- The classy experimental festival hosts memorable performances from William Basinski, Caterina Barbieri and Robin Fox.
- Smoke hung thick in the air on the first day of Semibreve 2018. After a long fire ban, local farmers were once again allowed to burn excess crops, leaving small smoking stacks dotted along the road from the airport to Braga. It was as if the universe, knowing an experimental music festival was about to begin, was cranking the fog machine. Now in its eighth year, Semibreve hosts its main shows at Theatre Circo, a theatre built in 1915 with red velvet carpets and a massive crystal chandelier. The city, which is packed with rococo churches, manicured gardens and small castles, has seen an influx of young people in recent years, revitalising the once ageing population. Even so, it's still mostly people from out of town who attend Semibreve. This year, the festival sold out its first two days.
Before Friday's programme began, I walked past a café and caught a sharp glimmer of light reflecting off William Basinski's leather shoe as he enjoyed a coffee on the patio. It was a brief glimpse into the glamour that was to come during his performance later that night. Dressed in Aviator sunglasses, alarmingly skinny jeans and a bedazzled suit jacket, he presented a gaudy personal image in complete opposition to the dulcet tones of his music. Playing new material using a laptop and a large mixing desk, he delivered a wide range of ambient, from bassy to ethereal. Ending with sweeping ocean sounds and a clicking noise that faded out dramatically, the audience waited in complete silence for 60 seconds until he shut his laptop and blew them a kiss.
Saturday was Semibreve's busiest day. Originally scheduled to take place in one of Braga's many churches, the music of Caterina Barbieri was deemed "satanic" by the resident priest, resulting in a last-minute change of venue. The new spot was a large horizontal room in a monastery, with low ceilings lined with wooden chandeliers. It maybe wasn't the ideal space for music this reverb-heavy and pointillistic, but whatever effect it had on the sound didn't dull the impact of the performance. Standing over her modular setup, Barbieri played a set of largely new material combined with some from her 2017 album, Patterns Of Consciousness. Feeding the synth through arpeggiators while adding filters and reverb, her sequences went from the ascendent and the ecstatic to hissing noise that sounded, especially given the context of the space, like she was performing some sort of electronic exorcism.
Back at Theatre Circo, I enjoyed a commissioned piece from the Canadian composer (and this week's RA podcaster) Sarah Davachi and the Portuguese visual artist Laetitia Morais. Standing side by side, they delivered an audiovisual performance that felt completely interwoven, despite it being their first collaboration. Beginning with a single high tone that pierced the space, Davachi made only slight deviations from this note throughout the set, occasionally adding harmonies or offering slight tonal variations. Complimenting this peaceful quality, Morais's visuals were documentary-like, using footage she shot while travelling through the Himalayas. The ceremonial nature of the visuals combined with the meditative sounds gave the performance a religious undertone. By the end, I felt like I'd been through a cycle of worship.
The night ended at the festival's second regular venue, a renovated traffic police building called GNRation. DJ Stingray played upstairs in a medium-sized space that took on a kind of youth club vibe. As the first quickened notes started to spill out, a group of boys behind me began chanting along with the beat, a sure sign that after a day of minimalism, people were ready to rave. Judging by the passionate dancing erupting around me, his pacy set, characterised by a dystopian energy, was just the thing.
Two fog machines were already blasting as the audience trickled into Theatre Circo on Sunday evening. Behind me, a couple discussed the professional hazards of working with lasers—for example, how they can burn through flesh and leave you blind. As the theatre dimmed to total darkness, the first projected laser of Robin Fox's set swept its way through the crowd like a searchlight. You could sense the nervous energy in the room—people averted their eyes or tried to dodge the beam of light. What followed was a completely immersive experience. The lasers seemed to inhabit and visualise the Australian's varying electronics. Most notable was his use of light and fog. As the lasers widened, they highlighted the fog floating through the air, making it seem like patches of dark were being ripped open to reveal slivers of sky. The music ranged from glitchy electronics to sections with palpable rhythms, though the most exciting part was a field recording he played of Pop Rocks dissolving in someone's mouth. It was one of those familiar sounds you have trouble placing, and listening to it felt incredibly intimate. Fox's closing performance was about as close to fireworks as you can get within a spectacular old theatre.
Photo credit /
Adriano Ferreira Borges / Semibreve
Back at Theatre Circo, I enjoyed a commissioned piece from the Canadian composer (and this week's RA podcaster) Sarah Davachi and the Portuguese visual artist Laetitia Morais. Standing side by side, they delivered an audiovisual performance that felt completely interwoven, despite it being their first collaboration. Beginning with a single high tone that pierced the space, Davachi made only slight deviations from this note throughout the set, occasionally adding harmonies or offering slight tonal variations. Complimenting this peaceful quality, Morais's visuals were documentary-like, using footage she shot while travelling through the Himalayas. The ceremonial nature of the visuals combined with the meditative sounds gave the performance a religious undertone. By the end, I felt like I'd been through a cycle of worship. The night ended at the festival's second regular venue, a renovated traffic police building called GNRation. DJ Stingray played upstairs in a medium-sized space that took on a kind of youth club vibe. As the first quickened notes started to spill out, a group of boys behind me began chanting along with the beat, a sure sign that after a day of minimalism, people were ready to rave. Judging by the passionate dancing erupting around me, his pacy set, characterised by a dystopian energy, was just the thing.
Two fog machines were already blasting as the audience trickled into Theatre Circo on Sunday evening. Behind me, a couple discussed the professional hazards of working with lasers—for example, how they can burn through flesh and leave you blind. As the theatre dimmed to total darkness, the first projected laser of Robin Fox's set swept its way through the crowd like a searchlight. You could sense the nervous energy in the room—people averted their eyes or tried to dodge the beam of light. What followed was a completely immersive experience. The lasers seemed to inhabit and visualise the Australian's varying electronics. Most notable was his use of light and fog. As the lasers widened, they highlighted the fog floating through the air, making it seem like patches of dark were being ripped open to reveal slivers of sky. The music ranged from glitchy electronics to sections with palpable rhythms, though the most exciting part was a field recording he played of Pop Rocks dissolving in someone's mouth. It was one of those familiar sounds you have trouble placing, and listening to it felt incredibly intimate. Fox's closing performance was about as close to fireworks as you can get within a spectacular old theatre. Photo credit / Adriano Ferreira Borges / Semibreve