Descent

A Performance Video by The Blue Statesmen, presented by The Substation for SeptFest 2022: uproot | rootless

Online

Friday, 16 September 2022 onwards

The Substation’s website and YouTube channel

Onsite

Friday, 16 September 2022 – Sunday, 18 September 2022

Friday, 23 September 2022 – Sunday, 25 September 2022

11:00 am – 7:00 pm

Figment Embassy House

11 Lorong 24A Geylang, Singapore 398535 (map)

Written and Directed by Bryan Tan

Visual and Sound Design by Casey Lim

Dramaturgy and Research by Robin Loon

Videography by Joanne Tan

Performed by Ranice Tay and Serene Chen

In 2012, The Blue Statesmen (comprising theatre artists Bryan Tan, Robin Loon and Casey Lim) presented the play BluePrince, an homage to the founder of The Substation, Kuo Pao Kun (1939 – 2002) for SeptFest 2012. A decade later, the collective reunites for Descent, a performance video that draws on concepts and concerns in Kuo’s seminal play, Descendants of the Eunuch Admiral.

Descent uses Kuo’s play as a platform for the contemplation of our society’s cultural values and contemporary beliefs. As a counterpoint, a young actress wanders through the city and performs a ritualistic summoning of the Chinese sea goddess, Mazu, invoking her blessings for the vulnerable individuals in our country – just as she once protected Zheng He and his armada during a storm at sea, or so folklore would have us believe.

Message from the Writer and Director

1.

“I have come to realise of late that dreaming has become the centre of my life.”

That’s the beginning of Kuo Pao Kun’s Descendants of the Eunuch Admiral. What comes after?

Because of my friends and collaborators, I don’t have to dream all by myself. Because of the ones who supported The Blue Statesmen in the making of Descent, we are not alone.

2.

There are zero rooms in The Substation – yet room still remains.

The organisation no longer occupies a building, but what survives is the space that it represents. A space where you can dig deeper to see what lies beneath, to discover what has been buried or lost.

A network of artists and art lovers. Will we continue to be seen and heard?

3.

To keep the art

I must accept losing an address

To keep my self

I must learn to find you

You who know the power of The Substation

Together, we can still dream

In solidarity, we can endure

Our will is our survival

Bryan Tan

Writer and Director

Credits

Written and Directed by Bryan Tan

Bryan Tan is a playwright and theatre director. He graduated from the National University of Singapore with a Bachelor of Laws degree in 1999. Since 2021, he has served on the Board of Directors of The Substation.

In 1996, he was awarded the First Prize in the Hewlett-Packard / Action Theatre 10-Minute Play Contest for Lizard In The Loo. In 1998, he received a Merit Prize in TheatreWorks’ 24-Hour Playwriting Competition for Snakeskin. In the same competition, he received the Second Prize in 2010 for There Will Now Be A 15-Minute Interval, and the First Prize in 2013 for Strike.

In 2004, Teater Ekamatra presented Blissed, and Broomstick as part of Istana 2000. In 2007, TheatreWorks presented The Last Theatre State as part of 120. Play Den Productions presented The Devil’s Encore in 2009, and Someday, Samsara in 2010. In 2013, One Player Short Ensemble presented WiFi Lovers at the Guling Street Avant-Garde Theatre in Taipei. His other plays include Heavy Heart, Travelling Light, Shopping For Baby, Nerve Endings, X-Country and Offering.

He is a member of The Blue Statesmen, an independent collective of theatre artists. For their inaugural production, he conceived and directed BluePrince, which was presented for The Substation’s SeptFest 2012 and the Kuo Pao Kun Festival 2012.

Visual and Sound Design by Casey Lim

Casey Lim is trained as a musician and director of photography. Since the early 1990s, he has worked in the theatre as an actor and director, as well as a sound, video and multimedia designer. In 1999, he was the Associate Artistic Director of TheatreWorks. He co-founded Checkpoint Theatre and was the Co-Artistic Director from 2003 to 2007.

He is one of the co-founders and the Executive Director of Centre 42, a theatre development space committed to the creation, documentation and promotion of text-based works for the Singapore stage.

