Out and about with George
The Nature of His Game... does not follow definition. It follows necessity. Means, whatever comes up he will mold it into artwork. He loves his pencil. That means he is incapable of using a computer. Our favourite imposter for a robot is misused as a DVD player. Hendrix and Winehouse populate his works of art. His works of art populate his walls. What populates his mind is too obscene to be given public. But he's harmless, generally. His mischief is so mild mannered that it never leads into trouble but catches the breath of many an other artist or scientist and these become enslaved in the parlour of his webs that tie you up in a world of devotion to beauty underlined by the compositions and improvisations of Armstrong and BechÃ©t as being background music and lyrics for prayer. Follow him like a dog and you will be led into caverns of sound, artistic somersaults and a wide collection of people that brave the MalstrÃ¶ms of art to the fringes of losing all orientation. And my, is this all structured, well considered and likewise kept alight and ablaze. Jazz boiling in a bubbling pot of accurately distributed ingredients and spices ranging from blues to the sounds of the Balkan snaking their way through otherwise all too rigidly set mirrors of clock and structure.
A pancake of emotions and perceptions we have here, not a barbecue, nothing burnt, moreso a breakfast, light and nourishing, the perfect start for a day in the fields to go out and harvest art, paintings that grow on trees and music that stretches onward in all directions, endless Miros and Klees waving through the airs pregnant with vibrating sound. That's what you experience when you leave your house and venture out with George Ricci. Don't expect one thing, you will get the other.
He has many crayons. Easels and brushes, screws, glue, boxes, paper. Photographs of Keith Richards and Amy Winehouse, a cat, a window you can't open, the smoke of Egyptian cigarettes and cat shit odour in the air and a whistling tea pot. A winding staircase by Edgar Wallace to get to his appartment. A record player that is used for Louis Armstrong and Sidney Bechet and another window that opens and overlooks the cafÃ© so you can listen to the chatter of people and sparrows.
The House of AsterionWas about George on a ladder hanging black drapery. Building a maze at Kunsthalle Kleinbasel with an installation in the cellar, in the dark, a string leading you to the center of the maze with all these monkey bones lying around. You would hear a saxophone and George reading "The House of Asterion" ("La casa de AsteriÃ³n") by Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges.
TieftonfraktionBatou asks the Major: "What is it like, down there?", and she answers: "There is absolutely nothing." (Ghost in the Shell, 2017, starring Scarlett Johansson and Pilou AsbÃ¦k, I enjoyed it thoroughly!).
Not so the Tieftonfraktion, now celebrating it's 5th year: There is plenty down there. Annika and George had met in my studio five years ago when I needed to have deep tones for a new version of "Voodoo Chile". I hope George still has Annika's illustrations that I'd like to purchase from her on some occasion.
They seem to have a passion for deep tones in common, especially for the bass clarinet. With slight interruptions they have been playing ever since: Down there there is much more than nothing, swirling worlds of bass tones, didgerydooesque swirlings without end. "What is it?", George would ask. "It's a little like music, only deeper." Egyptian fantasies and tales of the yoyo. So here is the charming concert at Bistro Ã„ngel oder Aff, 9th May 2019.
Look and hear, hear ...
Tones from the deep ...