Benoit Montambault

Tags: Benoit Montambault
Benoit Montambault

I’d like to start by using parentheses and fill them up with whatever idea happens to stumble by. After all, isn’t that their role?

They would be my eggshells, a tiny, solid yet fragile, structure that could harvest just about any idea. I’d start off with time. Put time in brackets and let it sit still for a while. It would be like listening to Takemitsu or Neil Young’s On the Beach, a state between blissful coma and absolute nothingness. ? Somehow, I think this is what I’ve done for the past few years, I’ve looked eveywhere for ideas to put inside brackets, as one would hunt for butterflies with a net. First, I did it with Stop Making Sense when I tried to find a way to have two people communicate over a single instrument and have them share their stories with us, in real time. Then, I tried to do it with a microphone and later, a flute. Now I’m doing it with machines, used to create a halfway world between sound installation and musical performance. Later on, I’ll hunt somewhere else.

I guess this is basically the name of the game, some sort of hunt that keeps moving in different, constantly shifting and varying woods. Timber Timbre’s Taylor Kirk sings of hearts being lonesome hunters, so be it. I’m taking him at his word, sharpening my tools, and heading out my door.