Rubbish Music

KM28, Berlin. October 2024.

A table of electronics, wires, and rubbish — bottles of various kinds, bits of plastic, an oven rack, cardboard packaging, and gaffer tape — acts as a barrier between Rubbish Music and its audience.

The duo begins with an introduction and an eerie drone. Flickers of delay and reverb elongate and distort the sound, with twangs of amplified elastic bands piercing the air.

One of the beautiful things about experimental sound performances — and art in general — is the time and head space you must allow yourself in order to figure out what it’s all about. A pleasant moment of reflection in a chaotic world.

Rubbish Music is Kate Carr and Iain Chambers who “use sound to investigate the journeys, transformations, and impacts of our discarded objects”.

There’s an autumnal darkness to the sound that could make a nice accompaniment to a horror film, but the connection to the theme isn’t landing.

Described as “vivid musique concrète…[that] examine the worlds we make and destroy via our rubbish”, there’s something of a disconnect between the concept and the sound.

Regardless, it is well-received by their engaged audience. In front of me, a young woman is forever trying to capture snippets of video. Zooming in and out, high and low angles, looking for the perfect shots to post on Instagram later.

The guy in the beanie in the front row who interrupted the introduction to inform everyone that he is also a musician (no one asked), bobs his head to rhythms that aren’t there and makes theatrical hand gestures indicating the flow of the sound waves to his blue-haired friend.

The guy in the checked shirt. Sitting on his own, utterly devoted to the moment. Eyes closed, just listening. He was lost in the sound, avoiding any distraction that may cause him to miss a scintilla of the act.

It is an enjoyable listen and when it ends, is met with warm applause and collective approval. The spooky and, at times, anaemic sound doesn’t speak to the environmental theme but no one seems to mind.

After a short pause, Peter Strickmann carefully slides his homemade percussion instrument on stage — a sort of rudimentary xylophone that looks like it was made from the offcuts of wood your dad kept in the garage, always promising they would come in handy for something.

There is an almost childlike innocence to the way Strickmann explores his homemade instrument. This, coupled with a cheeky humour, makes for an absorbing show that’s both an interesting spectacle and listen.

Strickmann is light-hearted, engaging, and unpretentious. He welcomes you into his art through his honesty and clear love of what he’s doing.

There’s a steady but arrhythmic nature to his playing. The tinkling of the wood, feedback of microphones inside tin cans, and the randomness of dropping (what I think were) little sweets onto his instrument, exude warmth and joy.

Tonight is about examining our relationship to waste through the sound created by it. Strickmann’s setup is a well-considered labour of love and though Rubbish Music’s improvisation sounds good, the distance between what we hear and its intended message is too great. With raw force or a gentle hand of encouragement, good art challenges your perspective and asks you to see differently. That might not have happened tonight, but the performances were highly enjoyable nonetheless.