Immersive Soundscapes w/ Ven Voisey + More (Peacock Lounge)

Submitted by the Event Organizer

pHistamine

Ven Voisey
Presence irreducible, being itself, without translation or utility, is our substrate beneath perception. The ability to summon presence without attachment, subjectivity itself without identification, is an approach to art that defies easy description. Ven Voisey summons physical space, in sound, with kinetic automata, through time and motion. This isn’t meant to be art speak but an accurate explanation of why you have to be inside the Peacock Lounge for what will happen. Much more fun than artspeak might imply, Voisey is easy to be around and no genre or jargon explains what he does. Close as we can tell, he’s an artist marvellously attuned to form, material, technology, and ontology, modulating time and presence into something perceptible that leaves you saying, holy shit. Tonight might have to do with a multichannel distributed sound sculpture in darkness. Take a peek at his past work, I’ll shut up.

Thomas Dimuzio
This is the wizard the land of Oz wished for, benemalevolent, shrouded in torrents of sound, daring lions to speak and machines to weep. Come set your straw brains alight and melt your metal heart as your furry ears purr and yowl. Innovative techniques of sound synthesis, signal processing, algorithmic mixing and custom crossfade looping stoke this smelter of man and machine.
https://gench.com/thomas-dimuzio

Holy People
Informed by her cartooning practice, Leah Victoria’s “clown poetics” channels stories from different characters’ voices and ancestral perspectives under the name Holy People. Using an array of woodwinds, percussion, synths, found objects, and field recordings as backdrop to her melodies, she draws from underground punk, noise and EDM, Andean-Amazonian hymnals, avant-pop as well as nursery rhymes. All the way from NYC, don’t miss her west coast debut at the Peacock Lounge!
http://holypeople.bandcamp.com/

Angst Hase Pfeffer Nase
A moustache sufficiently twirled and held in place with tears can serve, the way cats’ whiskers do, as antennae directing vibrations to the philtrum where they resonate uniquely between septal and orbital bones amplifying gravity waves so weak as to be otherwise undetected despite their fundamental role in spinning the Sun. To all face-shorn humankind, Chris Cooper brings withering critique of fear’s own coping mechanism: logic. Given human cowardice, he gently myofascializes weak forces upon amplifying waves, directing gravity through his own hands into heaps of pie cutters, spinning tops, stiff brushes, long strings, and power amplifiers, to gently embolden all who, alas, must one day perish. Whipped topping to this brief life may be all we should hope to get.

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