In case you haven't noticed, I've become a somewhat obsessive fan of the unique local project The End of the Dial Tone Radical Experimental Collaborative Music Band Band. It's pretty serious --- to the point of attending as many as humanly possible since my first encounter one year ago. I've also spent considerable energy as well as some of my "TWIS voice" musing on the intricate dynamics, mysterious essence and compelling local value of this monthly creative phenomenon. (See this article, and this one.)
True to my obsession, last Monday I joined about 60 other Sarasota souls who braved tropical storm Debby's blustery gales and sheets of rain to soak up yet another Dial Tone experience out at Jake's Tavern on Clark Road.
Unlike past articles, this time I'm going to step back and simply let the images, words, sounds and feelings captured in those images and words speak for themselves.
I've attempted to give this string of media a flow to mirror that of the show itself, from beginning to end.
The following are excerpts of poetry by Steve McAllister, Zachariah "Skylab" McNaughton and Lois Betterton, which weave together the photos and artwork of the visual talent present --- all recruited by the diligent organizer-facilitator John Lichtenstein.
There's actually a wealth of additional creative output; be sure to check out "further reading" at the end and follow the project on Facebook to stay connected and experience this for yourself at the next show on July 31.
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The End of the Dial Tone Radical Experimental Collaborative Band Band
June 25, 2012
Jake's Tavern, Sarasota
It starts as it always does
a driving beat to kick things off
it builds as the sounds progresses, driving toward anywhere
but nowhere is the destination on the journey to now
as the rhythm builds
the fevered pitch of crescendo and the unmitigated absolution of the purity of the moment
the rampant cacophony of egos diminishing in the sound of the collective
all sounds wrestling with silence
as the notes find their place in the infinite
and music is breathed into existence
life is breathed into being
we are born into us
as the undulations of musical ecstasy take us further into manifesting what is not there
The moment is not broken
the dial tone still buzzes
as messages are called through the bullhorn of destiny
before it is laid to rest
and the music continues
the electric clamour exploring its channels of expression
against the pounding of sticks and hands
the torment of percussion beating out the path
Words wait silently
rocking back and forth
awaiting their birth
awaiting the existence of the next phase
awaiting a direction for the course
at last she wails, the angel of ink bleeding into the microphone
her words blend like a velvet fold over the rambunctious
a flurry of unbridled sentiment in a race toward greater expression
and so it goes
Ink and paint are guided with hand and brush
fingers on keys bring more music than can be heard
as words are created in subtext
against the animalistic drive toward feeling
this music sets the pace
this music guides the pen
this music brings the people
it is where it all begins
the eyes make contact, but it is the heart that connects
for this is beyond connection
this is the maelstrom of collaboration
beyond the pale of tropical storms and the meager winds she brings
the storm that builds here is pure energy
where the winds of change meet their mark
and the world is changed forever
while all things stay the same
for the music always plays on
even as the tone diminishes
And even after the music fades to a din
the dial tone echoing its death rattle into the chasm
the beat continues
a relentless vibration against the stillness of the never-ending closure of what once was
and from the depth of the reverb in some shadow of fragrance that rises from the ether and gives the earth cause to dance
the rhythm continues
the undulations go on
and the pure vibrant sexuality of nature
unsheaths herself from the shackles we beset her with
and rises like a serpentine phoenix
from the ashes of forever into the blossoming now
between the bosoms of sound and silence.
- View the full poem at Steve's blog, InkenSoul.
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POETRY BY ZACHARIAH MCNAUGHTON:
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by first-time attendee Lois Betterton
Universes no longer parallel, diagonally rotating on the horizontal and colliding with bouncy black leather couches in a giant dark room with drums beating randomly at first. Then becoming a rhythmic chant without human words, with jungle words. No, not words, not words at all.
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Next time, I urge you: don't just get the re-cap --- experience it for yourself!
NEXT SHOW: July 31 at Growler's Pub, 9 pm.
To see more (yes more!) footage and creative output from last week's show and to stay updated on the talent line-up and more for future shows, go to the T.E.O.T.D.T.R.E.C.M.B.B. Facebook Page and hit "Like."
- Poetry -
- Art -
- Photography -