distance
Queering Spaces Through Sound
A Visual Essay (and work in progress) by Abigail Lindo
Synths and Strobe Lights in Coliseu Micalense
I see Coliseu Micalense as a structure in the present but of the past, but also as a timeless cultural figure. At the time of my visit in 2022, the hall was celebrating its 100-year anniversary. It has been home to operas, rock concerts, and circuses (among other performance types), but when it sits empty, its storied history is not as resonant as the feeling of its hollow potential. It is just an empty space, but it is also everything that has ever happened within it: the coliseum carries its history in the images captured throughout its 100 years but also sits silent at night, contemplating its future. The videos I captured of performances in this space show individuals as actors: moving frantically around the circular dancefloor, singing or playing instruments on the black stage contrasting with the deep red walls around it, dancing and clapping as they stand or sit throughout an event, or just standing still and letting sounds wash over them. As I temporarily experienced this space I wondered how the space itself, with its high ceilings and dramatic carved details surrounding the stage and throughout its ample balconies, prompted a certain response from patrons or created expectations for engagement.
Performances in this venue, specifically the concert shown below, demonstrated how proximity and distance demonstrates agency and power within the sonic space as roles of audience and performer encompass new meanings over time. At the start of the performance, a one-hour set by DJ duo OMNE, the herringbone wooden floors were visible as the strobe lights danced in a red haze, bouncing off of the walls as a repeating bass line progression rattled the windows. There was always noise. The performers stood among the initial bodies scattered on the second level of the Coliseu Micalense, blocked from standing or sitting on the steps, with many gravitating to the bar located in the back corner before the performance officially started. I stood beside the artists before I was aware of their role as performers. They spoke in Portuguese, each holding a beer in their hands in a small plastic Tremor cup, sipping slowly and nodding with a group of attendees.
They eventually moved to the “stage,” a separated section with their mixing equipment and speakers, the space where the strobe lights originated, and the synths were sequenced. Soon a veil of fog coated the dancefloor, which was now packed with bodies: close and tight, pulsating like one large feeling and breathing organism. Orange light coated the white walls, and the once looping track was replaced by a playful array of spliced sounds and effects, all with rich, moving quakes of bass to provide a pulse for the event. There was no prescribed approach to bodily movement or sonic response in the space, though sonically, individuals did not sing, chant, or yell in abundance: this is not expected for an instrumental DJ set at this festival. A lull of conversation at times rivaled the music, which was thunderous but bearable depending on location. My colleague and I made our post at the base of one of the two inaccessible staircases. I beaconed to a security officer at the top of the stairs and solicited him to take a picture for me in my best Portuguese accent. The resulting images capture what is described above and alludes to significantly more.
The fog is fitting: it signals memory. It is seen in the image as a haze, which is what the experience mirrored. The fog is how I remember the sounds, made sharper by returning to audio recordings, but this fog will forever be present in the visual experience of the concert: it was present then and persists in these images. There is something additionally meaningful about the aerial angle of these images, capturing the breath of the crowd, separation of the performers, and clash between the pink and orange lights that also remain as a vital element of this experience. Looking from above can signal separation, literal distance from the events taking place or being involved in the aims of entertainment felt by the crowd. If an image is captured at the same height of the crowd, the frame is presented to allow the viewer to participate in the event: they are among those in attendance.
The politics of proximity or distance within this context considers the agency of individuals as participants in a performance space and recorders of history to shape a particular narrative of a situation or experience with flexibility in execution and preparation. Choice demonstrates identity and agency within the performance space and distance provides space for the filmic, untethered to motivations that are culturally specific or bound to language (Barthes 1977). This experiential facet cannot easily be translated in the image but uses the image as a medium to evoke specific responses, something individuals cannot control. In this way, the sonic and the visual share the quality of inimitable sensorial knowledge. Barthes (1977) describes the grain as “the body in the voice as it sings, the hand as it writes, the limb as it performs” (Barthes 1977, 188). The grain is more than timbre because it supplements the language of the sense because it is the language of sound, outside of words or attempting to understand the voice by how it sounds. It is within the medium of the voice or the instrument and outside of words, making it ideal for approaching the wealth of EDM and instrumental performances offered at Tremor.