Text by Jake Thorne
Listening is an exhibition curated by London-based Sam Belinfante. Part of Hayward Gallery’s ‘Curatorial Open’ series, it aims to expose the way in which we privilege vision and sight in the gallery space and, as Belinfante puts it, ‘redress the balance’ in favour of our other senses. What emerges is not a case of our ears versus our eyes; instead, we’re encouraged to think about perception as involving multiple faculties simultaneously.
In 2000, Hayward Gallery featured Sonic Boom, an exhibition that set out to celebrate sound-art and relocate it from club venue to gallery. Whereas Sonic Boom fetishised music-making and appears to have aimed squarely at an audiophile audience, Listening, however, bears no trace of the contemporary music industry nor does it seem cultish. Belinfante has found a way to champion Sound Art’s artistic relevancy without reliance on focusing on the process of making sounds. It’s rather the narrative possibilities generated by sounds in certain contexts that become precious, and an audience’s state of heightened awareness and receptivity toward that additional layer of meaning.
There are moments where the exhibition looks over its shoulder at twentieth-century Sound Art, but it’s more out of curiosity than for reassurance (Laurie Anderson represents an obvious touchstone here.) There’s also a subtle nod to Beat Generation writers’ experiments with spoken-word – Ragnar Kjartansson’s ‘Song’ (2011) takes an Alan Ginsberg poem and protracts it, producing a six-hour long performance. As the first work encountered, it feels deliberately placed; near to the buzzing ambience of the café and a noisy stairwell, these distractions are somehow appropriate in the context of the errors and repetitions incorporated into the work.
Listening charms and surprises easily, and it shines in its ability to bring moments of gleeful revelation. At the same time, Belinfante has managed to create an almost sacred dramatic space, so it’s an experience remote from a romp around the Science Museum. At worst, there is an initial ‘gee whizz’ factor to Anderson’s ‘The Handphone Table’ (1978); this is tempered, though, by the tactile and introverted process of engaging with it (audiences’ own arms serve as conduits for Anderson’s soundtrack).
There’s much diversity – unsurprising given the exhibition’s ambitious scope – nevertheless the works give a theatrical impression of interrelation. Carey Young’s ‘Follow the Protest’ recalls Christian Marclay’s video montage ‘Telephones’ (1995) – though it’s ‘Sound Holes’ (2007), another of Marclay’s works, that appears here – but Young has something altogether different to say. She asks us to play listener/President; engaging with her work, we make protesters speak by a turn of a dial on the red telephone provided, or silence them by hanging up. Listening at one of Amalia Pica’s glasses on the wall (‘Eavesdropping’, 2011) and hearing thumping bass creates unexpected continuity with Prem Sahib’s ‘Taking Turns’ (2013). These works comment on, intrude on and interrupt each other wonderfully.
If we had any reason to regard sound-art as still teething, Listening provides us with ample evidence to the contrary. Belinfante’s reminders of a strong experimental tradition in the field are welcome and unobtrusive, and the works exhibited surely point toward a bright future for Sound Art.
Listening continues at The Bluecoat, Liverpool until 29 March 2015.
Jake Thorne is a writer based in Liverpool.
Published 20.03.2015 by Georgina Wright in Reviews
555 words