Interview: Amelia Ehrhardt

For most of us, our experience of dancing is like our experience of singing: from a very young age we do them unself-consciously and seemingly instinctively. But as we become more aware of how we are persons situated amongst other persons that changes. Dancing becomes enmeshed in a maze of subtextural meanings and codified in complicated ways. That has an effect on how we encounter dance as an art form.

I tend to see my fair share of music, so it just happens that the main way I encounter creative dance is tangentially through that. It always tends to intrigue and entice to come face-to-face with a different mode of expression, and I'm generally curious to examine it further, but maybe a little too reticent to approach something outside my boundaries.

To try and expand my conceptual horizons and question my preconceptions, I've enlisted the assistance of local dance artist Amelia Ehrhardt who has thought a lot more about these things than me and is articulate and enthusiastic. In the leadup to the SummerWorks edition of her Flowchart performance series, Amelia graciously shared her time and insight for an online conversation.

Mechanical Forest Sound: Just for starters, tell me a story about how you got involved in dance.

Amelia Ehrhardt: I was fourteen and I had always wanted to take dance class. I went to a high school for the arts and was a drama major, my best friend was a dance major and lived in the same part of the city convinced me to try. We stopped talking almost immediately after that but I became obsessed with dance class!

My informal start was as Ginger Spice in a grade six Spice Girls cover dance band.

MFS: What was the impetus behind the original Flowchart series earlier this year? How did it go, and how did it lead to you being in SummerWorks?

Amelia: The impetus was: there are too many good artists here not to show! I was working on a solo I wanted to present, and there are so many resources involved in putting on a performance, and it seemed wasteful not to have other artists involved. And I couldn't just think of like, two other people to show work with, so I put on three shows of three artists each night.

And setting up a show is setting up a machine, so when one is started... it made as much sense to do three as one, to be honest.

MFS: When I went to one of the Flowchart events, I was struck by the fact that the performances included video work and a comedic monologue. If I may throw eight syllables at you all at once, how important is interdisciplinarity in what you do?

Amelia: I guess very, but in a way where framing it as such feels less interesting than thinking about what the works have in common. Of course I think about having a diverse showing of art forms in this series (though I lean most heavily towards dance) but what's more interesting is just thinking about how things will fit together, who is doing stuff I am interested in. When I started thinking about whose work I liked it was a real split of mediums, some I know really well and others less so, so it was a real challenge to then set up appropriate circumstances for all these people to work in. Like, I know what dancers need but dealing with sound equipment for the first time was a personal nightmare.

MFS: From the department-of-there-being-no-dumb questions, for those of us outside the demimonde, what's the right terminology for your art? (I come from an indie rock background where exactingly-specific genre tags are both universally applied and roundly mocked, often by the same people.) Is "contemporary dance" still a current term? (it sounds a little bit like something from the '70s, like macramé) Do we just say "dance" now? (or "movement"?)

Amelia: I kind of want to start calling what I do '70s new macramé. No, contemporary dance is still the term. Some people who come from/present in a dance context use "performance" instead, but mostly contemporary dance is this enormous bucket term that can mean a lot of things. Like, the strangeness of the fact that that my weird shit gets the same name as Mia Michaels' is not lost on me.

Dance, at a funding structure, is obsessed with genre – like, if you practice urban, flamenco, bharatanatyam, it matters a lot how you identify at a council level. I don't know a lot about why this is. But in this context I still fit into this big bucket term, "contemporary dance".

MFS: Perhaps akin to classical music, for an outsider there's sometimes a sense you need to bring something to dance performance -- some technical knowledge that you need in order to appreciate it "properly". Do you sense this from an audience (or, moreso, from people who avoid becoming your audience)? Do you feel frustrated when audiences don't just take it at a level of intuitive appreciation?

Amelia: people feel this about dance in a huge way!! It is so interesting to me because I remember before I started taking class, being enraptured at dance performances, I never had this experience of feeling like I didn't speak the language.

So I don't feel frustrated by it, but I don't totally understand. I feel like there is an (incorrect) assumption that dancers will know what the moves mean, as though like, an arm reaching up and to the right always meant the colour blue or something. This isn't it! You don't have to be able to articulate what you saw. That's it.

