Ad Hoc uses a custom-developed laptop rig to build chaotic permutations of familiar and unfamiliar sounds, using techniques derived from the worlds of biology, genetics and artificial intelligence.
Here, he will be gathering recordings of the four days' events, and subsequently performing a live audio-video retrospective remix.
Chiggs likes logic, loudness, light, losers and lists. Chiggs dislikes art, arseholes and alliteration. Chiggs keeps himself entertained, mostly with thoughts but sometimes with plans. The best plans involve dynamic lighting, computer interfaces, lasers, persistence of vision and sound-to-light effects. Other plans are ok.
Web: chiggs.net
Mimi Leung and Mike Knowlden
"Here on this ring of grass we have sat together, bound by the tremendous power of some inner compulsion. The trees wave, the clouds pass. The time approaches when these soliloquies shall be shared. We shall not always give out a sound like a beaten gong as one sensation strikes and then another. Children, our lives have been gongs striking; clamour and boasting; cries of despair; blows on the nape of the neck in gardens. "Now, grass and trees, the travelling air blowing empty spaces in the blue which they then recover, shaking the leaves which then replace themselves, and our ring here, sitting, with our arms binding our knees, hint at some other order, and better, which makes a reason everlastingly."
-- Virginia Woolf - The Waves
I'm Ed and I went away for a while, and I missed everyone and I came back and now I'm going to sit in the tent we went to Glastonbury with and wrap my knees in a big blue blanket and set up all my musical equipment and hopefully people will come in and make songs and noises and ideas with me (or play Scrabble) and then we'll perform them all on Sunday and either pretend like we know what we're doing or not care that we don't.
I tend to make scrappy little shreds of songs with my retrograde tracker software, broken instruments, and ropey ol' singing voice.
Whether friend or stranger, musician or not, please consider this short, oblique text your formal invitation to come say hello and, if the mood takes you, join in. You would be warmly welcome.
Frankenorphans operate on systems of micro-fascism. Frankenorphans hunt and kill many creatures. Frankenorphans dine exclusively on swan. Frankenorphans have many rotting trophies.
Born in 1982, the unwanted lovechild of Postman Pat and Sheerah - Princess of Power, Julia spent her early years being raised by a family of squirrels who adopted her as their own. With thoughts of fortune and glory, Julia left the nest in her teenage years to pursue a different path, and despite considerable skills in both climbing and foraging Julia had aspirations of being the greatest quiz show contestant of all time. In the years that that followed she enjoyed record-breaking success as the champion of 'Catchphrase', 'Blockbusters' and 'Wheel of Fortune'. Unfortunately Julia lost her considerable wealth of prizes including her brand new Mini Metro from 'Bulls eye' to Ant and Dec during a game of high stakes Tiddley Winks.
Despite this Julia still longed for a creative outlet in life, and her artistic career began with painting the eyes on action men. Quite inexplicably this led to her enrolment at the University of Bristol where she continued using her appearance of a photography student as a guise for her ongoing plans for world domination.
Recent work continues to explore themes of transition and space- the eerie beauty of the humble object and also the personal experience of public spaces when alone. In the making of many images, art and archiving interact and marks try to seek something uncertain; stumbling in the dark, feeling out spaces with the hand outstretched. Memory and experience blur, and fleeting moments become immortal.
Currently 2nd Year BA fine art painting at the City and Guilds of London Art School.
City & Guilds Outstanding Foundation Student.
The Sir Rodger De Grey Life Drawing Prize.
Various Contributors
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We don't want freedom We don't want justice We just want someone to love
-- Talking Heads - People Like Us
Tom Moore was dead. Fortune blessed him upon a storm and into the swirling waters of dying. Here he gathered jetsam and began to count waves. Tom's not dead.
Web: destroy.hit.factory
His camera is showing signs of age; it wears the scars of battle and the detritus of continents and its seams are beginning to drift apart. Soon, its life will be over. Until that dark day, he shall have to take with him his stricken friend, hunting down the snippets and scraps of life and making sure they will not become invisible and lonely and lost. One day, when the dusty, scratched and spent carcass of the camera is found in a dusty attic somewhere, it will give no hint of the magic people or wonderful things that have passed before its glassy eye; they will only be with him
Web: mynaughtyleg.com
"Therefore when a woman dips a twig in water and sprinkles the water in the air to make it rain, alhtough she does not herself cause the rain, and could not be blamed on that account, yet, because she has entered into a pact with the devil by which she can do this as a witch, although it is the devil who causes the rain, she herself nevertheless deserves the balme, becasue she is an infidel and does the devil's work, surrendering herself to his service.."
-- Maleus Maleficarum Part II Qn1.Ch11
(this time I am a shadow and a voice and a girl)
Garry lives somewhere between the faded seaside town of his birth and a silver screen. Once when he was seven, he enlisted some local neighbourhood kids to mount an archaeological dig in the copse of trees behind his house, convinced he'd unearth the remains of dinosaurs. When his parents and friends told him that all they'd found that day were the bones of long dead cats and foxes, he refused to believe them, insistent that they were dinosaurs he held in his hands. In defiance, he sterilised the bones and carried them with him in a plastic bag for a month before finally giving in and burying them. He still has trouble accepting realities but these days confines this as much as possible to film-making and photography, fascinated by the human capacity for performance and deceit and the places it leads to.
Web: gravenimages.org.uk
Yeborobo is the grotty little brainchild of six losers from Maidstone, Kent: Andrew Kerr, Russell Bailey, Sam Eden Green, Sophie Simpson, Rob Bidder and Matthew Rains. They are wanted for terrorising Brighton, London and Kent ever since 2003, endangering audiences with an inflateable pirate ship, inflateable car, inflateable whale, fruit fights, brillo pads, foam machines, baguettes, pastries, ketchup, facepaint, 5 day old butter, burning popcorn, stagediving, an erotic unicorn, a small broken bicycle, edible and non edible snakes and unlicenced fruit smoothy vending. To name just a few things.
During this time they documented their adventures through the medium of song, evidence of which can be found on a recorded format. Their capture will reward and delight many people so please do whatever it takes to catch these miscreants.
