ll this jumping around and screaming. All this jumping around. Banging on things, and also thinking in a linear manner. For what? A suspension, of some kind, to the interpersonal dynamic that everyone experiences everyday. They are usually amassed below you, at your feet. Why not above? I want to experience them and their many hands. I tried a few times; in Norway they almost dropped me, and then I would’ve been cooked. And then somewhere (the town will remain nameless) Jenny Frontrow reached up and stroked the package, it was a soft and gentle stroke, as if petting a rabbit’s foot.
There are architectural concerns, or the form. The festival setting, or the very large audiences in Madison Square Garden, for example, covered in this book. Here, there are so many individual particles to this mass that any labels applied cease to be sociologically descriptive. Who are they, who am I? What is this???? Answer: a series of events that led to this point. To the extent that terminology about the components cannot be found, a concert of this size works on the phenomenological level, it is an event larger than the aesthetic of the art itself, a rarity. But it also amplifies and reflects the aesthetic. Terminology about components ceases to matter. This is where the job becomes its most instructive, exciting.
Which is not to say that
One can never, as performer, have a one-to-one relationship with an audience member. One can recognize, in certain members, fragments of the mythology you may have used to produce your work: as a cliché, a beautiful girl. Or a wiry, ragged, and sensitive Glaswegian that reminds you of Bobbie Gillespie or Edwyn Collins. On the other hand, you might notice some Fratty Futurebanker that, under the right circumstances (sleep, travel) really bums you out.
I am trying to point out here the erasure of a binary division between the stage performing artist and the audience, even less than might be presumed to exist between the band’s individual members.
And a concert will not