The Bohman Brothers and Richard Crow

Many, many years ago I was staying with Jonathan Bohman – a friend from University - and came down one morning to find the living room floor strewn with biscuit tins, plastic boxes, cutlery, Tupperware and even the odd instrument. “My brother’s coming round,” he said. “We’re going to try out something.” When Adam eventually turned up (they really are brothers) the two of them started plucking, bashing and poking the objects, studiously recording the resulting cacophony, while I looked on, utterly agog. “You can join in if you like,” Jonathan offered amiably. Sadly, I gracefully demurred. Looking back I am reminded of the scene in On the Waterfront when Marlon Brando tells Rod Steiger that he could have been a contender. To think, I could have been an honorary Bohman Brother. That honour has instead fallen to Richard Crow, with the three of them performing under the witty title of BBC. Crow is an artist in his own right, experimenting with film, video as well as sound, so it’s a fanciful notion, but as I sit in the subterranean performance space under the memorial gardens, waiting for the evening’s varied programme to start, I can’t help wonder what might have been if I’d started hitting that trumpet with a drum stick, as I’d been invited to do.

I am stirred from my revelry by Rob Terrestrial’s arresting film sequence. He recently returned from Eastern Europe, where he had been touring with his band, only to find himself in possession of a corrupted SD card instead of the film and photos that he imagined had documented the trip. Bereft, he serendipitously took charge of his drummer’s efforts from which he created the films he presented, essentially found footage put to good use. These striking visuals were combined with a live, guitar-based. response to haunting images from the Serbian- Croatian border, juxtaposed with animation enhanced beach scenes reminiscent of the North Norfolk coast. Utterly mesmerising, it made for a perfect start to the evening

The last time I saw the Bohman Brothers perform it was at the Tate in London, who had commissioned them to create a work inspired by the painterly hothouse town of St Ives. Adam and Jonathan used a table top of home-built instruments, tape cut-ups, spoken word, and all manner of ephemera to create a collage of sound. The Brothers’ work occupies a space somewhere on a line between music and film Foley work, so it was singularly fitting that the result on that occasion tipped its hat as much to Charles Bronson as Barbara Hepworth. On this occasion, however, they were determinedly more theatrical. The performance started with Adam dressed up in a lab coat, seemingly restrained by a recording device strapped around his neck. I think some of the ambient noise that then filled the room might have been his body’s response, but this was certainly enhanced by Crow's laptop and Jonathan knob twiddling. Adam proceeded to declaim disparate phrases from swiftly discarded scraps of paper, while the audience was blinded by an desk lamp. An intriguing mash up of spoken word, found sound and general bonkersness followed. The three of them prowled in front of a table strewn with ephemera, talking over each other from prepared scripts quite beyond comprehension. Dog's barked, spring's bent, beer cans rattled. At one point a transcript from a mid-eighties radio show was read, as Pete Murray discussed the merits of a deceased Lord being chopped up and fed to the residents of the Battersea dog's home. Throughout, ambient music underscored the action that I suspect was Crow's influence, while Jonathan's impish mordant wit contrasted cheekily with Adam's studied earnestness. The net effect was a bizarre, hallucinogenic experience that was largely impenetrable but hugely entertaining.

The evening concluded with a startling performance from Ryan & Luke Jordan, combining apocalyptic sound with disturbing visual effects that was provocative stuff. Sadly, the strobe lighting became simply too much for me, and I felt compelled to slip away before the performance ended. My great escape was stalled by a pair of fellow attendees seeking refuge outside, who acknowledged the issue. "Usually they fill the room with smoke, with softens it a bit, but we're not allowed it in there." My mind was suitably boggled, but in a good way.
My fellow reviewers have already expressed their great interest and enjoyment of the programme even-norwich has put together in what is an extraordinary performance space. I'll endorse rather than repeat those plaudits, and would simply encourage the reader to read up on the shows they went to. I'm assured it's a coincidence that this event is running in parallel with the Norwich Festival, but one can't help compare and contrast. It's not a competition, of course, or at least shouldn't be, but I know which excited me most.