Showing posts with label Carlos Giffroni. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carlos Giffroni. Show all posts

Saturday, May 30, 2009

No Fun 2009: Infinite Sound and Image: No Fun Goes to New York's New Museum


Still, Makino Takashi and Jim O’Rourke, The Seasons, 2009.

If a three-bar, bouncer-peppered, profit-centric venue like Music Hall of Williamsburg seems somewhat of stretch for a “show case” of what is ostensibly the most fiercely anti-commercial and anti-hegemonic music today, try a major metropolitan museum. Those of us who relied solely on the No Fun website for information on the lineup this year will be surprised to learn that the festival had not only one new home this year, but two — along with a brand new “Infinite Sound and Image” component, which is longhand for “film screening.” Recognizing that many of the artists on the bill this year are active outside the purely musical sphere — and, perhaps, that the noise experience in general is not only about what we hear, but, almost always also what we see and feel — Carlos Giffoni teamed with Rhizome’s ongoing “New Silent Series” for an afternoon of moving image work at the New Museum on the Bowery.

Read the rest on Tiny Mix Tapes.


Words: Emilie Friedlander





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Wednesday, May 27, 2009

No Fun Fest 2009, by PRSE and Emilie Friedlander


As close to a scene report as contemporary noise can afford, No Fun Fest, with Carlos Giffoni at the helm, each year confronts problems of selection. Over three nights, some 25 acts say their piece, spanning a vast geography of provocation and anomie. But how to organize such a spread?

Issues of sequencing carved this first night into awkward, unconversant provinces. Reliance on the Music Hall’s single stage — in stark contrast to the Knitting Factory’s three variegated tiers last year — forced every juxtaposition and prevented sonic refuge anywhere but at the bars (three!) or the merch zone. Surely, this format appeals on some level, a force for equalization and eclecticism. Yet, all the same, it cripples the element of choice: the harshmongers were left out to dry during the set of antiseptic synth-wave excreted by Xeno and Oaklander — a curatorial choice that, in the name of variety, really debased the sense of fest-wide mission.

Read the rest on Tiny Mix Tapes.

Words: PRSE
(here) and Emilie Friedlander (elsewhere)






Like what we're doing here? Just a little pocket change gives Visitation Rites food to live on.