Loop B recently relocated from Brazil. For some weird reason, for 3 weeks in June I ran into him everywhere; The Super Coda, Ze Couch, various functions presented by PAS. If you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Loop you’ll understand what I mean when I say that his presence marked those weeks with the discrete sensation of stumbling into one of Pynchon’s novels.
So I book him. Here’s the skinny. Proceed with caution.
A cache of objects transforms the stage; a broken PC keyboard, mixing bowl, plastic sword. Loop announces he’s “using small things. No washing machine tonight.”
Loop embarks to accompany, on things, various recordings of slightly damaged Brazilian dance tunes, rapidly sheathing/unsheathing his sword, bouncing a marble (that proves uncooperative) in his bowl, consistently dancing in place. And all throughout the tension builds to outgrow itself, palpable in a way that’s abominably rare in this life, the realization of pure, unadulterated disbelief, extended all the way down to the bottom of the abyss, wherein lies a –
Strangely shaped hub cap?
Part of a kiln?
A Bundt pan?
Whatever it is, Loop places it on his head and bangs away on both sides with chopsticks, a stereophonic grin peeling off his face and flapping through the audience (which has tripled over the course of his performance). And that’s how it is, until the backing track sambas it’s final samba, absurdly departing this world as one might imagine a drunk nun.
QED. WTF. That’s all, folks. – Valerie Kuehne
