Jenn Pelly

Julianna Barwick & Ikue Mori
White Columns Gallery
Thursday, July 14

Better than: Spending twelve hours in a tiny car driving to Chicago to watch Julianna Barwick play this weekend at Pitchfork Festival. (Oh wait...)

The not-for-profit White Columns Gallery describes itself as "New York's oldest alternative art space"; founded in 1970 as "an experimental platform for artists," it hosted Thurston Moore's influential Noise Fest when it was located on Spring Street. Now it's tucked away in a corner of Manhattan that's hard for some to navigate, thanks to West Fourth sprawling in multiple directions and the street names switching from numbers to appellations like "Jane" and "Horatio." But it's an area rich with exquisite, hidden gems.

Last night's bill at White Columns, a performance by contemporary experimental songstress Julianna Barwick and out-music innovator Ikue Mori, the ex-drummer for legendary '70s No Wave group DNA, certainly qualified. Only a very specific type of minimalism aficionado would overlook last night's array of free shows—which included gigs by Patti Smith, tUnE-yArDs, Superchunk, and Joan Jett—for this gig, but approximately 20 people, mostly flannel-clad 20somethings and arty types donning Birkenstocks, did. (That includes the dude selling $2 PBRs and distributing free cups of sparkling water, the girl selling records, label folks, and the musicians themselves.) As Barwick and Mori recreated the spirit of their recent collaborative (and challenging) LP Frkwys Vol. 6 (RVNG Intl.), which they recorded in a tiny back room at the gallery last fall, the space's high ceilings, bright white walls, and overall minimalism contributed to the sublime feeling of openness that guided the 25-minute, improvised set.

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Yes In My Backyard is a semiweekly column showcasing MP3s from new and emerging local talent.

Pic by Jody Rogac

The last we heard from Brooklyn's Julianna Barwick, back in the early days of YIMBY, she was a relative unknown enchanting us with her home-recorded, digitally released 2009 EP Florine, featuring "ambrosial symphonies using just her voice and a loop pedal." Two years later, she's returned with a proper studio recording, a deal with Sufjan's Asthmatic Kitty Records, and an arsenal of strings and piano that turn her uplifting, church-rattling blear into a swarm of slowly unfurling ecstasy. Upcoming album The Magic Place (out Feb 22) is 40 minutes of a ghost choir's circling chants; it ranges from haunting to comforting, but mostly provides unfiltered, narcoleptic joy. The title comes from a tree that grew in the back pasture of Barwick's childhood farm in Springfield, Missouri -- you could crawl inside its branches and lay down inside, no doubt a magical place to any kid. The sparkling track that bears its name is no less pastoral, her voice swirling like lighting bugs and the gentle string accompaniments adding a warm highway's background hum.

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At Santos, not Cake Shop, but same idea.

Let's make a vast generalization here: there is a certain male prerogative that responds to CMJ's fever pitch of hype and borderline hostile audiences by becoming--for lack of a better word--Pavement. He will climb up on a stage, only to signal that he has no desire whatsoever to be there. He will eye the audience mistrustfully. He is, it often seems, not particularly concerned with doing a good job. This too--it will be made known--is our problem, not his. Unfair, maybe. But who at this point in the week is not sick of the bathetic tableau of a 23-year-old dude doubled over his guitar, grimacing?

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Clocking in somewhere halfway between music video and performance doc is Ray Concepcion's treatment of Julianna Barwick's "Sunlight, Heaven," shot recently at Brooklyn's Littlefield. It definitely reclaims all the loopy majesty of her voice. Still, as between fuzzy optics and crystal clear takes of her working her vocal-upon-vocal technique, we are at best undecided--it's just so awesome to see her actually do this stuff in real time. And our favorite Barwick song remains the uber-precise and improbably rhythmic "Bode," which you can download from our YIMBY division, over here. [Chocolate Bobka]

Julianna Barwick, whose delightfully warm and echoing "Bode" graced this site yesterday, stopped by the Time Out New York offices to give a live demonstration of her ethereal one-woman choir technique. On display: the adept vocal range she bragged about to us yesterday; loops in action; and what appears to be a staff meeting going on in the background. Push through the first awkward thirty seconds and be impressed. Improbably, tickets seem to still be available for her show with Tim Hecker at the Miller Theater as part of the Wordless Music Series. So there's that, too.

Yes In My Backyard is a semiweekly column showcasing MP3s from new and emerging local talent.

Julianna Barwick photo by Claire Titley

Brooklyn one-woman choir Julianna Barwick makes ambrosial symphonies using just her voice and a loop pedal. With her church upbringing and punk rock attitude, Barwick recreates the rapture and warmth of a teeming mass of singers filling a cathedral's roof via ample reverb, countless loops, and a heavenly voice that's capable of everything from ambient whispers to ecstatic croons. Her six-song self-released EP, Florine, was given a push thanks to an exclusive digital release via eMusic's label eMusic Selects. The album's certainly ethereal--there's maybe three words on the whole record you can make out--but its force is palpable. (Imagine the background singers from a Kate Bush or Sinead O'Connor track pushing themselves forward and rushing the stage at Death By Audio.) For album highlight "Bode" Barwick belts out slurring mass of sound that attacks every part of the spectrum--something somewhere between heaven and Panda Bear, or an art-punk version of Pure Moods. Here's hoping her Kickstarter campaign to get this thing on pristine white vinyl works out.

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