MFS: My theory is that people feel like they need that "higher appreciation" because dance is, at its most basic level, about bodies in space, and people can get pretty awkward about bodies.

Amelia: Truth. There are fields of scholarship about this.

MFS: Pushing that a little further, it’s a little embarrassing to ‘fess up to it, but I know there have been times where I felt like I was appreciating dance at a superficial level -- i.e. a visceral reaction to [female] bodies. Not that I'm looking to excuse the male gaze here, but how do we deal with this in forming an aesthetic reaction to dance? Perhaps restated another way: what do we do with an inherently sensuous artform in a time laden with the hypersexualization of pretty much everything?

Amelia: This is a huge topic on which I have a lot of feelings. I have gotten in arguments with people about whether or not dance is inherently sensuous. I feel strongly that it is not but that it does often gets used to communicate the sensuous, due to the mainstream popularity of the form of male-female duets to love songs.

There are sort of a few different questions to respond to within this one question that I would like to articulate: number one, the fact that dance is a sensuous form in its materials (sensation and the body) but is not inherently *about* the sensuous (so question number one is, can dance be about the non-sensuous?). Number two, that dance is sensuous in its materials and as such is often assumed to be inherently sexual as well (so, there’s your question of how do you deal with the sensual in a time of rampant hypersexalization?). Then number three, the fact that it is a form that does now and has historically involved an awful lot of male gaze issues (question there being, how do we not objectify the performers when we watch dance?).

So my sort of multiple duty response is... Do you feel that dance is inherently sensuous because it is about the body?

Going to the Doctor is also about your body but that manages not to be perceived as inherently sensuous (thank God). A lot of sport is about the body but also manages to escape this realm. I mean, the watching-sexy-bodies question is still there but people don’t assume the form is about sensuality. Other forms of performance, such as theatre or music, are not generally described as inherently sensuous, even though they employ pretty much the same tools. Dance gets a particular place in this conversation about being a site for (especially male) viewership of (especially female) bodies. There are many dance history class lessons within this that I’m not going to get into right now (but here is a google search that can lead you down one answer of that rabbit hole if you want).

With that in mind, I think that the reason dance is considered “inherently sensuous” is that the form is associated with women and is often considered a female form (and for that matter is vastly dominated by women but yet is still a field where women statistically make less than men...). Women in other forms of performance – female singers, actors – are hypersexualized as well while their male counterparts are not. Since dance is female-dominated, it is then lumped in with this category of sensuality-sexuality and presumed to be exclusively of that domain (not accusing you of doing that, just that your question points to this existing generalization).

With this in mind I personally think the best thing to do with this question is simply to interrogate why we consider it inherently sensuous. To look to dance for content within form instead of just the bodies. I think it is crucial when watching dance to remember that although it uses sensual materials, it is not exclusively about sensuality. I think dance is an important site for all of us to practice looking at other bodies without sexualizing them.

MFS: One last maybe-obvious question. Is dance taken less seriously as a cultural category because, until relatively recently, it was difficult to preserve the essence of its performance over time? (one of the few Canadian dancers I could name is Françoise Sullivan, and I mostly know of her work through its representation in another medium -- in this case, the series of photographs of her Danse dans la Neige, rather than her dance itself) Does our everyone-has-a-phone-with-a-movie-camera-now era bode well for giving dance more "presence"?

Amelia: I think certainly the issue of documentation is part of the case, although it is good to remember that in the west dance is relatively young as an art form. The realm of western stage dance has really only been around for a few centuries (dance buds reading can confirm/deny this fact) and has taken a few unfortunate turns (see above linked google search) that have led it down directions that Generally Serious Art People were not interested in. Degas is lauded as something of a hero for documenting dance, but Degas hated ballet. He painted ballerinas as a critical display of these immoral modern times. Dance occupies this weird place in western art of currently being considered one of the weirder, more obtuse, fringier fields of art, but historically being something that was a sort of popular place for the idiot general public to ogle women and maybe bone them backstage (there are multiple reasons that classical tutus are shaped the way they are). It wasn’t until the early 20th century in the west with the emergence of the Diaghilev era and the Ballet Russes that dance developed (or perhaps solidified) a voice in the dialogue of Generally Serious Art People.

