The Outer Church, Hacker Farm, & The Rewiring Of The English Countryside

'The Outer Church':  A Highly Recommended Compilation

It’s no secret that my musical tastes are fairly varied, but also true that things sometimes go in phases.  So it has been recently.  My current artistic activities have been predominantly sound-tracked by various strands of contemporary and fairly abstract electronica, amongst which are a number of acts new to me.  Several of those have been associated, in one way or another, with Joseph Stannard’s ‘TheOuter Church’ events in Brighton of recent years.

Joseph Stannard (& Familiar)

In so far as this might be regarded as a ‘scene’, (and that really shouldn’t be the best way to assess the work), some common themes might include: a general sense of occult weirdness; an abstracted view of the British countryside; and a sensitivity to the darker strands running through, (sometimes ancient), folk history.  All of that is certainly true of the music of IX Tab and Kemper Norton in particular, both of which I’ve had on repeat play lately.

Those are hardly new ideas and there are also undoubted crossovers with other musicians currently working in the fields of dark ambience or horror soundtrack aesthetics. There’s also a connection with the whole Hauntological theme of recent times, not least through the active participation in ‘Outer Church’ type projects of such acts as Mordant Music and Pye Corner Audio.  Journalists and commentators have often bracketed them within the Hauntological camp, but it goes without saying that such labels are generally of more interest to journalists than to the artists they write about.

In fact, a loose connectedness, and a willingness to work in collaboration, are typical of many of these artists, and perhaps, of the current digital/social media generation in general.  One of the creative nodes who have demonstrated this collective approach, but whose rather more politicised, almost punkish, DIY approach and abrasive aesthetics also set them slightly apart, is Hacker Farm.  They are essentially Farmer Glitch, Kek-W and Bren, (yeah, right), - three individuals with varying pedigrees in experimental and dance music, who now create a kind of bastard rural electronica mostly rooted in noise generation, and often employ instruments comprising salvaged electronics and agricultural junk.  To date they have two official album releases; 2011’s self published ‘Poundland’, and ‘UHF’ from earlier this year.

Based in Yeovil, Somerset, the two really interesting things about HF, apart from the noise they make, are the strand of political subversion running through their work, and a singularly contemporary take on the realities of British rural life.  This is far from the cliché of romantic idyll with which Brits still hypnotise themselves.  Instead, they evoke a more recognisable world of rural unemployment (or casual, cash work), drab market towns denuded of their original economic function, populations priced out of local housing, limited opportunities for what was once called The Working Class, and cultural impoverishment generally.  This is all tied up with a healthy/unhealthy dose of conspiracy theorising which, let’s face it, is never far away, these days.

We’re not talking about protest songs, or indeed, anything resembling the Folk Tradition here at all.  Hacker Farm deal in a brand of post-industrial Noise Art in which those repeated rhythms that exist often resemble the irregular clunks and clattering of failing farm equipment.  Their synthesised atmospheres might call to mind industrial estates, bypasses, power stations, military installations or electro-static interference on surveillance footage, rather than anything traditionally bucolic or verdant.

Within this essentially abstract framework, however, are buried various clues to their underlying agenda.  These can take the form of album or track titles, (‘Poundland’, ‘Deterritorial Army’, ‘Austerity Measures’, etc.), or vocal samples buried within the music, such as the marketplace voicing of domestic dissatisfaction in ‘Ilchester’, or the frankly Situationist diatribe in ‘One, Six, Nein’.  They also carry over into the presentation of Hacker Farm product, be it in the detournement of the Hewlett Packard Logo for their own ident or the packaging of ‘Poundland’ in tatty, recycled CD cases (with a cheeky Oxfam sticker printed on the artwork).  Indeed, by holing up on a disused farm and augmenting their income by brewing and selling rough cider, their collective lifestyle might be said to epitomise some of the very issues they seek to explore.

Hacker Farm: Churning Sound...

I guess all this rather contradicts my stated aim, a few months back, of trying to relate to music primarily in an emotional way.  Certainly, this music does stimulate a number of subjective responses, (mostly fear, disquiet, and alienation, admittedly).  However, it strikes me that, as with much ideas-based art in whatever media, understanding something of the conceptual or theoretical context is pretty fundamental to the whole experience.  I’m not sure I’d have picked up all of the ideas in HF’s work from the music alone, much as I might enjoy listening to it.  Is this a problem?  Probably not.  Ideally, I want any artwork to either move and interest me.  However, in so many cases, and certainly with this kind of stuff, the two things aren’t mutually exclusive.

