Holly Herndon's Digital Paradise Lands in Brooklyn

Holly Herndon at The Wick, 6/4/15
Holly Herndon at The Wick, 6/4/15
Sachyn Mital for The Village Voice

San Francisco-based electronic musician Holly Herndon makes music about the present. She's interested in expressing the technology-specific emotions we've only recently begun to feel: Frustration with a glitchy Skype call, protectiveness over cherished devices, pride from a productive day with a FitBit. She's a philosopher, a technologist, a composer, and a visionary. Her music is nominally techno but, as a PhD candidate at Stanford's computer music program, it's only a vessel for the ideas she wants to explore.

Given the high concept behind her art it was hard to know what to expect from her show, part of Pitchfork's Tinnitus Music Series, at the Wick. (Side note: I'd never been to this venue, a cavernous repurposed factory, before, and I'll be back: It's one of the downright coolest spaces I've seen outside DIY basements.) Evan Caminti began the night with an intricately layered set, slowly building waves of moody samples that settled into gently rocking, dark beats. With the venue's underground bunker feel, one could easily imagine Caminti composing scores to post-apocalyptic video games. It was beautiful; unfortunately, it was also so lush I got sleepy and had to step outside for a refresh.

When I went back in, Gabi had taken the stage; by the end of her set, I'd written, "Is she trolling???" in my notebook. She centers her music on her voice, one of the purest and most forceful I've heard outside an opera house. I assume she has classical training, which would also explain the overly serious theatricality that plagued her performance. Big eyes and even bigger hand gestures accompanied each song, one of which was sung — for no clear reason — into a mock-rotary phone near the mic, the device purely a prop that didn't pick up her voice. A five-piece backing band that included violins and a vibraphone somewhat tempered the intensity of her wailing vocals. The combination was reminiscent of Björk's; costumes would have helped. One certainly can't fault Gabi for under-committing.

On the next page: "Q: Sometimes I don't know if I'm a boy or a girl. A: Why choose?"  

Holly Herndon did, in fact, go the whole set without burning herself
Holly Herndon did, in fact, go the whole set without burning herself
Sachyn Mital for The Village Voice

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Pink noise served as interlude music between each set, a nice palate-cleanser considering how different all three performers were. This was the soundtrack as Holly Herndon and a stage crew futzed for what seemed like ages setting up a projector next to her computer. As they zeroed in on the right arrangement, a guy positioned stage right at a laptop connected to the projector opened a TextEdit window and typed in a phone number: It was an invitation to the audience to text questions and confessions throughout the night. Shortly after that, the roadies left the stage, the lights went down, and Herndon began.

Wasting no time, she dove straight into a driving beat, placing short, breathy vocalizations into key points as she built her loops. Her eyes rarely left her computer as she manipulated these constructs into endless iterations. On her album it's her compositional training that shines brightest; here, in a pitch-black repurposed factory, it was her years spent in the Berlin techno scene. There were no breaks in her dizzying flow and, although tracks from Platform made appearances, Herndon gave us a set more akin to a DJ's, which was perfect. She had the dancefloor at her feet.

Herndon understood the limitations of the night's format: This wasn't a dance club, so people would face the stage, staring at her as she stared at her computer, which is frankly kind of boring. So she gave us something to watch. The screen behind her projected questions and answers for a while, plus the occasional playful statement, typed in real-time into the same TextEdit window that earlier displayed the phone number. Given the nature of the questions and their coyly insightful answers it seemed unlikely they were coming from the audience. My favorite: "Q: Sometimes I don't know if I'm a boy or a girl. A: Why choose?"

Eventually the screen switched over to a crude video-game rendering of a room similar to the one in which we stood. Paper-thin objects and people, including Herndon and the projector screen, were placed throughout. The player — ostensibly another guy sitting at the side of the stage with a laptop — began plowing through the scene, knocking over everything in his path. The more he destroyed, the more surreal the scene became: Endless streams of MacBook Pros (the same computer he used), flashes of meat cuts in between piles of people, images of fruits and vegetables. It was strongly reminiscent of visual work I'd seen by EMA, who, like Herndon, is a young female experimental musician obsessed with digital dystopias. Like her work, the music we were all here for became part of the visuals and vice-versa. This was Herndon's world, and she had invited us to step in.

At one point the "Q" section of the screen read "Can we make this something we want to remember as our life flashes before our eyes?" Herndon understands so well our digitally-induced obsession with having meaningful experiences. The answer that quickly appeared was simple, soothing, and, considering her phenomenal show, accurate: "You don't even have to try." Just sit back and enjoy. Holly Herndon had us covered.

See Also: Gabrielle Herbst Finds Her Layered, Looping Voice with GABI Exclusive Premiere: Watch YAWN Perform 'Overflow' on a Brooklyn Rooftop This Is How Sharon Van Etten Thrives (and Survives) at Music Festivals

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The Wick

272 Meserole St.
New York, NY 11206


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