by Peter Taylor

A clear horizon framed the determined northern pursuit up the arduous M1. Hundreds of concrete miles rubbed beneath our tired tires as we left London to reach the city of Sheffield. Met with biting cold I proceeded to the Heeley Institute, which sits halfway up a hill to the south of the city. The venue is a small white room, appearing as a bright cuboid with yellowed lights highlighting the wooden floor. Assorted instruments from horns to flutes litter the terra firma. Chairs were gathered and lined in orderly formations creating the impression of a Methodist Church awaiting a sermon. The smell of onions cooking filled the cold damp atmosphere stinging one’s eyes with spicy warmth.

To celebrate a successful year of impeccable releases, local label Singing Knives had thrown together an 8hr mammoth concert of predominantly Sheffield-based improv talent. As usual I will focus on the outstanding acts I was fortunate enough to witness. First up is opening musician Ross Parfitt. Slow repetitive strikes on a gong (vertical cymbal) emanate with evolving resonance throughout an attentive audience. Parfitt faced away from his audience, as he knelt in focused determination at his mini cymbal shrine. He ventured to his second cymbal and began to direct the sound too a higher frequency. Through careful pounding he chipped, as a sculpture would, to produce an engulfing, rich sound that truly mesmerised all whom were in audible distance. This was made even more impressive by the lack of any pedals or electric trickery, a simple mic arrangement picked up the acoustic sounds and simply amplified the volume to a reasonable level. This was minimal crafting of simple repetition, comparable to the joining of finger-pluckers James Blackshaw and Josef Van Wissem under their ingenious Brethren of the Free Spirit duo. The performer displayed a great skill in shared listening, as he seemed to absorb the atmosphere and work in wavelike shifts to alter states. An unknown to me, and definitely worthy of note, if you get a chance you must venture and submit yourself to him.

The evening grew and the light waned to reveal Inecto School. The musicians gathered beneath the disturbing images of Jodorowsky’s “Holy Mountain”. This collective improvised via various experiments with acoustic and electronic instruments, including brass, strings and junk. They kept a constant swell of noise that never really let any musician take the spotlight. Throughout the improvisation one or other of the three performers would wind down to redundancy and wait to find the appropriate style or instrument to join the raucous. The brass swells and mutes in deliriously juicy tones that seem to smooth the coarse scrapings of the electric guitar hammering. The acoustic never really enters proceedings comfortably, remaining juxtaposed without purpose. As the movement progressed, an old bicycle wheel was introduced to replace the electric guitar. This was played with a bow, and also hit and moved to find various sounds. This created more of an improvised clammer than a “Belleville Rendez-Vous” styled percussive backdrop. The acoustic guitar pluckings found their way towards the closing sections, culminating with a gathered collective of stuttered cinematic moods. After much disconnection the final result was both pleasing and moving with surprises a-plenty.

Finally the highlight of the evening was The Hunter Gracchus, whose debut slab of vinyl was released on French label Chironex late 2008 (a previous CDR was available on Singing Knives). Many musicians fill the far end of the room. Cymbal scraping is accompanied by elongated guitar resonance that set an eerie part-machine sound. Each musician in turn enters with tumbling coherence. Shattered drums work beautifully against intricate oud plucking (à la Derek Bailey). Sine wave drones issue forth over and underneath the overall splatter. Peppered clangs and a seemingly endless array of world-spanning instruments are blown and hit by a mass of long dark brown hair. Harmonium bellows respire with soothing volume underneath a wondrous percussive journey taken by the elaborately bearded percussionist. He contorts in sinuous movements like a psychedelic octopus playing clams. What appears to be a small banjo is introduced with an elevated feel. As the movement enters its climax a wall of noise issues forth, yet all musicians seem to be entwined in some shared trip of improvised glory. The second movement is begged into play by an eager crowd. This time there is a balance of structured rhythm that is absorbed, rejected and revisited amongst various waves of freak-out. The group never merely sprawls into abandoned noise, but keeps a unified expression through a chaotic mix of style and technique. This was one of the most successful ensemble improv sessions I have seen for a long while, and I came away truly awe-struck.

(Update: The middle band was previously incorrectly identified as The Whole Voyald. It was actually Inecto School, as now shown above. Sorry for any confusion this may have caused.)