On the third and final day of Audible Edge, it came to a close in a thoughtful and wholesome manner. Some festivals like to have a dramatic send off, and end the run with a big bang. This closure felt more natural and comfortable, like enveloping the crowd in a warm hug and giving them food for thought/words of encouragement before sending them on their merry way. It was also an unusual opportunity for reviewers to meet in the wild, we’re not often both on assignment in the same place at the same time.
After a tip off about the Our inner beings complete the missing links at the liminal event the night before, I was ready to make the most of this weekend and didn’t want to miss the matinee event. With all of the buzz around the festival so far, and so many opportunities to see familiar faces across several venues over the weekend, it felt like I was making my way home to PS Art Space at 11:00 in the morning. Except it was a house party that someone else was hosting at my home with friends and surprises ready to delight me.
As I walked into the venue, there was complimentary hot tea on offer and a few rows of chairs in front of the two music stands and two chairs denoting the stage. Between the stage and arranged seating was a row of blankets placed on the floor inviting people to get comfortable; however that feels for them. I chose the chairs which felt a little more sensible with a hot cup of tea in my hand. It turned out to be a prime position for people watching.
As The Long Form walked on stage with a double bass and a base flute respectively, a silence fell over the crowd. There was a stillness in the air as they quietly picked up their instruments and started playing. And what followed was so progressive that it barely felt like the air moved as my ears detected the sonic caress. Even as I reminisce about it now while writing, I can feel the inside of my ear canal being tickled in a very particular way. Audio-kinesthetic synesthesia means I feel sounds. Different sounds are felt on different parts of my body. I explained this to a music nerd once and they said my visceral reactions were consistent with music theory. Whatever that means. So music hits different for me. And sometimes, when I think about a sound, the memory of that sound can be so vivid I get the tactile sensation to accompany the earworm. Such was the case with this performance. The notes struck in this minimal progressive piece slowly built towards a melody. I’ve never seen a crowd so still absorbing something so intently. Most people had their eyes closed. The people laying down on the
Our inner beings complete the missing links. Photography by Josh Wells.
After a brief intermission for a tea break, the stage had shifted to a perpendicular wall and the chairs were loosely scattered around it. Some blankets moved to the front of the new stage position, some people remained in their puddle of bliss that they sat in since the first performance ended. The less curated approach matched the mood of the second performance.
The final act for the morning treated audiences to local experimental icon Sage Pbbbt. Her vocal explorations are legendary, encountered by almost anyone in Boorloo who follows the scene. She walked on stage without shoes, gently closed her eyes and began to permeate the room with the vibrations of an oft-forgotten instrument – the voice. Drawing on a wide range of vocal styles including Mongolian throat singing, she takes the listener on a journey without words, and to nowhere in particular. Her intuitive singing seems to come from every point in the respiratory system that could possibly make sound. Sometimes people say “deep” to mean soulful, and often “soulful” is used to describe genres such as rhythm and blues. But Sage’s sounds are deep in a different way. Like you’re privy to the very depths of her vocal expression, both literally and figuratively. Hearing the secrets from the bottom of the well of her existence. It’s not some inner child that’s sitting at the bottom of that well desperate to be heard, it’s a quiet and matured sense of self that is quietly singing a siren song for anyone who tilts their head to the side to hear what’s at the bottom of the well. As she was compelled to, she wandered around the room which prompted the accompanying woodwind instrumentalist to respond in kind on opposite rotation; she walking counterclockwise and he walking clockwise as they walked the diameter of the crowd to form an antipode. Given this was the tenth performance I’d seen in this space for the weekend, I appreciated the variety of ways this space was used, and the opportunity to hear sound travelling throughout this space in different directions. I don’t think Sage was thinking about that though. She was just doing whatever the moment compelled her to do. As she circled back to the stage and the performance came to a close, the instrumentalist watched for her signal to end the show on her own terms. Not indicated by the cessation of her voice but rather the opening of her eyes as she closed off her set. As mesmerising as ever.
Our inner beings complete the missing links. Photography by Josh Wells.
