WAVELENGTH PRESENTS “DON’T SPEAK” with BENOÎT PIOULARD, NORTH ATLANTIC DRIFT and DAVID JONES at Array Space, Friday, March 25. Rating: NNN
What’s the first thing people do when they enter a space of enforced silence? Encounter an overwhelming urge to speak.
My first thought upon arriving at Wavelength Presents “Don’t Speak,” an evening of drone and noise music at which speaking was forbidden, was, “this is weird.”
People sat on the floor writing notes to each other (pencils and paper were provided), journaling and drawing. Some took photographs, while others silently soaked up local drone musician David Jones’ ambient sounds and trippy projections. It was a good way to settle into the concept – kind of like entering a heavy sonic womb.
There are situations in which people take a vow of silence – meditation retreats, for example – but a concert is a novel place to try this and especially at indie music series Wavelength, a notoriously social event. Naturally, some people high-tailed it outside during set breaks to smoke and chatter. I personally enjoyed the challenge of remaining silent. The night was a boon for introverts.
The no speaking thing extended to the performances, as well: there were no introductions and no banter. Duo North Atlantic Drift’s set was the most conventionally song-like of the night, at times conveying the sound of thunder or airplanes as well as noises that evoked serenity, beauty and peace. It was so quiet during their set that the shuffle of feet and the clicking of cameras were audible.
Headliner Benoît Pioulard, from Seattle, began his set kneeling on the floor and creating what sounded like a mirrored hall of chattering ghosts, waves of laughter or radio static – as if many stations were broadcasting at once but none clearly. His set was quietly intense and glassy, slowly building to a louder finale.
Ironically, for a concert designed to ensure people listen to music, the real star of the night was the concept the ambient tones provided the backdrop for a social event with no talking. (The merch table even emphasized the prohibition by selling copies of Georgia Webber’s Dumb comic books, about living with a voice condition that doesn’t allow you to speak.)
In the end, the most profound thing that happened was when I stepped outside and the silence was broken. A stranger approached and said, “I’m waiting for the nights to get warmer.” It took me a moment to register spoken language.
music@nowtoronto.com | @sarahegreene
