On December 8^th, 2021, Berlin announced that it would be banning dancing in clubs once again.

The art and music scene has many difficult decisions ahead. In any case, I’d like to revisit a report of an underground event in Berlin that took place in the summer and fall of 2021, when the lockdown restrictions were eased.

Since its establishment in 1982 as a “festival for experimental music and images,” Berlin Atonal has been an annual event. That is, until last year, when the coronavirus pandemic forced the city into lockdown. Berlin Atonal may be the biggest festival that regularly connects Berlin’s art and music scene. For a report on the art portion of the event, please refer to part 1 of this series. In this article, I’ll focus on the concert portion of Berlin Atonal, which featured Tim Hecker as a headliner.

The venue had a coldness to it. This isn’t surprising: the site was formerly a power station and features a ceiling that stretches far overhead. The fact that this space is still used as a venue for art events is a noteworthy point about Berlin. Still, after a year where events were far and few between, there was a quiet feeling of excitement in the air. After all, we were about to witness a festival that would once again serve as a connection between the underground and art scene. The people who had been looking around the venue were killing time outside or doing as they pleased, but it didn’t feel like they were staving off boredom. Although the event was running behind schedule, everyone seemed to be in no particular hurry; rather, they seemed to be thoroughly savoring the time. Just as I thought that the crowd had grown larger, the time came without warning.

A hard, rhythmless beat echoes through the hall

It must have been about an hour past the originally scheduled start time. Quietly— but surely—Perila began playing heavy bass, as if to check the groove of the entire venue. Until then, everyone had been engaged in conversation, but Perila’s sounds pulled them in. The audience began exchanging looks with one another, as if to confirm, “It’s started.” It was as if Perila was standing on the border of the sonic universe, trying to delicately depict a profound universe and give context to this space. And just as the audience was sinking deeper into the atmosphere of the music, she gently stepped forward, bowed her head, and left. It’s safe to say that there couldn’t have been a better beginning.

The next performer was Berlin producer Ziúr. Accompanying the bass-heavy performance was a guest appearance by Kiani del Valle, a choreographer who has caught the attention of the world. The visual impact was striking: Ziúr aggressively approached the audience, not only from her sonic universe but also from a visual and bodily perspective. As she swayed her body to the sound, the vibrations reacted to Ziúr, who interweaved her sonic universe and the audience. It was amazing how this reaction led to an even more experimental approach. The two women expressed their thanks many times. On the screen, Ziúr’s trance-like expression was illuminated by beautiful lights.

In contrast to the hard, heavy sounds that rang throughout the industrial space, this straightforward and powerful approach was striking. And as 9 PM rolled around, at last, the MC announced Tim Hecker’s entrance onto the stage, and the venue erupted into applause as if to express their respect for both Hecker and Ziúr.

Tim Hecker’s mysterious and profound sonic universe

Just before starting, Tim let out a small smile. Then, he played a minimal number of notes, layering them one by one. The symphonic melodic line steadily became clearer, and the heavy bass enveloped the venue like an iron curtain. After a while, I could hear the bass echoing through the industrial, naked concrete venue from afar. The sounds were heavy, reverberating like cracks of thunder. These vibrations enveloped my entire body.

It felt as if we were in a secluded cave. The space was filled with expectation as if the audience was eagerly awaiting the moment when this heavy sound would play. People closed their eyes and swayed their bodies. 

Meanwhile, the gagaku (old Japanese court music) refrain of the striking song, “This Life,” began to echo through the venue. The time it took to walk on the border between Konoyo (this world) and Anoyo (the world over there), about 15 minutes, was like a ritual. The sound, which was too sad to call paradise, beckoned towards another world. Ancient string instruments reverberated over and over, permeating deeply into every cell of my body. It felt strange that in 2021, in Berlin, the sounds of gagaku were sincerely being delivered to the audience’s ears.

Nothing in the performance could be described as a rhythm. Instead, people sat and closed their eyes amid the continuous fluctuations and soundscape, or swayed their bodies to their own rhythm. Amid the sounds that blended the values of East and West, the border between people—which was noticeable even without closing one’s eyes—became blurred in the fog that filled the room. Each of us bathed in the sound that emerged.

