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Sean Duffy’s Grove |
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Sean Duffy plays in the same pond as Christian Marklay whose “turntable-ism” has inspired much of the art/stereo crossover. His touring Grove installation is a savvy contemporary art lesson mixed with a trip to the thrift shop record bin where the viewer/listener is free to choose and spin records on eighteen turntables. As the number of sound sources increases so does the effect from a canopy of speakers and wire hanging from the ceiling. JFK speeches merge with various benign instrumental and novelty records. Dylan Thomas reads his poetry while comedian Rich Little does Nixon and Reagan. Most definition is lost in the cacophony which closely resembles a very crowded cocktail party. Occasionally, a singular voice peaks through as other records fade between tracks: for instance, “How to Teach Your Bird To Talk.” The installation is about “relative aesthetics,” which can translate as a lowering of the bar to allow for incomprehensible nonsense, but in this case we have something more tangible and essentially non-visual that explores cultural memory. Once upon a time, it would have been rare for you to put several electric recording/playing devices on at once, but after scratching, sampling, mixing, downloading, and podcasting through the last two or three decades, we can and we do. It’s a new frontier where each of us becomes artist, producer, DJ, performer and critic. This is possible because we all participate in the communal aurality where multi-platform voices often play over each other. This convergence of sound is now called daily life. Sure, there is still the autonomy of the I-Pod which, like the ancient Sony Walkman, allows us to drift off to personal worlds as we ride the subway or eat lunch – a break from our tedious life – but generally we are more connected now than served individually. The monstrous living room entertainment system – which forced separate technologies into cumbersome black units that must be hidden in massive cabinets from IKEA – is now portable, albeit degenerated. The old-style stereo, TV, DVD, and various phones now often share one pair of inadequate miniature speakers or headphones. It’s certainly infuriating for old audiophiles who want to hear the rest of the Dylan or Eagles song in sparkling clarity without any form of interruption. This multi-tasking common to soccer moms is actually a form of social-tech development where extra connection and disconnection converge in a particularly meaningless way. As far as sound bleed goes, what might have been the incidental music of the day -- the bells in the distance, mooing cows, an airplane overhead or wagons trudging up the road -- is globally overshadowed. Duffy’s “spin,” in this context, is presented as a humorous play on the begotten bachelor pad. His commentary has weight because of the unifying vinyl LP and its delivery system, the turntable. Kept viable by DJs so as to not be completely outmoded, records still evoke the golden age of the American century when the quick progression of musical styles echoed the moving state of popular culture. Mr. Duffy’s the triple-armed turntable invites similar intervention and speaks like a treatise on the significance of recorded sound and the many fluid associations. Uncanny, low-tech messing like this isn’t about the message but the medium and Mr. Duffy doesn’t do it out of sheer love for a bygone age – I wouldn’t think any less of him if he did – but out of an effort to ensure a responsive interactivity which is a physical act of manipulation, a human part to play. It is about where we were and where we are going and this is where the art lies. For some, it may be merely a history lesson or
an aural joke but if you imagine a room full of I-Macs and I-Pods with
the same speaker arrangement, it would have been exceedingly banal, like
any trade show. As it is, the work suggests how we hear differently.
© 2008James Rosenthal and InLiquid.com; image copyright © Sean Duffy |
