Silvia Ziranek
It feels like no sooner are we back from our Christmas holidays than the Arts Show comes to another holiday; this time because the station is about to undergo something of a transformation. Xstream East is upgrading both its equipment and its output, and in order to prepare for the changes, the station’s closing for all of February. Thus, this week’s show was our last for a few weeks. We ended on a high note: the calibre of guests and performers alike was exceptionally high.
I am what I wear
Silvia Ziranek, whose form of live art is not easy to explain, even after an hour-long interview on the subject – it involves clothing and costume - was by far the day’s most colourful visitor: a glance at her picture from the day should suffice to make the case. Silvia is a polished act, and a veteran one, too. I chose not to push the question about the span of her artistic career – we had quite enough ground to cover already – but there were enough clues in the conversation to suggest a good few years of sartorial art being behind our conversation. I’m afraid it could be tempting, on first sight, to be dismissive of Ziranek; is her all-pink wardrobe not somewhat flippant? Well, no; in fact there is an authenticity to it. My guest quickly established a heredity for her clothing-centred form of expression - her mother was a tailor – as well as a deep-seated belief in one’s ability to wear one’s history, one’s selfhood. Ziranek (the name is Polish) read out texts that left one in no doubt of her sincerity, and in her belief of the power of clothing. I enjoyed our conversation, and found Ziranek herself at times nothing short of inspiring. She was at her most captivating when swept away by the theme of the plight of the live artist, on which she spoke with a passion. She was indignant that a gallery cleaner should receive better remuneration than the artists whose work inhabits the space. And yet, the cleaner must wear overalls.
As with my first guest, Alexander Wendt’s interview explored an area we’ve never previously covered: this time, sonic
Alexander Wendt
art. Often not music, you understand, but rather sounds created or sampled and mixed to form pieces that challenge and surprise. Wendt, a lecturer in the subject, talked easily and in depth about the techniques that allow him to create, marshall and purvey these sounds; from Californian architecture to micro-engineering; vinyl recordings to classical instrumentation. His knowledge is clearly encyclopaedic; his commitment complete. The comment I thought most telling, though, came before we started recording, when I asked him what his current project was. Bringing up two children, he said.
And then came Jennifer Kavanagh. I have to say (and here I run the risk of making my guest blush) I find Jennifer Kavanagh extraordinarily attractive. There are some people – very few, I think – who are both the centre of gravity wherever they happen to be, and who radiate a sense of calm and positivity: Jennifer Kavanagh is such a person. Whether this aura is a product of the many important community projects with which she has been involved or vice versa, I don’t know. That she is writing about the importance of home is entirely appropriate, however. It is a topic of great importance, whose complexity and subtlety neccessitate similar attributes in the questing author – these, she has. Also, Kavanagh, an attentive listener, has experienced very different sorts of home, has worked among homeless people, and has helped eastenders, both new and established, to a better standard of living: she has a range of reference others may lack. Her book – The O of Home – and the talks and musical gigs relating to it, are created by someone who not only knows her stuff, but has processed the information with sympathy for its sources and without the slightest condescension. I urge you to catch Kavanagh if you can.
Jennifer Kavanagh
The show was already my favourite ever, and that was before the wonderful selection of music it was my pleasure to be able to share. No description offered here could substitute for giving the tracks a listen. The acts performing on this week’s show – Halogen; My Second Head; The Penny Serenade – each has an idiosyncratic, rich, sophisticated sound; I’m hoping to get to play them again when The Arts Show returns, in March.
Listen to this edition of The Arts Show
Posted 7 months, 2 weeks ago at 1:23 PM.
This week’s edition of The Arts Show was a musical extravaganza. It’s the first time on the show’s history that music has featured as part of every guest’s interview and it’s not something we’ll be doing every week – there’s
Mikey Kirkpatrick
to much else going on in this fine city – but this one-off was a huge success. It was such a treat to have a one on one with Mikey Kirkpatrick, the flautist composer/producer whose control of several flutes (yes, at one point flutes plural, one each side of his mouth) was breath taking. He demonstrated techniques such as over breathing – the thing you’re not supposed to do during recorder lessons at school – and, to my surprise – this is a classically trained musician after all – used the recorder like a kazoo, singing into it, humming into it, playing the side of his face with his hand whilst producing nuanced and exciting music. The same is also true of his Native American pipe (no, not that kind); he explained that it’s possible to bend the sound by passing the fingers across the hole in the top – instead of a clean note you hear a phased one, and very beautiful it was too. The audio treats on pre-record were just as exciting and include a drum and flute combo that achieves things you’d never have thought possible. I’d urge you to give it a listen. Mikey himself was about as enthusiastic as they come; whilst his explanations and explorations of his craft are comprehensive and delivered with a gusto that could almost become overbearing, it keeps his passion in check and offers some of the most engrossing contextualisation of an instrument I’ve heard.
A very different sort of music forms one half of the partnership between choreographer Mel Simpson and guitarist Sean Bright of The Penny
Mel Simpson and Sean Bright
Serenade. Their partnership which has its roots in Mel performing with the band as tap dancing sheep – yes, you heard me right – is about bringing an old style of entertainment up to date. In the interview Sean wondered if there wasn’t some question over the artistry of entertainment, whether stuff that’s made to be fun has any artistic value. The debate is an interesting one. I’m glad to see that both Sean and Mel seem to be comfortable with their form and are engaging and funny when talking about it. On The Arts Show I get to see lots of partnerships in action and it’s clear to me that theirs is solid; like some of the musical techniques employed by The Penny Serenade, the 13 person line-up looks built to last.
Penny Pepper
The musical aspect of Penny Pepper’s act is an accompaniment, an extremely important one, perhaps even a fundamental one, but as Penny herself says, the words come first. Jo Cox’s cello sounded really good, but then I’ve always had a soft spot for the cello. There was also plenty of tambourine rattling and whooping adding dimensions to Penny’s performance. Formally, they seemed to sit somewhere between songs and performance poetry and I enjoyed the sardonic wit that kept resurfacing in Penny’s pieces as well as the naughtier sides and the twinkle in her voice. Can one have a twinkle in one’s voice? Listen to Penny’s work and you’ll be convinced that the answer is yes.
Then, in between the guests talking about music, playing music, extolling the
virtues of music and historicising music, we played some music. Our tracks this week came from Robin Holloway and Jack Hurd. The jazz works from the former started cool and got good and rumbly like a summer evening before the air thinned and the atmosphere cleared leaving one with a pleasant,
Jo Cox
sublime recollection. I’m a huge fan of Jack Hurd’s music – I’ve worked with him before, on performed works for which I’ve written and he’s composed, so the revelation of his CD Obvious – an album of great variety in the pop/rock mode of The Divine Comedy is, by turns, hilarious and poignant, angsty and brash and very much about the stuff that goes on in Jack’s head. The track that we played on the show was one of the slower paced, pensive, nostalgic tracks and also my favourite from the album and perhaps a good counter point to the drum thrashing and tambourine shaking elsewhere on the show. Once again, I had the opportunity to meet a diverse bunch of artists and talk to them about something close to their heart, for which privilege I remain grateful. If our broadcast hadn’t been delayed due to technical issues at the studio, we would have had, I think, complete harmony.
Posted 7 months, 3 weeks ago at 2:40 PM.
