No Fun Fest 2006

The Hook, Brooklyn, NY

March 17-19, 2006

It looks like this year's No Fun Fest, perhaps unlike previous years, is unfortunately going to be remembered almost as much for its spectacles as for its music. Of course, there was as much fantastic music as ever this year at one of the country's premier experimental music festivals, but what everyone seemed to be talking about afterwards was the sex and carnage during Macronympha's apocalyptic performance, and to a lesser extent the tamer antics of Bloodyminded or Daniel Menche. So this review will focus mostly on the music instead.

As always with No Fun, the first thing that impresses about the fest is organizer Carlos Giffoni's sense of scope and thoroughness in planning the festival. This year, even more so than in the past, he (along with the three label collectives planning each night's basement sets) assembled a varied lineup representing a very generous sampling of experimental music. Along with the usual complement of noise performers and noise-rock bands, this year's lineup focused on a lot of power electronics, plus some downtown improv, free-folk, metal, and more.

Friday night started off with a women-heavy trio of acts that seemed designed to foil, right up front, the usual assumptions that noise is a boys-only club. Guitar soloist Zaimph (a.k.a. Marcia Bassett of Double Leopards) kicking off the whole fest with her rolling feedback waves, starting with the traditional rock-star pose and riffing for a bit before dropping to the floor for more electronic trickery. Bassett was followed on the main stage by threesome 16 Bitch Pile-Up, who created a dense and constantly shifting wall of noise with echoey screams hovering over the top. The group's stage presence was subdued, its focus being on its gear, but the three all seemed to be having a great time, and the audience followed suit. This female fest intro was concluded with the appearance of Can't (Jessica Rylan), who was captivating as ever. In the course of a broad set that ranged from lovely a cappella singing to a raging explosion of howls and mic feedback, Rylan's gangly form ranged and danced across the stage, her demeanor a puzzling mix of shyness and energy. Singing and screaming into one of her homebuilt synthesizers, she unleashed blips and waves mingled with delicate vocal harmonics. No other set of the weekend so perfectly balanced noise with beauty.

If the first three sets got everything off to a somewhat subdued start, former Wolf Eyes member Aaron Dilloway's solo set entirely changed the tone. As Dilloway unleashed a seething set of harsh electronics with his distinctive contact-mic vocals, his Michigan crew—Wolf Eyes' John Olsen and Nate Young, Burning Star Core's Spencer Yeh, and Hive Mind's Greh—gathered behind him for a fist-pumping, celebratory party that soon spilled over to the performer himself and then into the crowd. As Dilloway, who was seemingly focused on keeping the sound flowing, stood his ground, the rest of the crew collided with him, egged on the crowd, and raised chairs triumphantly. It all ended with the first few rows of the audience piling on stage in a sea of comradeship and good vibes, mobbing the beleaguered artist.

The rest of the night included a delicate, patient, entirely out-of-place and entirely enjoyable set from downtown veterans Zeena Parkins and Ikue Mori, who are usually found chumming with John Zorn rather than John Olsen. And Giffoni joined with prolific sound artist Zbigniew Karkowski for a towering set, with solo turns from each of them setting up a chaotic, textured blast of full-on noise, with digital abrasion, analog spaceyness, and processed organic sounds layering into a head-melting wall.

In many ways, the second night of No Fun seemed to be about increasingly wilder stage antics, as this evening was packed with the fest's most controversial performers. The night opened with Colorado youngsters OPC, on the run from their parents and looking visibly nervous at what was probably their largest performance yet. Even so, they absolutely tore into a frantic stop/start set of harsh pedal noise, squabbling between themselves over gear, screaming, stopping short abruptly, and then responding to calls for more with a one-minute encore before they threw their gear around to end it.

But it was Bloodyminded who really kicked the spectacle into gear, with singer Mark Solotroff stalking around the stage in leather, looking like he belonged in a Judas Priest video, and delivering rambling song introductions that were longer than the actual songs. The songs were short, fast, brutal, piercing stabs with shouted lyrics and thrashing electronics and everybody, band and audience alike, going wild each time the electronics kicked in for a new song. One band member, holding a synth-like device and only occasionally contributing to the sound, seemed to be there mainly to antagonize the crowd, balance on tables, and lurch, dazed or drugged, around the stage.

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