Now that the jam is over, I am trying to look back. We had a lot of
different ideas about the project: the concept, the message, the medium,
the venue. Hard to evaluate the results. It could be better, it could
be worse. Reading through our email conversations, I see a chain of key
-words, all of them having something to do with "air" and "force". I
know that they will never compensate for the failure with the radio
stations- we didn't manage to build a chain of them, but to a certain
degree they trace the trajectory of our work:
As planned, we were showing a remote jam (two on stage, the third of
Animans, Maggie, over the internet, the fourth remaining totally in the
background)-crossbroadcasting and even receiving a broadcast or rather a
re-broadcast by DJ Soulard from Spiritplants radio (www.spiritplantsradio.com),
reading his poetry, all the sounds returning in a different rendition.
One of the streams were hidden in a DIY "transmitter box" (a cardboard
box with a plastic cup, connected to another one with a thread, passing
through to the outside, a recorder, an iPhone and a mascot inside, the
sound travelling through the thread, more often than not unsuccesfully).
The audience could access it on their smart phones. Those who used
them, brought the hidden sounds into the room, and they got picked up by
the microphone, creating a continuous loop back into the flow. You can
listen to some snippets from it here:http://soundcloud.com/kamikuma/animans-confessing-publicly
I was reciting a fable, written especially for the occasion- "Penguin
and Chicken at Flygarns Haga"- the result of some brainstorming via
emails. I even made a collage with it (can be heard on soundcloud-
Pre-cook soybeans and corn, mix well with the rest of the ingredients and pour into a plastic bag. Shake vigorously.
PFFFKT! PFFF! SHKTTT!.........AY! .....NGM GN GN......HRSSSS!......AY GNMN Ggn pkht pk
He was a butterfly
The sunlight was a great attraction
It was a spectacular death
Not a postmodern performance
There was a lot of pathos in his wish
To shine with a stolen brilliance
What was forbidden for a creature of land
Only spurred Ikarus, but wasn't his goal
Alight on his wings- of wax was it
Competing in the air as wings usually do
The right congealed, the left close to a melting degree
He made a casimi and under the rays of sun
And the sun, that radiant solar bird
With a beak, sharp like a laser beam
Ripped apart those belligerent wings
And the toxic wax rain fell on the ground
You think Ikarus fell too
But that's a horrible mistake
He died, but
He learned to fly without wings
- Ah, mr Penguin, you scare me.
But I don't understand how he learned it.
- The same moment you forgot how to do it, he remembered it.
- He made a flying machine...
- Wait, wasn't he dead?
- Yes, he was. He was dead in his heart- it got scorched by the sun.
But please, don't interrupt me.
So, he made a flying machine with wings just like yours and a brain inside a pilot much smarter than yours.
- That's an insult, mr Penguin. You think that if you wear a smoking, you are as smart as them, the two-legged non-birds.
- No, I am smarter and I have to hurry before all ice melts away.
Penguin the Butcher Bird as Ikarus.
He was launched into atmosphere
On an airraft of ice
Illuminating the dark skies like a nova
And leaving meteorologists at a loss
He turned clouds upside down
Over the corn fields of the world
Like buckets of Chemtrail soup
To feed the hungry GMO sprouts
When all the foliage went grey
The temperatures stopped disobeying
Global warming ran out of steam
And ice was winning huge areas
On a kamikaze mission
Penguin the Butcher Bird
Self-butchered to join Laika
As the forces of gravity died
(Some ice splinters are still visible in the extinguished earth's telescopes)
I asked the audience right after the concert to try to imagine space as
smooth and sounds from afar meeting no barriers on their way. Then we,
who are playing together, while being located in different parts of the
world, are not like separate dots, connected with lines, but lines or
separate flows of intensities, intersecting at some points during the
performance. Even today I cannot see us as individual perfomers, only as
Animans generating conjunction points in a seemingly chaotic flow of
For broadcasting we used a popular streaming platform- Mixlr- but rather
unconventionally. We were both streaming and monitoring each other at
the same time.