…And A Bucket Of Noise

The other thing that Hacker Farm make me reflect on is the whole relationship between urban, suburban and rural environments, and how the distinctions between them seem to be blurring.  I live in an inner city, consciously seek out subjects in my immediate environment, and have talked a lot about my own art as being essentially urban in nature.  I’ve also referred on several occasions, to artists who deal mostlywith those liminal territories where town and country once met.  The rurally based but somewhat brutalist work of Hacker Farm seems to relocate sonic motifs and ideas traditionally associated with the city, (such as Situationism), into the English countryside.  It suggests that, in a world of digital connectedness and global economics, and post both Agricultural and Industrial Revolutions, any clear distinctions between these physical zones may become increasingly obscure.

Of Particular Relevance:

Hacker Farm, ‘Poundland’, 2011, Self-Published CDR

Hacker Farm, ‘UHF’, 2013, Exotic Pylon Records

Various Artists, ‘The Outer Church’, 2013, Front & Follow

Kemper Norton, ‘Carn’, 2013, Exotic Pylon Records

IX Tab, ‘Spindle & The Bregnut Tree’, 2012, Twiggwytch Recordings

The House In The Woods, ‘Buccolica’, 2013, Exotic Pylon Records

Pye Corner Audio, 'Sleep Games', 2012, Ghostbox

Also Listening To:

Autechre, L-Event, 2013, Warp

The Haxan Cloak, ‘The Haxan Cloak’, 2011, Aurora Borealis

Laurel Halo, ‘Chance Of Rain’, 2013, Hyperdub

Emptyset, ‘Demiurge’, 2011, Subtext

Emptyset, ‘Recur’, 2013, Raster Noton

Oneohtrix Point Never, ‘R Plus 7’, 2013, Warp

The Stranger, ‘Watching Dead Empires In Decay’, 2013, Modern Love

Deepchord, ‘20 Electrostatic Soundfields’, 2013, Soma



(Some of these are quite dark, and there are relatively few easy listens, but there's not actually a bad one amongst them).

Belgrave Gate Project 7: Over & Under And Round & Round

Belgrave Flyover, Belgrave Circle, Leicester November 2013

As we slide into December and the days grow ever shorter, I feel like I’ve spent most of the year complaining about my creative frustrations.  There have been no shortage of ideas, (or commitment to them), but, for various reasons, everything got a bit fragmented and undirected this year.  Most annoyingly, the luxurious academic summer holidays found me plagued by various health niggles and singularly lacking in energy.  Some work was done, but without fully capitalising on that valuable block of available time.

The Woodsman, Belgrave Gate, Leicester, November 2013

I’ll probably look back on the year, in a few weeks, and find that plenty did happen really, but that it was mostly in the form of smaller, paper based pieces, extensive photographs, tentative writings and, (most intriguingly), experiments with video.  At the turn of the year I stated my intention to augment my core painting and photographic activities with other media, and that certainly has started to happen.  However, inevitably, it’s one of the reasons why things seem to be spread rather thin and there are less fully resolved paintings, to show for the year.

Belgrave Flyover, Belgrave Road, Leicester, October 2013

I’ve also caused myself problems by having too many seperate projects on the go at once, (five at the last count), each of which has the potential to become an extended body of work.  It’s great that I’ve been finding visual (and intellectual), stimulus all over the place; and identifying and compartmentalising distinct strands within it all does help to keep things reasonably focused, at least.  Unfortunately though, it also emphasises that my day job leaves only so many hours in the day/week/month, even when I’m using the time energetically.  A definite resolution for next year is to focus on consolidating existing stuff before I load any more creative shotguns.

Belgrave Flyover, Belgrave Road, Leicester, November 2013

Belgrave Flyover, Belgrave Circle, Leicester, October 2013

Anyway, enough moaning.  At no point has the work actually stopped, and the last few weeks have seen me applying myself with renewed vigour.  This is, in part, due to an external deadline of the most unavoidable kind, (see below).  I’ve spent much of that time with both still and video cameras around one of the two major flyover/roundabout conjunctions that characterise the area of Leicester covered by my ‘Belgrave Gate Project’.  When not there, I’ve repeatedly driven around both roundabouts and over the flyovers that transcend them, shooting video through the car windscreen courtesy of a very homemade, but fairly effective, dashboard camera mount, (it fits my Fabia pretty well, - I’m happy to license the rights to Skoda, for the right fee).

Told You It Was Very Homemade

There must be considerable CCTV footage of me performing these slightly eccentric manoeuvers already, so I should assure the authorities that my motives are benign and that everything is hands-free.  Revealingly, I now realise that pretty much any mundane activity can now become an art activity for me.  The normally frustrating stop-start tedium of driving in rush hour traffic has been translated into a captivating, strangely hypnotic stream of visual consciousness when played back on screen.  Of course, another drain on my time will be teaching myself to edit all this footage into something coherent.  Anyone want to pay me a modest stipend to give up work and just spend the rest of my days indulging myself with all this? (I thought not).

