Thurston Moore & Bill Nace at Partners & Spade: The Avant Garde Preschool
One of the most remarkable things about Thurston Moore is his consistency. The irony of this is that his art is that of change, embracing improvisation and chaos as against rigid formula. “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines,” wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Moore has always seemed something of an ideological heir to the Transcendentalists of the 19th Century.
This morning, Moore hosted a remarkable hour of talk and noise at Partners & Spade as part of their Avant Garde Preschool Series, a program of talks for kids. The place itself was inspiring: after passing Moore on the way in, my son and I were greeted by a woman playing a harp just inside the door. The gallery was filled with various objets, most of mysterious origin and intent: key chains with rattlesnake tails, paperweights with mounted scorpions, early 20th-century school primers prominently displayed on print rails, miniature globes, and various and sundry “audience” members such as:
Moore started with a discussion of his early days in New York, his love of noise-as-music, and gave a great summation of his view of improvisation and its relevance to him as a form. There were six kids in the audience (and more parents), including my eight-year-old son, and Moore asked them to think about what it is like to walk down the street. His example: you’re walking along, you suddenly decide to turn right, and that decision changes the course of the day. That is how improvisation works, he advised them: one follows the course of natural events, as in life, listens to things happening and reacts. He acknowledged his use of form and composition throughout his career, but said that the majority of his inspiration for his composed songs comes from improvised noise, not the compositions of others.
Moore played a few noise pieces on his boombox (which he said he’d bought on Delancey Street thirty years ago) and implored kids to buy their own cassette decks. Listening to an iPod, he said, is like “listening to a cassette that has been left to bake in the sun.” My son loved the story about the days in New York when people were walking around and riding the subways with their boomboxes, sharing music and ideas. He did not like the part about the police stopping the practice. As Moore said, “If it is too loud, you are too old.”
Moore introduced Bill Nace to the audience and they played an extended piece of mind-boggling twin-guitar improv. Nace handled his guitar with a paintbrush, rubber-coated metal rod, metal mixing bowl, triangular file, while all the while a surgical scissor clamp bounced off the low E string around the third fret. Moore had a similar tool kit: drum stick, round chainsaw file and broad metal file. Both guitarists had a half dozen pedals they additionally manipulated. Moore used more natural forms to make sound: using his fingers as percussive attacks, taping on the back of the neck and headstock, toggling the pick-up selector switch, playing behind the nut and saddle. Nace used his tools to more perverting effect.
About half way through Moore and Nace put their guitars down and let the kids have at them. He handed a metal file to a young girl and she asked, “What can I do?” When he said “Anything you want” it was clear the day was going to get even better. Eventually four kids were playing the guitars on the floor, two on each, and the blissful noise carried moms and dads away.
It was great when Moore stepped back, took a seat (next to my son in this shot) and watched and listened to it all unfold.
My son was a bit apprehensive to join in, but he’s assured me he’s willing to try and create a similar scene with me later. He also loved the stickers all over Moore’s guitar. Especially the one that says “Reading is Sexy.”