Perhaps the combination of the sound and the audience’s memories, and the audience’s immersion in their own thoughts, amplified the images that emerged from this sonic universe. In that sound, we found something, exploring feelings that we’d never shared before. I muttered to myself, “This is like a kind of sonic church.”

After nearly 10 minutes of the gagaku echoing through the venue, the song that followed felt as if it were inviting us to another world—like the title of the EP, Step Away to Anoyo. I felt as if my body existed within this world, but my consciousness was being guided somewhere far away. Or maybe it was like the universe of stringed instruments and sound textures were a blizzard in the tundra, coolly numbing my brain. Was it the calmness of the venue? Or the magical chill manufactured by Hecker’s sonic universe? I was lost in a fantasy where my body was numb, unable to move on a snowy mountain. Just as I nearly reached a place of no return from this solitary universe I was pulled into, the synth sounds from “Music for Tundra” and Hecker’s newest album, The North Water, poured forth as if to illuminate our present world. Then, the same refrain from the beginning rang out, as if to rein us in from the border of the cold universe back to reality. The sounds died down as if to gradually return our consciousness to the present world.

For nearly 20 years, Tim has persisted as an artist who makes boundary-breaking music that can’t always be categorized as noise or drone music. He has always been a pioneer in the field of ambient and drone culture, not only with his construction of sound collages but also with his church-music approach to his composition, which leads listeners into a warm, fantasy world.

We never tire of stepping into the abyss of Hecker’s sonic universe, which he leads us into again and again. And then we disperse, going back to our lives. We bring something back with us, and something within us has been purified. As long as there is a place for expression and people who continue to gather there, the practice of appreciating and experiencing art will remain unchanged—no matter what happens in the post-pandemic world. This was a night that confirmed that for me.

Direction Kana Miyazawa
Translation Aya Apton

The post The full story of Metabolic Rift: A new format of underground culture by Berlin Atonal [Part 2] appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

In 2020, we were forced to put our lives on pause. Countries were divided from one another; communication between people moved to the more diluted online space. The schedules of jet setters across the world became completely blank, and one German artist passionate about the environment went as far as to say they’d never fly again. Coronavirus pushed the reset button on our lives, and as we gradually return to normalcy, we’re realizing that our lives will never be the same as before the pandemic.

But the days of feeling dejected are long gone. People, cities, and the underground scene have sprung back to action. But this moment is not merely a celebration of the scene’s revival. It’s a moment that brings to light the indomitable spirit of culture, one that has been lying dormant somewhere in the depths. It’s as if this revival was the reason the silence lasted for over a year.

Metabolic Rift, a reimagined version of the iconic experimental musical festival Berlin Atonal, is the Berlin underground culture that the world needs to see right now. In this series, we will feature this project, which was divided into an exhibition tour and live performances.

“Humans live from nature, ie: nature is our body, and we must maintain a continuing dialogue with it if we are not to die.

To say that humanity’s physical and mental life is linked to nature simply means that nature is linked to itself, for humans are part of nature.”

Karl Marx, Metabolic Rift

Metabolic Rift expresses the state of culture in the new age.

Berlin Atonal is an internationally-renowned experimental music festival held annually over five days at the end of August at Kraftwerk, Tresor, and OHM. On top of premiering collaborations between the world’s top artists, the festival provides an overwhelming, one-of-a-kind experience: Noises and beats echo within Kraftwerk’s industrial space and trippy films are projected on a massive screen.

Atonal originally started in 1982, and after being put on hold in 1991, it was revived in 2012 before inevitably having to cancel in 2020. One could say that even before the pandemic, this festival has had a rocky history. Just once during the lockdown, I visited Köpenickerstr, the street where the three venues are located. I was there to write an article about the state of the neighborhood at the time, but I found nothing but gloom and despair in this gray world with its heavy shutters still closed.

But Metabolic Rift, which took place over the extended period of September 25^th to October 30^th, carried out a complete revival and revolution. The title of the exhibition, derived from philosopher Karl Marx’s Das Kapital, brings up various themes: the overgrowth of capitalism, the human need to coexist with nature, and what culture should look like in the new era. What messages did the participating artists incorporate into their work?

With a completely different approach from before, this experiential exhibition tour was a universe that seemed like an embodiment of the subconscious, extending far beyond our imagination.