So this all takes a bit of a turn to what you asked me before, but, surprise! Dance Is Taken Less Seriously because It Is of The Body and We in the West Don’t Know What To Do with That.

MFS: There's a lot to unpack there! We might have to have a follow-up conversation. But turning for now to the upcoming Flowchart, who are the dancers you're working with? What is the specific nature of your role as curator — does everyone get free rein or are you doing something to meld the parts into some sort of unified whole?

Amelia: At Flowchart I work with artists in multiple fields – in the case of the SummerWorks edition, showing work will be Amanda Acorn (dance artist), Liz Peterson (theatre performer and creator), and Bojana Stancic (artist and set designer). I am interested in how non-dance works appear when they are situated in the context of dance work – although there is usually only one dance work at a Flowchart, that I am a dancer/choreographer (and obviously very vocal about my interest in/obsession with that) colours the choices I make. The specific nature of my role is... I ask people whose work I am interested in, they make something and generally I don’t see it until the night of. I so far have only worked with artists who I know and trust, and have loved this sort of Christmas Morning experience of seeing all the works on the night of the show for the first time. I think what I do is 50% emails and 30% hustle and 20% lovely creative dreaming.

MFS: That's really fabulous. I hope you are surprised and satisfied. Thanks for your time.

[Anyone who wants in on that xmas morning feeling should come down to The Theatre Centre Incubator on Friday (August 8th) at 8:00pm]

Interview: The Somewhere There Collective

I was lucky enough to get a chance to write a little thinkpiece for Weird Canada about "Creative Informal Music, Space, and Community", which you can read here:

Everyone Knows This is Somewhere

The goal was to grab your attention to get you eager to head out to see Somewhere There's second annual music festival (which is on now!). But my long-latent propensity to turn essays into manifestos reared its head a bit, too. At part of the legwork for this, I sent some questions to the festival's organizers. I only scratched the surface of their savvy observations in the piece, so I figured I'd let them have their full say here.

Late one night in mid January, Paul Newman and Pete Johnston joined Joe Sorbara at his kitchen table to talk through some questions posed by Joe at Mechanical Forest Sound. The other members of the Somewhere There Collective — Michael Lynn, Heather Segger, Arnd Jurgensen, and David Sait — have all provided some feedback on these words and given their thumbs up. Of course, if any one of us were to sit down and answer these questions alone we would come up with very different documents. Keeping that in mind...

Mechanical Forest Sound: What was lost when Somewhere There lost its space?

Somewhere There: At this point it's been a year since we lost our venue. During this past year, between the summer series, Audiopollination, and the Somewhere There series that is currently running monthly, we've put on 32 shows at the Array Space. Comparing that to just over 2000 shows that happened between 2007 and the end of 2012… well, you do the math. Even adding the Somewhere There Creative Music Festival events, we're now putting on a fraction of the number of concerts we were at the venue. That said, the vast majority of these events have been very well attended, there is clearly ongoing support from a community of musicians who want to present their music this way, and it all feels very healthy.

MFS: How important were the residencies, where artists could “work out” musical ideas over time?

ST: The residencies helped to get a lot of different projects off the ground and generated a lot of energy in the creative music community. Many of the projects that started as a residency at Somewhere There or that used a residency as a way of rejuvenating an existing project are still thriving today, so that investment is continuing to pay off. In the later stages of the residency program, though, the energy was actually starting to wane a bit. Things tended to be a little more ad hoc and less focused than they had been. That's not true across the board, of course. Some of the very last residencies were very focused and very fruitful, but generally that was the feeling we had. So yes, the residencies have been a very important and incredibly rewarding aspect of Somewhere There, but much like the larger project, it was starting to fray at the edges a bit by the end.

MFS: In presenting fewer events that are a bit more like "shows", is there less of a chance to treat performances as being part of a "process"?

ST: You're correct that these recent presentations feel "more like shows". They're less informal than the events at the venue set out to be. The idea that fewer events offer less of a chance to treat performances as part of the process of getting some music together, as you say, is also true. Local creative music communities require space for informal music making. That hasn't changed and that's why we still have a search for a permanent home on the back burner. The problem is that that space was being supported by a very small group of volunteers who, let's be honest, were burning out. The model wasn't sustainable. For now, what we're doing works. This is a sustainable model. For now.

