A curated sound art playlist commissioned by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer for his Dark Ride project.
Dark Ride is a mobile sound art event featuring Antimix plus live performances by Maria Chavez, Kaie Kellough, and Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.
Antimix is a playlist where each piece is followed by a silence equivalent to itself.
So, if a piece lasts 10 minutes, it will be followed by 10 minutes of silence.
The intent is to foster conversation by going from one kind of listening to another.
From experiencing the sonics of a work to dwelling on the subtleties of dialogue.
Tracks were chosen for the propulsive force that drives them, relentlessly, immersively, darkly, towards your ears.
Dark Ride is a 3-hour event taking place in an especially prepared stretch limo transporting guests from Miami to Naples for the opening of Obra Sonora, a retrospective of Rafael’s sound-centric work, at The Baker Museum, in Naples, Florida, on Saturday December 7, 2024.
Thanks to all the participating artists, Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, and the whole team at Antimodular.
Seatbelt, Seatbelt by Charles Amirkhanian, 1973. From “Lexical Music”, Arch Records, 1980. Curator notes: So, are you wearing yours? Does this vehicle even have them? This is a classic example of sound poetry, similar to Brion Gysin’s permutations. It was influenced by Steve Reich’s classic early works using tape loops to cause phasing (out of sync). The piece becomes increasingly intricate. A second voice joins, the stereo field gets a full workout. The layers accumulate. It builds up and then it decreases, and builds again. It then shifts to another grouping of words, ‘cryptic quack chum bone’. The starting point is already more complex, too much so arguably, but we’re in the same poetic territory, one where the systematic meets the absurd. A chorus (line) of ping pong inanities. Is this an outtake from Duck Soup?
Car Alarm, Turn Signal by Lia Kohl, featuring Ka Baird, from “Normal Sounds” 2024. Curator notes: If only alarms could be as pleasant as this. Even the incessant honks are bearable. Constant contrast between the musicalized car alarm and the field recording of a turn signal. There’s a hint of car radio in the background. Toggling tones with a meditative tinge sets the ground for the gorgeous longing cello.
Study for Human-made Bird Calls and Microphone out a Moving Car Window by Raven Chacon, from “An Anthology of Chants Operations,” 2020. Curator notes: The sonic equivalent of sticking your head out of the window on the highway. You can only express the exhilaration glee mixed with thrill and terror through high-pitched squeaks and squeals. Then the distorting wind takes over, and you’re unsure how much more you can stand as the wind sucks the air out of your mouth. Breathing is not compatible with speed. Do any of the windows in this vehicle open?
Dark but Bright by Ana da Silva & Phew, on “Shouting out loud!”, released 2018. Curator notes: Two voices, garbled, mangled, embedded in a rising ominous pulse. Eventually a beat fades in; there are also tidbits of feedback. The unintelligible pronouncements the breathy speech are immersed in a dense mix that drives resolutely forward even though it’s going nowhere.
Spiritus Operis by Ka Baird, from their second solo album, “Respires” 2019. Curator notes: Pulse here is incessant; it’s picking up speed, and it mimics the lines on the road. A voice moves across the stereo field, reminiscent of early Laurie Anderson in its playfulness but with perhaps an added hint of Diamanda Galas, subtly diabolical.
Music or Noise? by Matmos, from “Return to Archive” 2023. Curator notes: The perennial question. Always, the answer is music AND noise, noise AND music. Distinct but indissociable. Wails and yelps that you can dance to. Experimental, as in, this comes from a lab (aka studio) of ersatz scientists (Matmos) where being stuck in the hypothesis is always preferable to definitive proofs or theses.
Imperceptible Perceptible by KMRU, originally released as an audio visual piece for the Issue Project Room, 2022. Curator notes: From the start you can probably tell that you’re in for a long haul. It unfolds through its manifolds at a pace that levitates you above the tarmac. But it’s too in your face to be ambient, it prods and nudges your ears. It doesn’t let your listening stray or stay still; field recordings are interspersed. You keep asking yourself, ‘Where am I?’ Perhaps you are in that place, and in that moment, where perception is beside the point.
Speech by Sarah Hennies 2012-2014, released September 25, 2020. Curator notes: We are back where we started with Amirkhanian. In a car car car car car car car car car car car car…. (breath)…. car car car car car car car car car car car car…. (breath). While that lone voice, unremittingly repeats ‘car’, slowly, the bass frequencies of the plosive ‘c’ as they hit the microphone’s capsule are emphasized. Simultaneously, though at an even slower pace, the high frequencies are accentuated. The delicate tinny pings are soon the only thing that’s left. The car is now a mere blip.