As a theatre director, his credits include Chong Tze Chien’s Pan Island Expressway (1999), Huzir Sulaiman’s Atomic Jaya (2003) and Michael Chiang’s Private Parts (2004). He also directed Chay Yew’s A Language of Their Own (2006) and the Chinese translation by Robin Loon,《男男自语》 (2012). He collaborated with Robin Loon again on Casting Back (2012), a postdramatic piece that traced Singapore’s theatre history over a period of 30 years.

He has created sound, video and multimedia designs for works such as Poppy Dot Dreams (2001), Instant Is A Millennium (2003) and Emily of Emerald Hill (2010). As a member of The Blue Statesmen, he designed the sound and multimedia for BluePrince (2012).

Dramaturgy and Research by Robin Loon

Dr Robin Loon is a playwright, dramaturg and educator, as well as one of the co-founders of Centre 42. Presently, he is an Associate Professor of Theatre Studies at the National University of Singapore.

His playwriting career began as a member of TheatreWorks’ Writers’ Laboratory in 1990. His plays include Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (1992), Watching the Clouds Go By (1994), Longing (1994), Broken Birds (1995), Destinies of Flowers In The Mirror (1997), Workhorse Afloat (1997), The Global Soul (2003), Geisha (2006), 120 (2007), RPM (2009), Mata Hati (2011), DNR (2011) and Lan Fang Chronicles (2012).

His other works include the Chinese translation of Chay Yew’s A Language of Their Own,《男男自语》 (2012) and Casting Back (2012). As a member of The Blue Statesmen, he wrote and compiled the text for BluePrince (2012).

As a dramaturg, he was the co-commissioning dramaturg for Full Frontal (2007 – 2009), the Singapore Arts Festival’s incubation platform for directors. Subsequently, he was appointed as the commissioning dramaturg for Open Studio (2010 – 2012), the Singapore Arts Festival’s platform for new works.

Videography by Joanne Tan

Joanne Tan is a photographer and the founder of Dreamers Farm, a studio which specialises in family photography. She graduated from the National University of Singapore with a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) degree in Industrial Design.

Performed by Ranice Tay

Ranice Tay is a multi-disciplinary theatre and martial arts practitioner. She graduated from the National University of Singapore with a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) degree in Theatre Studies and was a recipient of the NUS Centre For the Arts’ Performing and Visual Arts Scholarship. Presently, she is a member of the Singapore Traditional Wushu Elite team.

She has collaborated with Ang Gey Pin on works such as That Day That Book That Fell (Grain Performance and Research Lab) and Dreamtalk (NUS Arts Festival). Other works that she has performed in include A Mouthful of Birds (World-in-Theatre) and The Silly Little Girl and The Funny Old Tree (Young People’s Performing Arts Ensemble).

Performed by Serene Chen

Serene Chen graduated from the National University of Singapore with a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) degree in Theatre Studies. Presently, she is an Associate Lecturer at Republic Polytechnic, School of Technology for the Arts. 

She is a three-time winner of the Straits Times Life Theatre Awards for Best Supporting Actress, for her roles in Landmarks: Asian Boys Volume 2 (Wild Rice), 8 Women (S’ing Theatre) and Public Enemy (Wild Rice). She was also nominated for the same award in 2020, for her role in Caught (SRT). Her other stage credits include The Sound Inside (SRT), The Son and This Is What Happens To Pretty Girls (Pangdemonium), The House of Bernarda Alba (Wild Rice), GRC and Charged (Teater Ekamatra), Framed, by Adolf and Wong Kar Wai Dreams (The Finger Players), as well as Fear of Writing and 120 (TheatreWorks).

She starred in Colin Goh and Woo Yen Yen’s award-winning feature film, Singapore Dreaming. Her other film credits include Paper House, Singapore Panda, Sex.Violence.FamilyValues, Dirty Bitch, Autograph Book and 3Meals. For television, her credits include Invisible Stories, Code of Law, Avenue 14 and Gone Case.