MFS: A show at ST was a bit like watching a show in someone's living room. But also different from that. Even if the audiences were small it was, to some degree, a nominally “public” space. How does the idea of having an audience (even a handful of friends) change things?

ST: We didn't set out to create a “nominally” public space. It was a fully public space and we always wanted more people filling it up. This was never an exclusive club or some kind of secret society. This community makes great music and the purpose of Somewhere There remains to support and nurture that music, give it a place to grow, and absolutely to provide a place for people to hear it. Playing music to an empty room isn't horrible, we've all done it, and we'll all do it again. But we're interested in sharing the music with a room full of listeners, with an audience who focus the occasion of performance. The first Somewhere There Creative Music Festival was originally conceived as a way of bringing new people out to the venue and building our audience so that the space would be filled with more people more often. We lost the Sterling venue right around the time we were putting the festival together and the TRANZAC stepped in and helped us out immensely. But that was the original idea.

MFS: What does it mean to do shows where there are more performers than audience members? Does the "public" element encourage people outside the circle to come in? Do you think the non-anonymity of being in a small audience scares people away? Viewed from the outside, do you think there are social “barriers to entry” to a small, maybe cliquish community? Is this good/bad/neutral?

ST: Would something about Somewhere There be ruined if there were large crowds consistently? Let's find out! It's always going to be an intimate space and of course "large" is a relative term. How large would a large audience really be in a room that is the size of a small restaurant? The main point here is that we've always done what we could do — albeit within our limited means — to create a space that would welcome people. The one thing we have no interest in doing, of course, is pandering to an imaginary idea of musics that would somehow be more "accessible" so that more people would come out to hear it. “Within our limited means” is really a key point here, though. When we lost the Sterling venue we began a search for a new space. One of the main aspects of that search was that a more inviting, more accessible room with a warmer vibe would hopefully be more encouraging of greater turn-outs for shows. And frankly, this is what we've found at the Array Space. It's not ours, and we aren't presenting there seven nights a week... and there is definitely something foreboding about a handful of Ice trucks blocking the way to the door, but once you re inside the space it's really quite beautiful. And we'll take this opportunity to point out that the Array Space will have a new, completely accessible, entry way very soon as well as an elevator to the second floor. That kind of accessibility is going to be fantastic. The most important things for us at this point are that we are presenting great music and there is a sense of community around it. Our long-time listeners are coming out regularly to listen and we are gaining new audience members at almost every show.

MFS: Moving forward, could ST thrive without a space? Given the cost of rent and other practical difficulties, is there something liberating in not having to worry about all of that? With a space, how much attention is shifted to putting “bums in seats” to get dough to cover expenses, and how can things be set up so that isn't a concern?

ST: There is absolutely something liberating about not worrying about paying the rent for the venue every month. We're all just a little bit healthier one year on. Based on our experience, the only way we're going to have space for informal creative music-making in Toronto is to get some funding in place, either from an arts council or two or from a private benefactor or through some combination of these things. At this point, that's our long-term goal. In the meantime, we're committed to presenting a few shows per month at the Array Space through the Somewhere There and Audiopollination series and to making the Somewhere There Creative Music Festival happen once per year. We're working on ways to bring the Leftover Daylight Series back in some way, too. This activity all seems to be happening in the context of a scene that is really thriving right now. Looking at the Soundlist a year and a half ago, one saw a large number of listings for shows at Somewhere There and, maybe, a few at the TRANZAC and a smattering of other venues. The bulk of it was ST listings, though. Then, in the first few months after we closed our doors, the Soundlist was a very short e-mail to read. Now, a year later, it's back up to being a strong, healthy bulletin of creative music events at quite a diverse list of venues around the city. That's something to celebrate and be excited about. And to support by going out to hear the music; which you know and do more than most.

MFS: In the current socio-political environment, is trying to find a space for resolutely non-commercial music an act of defiance? Do people at ST think they're challenging a model of capitalism and looking for new forms of organization/community, or is it just a practical matter of trying to find someplace (er, somewhere) to play music?

