by one the lamps and droplights are doused, and the stars come out.
Through the vapor of a weakly sputtering fog machine they wink, deep blue pinpricks
atop the non-invisible speaker tower and strewn across the floor before the seated
There is an all-encompassing chorus of insects. Perhaps frogs. Night sounds.
Vague illumination is provided by the diffuse glow of the windows and a trio
of candles arrayed around a custom-built wood-housed organ, but the scattered
stars most draw the eye. As well as, by their barest gleam, the dim form that
picks its way between, swinging a bunch of smoldering incense like a somnambulant
priest bearing a censer. Organ notes cycle blankly against the swirl of natural
sound. "Each life, a light." The air is sweet and smoke-embellished.
He calls himself Mudboy, but his manner suggests not such simple, earthy origins,
but ceremony and reverence. There is something otherworldy about his motions.
His recitation builds in force, then quiets. We are told we are standing in a
field, and almost believe it. Back at the organ, new notes lurk amid the prior
loops; fingers twist their sounds into new, dissonant shapes that dart and wander.
He is speaking again, as the sounds turn more violent, begin to claw, mewling,
from shadowed speaker mouths. "I am Pig!" Words delivered as a kind
of curse. Motions becoming shakier, more forceful as he crosses and recrosses
the gulf of stars before us. "When I approach, babies get up and run." Sounds
building to cacaphony, tones overlapping and annihilating eachother. An animal
stirs at my back, just someone's dog, but the effect is startling. More startling,
Mudboy's words are suddenly being echoed into angered incomprehensibility.
His eyes blink bitter red. With a lunge, we are suddenly blinded. There is
in our ears, vision swims to make sense. As he spins, we see: he grasps one
of the droplights, turning its harsh light directly down on us as he calls
And then he is swinging that light by its cord. A comet arcing just over our
heads. The audience is transfixed, or I am; I am no longer aware of them around
me. And then the roar breachs and falls away, the light dying, all easing out
more careful organ sequences and wearied, stumbling drums.
Text by Nate Dorr: February 06, 2009
HAPPY NEWYEARSWORLDFROMMUDBOY ANDHEREISYOUR GAMEOFDEATH
(PDF: A4 Euro size)
Eyes" installation is an immersive and darkened space which uses
hand made holographic light projectors, sculptural figures, and wall murals
to create a visual space
analogous to the auditory dream meditations of
performance for pipe organ, cell
phone and electronics.
The composition, itself predicated by the 1984 meditation on dream
know as Nightmare on Elm Street, is now re-imagined as the
soundtrack to this "other"
place of transition, transformation
Night Eyes is both collision of sensation and a machine for
the audience complicit in its workings and anticipated by
For official liner notes to the
score by Mr.Roland Robert Cowperthwaite see here:
Facebook event listing here: