TBA Diary: Week One

[September 13th, 2006] John King, Extreme Guitar Orchestra

What time does Time-Based Art begin again? After a 20-minute delay and a few awkward kickoff comments from Mayor Tom "Are You Ready for Some Fun?" Potter, NYC composer John King's all-electric orchestra twanged into life in the middle of Pioneer Courthouse Square. A spotty crowd of TBA pass-holders, Hacky Sack kids and curious downtowners gasp as the group of 35 or so local guitarists, from p:ear director Beth Burns and Evolutionary Jass Band's Michael Hendrickson to a handful of youngish band geeks and a lone grandma dressed in black, commence to softly rock. Sonic waves roll down the square's brick steps and lodge in the chests of onlookers, struck silent—if only for a moment—by the orchestra's awesome ballet of nodding heads and strumming hands. (KC) Pioneer Courthouse Square, Thursday, Sept. 7.

David Eckard, Float

Eckard's "personal buoy" suspended above the Willamette River, surrounded by gilded megaphones, is a breathtakingly poetic merging of craftsmanship, conceptualism and earnest experiential risk-taking. While navigation was less than optimum—the float had to be towed by a cruiser boat for part of its trip—the work was a great community convener, attracting hundreds of people as well as the most spectacular early autumn moon you were apt to see. (TDR) Willamette River, Thursday, Sept. 7.

Peacock Cleaners

Traipsing down Southwest Stark Street around midnight, I discover an odd little window show at the Peacock Cleaners & Leather Care involving a small assortment of Portland twentysomethings, a Liberty Bell covered in paper flowers, '70s-era album covers and a lot of tape and CD players. Is it part of TBA, I wonder? Answer fuzzy, so on to Embers for Stoli razz and HoneyBee's flawless Streisand send-up (definitely not TBA). (SB) Downtown Portland, Thursday, Sept. 7.

Mark Russell talk

1:35 pm: Walking back past Peacock Cleaners (sober this time), I meet Sam Gould, co-conspirator behind the intriguing "Come In, We're Not Ready" sound collection center installed there through Oct. 7. "It's an experiment in how the accumulation of voice mirrors democratic action," says Sam, who's a member of Portland's Red76 art collective. And yes, it is an "official" TBA event. Blocks away, at Pacific Northwest College of Art, TBA's new guest artistic director, Mark Russell, holds court in a talk titled "TBA in a Nutshell." He arrives and passes out cashews. To an audience question about his "curatorial vision" for the fest, he answers: "It's about what I can afford and who's available." (SB) Pacific Northwest College of Art, Friday, Sept. 8.

Laurie Anderson, The End of the Moon

"Maybe life itself is bad art," Laurie Anderson muses toward the beginning of her sold-out performance. If so, her layered, poignant observations transform the bad art into something rich and strange. Probing subjects from beauty to war to the two moons of Mars, Anderson appears to float in the outer space of a dark stage. Candles stand in for stars and planets, an homage to her recent artist's residency at NASA. Famous for wielding technology as an instrument of intimacy, Anderson keeps the gimmicks to a minimum, often telling stories from the homey comfort of a red armchair or enveloping the hushed theater in overpowering electric violin. She alternates between a chatty storytelling style and her hypnotic signature poetic speak. I nearly nod off toward the end as she gently speaks of sleep, her voice a whispering lullaby set to thudding, mind-altering beats. (TLB) Newmark Theatre, Portland Center for the Performing Arts, Friday, Sept. 8.

Scout Nibblet

Speeding across the Willamette River around 11:30 pm, away from MusicfestNW and the sold-out Stephen Malkmus-Silver Jews show, the ghost-town vibe emanating from TBA's After Hours HQ was in sharp contrast to the cultural cacophony at the Crystal Ballroom. Inside Audio Cinema, the warehouse where The Works takes place, a small crowd of art-rock lovers swayed to the sonic somnambulism of Scout Nibblet. And outside? Well, outside maybe a dozen or so folks looked like they'd rather be sleeping in their own beds than dozing off on the platforms set out here for the 1,000-plus revelers who were supposed to be filling this not-quite-ready-for-prime-time space. Party central, indeed. (BB) The Works at Audio Cinema, Friday, Sept. 8.

Laura Curry, Performance Memoirs: Portland

When a hot-magenta hotel-room door hanger announces, "Please disturb me," you know you're in for something intriguing. Laura Curry's intimate 30-minute performances take place inside a small room at the Mark Spencer Hotel; disturbing aspects of identity overlap in narrative and movement, seducing spectators into becoming part of the scene. If you like to keep your boundaries nice and tidy, stay the heck away. Curry, who was in TBA proper last year, is strictly on the sidelines this year (unless, of course, being unlisted is just part of the act?). All comers must sign up in advance for their illicit hotel-room assignations: See pinkk.net for deets. (TLB) Mark Spencer Hotel, Saturday, Sept. 9.

Universes

Straight outta the Bronx, Universes raps, screams, scats and wails about our most typical social ills—racism, capitalism, you get the picture—but its presentation is anything but typical. Big-voiced Mildred Ruiz rides a bluesy melody over the rhythmic underlays of her quartet companions. Steven Sapp offers major skills as emcee and rowdy raconteur. This is Rockapella with diversity and an attitude. (SB) The Works at Audio Cinema, Saturday, Sept. 9.

Vivarium Studio/Philippe Quesne, The Itching of the Wings

TBA guest curator Mark Russell predicted that Philippe Quesne's fragmented meditation on flight would be the festival's "secret weapon." More like a SuperSoaker than an atom bomb, the Vivarium piece gushed a nonstop flow of disparate and often overlapping theatrical and installationlike elements. While humorous and textured, the piece traded largely in self-congratulatory, self-conscious quirkiness and metatheatrical devices, failing to engage its subject (or its audience) with substance, soul or passion. (TLB) Arty-smart French bad boys horse around onstage as if in a Special K-induced music video. Nobody sweats. Best moment: cast member reading, in dead-serious monotone, the lyrics to R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly," surrounded by a pianissimo halo of Satie-like piano music. (SB) Lincoln Hall, Portland State University, Sunday, Sept. 10.

Kiki and Herb

There was a roar as Kiki and Herb tried to leave the stage—again and again—at the end of their triumphant TBA debut last night at the Newmark, and it was the sound of a full theater clapping and screaming for humanity, for unparalleled talent and for life. In a two-hour-plus mega-performance of surprising depth and craft, Kiki and Herb (Justin Bond and Kenny Mellman) careened through angry rants, wistful memories and heartbreaking ballads, often to musical accompaniment (a la Kate Bush, Bright Eyes...Public Enemy). There's almost nothing left that's shocking about drag, and so Kiki shocks most deeply by being real. There are moments where it's unclear if she's playing it straight or playing for keeps, and that's all part of her drunken, devastating brilliance. "Between the AIDS and the Alzheimer's," Kiki told the crowd, "we haven't got a fan over 40." (SB) Newmark Theatre, Portland Center for the Performing Arts, Monday, Sept. 11.