ST: Your final question opens up a massive area of discussion. First of all, defying capitalism is a practical matter at this point. It's not a sustainable system. Period. Really, though, by any and all understandings of a society centered around the building of capital, what we do wouldn't and shouldn't exist. If we were interested only in money, we wouldn't be making the music we make and we wouldn’t be presenting the music we present. Nobody is getting rich off of creative music. As we mentioned above, the music that we listen to, make, present, nurture, celebrate, works in direct opposition to any musics designed to be accessible to as many consumers as possible. We're interesting in listening ears and open minds. We're interested in challenging music, critical music, impossible music. We are music-ists, not capitalists. But we do live and work in a capitalist society. It wouldn't be helpful to anyone to pretend that that's not true. So, as we've said, for now, what we're doing works and this is a sustainable model. For now.

Thanks to the Somewhere There collective for their time and thoughtful answers.

Interview: Radio Lucifer

[We live in a great big city, but our "culture" tends to get lumped into a fairly small part of it — the downtown bubble. But we can't all live downtown — and in fact, given prevailing trends, in a few years, if you don't work for a bank, you might not be able to afford to live there. Creative sparks depend on close proximity to really ignite, but they also need affordable places to live and explore. I sat down for a virtual roundtable with the members of the new Radio Lucifer, whose members just happen to be marking the trail of what might be an emerging decentralizing trend. The guys in Lorde Awesome live in the east end and have been slowly gathering together lovers of psych, drone and all kinds of other-worldly sounds, building up their own little DIY scene at The Only Café. Jakob Rehlinger, based on the west side, always has several projects on the go which see distribution on his Arachnidiscs label. A crosstown meeting of the minds has led to their new joint effort.]

Mechanical Forest Sound: In brief, how did Lorde Awesome come to be?

Avery Strok: Rich and I met in grade 2. The exact moment is a bit foggy in mind. Jump to the late 90’s and I began making my own version of Zoviet France-inspired music, using a microphone, a Casio Soundbank 100 and Cubase VST. Then in July 2008, Rich found a very lovely, 1978 Roland SH-2 on a lawn in The Beaches, while out shopping for tea. He got home, plugged it in and called me up. I went over the next day and we played Spacemen 3 songs with Rich on guitar. The rest is history.

MFS: What led to the start of your residence at The Only Cafe?

AS: I had just moved into the neighbourhood, but had frequented the bar for years before that. The Only had recently expanded into a second unit, which became the coffee shop. Word spread to my ears that they were looking for bands to play. Well, we were hardly a band in the traditional sense, but I knew that we could be musical enough to not get kicked off the stage. The Only is also known for its alternative-to-everything atmosphere, where most everything goes. So we tested that theory and played a couple times in about four months. Then our drummer at the time, Rich Baker, suggested that we start an ambient night and play with different local bands. Rich and I thought it was a great idea, but we wanted something more than just ambient. We wanted noise, jazz, and all corners of the experimental music spectrum. That’s how In-Between Sounds began.

MFS: Going about things in your own manner has let things build up in an organic way — and led to some interesting excursions, like an opening slot for Hans-Joachim Roedelius. How did that one come about?

AS: Ryan Clark (The Dead Are Those Who Have Died) was the guy who put on the Roedelius show. He spotted us playing at the Electric Eclectics 6 festival (after having never heard us) and really liked what we did. About two months later, Ryan gave me a call and asked if L.A. would open for Roedelius. Of course I had to check with Rich and told Ryan I’d have to call him back. Haha!

MFS: Jakob, Arachnidiscs has been busily building up an interesting catalog. How did that get started?

Jakob Rehlinger: The same way as with most indie labels, I suppose. I needed a label to put out my own music. Then tried to legitimize it by releasing music by some friends. Then I moved here and had no friends. So I had the obvious thought, "What would happen if I asked strangers if I could put their music out?" and then I did and and they let me and we usually become friends. Turns out you can’t really get past the putting out music by your friends phase.

MFS: One of the first things that struck me when I was looking at the Arachnidiscs releases was that defiant "Etobicoke" in the address. Was that a sort of deliberate choice, a little wink that your music is standing outside of the established byways?

JR: I actually just thought I had to put that in the mailing address to get my mail. I’m from the west coast originally, see? And when I moved to Etobicoke, I didn’t realize, as far as the post office is concerned, it’s part of Toronto. But I also didn’t realize how snobbish people get about that kind of thing. Ghettobicoke. So, yeah, now it’s badge of honour.

