Walking into the Berkley Front last night, I felt very much on my own. Unlike my usual go-to-shows-alone self I was in need of a drink. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and felt like I was walking into someone else's dream. The dark room appeared empty at first, as if the swirling soundscape that reigned over the area had forced everyone out. My eyes adjusted and I was first able to recognize the solitary figure on stage, hunched over a guitar and a multitude of effect pedals. Among the shadows at the edges of the room, faces came into focus; the other audience to this sonic event. As the only one standing fully upright, I quickly made my way to a seat at the bar. I reflexively hunched down, so as not to disturb the delicate energy that was put in place before I had arrived. Beer in hand, I migrated a few feet to a table where I could better observe what was going on uninhibited by my presence. Layers of delay and distortion made his playing seem not to match what we were hearing. He shifted through several passages of melodies before lighting the aural experiment safely back to silence.
Most of the people there I knew more through frequent 'hello's at various shows and encounters around Ferndale than honest conversation. Whenever I run into them I tend to just clam up and feel happy to be in attendance. They are long-time friends, co-workers and bandmates, and I'm just the new guy in town. This time I made an effort to convince these people that I'm not just a nut job who randomly appears at places to make people uncomfortable with too many questions and not enough social graces. Two dollar cans of PBR as social lubricant, indeed. I didn't coin that phrase, but even before I started drinking I had given it merit in my mind.
The following act was a band called Forget, whose only constant is its two dedicated members. The first time I saw them was last October, and they had so many accompanying players that half of them couldn't fit onto the stage. I was the only person in attendance that was not a musician, though they tried to get me to play with them anyway. It sounded like a great idea, but I balked and said I would watch them once before jumping into the fray. Their performances are more like jam sessions, with each musician feeding of the other's cues and adding their own sound where they are inspired. What results is not so much a structured song as it is a moment of artistic collaboration. There are no plans, only constant input.
Last night's show was a tight composition. None of the additional members (two guitarists, a bassist and a second drummer) had played with Forget before. Haphazard tuning became the beginnings of a song as a bass line prevailed through the various drum tests and knob fiddlings. Layers of rhythm were added and dissonant melodies filled in all the empty spaces. Their sound would swell and ebb, eventually removing many elements until the bass line shifted and the energy mounted into another open ended experiment of artists working together. Before they took the stage, I struck up conversation with one of the guitarists and told him that I was starting a band with a friend of mine. He told me how important it is to have that kind of creative output for everyday inspiration. I commented on how attempting to perform alongside someone, I've become aware of the necessity to stick to your own creative guns and say when you do or do not want something a certain way. That push and pull of ideas is, I believe, what can make working with someone so challenging but even more rewarding when it yields a product that all involved can enjoy.
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