Female Gaze

What defines the Female Gaze? This online exhibition documents and explores the initial conversation and exchange between Indonesian artist and dramaturg, Agnes Christina, and Singaporean artist, curator, and designer Lizzie Wee. In bringing together 12 works each from Agnes’ Women of Java and Lizzie’s Unlit Matches, both coincidentally works on fabric, along with one new work from each artist, this showcase aims to shift perspectives on what it means to be a woman in the contemporary art world. With their vastly diverse interests and talents, Lizzie and Agnes engage in conversations surrounding the experience of being multi-hyphenates exploring parallel themes which run through both women’s individual practices, like ‘living’ on the internet but constantly moving house, exploring the societal roles and expectations of the Southeast Asian woman, and working with identity, traditions, and texts.

Agnes’ Women of Java is a series of works depicting 35 different types of women described in the Primbon Jawa, a text popular in Java for its practical and mystical advice and fortune-telling, not unlike Feng Shui. Lizzie’s Unlit Matches is a series of fabric works using responsive texts to her experiences with online dating. In using humour and their perspectives on the absurdities of two social traditions and institutions still utilised today, the Primbon Jawa and Online Dating, Agnes and Lizzie contemplate what the female gaze holds, questions, and how it shifts. Rather than solely focusing on judging and thus subverting the male gaze, the artists invite you to an intimate discussion of how to be critical and thoughtful of traditions of our heritage that we still uphold today and institutions of the present that may still reflect the past, without dismissing them entirely. The female gaze might simply be about looking indirectly by subtly exerting the soft power we have been socialised to wield.

webpage designed & curated by Lizzie Wee

Do you feel like you are at a disadvantage because you are a female artist?

Agnes

I’ve never really felt that way, actually. I feel I have the same chance as male artists in terms of opportunity. maybe I am privileged to live around people who make me think that way… but I think in the art scene if you want to see it as a competition, it is a competition of whose life experience is richer and how skilful you are in translating your thoughts into your works. that is if you want to see the art scene as a competition, though. I do not want to see it as a competition, as it will kill the joy of creating art for me.

Lizzie

There have been specific moments when I feel like the art scene can be a bit of a boys club, but rather than being at a disadvantage for being a woman, lately I think it’s more that If you don’t know the right people. In fact, I think there might be times when I will be asked to join a show about the female experience or curate a women-only show, or a show about femininity, and I’m more worried about being pigeonholed into a specific style or topic forever. I’m a champion of women’s issues and the female experience, but I’m also concerned with many intersectional issues I hope to explore in future works.

What roles do you play as a woman?

Agnes

I play many, many roles. Even in terms of jobs, I do various things from theatre to visual art, and I run a clothing line and sometimes do translation for an extra hustle. I tend to quickly adapt to whatever role I am in my jobs/projects, but I really, really find it hard to fit into the community that I live with every day, i.e. neighbours. Especially since I recently moved to a village. Most of the women in this village are stay-at-home mothers, and anytime during the day, they might pop up at your house and try to have some chit chat. It's a very pleasant surprise to have them visit you, but i struggle with the chit chat. I am just not good in having light, menial conversation, and apparently, it is an art that all women should have in their blood.

Lizzie

I think I play many roles, much like the women around me. I am a daughter; I always speak about ‘eldest daughter energy’ with my friends and peers, and it’s this understanding of the role of an eldest daughter (she doesn’t have to be the eldest child), as the person in the family who takes on the most emotional labour and mediation. I am a friend; I think often I’m known to be not very judgemental and thus a good listener. I’m also my many jobs and passions as an artist, curator, designer, etc etc. I’m also known as a single girl - I make work about my dating life and complain and laugh about it on my Instagram stories. I’m sometimes worried that I’m cemented into these roles and that I’ll be pigeonholed into them even if I want to grow beyond them.

What is something that is overlooked in your practice?

Agnes

I did dabble in making a bit of film-based work in the past. I never really stopped thinking about making more film work, but for now it is just too costly to make… and it’s a lot of hassle for the distribution and funding.

