In the almost two decades since the Grammy-winning Atlanta hip-hop duo Outkast stopped making new music, André Benjamin (AKA André 3000, AKA the more outre of the two) has been on a real trip, moving further and further away from rap and towards middle age – and improvisational jazz. Along the way he lost his parents, gained an anxiety disorder diagnosis, and started popping up in the wilds of Los Angeles (and thence your feed) playing a Mesoamerican flute while waiting for his coffee in Starbucks or his flight at LAX. Custom-made instruments accumulated, ayahuasca was essayed, and a chance meeting with “spiritual improvisational / space collage music” guru Carlos Niño in the organic grocery chain Erewhon set the stage for one of 2023’s most intriguing releases: an album of instrumental, improvisational, experimental music titled New Blue Sun. It came with a warning label: “No bars”.
Imagine five steps to the left of that, and you’ll be in the ballpark for André 3000’s headlining spot at the Art Gallery of New South Wales’s Volume festival, in which Benjamin, Niño and friends jammed in the Tank, a converted oil reservoir beneath the gallery’s new building. Across 90 minutes four musicians (including Deantoni Parks and Surya Botofasina) built an ambient soundscape from synths and keys, drums, percussion and a variety of flutes and flute-like instruments, laced with samples of bird calls, occasional panting, and the odd wild animal noise. If it feels almost satirical, Benjamin appears to be in on the joke: in one of a handful of spoken interludes during the show, he talked earnestly for a minute or so in a made-up language, before switching to English: “I want to let everyone know, what I just said, from the bottom of my heart – I completely made all of that shit up. You should have seen your faces; y’all looked so serious!”
Benjamin is not a virtuosic flute player, nor is he trying to be; his latest project seems at least as much about the process as proficiency; an embodiment of the no-holds-barred curiosity that has characterised his musical career. Edited into an album, the experiment makes for compelling listening; as a live improvisation, it proved a mixed bag, though the high points were just a beanbag short of a bliss-out.
The evening felt emblematic of Volume, which, in its second year, still seems in search of an identity and not quite sure how to make best use of its main venue. In the festival’s promising inaugural edition, it leaned into the nexus of music and art with a high-drama, visually lavish performance by Solange; stripped-back improvisational guitar from the sonic experimentalist Jeff Parker; and cosmic blues from 73-year-old Alabama artist Lonnie Holley. But it also struggled to build a pathway between an audience expecting a music gig and musicians who were offering art – resulting in an occasionally frustrating experience for both.
This year’s edition built on some of last year’s successes, taking advantage of the Tank’s ambience and acoustics with an evening of experimental music curated by the composer and artist Lawrence English. The festival also, possibly by necessity, added more big names – including Kim Gordon, Genesis Owusu and Tkay Maidza. Interestingly, the avant-gardists on the lineup tended to come off better in the match-up: perhaps unsurprisingly, a 2,200 sq m venue with a concrete floor, seven-metre ceiling and support structure of 125 columns is a devilish disruptor of sound and sightlines. Stripped-back, ambient sounds and vocals are elevated in this venue; less is more.
A free Wednesday night performance in the Tank by the experimental ensemble Hand to Earth, led by Yolngu songman Daniel Wilfred and Korean vocalist Sunny Kim, was sublime – the kind of “only here, only now” experience that Volume holds forth the promise of.
As it turns out, André 3000’s new age, experimental flute jams were an astute choice – but would have been better experienced seated, or lying down while gazing at projected visuals. As with Solange’s performance at last year’s festival, there was a disconnect between the artist and sections of the audience, as evidenced by the low thrum of conversation and a constant trickle of people leaving via the Tank’s spiral staircase. Late in the show, a network of lasers fired into action, bisecting the air above the crowd – and you had to wonder if they might have played that visual ace a little earlier in the game.
In its sophomore outing, Volume remains promising, but feels like it’s at a crucial juncture, between the weird, wonderful and arty – and the more mainstream and musical. Sydney has plenty of venues that would better serve acts such as Genesis Owusu and Tkay Maidza – but relatively few venues of scale or mainstream platforms for experimental music. Here’s hoping the weird wins.
