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The mixers are connected in feedback by connecting outputs to inputs, back out to the outputs, out of the outputs into the inputs, in through the outputs by way of the inputs and out of the auxiliary sends to the inputs. These inputs are then outputted in through outputs and inserted into inputs whose outputs are not in the least put out. The resulting feedbacks are fed with another feedback produced by feeding feedback back into a feeding trough. The feedback produced is fed back into the feedback circuit not by blowing but by feeding. However, by the time the feedback is fed back into the back of the feed trough, everyone is fed up and tries to go home.
The result is a terse conflation of chairs slamming, feet stepping and angry people asking for their money back but they won’t get their money back, only feedback. I order the back doors locked so they can’t leave.


Towards the end of the evening, when I’ve wrung the last perspiration-inhibiting underarm blast out of my dinky Dior déodorant vaporisateur – L’essence de Cyborg, – the projectionist shows the last 23 minutes of Yasuzo Masamura’s ‘Blind Beast’ – accompanied by 9 hours of static and feedback.


It is an odd film. Inside the artists studio, a disturbing tale of cruelty, sexism and mutilation is acted out… by actors.
The movie is given soundtracked identity by professional laptop artists – ME i.e. the amazing Kaffe Maffews – and my so-so backing band, the abrogative Mattin, Yoshio Mashida, Gundra Gottschalk, Phil ‘Headblock’ Niblock and his dopey hoverfly girlfriend Astrid. Why hasn’t he got shot of that fawning bitch is a mystery to all…. (Phil, hunni… you’re better than that!! xx)


Each participant generates 6 hours worth of dense top drawer sonics. It is hilarious watching the Visual artists doing their level best to keep up.


Audience = ill formed under informed pernicious amateurs, an ideal ‘take the money and run’ show. I am mindful of my justly famous Kaffe quote:

‘No longer are we homo sapiens. We now are promo sapiens’.


By the end of the evening I can’t stand to talk to anyone. Leaving precise directions for how I expect my equipment to be packed away by the dopey engineers, I depart in a taxi for my five star hotel. As to how it earned those five stars is a complete mystery to me.

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