Tresor, an iconic techno institution that I thought I knew like the back of my hand, had been transformed into a portal to a parallel world, one that no one had ever seen before. As we walked nervously through the darkness, relying only on the faint light, we found ourselves in front of a DJ booth. There, blocks of ice were lit up by a spotlight, melting in a surreal manner. The moment I spotted this work by Chinese artist Pan Daijing marked the beginning of Atonal’s very bizarre tricks.

The tour guides who accompanied the tour group provided no explanations. We could only see, hear, and listen for ourselves. The works were displayed in normally inaccessible hallways or backyards that I had never known existed, and as I moved through the space, I was impressed with the level of detail and surprise from start to finish. Moving further, I found myself in a maze, completely lost. This must have been part of Atonal’s tricks. As I pondered this and continued to walk forward, I suddenly saw a huge sky dancer dancing wildly before me.

The installation by French artist Cyprien Gaillard and Chicago-based artist Jamal Moss (aka Hieroglyphic Being) is a kinetic art piece. In place of the people who lost their opportunity to dance at clubs and festivals is an artificial, vinyl doll. Powerful gusts of air move the doll to dance in front of the legendary Killasan sound system before it silently shrivels up. This series of movements made me feel sorrow, while the power of the woofer sprawling across the floor made me intensely yearn for the dance floor.  

In the main hall of Kraftwerk was a rap video by Armand Hammer, a leading group in New York’s underground rap scene. Created by the Alchemist and Joseph Mault, this multi-channel video installation featured giant screens in every direction, each playing a different video. We leaned back on the beaded cushions spread out across the floor and let ourselves be immersed.

The most interesting part of the exhibition and my personal favorite was the large-scale installation by Daniel Lie, which was displayed on the ground floor. Large curtain-like cloths were hung from the ceiling, crossing over spaces where old-fashioned vases were placed. The beautiful posts, covered with fresh flowers, were an overwhelming presence, and the piece made use of many natural elements that have been essential to humans since ancient times, such as soil, grains, and seeds. The water flowing throughout felt like a soothing oasis amid a decaying brown world and the cold atmosphere of reinforced concrete.

Hiroō Tanaka, a video creator who was involved in the production of Lillian F. Schwartz’s video, talks about the Metabolic lift.

I asked Hiroo Tanaka about Metabolic Rift. Tanaka is a Berlin-based video creator who was involved in computer art pioneer Lillian F. Schwartz’s video production. We’ve interviewed previously for TOKION, and he’s also a member of ATONAL’s film crew.

“Metabolic Rift is a concept inspired by Marx’s ideas. This exhibition takes visitors from the building’s basement, which used to supply electricity, all the way up 18 floors to the attic. I was told that this is like a metabolic system that changes the way visitors think about art.

Lillian’s work was a video piece placed deep within the basement, at the final point of the underground tour. Lillian is a video artist who has been active since the 1970s. She’s legendary for her experimental style, and her work appeared everywhere back when I was studying art at a graduate school in the UK. She later became partially blind, but she continued making art with the help of her son, Laurens. Using crayons and magic markers, she relies on her hands and colors to draw faces. My job this time was to edit those faces and apply effects.

The drawings seemed quite random at first, but the eyes and parts of the face were arranged on the paper using an X-Y axis, which is a rule of film that she developed over the years. When I edited the drawings according to the numbering system, I was continuously surprised to find that there were moments when it seemed as if the eyes were blinking.

At a time when the evolution of technology is changing the world of CG art, it felt sacrilege to use a computer to put new effects on a work that was a return to the roots of CG art. But Lillian and Laurens were always open in our email correspondence, and that attitude really helped me.

Laurens really inspired me with his creative philosophy and understanding of the structure of the human eye as well as the world’s perception of art. I can only say that it was an honor to be reunited years later with the person I studied as a student. So personally, I strangely felt like it was a fate that the concept of Metabolic Rift allowed me to return to my creative roots, and that this all took place in the year 2021 when the world and its people are about to undergo major changes.”

Lillian’s drawings, created with only 20% of her eyesight remaining in one eye and the help of her son, were a subliminal universe that mixed psychedelics and innocence, all sucked deep into a concrete cave.

In the next installment, I’ll report on the live performance that featured Canadian experimental composer Tim Hecker.

Translation Lena Grace Suda

The post The full story of Metabolic Rift: A new format of underground culture by Berlin Atonal [Part 1/2] appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.