One thing that struck me on this Sunday morning session was that it felt like there was no prescribed way to listen to it. In other scenes there is the centrepiece of the crowd and the contemplative punters on the outskirts. In EDM, the dancers contrast against the chin strokers (usually fellow DJs). In the metal scene, it’s a mosh pit of head bangers surrounded by the folks folding their arms and gently nodding in approval. But here, there was no etiquette informing how to experience this. Everyone was free to consume it however they felt comfortable.
As I left PS art space for the last time this festival, I grabbed a bite in Walyalup before heading to Sullivan Hall for the closing event. As I got to the venue, people were sitting on the grass and it felt completely natural to sit next to a group of people who a few nights ago I might have considered strangers. I was glad I thought to bring a picnic blanket with me. At first to sit on and join conversations outside (and also start conversations about the rocket engine printed on the rug), and then to scrunch up as a pillow when I got inside and laid on the floor to watch the final performances and leave the articulation up to Izzy French who will take you from here…
I make big noise and small sound, I am in the air and on the ground, I’m out of sight and can be found. What am I? Photography by Josh Wells.
The grand finale of Audible Edge, I make big noise and small sound, I am in the air and on the ground, I’m out of sight and can be found. What am I? was held on a perfect Sunday afternoon, as a perpetual tiredness kicked around Sullivan Hall – what was once a dance hall, now refitted with glowing lights, speakers, and a DJ station.
The DJ in question, Ayo Busari, was a welcome presence throughout the afternoon, playing anything from afro-beat, jungle, house, and pop classics. Though the transition from Adele to Shooting Stars later in the night originally shook me to my core – “this isn’t experimental music!”, before quickly realising the left-field option in Audible Edge is to play the classics of 2015. Busari is my number one pick for most punk Audible Edge act.
The hook of this event was the Sonic Scavenger Hunt, put together by Emilie Monty. The booklet offered rules, checklists of sounds, and riddles to complete throughout the day that were to take the audience member around the space. As a lover of the Fluxus text scores, I had a joy trying to figure out the sound of the colour red or discern the “longest” noise.
This was a night of debuts, starting with Tenforward, an experimental indie pop duo from the iconic Lyndon Blue and astounding Jessyca Hutchens. The unedited MIDI instruments, gorgeous guitar, and raw, beautiful, and sometimes awkward vocals hearkened to the surge of bedroom pop last decade. It felt almost cruel to the audience that the vocals were so low in the mix, but it added to the intimate feeling – like reading unintelligible scribbles in someone else’s diary, maybe it isn’t meant to be understood.
I am big noise also served as the album party for Jenny Hickinbotham’s new release East to West with Fight, Flight, Freeze, a charming and unfiltered recount of Hickinbotham’s journey through the Nullabor. Hickinbotham is a unique-yet-familiar presence, like one of your mum’s friends who only visits once every couple years. Her poetry – from sweet and snide, to the gut-wrenching and heart-warming – was perfectly accompanied by Chris Cobillis and Lana Rothnie: two local outstanding musicians who somehow kept up with and elevated Hickinbotham wherever she needed.
The final act of the entire festival was yet another debut from two stellar artists from York: Simon Charles and John Kinsella. Their work, focused on a suspension bridge and rapidly fading world that surrounds it, was mythical. Charles’ composition (carried out by Jameson Feakes and the Long Form) and electronic performance perfectly surrounded the observant words of Kinsella, spoken in a manner resemblant of a politician. It was, in fact, so encapsulating, that I do not remember the second half of that performance. I was totally enthralled.
Narratively speaking, it’s satisfying when an ending encapsulates the journey, and I am big noise succeeds with flying colours. Not only were the performances fantastic (“I make big noise and small sound”), but the sense of local community (“on the ground”) was palpable and all encompassing (“in the air”), despite this type of art often being labelled as fringe or unwelcoming (“out of sight”), Audible Edge is a rare event that creates the chance for the off-putting to become welcoming (“can be found”). Riddle master, the answer is Audible Edge.
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