Les Transformibles (V). Ian Crutchley. Group exhibition review. Musicworks Magazine. Latitude 53. Edmonton.

The Long Night Takes. Solo exhibition essay. Esther Bourdages. Oboro. Montréal, QC.
en / fr

Silence, Time and Dead Air, Ellen Moffat. PAVED Arts. Saskatoon.

Exhibition explores repercussions of sound. Review of Dead Air, FOFA Gallery. Liz Crompton. Concordia News. Montréal.
Steve Bates: On Memory’s Machines. Pablo Rodriguez. Canadian Art.

A Conversation with Steve Bates Regarding Dead Air. Josina Robb. Ace Art. Winnipeg.


Concertina by Steve Bates, barbed wire radio transmission
Matteo Marangoni
Neural Magazine

Pirate radio stations know that if they cannot keep their gear on the move, their days are counted. Locating the source of radio transmissions is a technique developed during the First World War and still employed by law enforcement agencies policing the radio spectrum. In the jungles of Central America legend tells that rebel groups have discovered a tactic for evading localization by the army when communicating by radio. Taking advantage of the barbed wire laid out for miles over the landscape by the military to hinder their mobility, the rebels allegedly hook up radio transmitters to the wire and reclaim it as an antenna. This spreads the transmission source over a large territory, allowing the rebels to evade conventional localization techniques. Inspired by this guerrilla practice, Steve Bates harnesses the communication potential of barbed wire in an installation exhibited at the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal. Two coils of military grade concertina wire lined up with razor sharp blades are extended on a low pedestal across the museum floor. This weaponized barrier threatening visitors takes its name from its spiral form, designed for rapid deployment, which expands and recoils like the bellows of an accordion. The barbed wire is connected to a low-power radio transmitter which is received by radios placed around the exhibition space. These diffuse a dreamlike ambience combining samples of a concertina accordion mixed together with the two main frequencies (50 and 60 hz) found in electrical power grids. The concertina is a diatonic button accordion. At the height of European colonialism it was amongst the first industrially produced musical instruments that introduced western tuning to many parts of the globe. The uncanny contrast between military and musical imagery inherent within the material employed has a disorienting effect that reflects the dialectic between power and empowerment and the ambivalence of geographical demarcations or standards in the age of disembodiment.

Steve Bates: On the Sound of Time
Bryne McLaughlin
Canadian Art

Amid the many distractions of an information-saturated, ultra-plugged-in modern world, where even the most routine tasks can border on sensory overload, a quiet moment of reflection may seem rare, and even slightly disorienting. Montreal artist Steve Bates taps into this awkward balance between the speed of everyday life and our ability to absorb its often-chaotic signals in “For me the noise of time is not sad,” currently on view at Maison de la culture Notre-Dame-de-Grâce. Produced in conjunction with artist-run centres Dazibao and PRIM (Productions et Réalisations Indépendentes de Montréal), the exhibition features a pair of sound-and-video works designed to isolate the fundamentals of listening, looking and remembering.

For the show’s title work, a set of three projections fills the darkened gallery with a sequence of random snapshots taken from a cross-continental journey by car to the home of a grandfather suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Timed to flash intermittently at 1/8 to 1/16 of a second (roughly the time taken to record them) these images offer no more than a narrative glimpse. That fleeting visual impact is countered by the accompanying click of an analog camera shutter that has been slowed down and distorted—a measure of what Bates, in a related text, calls the “sound of time.” As the photographic instant and its afterimage fade in tandem with the echoing shutter sound, the rapid-fire mechanics of memory are revealed, leaving viewers to quietly contemplate the lasting connections between what they’ve seen and what they’ve heard. That questioning of how memory is formed and fashioned continues in the exhibition’s second work, Roadmovie, which weaves an elaborate narrative grounded by eerily ambiguous footage of an empty country road at night.