Last night was my dad's concert at Issue Project Room, which is an odd and terrific performance space in an old canning factory:
Those black things hanging from the ceiling are speakers.
You walk inside the building and there's strange machinery just lying around:
And there are strange doorways:
There were two performances last night, one by the Verge Ensemble, my dad's group (incl. Lina Bahn, violin; Jenny Lin, piano; Collin Oldham, cellomobo and radio tape knife), performing two pieces he had written and one improvisation. This went very well; here's a very brief clip of violinist Lina Bahn playing from one becomes two, recorded on my digital camera:
The second performance was a singer named Daisy Press doing something by Morton Feldman, but I had to leave and go uptown. *
*Then my night turned into a transportation nightmare. I was trying to get to Bess's party way, way uptown in Manhattan, but the fucking trains weren't running properly at all, and I finally gave up around midnight in Union Square. I called Ned Vizzini to see if he had made it, and he had tried to get there by car and was stuck in some kind of controlled traffic jam on the west side. Instead taking the unreliable 1/2/3 back downtown, I took the L east, thinking I could meet another friend. But he wasn't around, so I decided to just get some tacos and go home. I waited a while for the 6 to Astor Place, and when it didn't come I figured I could just walk the 6 or 7 blocks to San Loco. And I did, but the wind was horrifically cold, and by the time I got there I was full of rage. There's a kind of wind that blows against you so hard you want to just smash bones. I sat down in San Loco and two people walked in behind me crowing, "We just found $20 right on the street!" I ate my tacos, read some of my book, and walked over to Astor Place to get the 6. "No trains at this station," said a guy walking out of the station. I tried to catch a cab; no cabs. One guy waved at me from a cab as it passed. I walked over to catch the R, waited for a while, got it. Turned out it was skipping every stop from Canal to DeKalb. So I got off at Canal to switch to the 6. Waited half an hour with a bunch of other people until a fucking MTA employee meandered over to shout that it wasn't stopping there, either. Went upstairs, tried to catch a cab. A hundred passed by. Finally I approached an off-duty cab with a pleading gesture. The cabbie rolled down the window and looked me over. (I realized a moment later that he was seeing the Obama button on my coat.) He let me in and said in a heavy Arab accent, "He just have to win Pennsylvania now..."