Live

Rip It Up, Issue 111, 1 October 1986, Page 31

Live

Festival of Wimin Performers Electric Ballroom, Wellington August 22, 23, 24 Aargh! Your “rock” critic gets her shit together to finally tell you about the Festival of Wimin Performers. Hard, hard, hard to tell you about three days of, well, joy at seeing, hearing and experiencing women performers from Aotearoa. Women organised the festival, ran it, supported it, and performed it. What I’m trying to make you see is that this was no ordinary event, but on the other hand, it was completely natural. The first night, Friday, was more “up” than the two following nights. Things definitely got more low-key as the festival progressed, but no less interesting or important. Ann Jones, poet, kicked things off with rapid-fire dialogue and quick costume changes. Funny and suggestive, she was a warm beginning. Martha and Anne Samasoni and Asia Sola looked a little nervous, but really had no reason to be, they were wonderful. It was the first of two times we were to hear the almost anthemic ‘Because We Are Woman.’ The first of many perfect moments where it seems your heart may burst, where it seems your senses are totally focussed into that one moment.

Unfortunately I couldn’t see everything, and Out of the Compost and Indigo Underworld were performances I heard rather than saw. What I did hear was wonderful singing and harmonies. OOTC used a variety of acoustic-type instruments (and an ironing board), and I am reliably informed you could fall in love with them. I’ve slapped my own wrists, don’t worry.

Indigo Underworld use a mixture of electric and acoustic instruments, and make a “soft” kind of impression. I can see them progressing into something quite stunning — and totally original too. If you’re talking composure, competence and warmth, you’re talking Jan Ballard. She has a beautiful voice, and such songs! Obviously a great storehouse she just reaches back into. Weaving

those woman-tales, I could listen for hours. Putty in Her Hands were definitely worth waiting for. They have such good humour and bright healthiness, you are immediately charmed. Particularly good lyrically, and more lovely singing. A definite feature of the festival was the voices.

Stiltwalkers always freak me out, I was so scared Anezka Novak would bang her head on the rafters. But of course, she didn’t. She did a tale of a dancer who gets really fed up with the violinist who keeps making her dance. She knocks the violin player (Andrea Cocks) to the ground, then feels really guilty. Imagine the joy when the violinist comes back to life! Viva la violinista! Last up were Dead Famous People. These women don’t talk any shit, don’t take any shit and you can’t fuck with them. Neat, neat, neat, a couple of covers in there (like Mike Nesmith’s ‘Joanne), but mostly original, and we didn’t want them to stop. In fact we persuaded them to do ‘Muscley Arms’ twice. A perfect end to a perfect night.

The festival was quite a multimedia event. A number of films were shown over the two days, with several short animated films sticking in my mind, as do Caz Sheldon’s videos. Gaylene Preston and a number of other women took the opportunity to video all three nights, and a journalism and a photography student did studies of the festival. Saturday afternoon saw a number of films, with the women who made them on hand CONTINUED ON PAGE 32

to talk. I caught Kathy Dudding’s Smash Dupe, Pat Murphy’s Instincts and Stephanie Beth’s In Joy. Also shown was Small Journeys by Maree Quinn. Night two started with a film Keskidee Aroha. Pretty intense, but soundly applauded. The Fireflies were poetic and quirky. Ginny relates almost child-like poetry/songs that leave some others looking pompous and unwieldly. Sandra Bell played electric guitar, and was joined by a cellist and drummer. She did a few songs from her new album, particularly good are ‘lndustrial Night’ and ‘Working Men’s Club'. Following Sandra was Penny Andrews, backed by Debs Frame, Catherine Iveson and Dead Famous People’s

Robyn Thurle. Catherine Iveson looks like she was born playing guitar. Debs’s sax playing was absurdly good, and Robyn — well — Robyn’s just made history by becoming the first woman to be accepted for “performance percussion” at Auckland University. But just a word about Penny Andrews. A star if ever I saw one. her singing is out of this world, having developed an almost bluesy voice. Another heart-stopping, timesuspended moment was ‘Promise Not to Tell’ (or possibly ‘Break in Silence’), an original Penny wrote for a video about incest. When would rhy heart burst out of my chest, I wondered. Kim Blackburn charmed with her deep, rich singing — and her paper darts. Perhaps a little melancholy, but

she has a sort of gothic intensity. Album out soon.

Jay Clarkson has a long musical history, certainly an upsi-daisical one. Her performance was, to me, one of the most memorable of the three days. She played solo, and played songs from a forthcoming album. And what songs! So wellcrafted, plus brilliant guitar-playing and an angel-like voice. Once again, I was in suspended animation. Absolutely magical. We experienced a bit of fireeating from Melissa ClarkeReynolds (this festival had everything), then the fab Thunderbirds started slowly and wound up. The Thunderbirds make up for any musical inexperience through good ideas and sheer fun. They do a mixture of originals and covers —

like ‘Leader of the Pack,’ complete with woman-made motorcycle noises, and Everything But the Girl’s ‘Ugly Little Dreams,’ a song for Frances Farmer.

Sunday was women-only, starting with four videos made by Caz Sheldon, from Britain. Kim Blackburn played again briefly, then the truly wonderful Janet Potiki shared poetry and thoughts — rivetting. Jan Ballard played again, as did Martha and Anne Samasoni. As I said, it was low key, but a lovely atmosphere. So that’s it, three wonderful days of wimin making music. Julie Reidy and Judi McCallum on organising, Angela Main on Electric Ballroom and lights, and Sue Barlow on sound. What an effort

that goes down in herstory. PS: Hope I didn’t miss anyone. Fiona Rae