Sainsbury's Supermarket, Belgrave Road, Leicester, October 2013

Extra hours have also been devoted to collecting visual information in the car park of the adjacent Sainsbury’s supermarket.  Having faffed about over summer, I suddenly realised that their closure and relocation is upon us, and that the subsequent contested demolition of the flyover next to the site is likely to commence in the New Year.  The chance to document all this change should, of course, be a gift to the overall long-term project, (urban transformation being one of my preoccupations), but any ‘Before-During-After’ story relies on there being enough of the ‘Before’ to really tell the tale.

Sainsbury's Supermarket, Belgrave Road, Leicester, November 2013

For the time being, it’s a case of just seeing the year out as productively as I can and picking up the ball again as quickly as possible after the inevitable festive hiatus.  The hard drives are bursting at the seams; another of the mysterious paper-based ‘Clue’ pieces has reached completion; and a full-blown ‘Belgrave Gate’ painting is all planned, and under way.  Physiotherapy and an introduction to Pilates [1.], seem to be keeping me a little more mobile; and December should (hopefully) see an end to my distracting dental problems.  It seems that 2013 may be ending with rather more momentum than was evident six months ago.

Sainsbury's Supermarket, Belgrave Road, Leicester, November 2013

[1.]:  Many thanks, Di McDermott.  I know it’s been a heavy year for you too.

Completed 'Second Clue: (Untitled)'

I've just completed the second in this series of paper-based pieces.  It's a clue so, again, comes with no explanation.

'Second Clue: (Untitled)', Acrylics & Paper Collage On Paper, 60 cm X 45 cm, 2013

(In all honesty, I don't think this one's particularly difficult).

Will Self On 'The Society Of The Spectacle'

In various posts, and different contexts, I’ve variously referred to Situationism, GuyDebord, Psychogeography, Patrick Keiller and Will Self in this blog.  I’ve just caught up with an interesting item on the BBC Radio Programme ‘Night Waves’ in which Self, (himself), draws together all those strands, in interview, following his written introduction to a new edition of Debord’s ‘The Society Of The Spectacle’ [1.].

Guy Debord

Will Self

As usual, Self uses his vast, splendiferous vocabulary with genuine relish but still manages to supply a useful, compact introduction/overview of the items under discussion.  It’s available on the BBC iPlayer here, [2.], and I’d recommend anyone with any interest in those subjects to give it a quick listen, (about 35 minutes into the 45 minute broadcast).

Patrick Keiller (Photo: Fernando Shehani / Guardian)

In passing, it’s also a perfect illustration of why the BBC is still the best broadcaster in the World, (for all its institutional defects), and one of the few remaining things of any real value worth living in Britain for.  What other contemporary media outlet would take the trouble to explain exactly why it is itself part of the very ‘Spectacle’ being critiqued?  We’ll all be irreversibly impoverished once the barbarians dismantle The Beeb, or sell it off, (but that’s a different rant).

[1.]:  Guy Debord (With Introduction By Will Self), ‘The Society Of The Spectacle’, London, Notting Hill Editions, 2013

[2.]:  ‘Night Waves’, BBC Radio 3.  Broadcast: 25 November 2013

Vacant Spaces; Multi-Stories

Returning to the car, after hours, we enter a split-level lacuna of chilly calm at the heart of the city.  Outside, bass bins pound and weekenders stagger and shriek across a windswept plain, but all is dormant here.  The last few silent vehicles await the return of dirty stop-outs or the next-day casualties in hung-over daylight; stacked; compartmentalised within ruled lines.

This place is an archetype of Modernism.  An edifice of a specific kind, unlike any other.  A machine for machines to dwell in.  A monument to an unsustainable automotive future; prime real estate given over to vacancy and abandonment.  Despite it’s supreme blankness, buildings just like this haunt the imagination of T.V. and the movies.  The dodgy deal and furtive rendezvous.  Echoing gun-play and tight-cornered pursuit.  Dangerous strangers lurking in shadows.

To wander these decks and ramps is to become lost in an eternal Escher-space of near-identical levels, each serving as a mezzanine to the last.  Functional geometry and something vaguely nautical in white walls and a prevailing horizontality.  Red and green industrial floor coatings shimmering under diseased fluorescent light.  Sans serif signage.  Direction arrows and linear demarcation.  Everything labeled, as though the architect’s plans were translated, verbatim, down to the final legend.  A ceiling of hollow modules like 1970s T.V. spaceship décor; the occasional one becoming a basin of light.  Steel barriers and the electronic eyes of 24 hour security.  Replicated, regulated space and costed time.  Hourly rental of so many cubic metres of dead air.

The outside leaks slowly into this strangest variety of interior space.  Weather dies and becomes meaningless in here.  Nothing goes on happening.  No one comes.  The quivering of fluorescent tubes is felt rather than seen.  Impassive, subtly humming ticket machines await payment in return for release.  A distant squeal of tyres signals the surreptitious escape of an unseen vehicle below.  We start the car and begin our own angular, spiraling descent to the automatic barrier.

All Photos:  Assembly Rooms Car Park, Derby, November 2013