The music that is popular, the artists that are famous and the commercial music industry that promotes them exist in a completely different world from the music Public Space One presents. Weapon X and Rushidacus both are the opposite of what gets millions of plays on Spotify. They create something that isn’t conventional, orderly, predictable.
As a reviewer it’s a cop-out to say “you had to be there.” But in fact, music like this is meant more to be encountered live than to be recorded, curated and commodified. The Close House is a unique venue, comprising two high-ceilinged rooms in a 19th century brick mansion. In a pinch — as was the case on Saturday, Sept. 20 — it can fit 40 or 50 people. Saxophonist Justin Comer of Weapon X and Rushadicus fully explored this space, walking in and around the audience.
Breaking the separation between artist and audience this way isn’t a new thing, but this felt — and sounded — different. The noise of the performer changes as they move about, bringing the resonance of the kitchen and stairwell into the sound. Hearing music in the Close House is literally chamber music. The separation from the performers is nonexistent.
Weapon X
Weapon X are local musicians Justin K. Comer (saxophone) and Will Yager (bass). It was hard to tell how much rehearsing went into this show. It sounded completely improvised. Of course the two have rehearsed together, but it seems unlikely that the rehearsal process was choosing a setlist and running through songs. More likely is that each performance, whether rehearsal or not, is different, though similar since they arise from the same performer’s sound vocabulary.
Will Yager’s bowed bass emphasized the shifting overtones that come from skidding the bow over the strings. Even when playing the same note repeatedly, each note’s timbre differed. Harmonics — just touching the string at natural intervals — dominated the playing.
Comer’s saxophone was as varied a listening experience as I can imagine from one instrument. He makes the instrument bark staccato in-between notes, he plays it using nonstandard mouthpieces, a duck call I think in one instance, and dropping the neck in the bell of his horn. This was miles away from what one would call normal playing. If you wanted something orderly and familiar you’d be disappointed. If you surrendered to the pure sensation, it made you feel something. Amid the clatters, barks and honks was some sustained, “normal” sax playing, but Comer didn’t dwell on that style.
Will Yager’s propulsive, frenetic bass playing, followed an internal, irregular pulse rather than straight meter. He propels his music with a not-rhythm rhythm, to which Comer adds terse interjection, shrill high notes of indeterminate pitch. Given they’re both composing in the moment, they have to listen intensely to react and converse. It may be free improvisation, but it’s never arbitrary; what Justin plays what Will plays, and vice versa.
Rushadicus
Known as “The Cello Goblin,” Rushadicus is an arrestingly strange performer who wears tights and a horned plush toy hat while he plays a cello strung around his neck, decorated with harlequin diamonds and Sandra Boynton cartoons. He danced around, climbed on the mantelpiece, slid on the floor on his back and leapt from chairs. His performance as athletic as it was musical. Throughout his slapstick and acrobatics, he plays the cello with frenetic, bouncing bow strokes.
Along with the music, Rushadicus spoke to the audience in a private nonsense language, switching character voices in the style of Robin Williams’ manic speed rap. Gollum-esque growling, manic laughter, heavy-metal Cookie Monster voice, occasional asides in an oily lounge singer voice — it’s communication, sort of. His cello playing, between pratfuls and hijinks, is actually deft, and he has an ear for neo-classical harmonies at breakneck speed. There are interludes where he plays two plastic flutes at the same time, or picks up a guitar to briefly channel a gibberish Gordon Lightfoot.
Speaking no intelligible words, he used pantomime and gestures to train the audience in call and response. Every so often, he took a hairpin turn stylistically, playing almost country music before swerving into Road Runner cartoon music. He filled his mouth with rubber balls and spat them into the audience. He gave a man in the front row a toy bow and arrow and invited him to shoot at him as he played. When hit by an arrow he launched the chair he was sitting in backwards, screaming, still playing the cello without missing a beat.
Rushadicus synthesizes a dizzying grab-bag of influences: Punch and Judy, Gwar, Johann Sebastien Bach, Cirque Du Soleil, Blue Man Group, Elvis, Incredible String Band, the Minions. Like Weapon X, he augments his unusual sound with guitar pedals, performing Hendrix-esque stunts like playing the cello strings with his tongue. It was a performance that absolutely held your attention for 90 minutes, overwhelming the senses by constantly doing something new, surprising and maybe a bit dangerous. He was both a little scary and charming at the same time.
Public Space One
It’s this scary-yet-charming performance that brings me back to the venue. Though Iowa City has the Englert, Hancher, Gabe’s, The James and Trumpet Blossom Cafe, PS1 is a crucial part of the arts ecosystem in Iowa City. It fills a niche, presenting music that — like Rushadicus and Weapon X — isn’t a good fit for commercial venues. It is a refuge for the music and art that got chased out of the White Lightning Wherehouse by the fire marshal circa 2011.
You can become a member and participate with the ongoing experiment in building an arts community. Think globally, art locally. You won’t regret it.
