The combination of Voice Crack, Jim O'Rourke and I-Sound drew a sizeable and appreciative crowd for a midnight set at Tonic on Thursday night - and this, despite the fact that many of the local regulars for the improv scene were in Victoriaville. Personally, this was my first time to see Voice Crack live, and it made a huge difference. I'd always enjoyed their idiosyncratic approach to music-making on record, but in this case, it was really helpful to see the ways in which they actually, physically manipulated their sundry implements. The motion itself had a kind of poetry that added an extra dimension to the sounds they were creating - it was almost like watching a toned-down version of one of Jerry Hunt's shamanic rituals as they selected, waved, shook and lit up their flashlights, photoreceptors and other toys. That said, it really only held true during the two sets by Company at 8 and 10, both of which Voice Crack participated in alongside O'Rourke, Derek Bailey, John Zorn, Marcus Rojas, Chad Taylor, Ikue Mori, Miguel Frasconi and Casey Rice (a particularly electroacoustic Company, with O'Rourke on EMS "Synthi" and Mori and Rice wielding Powerbooks). Only then were Moslang and Guhl completely visible. During their own set, the lights were lowered to a minimum - not quite the extreme to which Francisco Lopez has gone, but definitely offering a measure of disembodiment to the set. During an opening piece that lasted 40 minutes, Voice Crack, O'Rourke (analog synth) and I-Sound (laptop) sculpted and combined a myriad of sounds that wove together with the organic unanimity of a string quartet; each strand was discernible, yet all contributed to a larger whole. Like my experience with Rowe at the same club, I was overwhelmed by how much more tactile and visceral this music can be in a live setting - partially a matter of presence, no doubt, and certainly a matter of volume. I-Sound had something to the right of his laptop - perhaps a trackball mouse, but I doubt it, since he was waving his hand over and around it as if he were playing a theremin. Whenever a pulse crept into the music that couldn't be attributed to electronic interference tones from Voice Crack's toys, it could usually be located in I-Sound's hand gestures. At one point, it also sounded as if an acoustic guitar was being strummed in the distance, with no visible source to which to attribute the illusion. Midway through, someone introduced a squealing sine tone that had most of the audience clutching at their ears. Relentless, it kept on through muttered electronic vocalizations and jackhammer pounding, steam whistles and locomotive engines, finally subsiding to a gradual, increasing stillness in the last five minutes or so. The second piece began in that area of stillness, an awesome, motionless space that cast smaller voices in much greater relief. As the volume and density slowly mounted - it felt portentious, though this, as you'll read, may be a retroactive impression - one of the Voice Crack-ers played snippets of discernible voices: "... 10th of September..." "... 11th..." "... New York..." "... I'll never forget, my life changed forever..." A wave of startled recognition deepened the stillness, and objectivity was suddenly out the window. It was Bill Ashline, I believe, who once pondered "narrativity" in electro-acoustic music on another mailing list. Here was a tangible example, which had a dramatic effect on the music, but also served to remove most of the subtleties of personal interpretation - here, it was in 12-inch high block lettering. The music became funereal, a low-pitched combination of pulse and drone, building slowly, inexorably through sounds that resembled cracked church bells, diving sounds and the whine of turbine engines, ending not in cataclysm but solemn repose. What to make of this? The voices that triggered the associations were real; I checked with other listeners to be sure. The presumption, then, is that my interpretation of the music I'd heard was "correct." And who's to say that Voice Crack, like countless other performers over the last eight months, weren't literally paying tribute to the terrible events that this city endured? It's an experience the likes of which I've never before encountered in an electroacoustic improv performance, leaving me with many questions and a distinct emotional reaction. I wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world at that moment. Someone in the audience was recording the show, but I'd be willing to guess that whatever the quality of the recording, nothing could quite duplicate the experience of having been there. (Of course, being a newcomer to their performances, I run the risk of being told that Voice Crack do this kind of thing all the time - but somehow, I doubt it.) Steve Smith ssmith36@sprynet.com NP - Schoenberg, 'Gurrelieder' - Berlin Phil/Rattle (EMI)