High Zero saw its 26th iteration nestled between the mid-autumn harvest moon and the autumnal equinox on Sep. 19-22, and the mood of the room bubbled raucous and reflective across and between each set. The four day festival of experimental improvised music features a curated, invitation-only group of performers (half from around the world and half from Baltimore), who join in various configurations to deliver potent and gutsy music. Both the performance roster and the longevity of the festival are a testament to Baltimore as a site for experimental art, and the first two nights that I attended celebrated the city and its scene-makers alongside collaboration and the unknown.
A suited up M.C. Schmidt (of Matmos) took the mic opening night with affable, corny banter, playfully musing on amateurism vs. professionalism. “What’s not exciting is professional: Welcome to Home Depot. I love you,” he remarked. And this sometimes murky delineation sets High Zero apart from other stuffier contexts of experimental music shows – bookending the program was a one act play by Drew Daniel (also of Matmos) that read like a philosophical dialogue between himself and a heckler, and a Mad Lib with prompts like “name some type of small but unnerving animal.”
When Schmidt announced players for each set, most of them rose from among the audience in the arena-style blackbox, and the role of the spectator blurred. Each performance traversed the earnest, courageous, and playful, and one could sense the harmony within groups – evidence of the collective’s skillful and thought-out curation. Sam Pluta was up first with a solo electronics set, delivering lurching and gasping vocal samples dialed up to extremes as short sighs and lilts fused into drones. Darien Baiza (drumset), Jamal R. Moore (reeds, percussion, and electronics), Chris Williams (trumpet and electronics), and Bonnie Lander (vocals) were a meditative and considerate group, even at the peak moments of volume and energy. Moore rolled out soft melodic lines on the flute and piccolo, and Lander cut through the flighty woodwind runs and rumbling drum rolls with sustained and clear calls.
Chris Williams performs at High Zero 2024 — Photo by David Lobato
Ishmael Ali (cello and SP-404), CK Barlow (sampled electronics), and Rachel Beetz (flute/electronics) followed. Anticipating something feathery, the set began with attention to texture as Ali and Beetz traded and echoed gossamer, metallic sounds with airy growling, but we were soon enveloped by a relentless whistling teapot, clanging metal, and flips between gritty overpressure and breezy harmonics. With jagged triggers of what sounded like TV and radio clips, the trio locked into place with taps and clicks, ascending and descending little hills back and forth, gradually retreating into the horizon.
The final acoustic set entranced with a half moon of light on the screen behind them. As Roman Norfleet (voice, reeds, electronics, and percussion) stood in shadow, Che Davis made rumbly trombone exhalations and Tiziana Bertoncini bowed a violin drone, slowly sliding upwards. As Tiziana neared overpressure, Norfleet began gibberish vocal incantations unmistakably in the cadence of a preacher. Putu Hiranmayena inquisitively toyed with a figurine, sitting among his Balinese gamelan setup. It emulated that pre-bedtime burst of energy: frenetic, abrasive, and slightly silly. In the set’s dwindling moments, Norfleet, no longer making audible sounds, emphatically beckoned with his arms.
Ishmael Ali and CK Barlow perform at High Zero 2024 — Photo by Stewart Mostofsky
The sounds and tone of the evening followed an arc like a suite, with the more prickly and bewildering sets toward the end. This kind of improvisation necessitates curiosity and sensitivity to the sounds people around you are making, the sounds that aren’t there, the directions your bandmembers chase, the audience, the atmosphere, and the quippy monologues. Being present to the spontaneity and novelty of the music also extended to the context and history that surrounded us. We were consistently reminded of High Zero Collective’s origins 28 years ago while being tasked to consider and honor the years past and rooms that led us to gather in this one. High Zero is acutely aware of and invested in its place within experimental improvisation, and together we participated in an existential ponderance with bursts of sound and energy interspersed throughout.
Friday was dubbed the “Night of Randomization,” and the room’s energy continued to be lightheartedly rowdy and spirited. Participants were called upon to draw names from a hat to form groups, and to scan through the weekend’s already planned groups to ensure no repeated combinations. Obie Feldi, Patrick McMinn, and Putu Hiranmayena ventured into the waters with varying approaches – McMinn brought intensity with trumpet augmented by SuperCollider, while Feldi sat across the stage taking leisurely bites out of an apple between flourishes on the laptop. Hiranmayena introduced fluid movements in a squatting position among his instruments after alternating between rattling and steady chiming of the gamelan.
Sam Newsome performs at High Zero 2024 — Photo by David Lobato
The second group, comprised of Ishmael Ali, Sam Newsome, Roman Norfleet, Thomas Lehn, and Mickey Lusk, was one of the most striking sets because it felt truly improvisatory in its uncertainty. Lusk spent time sitting still and not playing – many points felt too loud and busy for amplified harp, and the waiting for a clearing was quite delightful in a way, urging us to see and hear absence of sound just as intently as the audible.
High Zero is uniquely Baltimore: institution-adjacent, but willfully not the Institution. The dedicated folks who work hard to put the weekend together do their jobs at the highest caliber. The melange of players from around the world who play the weekend; the friendly folks who work the merch table, kindly set up the complimentary hot beverage bar, and help with load-in/load-out; those who opened their homes to host the out-of-towners; the community members who stayed through each set; and the grounded experimental scene that everyone contributes to has soared through another year.
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