Lizzie

I’m not sure that many people know that my background is actually in sculpture - I concentrated in sculpture at NYU for my undergrad and worked as a wood shop monitor for 3 years. I’m also quite a decent painter and used to work with pencil drawing in high school lol. I actually heard someone say that many of my generation of artists don’t know how to draw or paint or aren’t very good at it, which is why we make digital works. Although my typical medium is performative video, I don’t think it is an accurate analysis of me and my peers. I think we’re all just familiar with more than the traditional mediums and I choose to use the medium that best reflects the message I’m trying to convey.

How many side hustles do you have and what are they?

Lizzie

Aside from being an artist, I’m also a designer, video editor, videographer, art director, social media creator/consultant, food stylist, executive assistant, curator, writer, and illustrator, so that’s like10 different side hustles. I don’t do all these jobs at once, but they definitely intersect. However, this isn’t anything impressive for a creative freelancer in today’s gig economy, where we are all expected to do our own PR, copywriting, social media, documentation, and design on top of researching and creating the work that is being featured.

Agnes

The majority of my works are still theatre-based. In the past, I used to act, but now I limit myself to directing and writing. When the things I want to say is too complicated for words, I turn into visual art. For a more consistent income, I run a clothing line called @leafthief.id. Sometimes I write scripts for short animations, campaign advertisements and also I do translation jobs, between English and Indonesian.

Why do you do art?

Agnes

Because I have stories and thoughts that I think are worth sharing with everyone. And when my audience relates to my work, I find comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this world.

Lizzie

I’ll be honest, I actually didn’t dream of being an artist when I was a kid. I actually had so many interests and talents that I found myself being pretty good at that it was hard to decide where to devote my time to (I’m not trying to humblebrag this is my genuine truth lol). I started to focus on art when I realised everyone has a different understanding of the same thing. I was really interested in the conversations people had about art, and how it could inspire people to think about things differently, or depict a time long past, and even then that we could share the same ways of thinking, or humour! It showed me a new way of building community and kinship - and I wanted to continue to make work that helped foster a sense of understanding, because I believe it to be the beginning of love. We could all use more of that in the world.

What or who influences you the most in your practice?

Agnes

I’m inspired by my daily life experience, for sure. Somehow, even though I write scripts, I cannot speak fluently on issues that i have no direct experience with. I can do deep and thorough research on various things, but when I have not experienced it directly, it will lack some soul, so I am very careful with that. Another influence is Chinese songs. I do not understand mandarin, but I grew up listening to Chinese songs, so they are like my comfort songs. Whenever i find a song that I like, I will google the lyrics, find the translation and every once in a while you can find really good translation. I do adore how skilfully these Chinese songwriters use symbols and sometimes play-on-words in their lyrics in order to illustrate a point.

Lizzie

My process usually begins with a question I ask myself, whether that’s a reaction to something I’ve experienced or encountered, and then leads to research and testing. What probably influences my process from there are the conversations I have with my friends, peers, and family; I like to bounce my ideas and initial stage sketches with other people to see if I’m missing any facet or could be overlooking a key component of the work. I judge from people’s reactions whether I’ve made my work accessible enough to my friends outside of art, and also if it has enough layers of meaning to intrigue and entice those in the arts to linger longer with my work. I appreciate work that goes beyond just novelty and strive for that in my own practice.

What do you want to achieve in the next few years? Any short-term missions or goals?

Lizzie

In the next few years I’d also like to have a solo exhibition, and accomplish some pipe-dream projects I’ve been planning for a while, both as a curator and artist, but I actually have broader goals I think, that concern not just my career in art. I want to stop feeling shame or guilt associated with either missing deadlines for applications for the huge amounts of open calls and residencies I’ve been applying to, or my declining rate of production in making works and showing them. I am only human and I only have so much time (I don’t know who else needs to hear that but there you go). I also get amazing opportunities at the right moments, like this one, so I should also embrace the whole “I don’t chase, I attract” mantra, for real. I also want to make sure I have time to dedicate to some passion projects outside of the art scene, I’m illustrating a children’s book with a friend, and I’m also planning to travel and work on my production job in the near future. I know that these things recharge me and fuel my practice so I hope to stop feeling FOMO about taking breaks from my practice.

