Thuja & Keith Evans
Keith Evans Thuja
Thuja specialise in a unique and abstract folk music, a devoutly organic tapestry deeply rooted in the sway and bow of nature.
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.
Thuja specialise in a unique and abstract folk music, a devoutly organic tapestry deeply rooted in the sway and bow of nature.
Seven women recite monologues composed from texts from the vibrant years of the Weimar Republic. A kind of cultural echo: an experience of histories brought to the present.
Dual projections of pulsating shards of film, treated in crystallized salts and dyes merge with the whirring of projectors, distilled into particles of sound.
GIO’s bottomless throat, Blood Stereo’s slobber gobbler and the Mouth Of The South tangle tonsils over Steve McCaffrey’s Carnival
Glasgow. Low-end drone guitarage army in praise of the open chord.
In the Foyer at the Tramway we will screen a documentary from the Sex Workers’ Festival of Resistance 2017 and La Llamada by Eduardo Restrepo Castaño.
How do you know what you want? Should freedom be doing what you ought, not doing what you want? How might a philosopher and artist turn this thinking into an enabling condition in the context of noise and improvisation?
Ex-Decaer Pinga and CKDH rodeo queens; regular ladynoise hoedown gets gatecrashed by sonic chunder-huffing remedial clatter boys.
Power-electronic klutz behaviour indecipherable blasphemies, cuts, bruises and broken microphones by Kovorox Sound head-honcho Lea Cummings.
An immersive live performance for multiple 16mm film and bass clarinet, taking in the whole gallery, submerging the audience.
In rethinking the body, the law, the state, gender, race, violence, care and empathy, how we might give humanness a different future?
Guitar solo where inscrutable, minute electric sounds are excavated by palms that smother and strangle, that wring sound from the fretboard, from behind the bridge.