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daaaamn
I went to see Tanya Tagaq and Laakkuluk Williamson Bathory perform at CanStage. This is the third time I've seen Tagaq perform and every time I think it's the most groundbreaking and brilliant show I've seen. It's not that I don't love the music that she's released with a near-evangelical zeal, because I absolutely do, but her live performance is even better, if such a thing is possible. It's a miracle watching this tiny woman somehow sound like 12 different people, several musical instruments, a handful of birds, and one of those armoured polar bears from His Dark Materials.
Conversely, I've never seen Bathory perform and had no clue what to expect. I've seen pictures of what uaajeerneq (Greenlandic mask dancing) looks like, but had no idea how it was done. I guess I assumed that it was an actual mask, but nope, the dancer transforms her face with inks and sticks and it is unreal.
The show was gorgeous, funny, erotic, and terrifying in equal measure. It's difficult to put into words; I normally have a hard time shutting off the running monologue in my head, but this put me into a sensory trance. I can only imagine these art forms in the context in which they originated, in the frozen Arctic, where the nights are so long that you'd think the sun will never rise again, the only light your campfire, and emerging from the darkness, unearthly music and distorted faces.
It was also hot as hell. At one point, I thought that it was like watching two people have sex except with their voices. But then it was just like watching two people have sex. Bathory moved through the audience, climbing over people, at one point throwing a man out of his seat, yanking off his toque, dry-humping him on the steps, and then shoving the toque back over his face. Note that the event page did warn for intense physical contact, but I'm pretty sure that the many older white folks who presumably had CanStage season passes did not read this warning, because watching them be shocked and horrified was nearly as much fun as the show itself. At least one woman literally fled in terror. Naturally I found it Punk As Fuck and loved it. Western art and music has largely lost the ability or desire to shock or move anyone; indigenous art and music still absolutely has it.
A small, (sanitized and very much toned down) taste of what they're like together:
At the end—as I leapt to my feet for a standing ovation—when one have expected some man in the audience to shout out, "Bravo!" I heard some guy yell out, "Fuuuuuck!" Seems apropos, really.
Conversely, I've never seen Bathory perform and had no clue what to expect. I've seen pictures of what uaajeerneq (Greenlandic mask dancing) looks like, but had no idea how it was done. I guess I assumed that it was an actual mask, but nope, the dancer transforms her face with inks and sticks and it is unreal.
The show was gorgeous, funny, erotic, and terrifying in equal measure. It's difficult to put into words; I normally have a hard time shutting off the running monologue in my head, but this put me into a sensory trance. I can only imagine these art forms in the context in which they originated, in the frozen Arctic, where the nights are so long that you'd think the sun will never rise again, the only light your campfire, and emerging from the darkness, unearthly music and distorted faces.
It was also hot as hell. At one point, I thought that it was like watching two people have sex except with their voices. But then it was just like watching two people have sex. Bathory moved through the audience, climbing over people, at one point throwing a man out of his seat, yanking off his toque, dry-humping him on the steps, and then shoving the toque back over his face. Note that the event page did warn for intense physical contact, but I'm pretty sure that the many older white folks who presumably had CanStage season passes did not read this warning, because watching them be shocked and horrified was nearly as much fun as the show itself. At least one woman literally fled in terror. Naturally I found it Punk As Fuck and loved it. Western art and music has largely lost the ability or desire to shock or move anyone; indigenous art and music still absolutely has it.
A small, (sanitized and very much toned down) taste of what they're like together:
At the end—as I leapt to my feet for a standing ovation—when one have expected some man in the audience to shout out, "Bravo!" I heard some guy yell out, "Fuuuuuck!" Seems apropos, really.
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