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Mysterious sounds from a wired-up table |
Discord, but Karbido are top table
REVIEW
THE TABLE:
A MAPLE SWISH AND SWUSH
Tricycle Theatre
AN unusual autopsy was performed after “A Maple Swish and Swush,” at the Tricycle theatre.
Otherwise respectable critics crawled under the table on all fours to
fathom its mysterious animus. One man, later restrained by an usher, rapped the leading lady’s wooden surface with his knuckles.
But the contraption’s secret design remains with Polish collective Karbido. All we know is that a humdrum table, when stuffed with electrical wizardry, wired up to musicians and inlaid with strings, becomes an instrument capable of transforming a pencil tap into a marimba drum or a chorus of fingertips into a grandfather clock.
Dressed in black with jaws and eye sockets cast in cavernous shade, the collective appear around the table like mafia men on some shady business. Then, using cut-throat razors, caresses, kitchen utensils and a hidden mixing deck, they coax their dining table into song.
The composition’s theme – a four-part musique concrète drawing on the sounds and moods of each compass point – was agreed upon after weeks of furious argument in Karbido’s home town of Wroclaw. Finally, exhaustion and frostbite gnawed their fingers into artistic consensus.
After weaving together a tapestry of world music, they might have ended up with a pasty mix of the pompous and the schematic. But, apart from a moth-eaten African ditty reminiscent of The Lion King, the group’s resourcefulness never falters. Mimicry of a paper-scrunching typewriter segues seamlessly into distorted film themes for the industrial sounds of the “West”, and later, Michal Litwiniec blows bubbles irreverently into a glass to invoke the glacial “North”.
No hint of the group’s former discord is evident in the execution. With maniacal concentration they regulate one another’s rhythms and movements through glances, ear-wiggles and grimaces. Being privy to exchanges between elements of Karbido’s music machine is part of the show’s fascination.
The only concern is that the table might not survive repeated assaults by sharp objects and curious audience members.
LAURA MITCHISON
• Until November 14
Tickets: 020 7328 1000. |
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