Scott Huckabay's performance on Maui; Sam Small Dirctor, Editor from samsmall on Vimeo.
Scott Huckabay is a brilliant guitarist whose groundbreaking style incorporates elements of Rock, Blues, Jazz and Fusion. To watch Huckabay play the guitar today, you are struck by his overall mastery of the fretboard and the way in which his fingers fly up and down the neck of his acoustic guitar. Including using a meteorite for a guitar pick, Scott utilizes every known guitar trick and then adds a few of his own just for fun. Behind the explosive dynamics and pulsating rhythm of Scott Huckabay's alchemical guitar work lies an inspiring story of healing and recovery that is perhaps, more powerful than the music itself.
Sam Small Director, Editor, Writer, Camera, Producer
http://vimeo.com/2660657
Darryl's account of the evening:
Scott Huckaby's performance last night was simply amazing. It was incredible, in the strictest sense of the word.
His first song lasted almost 20 minutes, which sounds like a lengthy piece, until you consider that in that amount of time he used a violin bow on his guitar, he twirled around a speaker with it to produce feedback noises, he french-kissed it, he karate-chopped it, he kicked it with shaman bells wrapped around his ankles, he plucked, picked, and strummed it, he banged the back of it with his closed fist and open palm, he played it over his head and behind it, he held it over an electronic crystal that rotated through a spectrum of colors and emitted some sort of energy that changed the frequency of the sound depending on its proximity to the guitar -- I fully expected to see him lube it up and use it as a dildo. What an encore *that* would have been!
Even with all the manhandling of his instrument, his music was still remarkably ... musical, and furthermore it was danceable. Lots of people danced throughout, in fact, including one young girl with long blond hair who wore a shawl but no panties -- an incongruent fashion choice to my mind. It would be the same if be as if a fellow took to the dance floor wearing gloves but no boxers, tighty-whities, or jock. But even that wouldn't be as apparent to everyone assembled as was this girl's, especially given her propensity to twirl en pointe like a music-box ballerina (albeit one blessed with the body of a Rubens model).
The only dancer who commanded as much of my attention was a squat middle-aged woman with curly reddish hair cut short above her ears but left to explode violently upward as she danced, as if she has been electrocuted shortly before she took to the dance floor. She also twirled as she danced and took it even further than the blond by keeping her eyes closed throughout. This decision -- or side-effect of electrocution? -- gave her an errant dancing style strongly reminiscent of a child's top at the point when its rotation has slowed down so much that the stabilizing effects of centrifugal force have been completely nullified, leaving her with only a herky-jerky inertia to propel her around the dance floor in an orbit so erratic that it was impossible to predict -- while simultaneously impossible not to *try* to predict -- if, or when, the top would suddenly swerve toward them, or collide with a potted plant, or topple over a microphone stand, or crash into
a filtered water dispenser, or bounce off a mirrored wall. To music.
Exciting stuff!
Postscript:
I would be remiss not to say this, even if no one believes me, but at no time did twin twirlers Muffy and Puffy (nor, for that matter, the juggler, the firespinner, or the woman who sang in tongues) manage to ever upstage Huckaby, not his persona and certainly not his music. All credit goes to the man's enormously combustible performance that such potential distractions remained solidly peripheral and, at the same time, peripherally solid. Like the Pips, or the Staggering Harlettes, you couldn't imagine the show without them but, nonetheless, no one would ever suffer under the illusion that they *were* the show.
Scott Huckaby's performance last night was simply amazing. It was incredible, in the strictest sense of the word.
His first song lasted almost 20 minutes, which sounds like a lengthy piece, until you consider that in that amount of time he used a violin bow on his guitar, he twirled around a speaker with it to produce feedback noises, he french-kissed it, he karate-chopped it, he kicked it with shaman bells wrapped around his ankles, he plucked, picked, and strummed it, he banged the back of it with his closed fist and open palm, he played it over his head and behind it, he held it over an electronic crystal that rotated through a spectrum of colors and emitted some sort of energy that changed the frequency of the sound depending on its proximity to the guitar -- I fully expected to see him lube it up and use it as a dildo. What an encore *that* would have been!
Even with all the manhandling of his instrument, his music was still remarkably ... musical, and furthermore it was danceable. Lots of people danced throughout, in fact, including one young girl with long blond hair who wore a shawl but no panties -- an incongruent fashion choice to my mind. It would be the same if be as if a fellow took to the dance floor wearing gloves but no boxers, tighty-whities, or jock. But even that wouldn't be as apparent to everyone assembled as was this girl's, especially given her propensity to twirl en pointe like a music-box ballerina (albeit one blessed with the body of a Rubens model).
The only dancer who commanded as much of my attention was a squat middle-aged woman with curly reddish hair cut short above her ears but left to explode violently upward as she danced, as if she has been electrocuted shortly before she took to the dance floor. She also twirled as she danced and took it even further than the blond by keeping her eyes closed throughout. This decision -- or side-effect of electrocution? -- gave her an errant dancing style strongly reminiscent of a child's top at the point when its rotation has slowed down so much that the stabilizing effects of centrifugal force have been completely nullified, leaving her with only a herky-jerky inertia to propel her around the dance floor in an orbit so erratic that it was impossible to predict -- while simultaneously impossible not to *try* to predict -- if, or when, the top would suddenly swerve toward them, or collide with a potted plant, or topple over a microphone stand, or crash into
a filtered water dispenser, or bounce off a mirrored wall. To music.
Exciting stuff!
Postscript:
I would be remiss not to say this, even if no one believes me, but at no time did twin twirlers Muffy and Puffy (nor, for that matter, the juggler, the firespinner, or the woman who sang in tongues) manage to ever upstage Huckaby, not his persona and certainly not his music. All credit goes to the man's enormously combustible performance that such potential distractions remained solidly peripheral and, at the same time, peripherally solid. Like the Pips, or the Staggering Harlettes, you couldn't imagine the show without them but, nonetheless, no one would ever suffer under the illusion that they *were* the show.
Dar
No comments:
Post a Comment