All the Colours of the Dark, Except Black
Evan Calder Williams
A chat, with examples (Zola, H. P. Lovecraft, Hammer Horror), about blackness and the sheer stupid thickness of what has no profundity whatsoever.
Arika have been creating events since 2001. The Archive is space to share the documentation of our work, over 600 events from the past 20 years. Browse the archive by event, artists and collections, explore using theme pairs, or use the index for a comprehensive overview.
A chat, with examples (Zola, H. P. Lovecraft, Hammer Horror), about blackness and the sheer stupid thickness of what has no profundity whatsoever.
Audio signals pass through light bulbs, causing the filaments of the bulbs to sing and crackle in a chorus of electronic static.
Wordless, reverb drenched voice, ghosted electronics, seething and ferocious electronic damage and Patty Waters style vocal mania.
Can a musician create a sonic photograph; something with a depth of field, where you can hear sounds and their interconnections, much as you see objects and their relationships in a photo? Could a filmmaker use musical concepts to represent landscape?
A prison abolitionist punk video-poetry-music mash up about our fucked-up dystopian society, RoboCop, kids toys and criminality.
A parody of a (Manhattan) road movie and meditation on bifurcation, in paths traveled between the seen and the heard; a road trip played over and over from different perspectives.
A 101 panel on sex work in Scotland, hosted by National Ugly Mugs, Sex Workers Union, Scotland for Decrim (Decrim Now) host
Underground movement legend boychild hosts this workshop—on improvisation, cosmetics, movement and lip-sync.
Torrential, wrenching wordless wails, guttural screams and roars, a Haino solo vocal performance.
Deliberately blurred drones, absent of definite structure or rhythm, framed in silence and devoid of any distraction from the pure matter of sound.
How can we imagine bodies not as an end in themselves, but as a medium through which we can become one another’s means?
An utterly deep introspection told in aching, weeping guitar lines; melodic, simple, always minimal but somehow entirely epic.