space of Toinen Kerros, its an absurd setting and group of people to be preaching to on matters of luxury. Indeed the seemingly naive character of the messenger makes me sympathetic to his hustle, his life depends on praise and belief in his product alone.

As Tanner-Smith stares at us through a large magnifying glass distorting his face into wide oblongs and abstract grimaces – I’m thinking about two things: firstly, the paradox of class for classical musicians – it’s quite possible to be from any strata of socio-economic background and find yourself playing in orchestras, having a pop at funding from a wealthy individuals’ posthumously established foundation. A classical musician can easily be dirt poor and a coathanger for high society: ambition the only virtue, taste the only product  – a jester in the court of tradition.

Secondly, the performance brings to mind another motto I’ve misquoted for years:

“Shoot for the stars, and even if you miss you’ll end up among the stars.”¹

 

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1. Norman Vincent Peale ↩︎