MFS: Rich, does being based in the east end, outside the usual boundaries of the "music scene", inform what you guys do?

Lorde Richard: The east end’s still a pretty underdeveloped place music-wise, a lot of bars with cover bands and karaoke... But there’s a lot of old school east Toronto people out this way... it’s like "screw you!" - "NO! SCREW YOU!!" then a big hug and let’s have a drink. That’s what we try to bring to the show.

JR: Unlike Ghettobicoke where it’s like "Screw you!" then smoke meth, hit you on the head with a half-brick in a sock and take your wallet. I mean, everywhere that is not Placebo Space, which is like an oasis of civility and culture.

MFS: I happened to be on the scene when Moonwood headed out to play at The Only. What started as a collaborative set there now has a name, a recording, and looks like it’ll be happening again. What clicked there? Good chemistry?

JR: Good beer. The Only has an awesome selection on tap.

AS: True, the good beer helped Radio Lucifer. I once went to a place called the Devil’s Marbles, in Australia. I took at least 2 rolls of pictures. I was happy to find that a good 70% of them turned out great when developed. There are certain subjects that you just can’t take a bad picture of. Playing with Moonwood is pretty well like that. We’re like-minded enough, that things just click naturally.

JR: I think we have the same 80’s/early-90’s art-rock and proper (pre-NIN) industrial reference points. Nurse With Wound, Skullflower, Neubauten, (early) Tangerine Dream, what have you.

MFS: Where is Radio Lucifer heading? Is there the possibility of a physical release? More shows?

JR: Would the obvious answer be "Hell"? Or space. Space-hell. I think the plan is to go to space-hell.

LR: Top of the Pops, possibly.

JR: We’re willing to fill in for Morrissey at all those shows he cancelled.

AS: Radio Lucifer is a blink of an eye in the history of Lorde Awesome and Moonwood. We’re here now, by pure coincidence. We’re a supergroup of sorts, a rare, but great collaboration with a name.

A physical release, that’s easy. Our first 30 Minute EP is online, and will certainly exist in a physical form in short order. I also see a proper full length in our future, given the okay from Moonwood.

We’re looking to play more collaborative shows, maybe some festivals this summer. That would do Lucifer well.

MFS: How did the name Radio Lucifer come to pass?

AS: David Tibet came up with it. I’m not good with names (creating or remembering them), so I asked and he helped me out with a few suggestions. Radio Lucifer made me laugh.

JR: Of all the names Avery suggested to me, this was the only one I could live with. I rather like it now, actually. Just Hawkwind-y enough.

AS: When hearing the name, a friend of the Lorde figured the Radio Lucifer station would play a lot of Roky Erickson. Hawkwind, Roky, it’s all there.

MFS: This is where you should mention what you have coming up for your projects.

JR: Moonwood is recording an album. Perhaps something in between the krautrock stuff we do and the cosmic-folk thing we do. Can’t tell. Things are in continual flux. I’m also working on a solo punk-blues album for some reason. Not sure how that will see the light of day. And I’m about to release an EP of noise-guitar improvisations as my other project BABEL.

AS: BABEL’s great! Lorde Awesome is continually playing at the Only Cafe on the first Thursday of every month. We’re starting our third year at In-Between Sounds, actually this Thursday [April 4], with Black Walls as our guest.

We’ve recorded everything since our inception. Every jam, every show. There’s a backlog of tripped-out music to be released by us... and more "music videos" to come. I don’t know how many we’ve got now, must be close to 25. And they’re good, not just filler.

There’s a documentary coming out later this year, called "Nuclear Hope". It’ll feature some of my older solo works from a decade ago, along with some newer pieces recorded for the film. My music is the obvious soundtrack to nuclear waste. I’ll also continue to DJ at the Only Cafe, spinning records every Wednesday night.

MFS: And Moonwood, I should note, will be helping to re-launch the Crosswires series at Handlebar on April 14th, plus celebrating the release of their Trans Martian Express" tape (alongside Ben Boles and MFS faves Ostrich Tuning) at Smiling Buddha on April 26. Thanks for your time, gents.

[only a weird buzzing noise, like the background drone of the cosmos, can be heard.]

Photos by jamesoshaughnessy.