Agnes

My very very short term goal is to have a solo exhibition for my visual artworks hahaha. I’ve been toying with the idea of having one, but I haven’t found the right time and place for it.

What is the next project you will be working on?

Agnes

Currently, I am co-writing and doing costumes for a show titled 'Kepaten Obor' that will be presented in Esplanade during Pesta Raya the Malay Festival of the Arts from 26-29 May 2022. Other than that, I am in the early stage of discussion with a friend of mine who is a writer and researcher to create a small series of works about women's various jobs or roles. It is still in a very early stage, so we don't know yet when and where it will be presented. Hopefully, we can find the right venue for it. There is also a comic book that I have been working on, but it has been put on hold for a while to add a few more pages to it. This process of participating in 'Female Gaze' has also opened up new possibilities 🤣🤣. I really hope to collab more with Lizzie! Check out my Instagram @reading_centhini for artwork and life updates!

Lizzie

I have a couple of video projects I’m in the process of planning and researching, but I’m also working on another project for the substation for the upcoming Sept Fest 2022, and have been speaking to some artist and curator friends about some future shows but nothing is concrete as of yet. I will be travelling later in the year for my other work, assisting on some shoots in Malaysia, and hopefully will travel at some point to visit and meet Agnes in real life! I’m also finishing up some passion projects I started but haven’t finished yet due to time constraints. I have a children’s book I’m illustrating and a podcast I’m a part of that is still in the research and planning stages. You can keep up with my work and practice on my Instagram @lizzieweee and stay tuned! You might see a collab between me and Agnes in the future 💖  

Lizzie Wee is a Singaporean multidisciplinary artist, curator, designer, illustrator, art director and video editor. She received her BFA from New York University, and her MA in Fine Arts from the Goldsmiths programme at LASALLE College of the Arts. Her present practice-based research investigates notions of identity and belonging; through an examination of archetypal female roles found in Southeast Asian pop culture and visual media. Her works are expressed through video, performance, text, and fabric installation works of late. Her works have been shown in New York, Shenzhen, Taiwan, Szczecin, and Singapore. Apart from her artistic practice, Wee has worked with Sotheby's Hong Kong, and Kitchen Hoarder, a woman-run production team focused on lifestyle and food culture.

Lizzie Wee |Instagram @lizzieweee| |website: www.juicypeche.com|

Agnes Christina is a multidisciplinary artist who is interested in the struggle that people face in life, and more importantly, how they deal with the struggle. Focusing on the rhythm that is created by humans in everyday life, Agnes presents her stories through various media such as theatre, performance, painting, embroidery, and fashion. 

Her theatre scripts have been published several times, and her visual artworks have been featured in exhibitions such as Bazaar arts Jakarta, Artjog and Jogja Biennale (Korean Pavilion). Her fashion line, @Leafthief.id is growing to be a cult favourite around Indonesia and Singapore.

Agnes Christina |Instagram @reading_centhini @leafthief.id|

Sept Fest 2022 presents

Mixtape vol. 32 - Side A & Side B

Mixtape vol. 32 - Side A

What is the sound of one hand clapping? (2022) — Chong Li-Chuan

As the title suggests, this is a work that alludes to the fleeting nature of sound and the relationship born out of field recordings, digital audio manipulation, and the resultant of a soundscape composition, serving as a meditation on the environmental sounds at 45 Armenian Street in the wake of The Substation moving out of its former premises. Akin to the traditional Zen kōan (公案) of the same name – what is the sound of one hand clapping – the work functions as “the object being sought and the relentless seeking itself”¹, like the renewal of The Substation and the continuation of its role in experimental arts programming in Singapore beyond its identity being tied to the physical building.

¹“Translating the Zen Phrase Book” by G. Victor Sõgen Hori (p.51, Nanzan Bulletin 23, 1999)

The Interview

Chong Li-Chuan — CLC | Lizzie Wee — LW

This interview has been edited and abridged for clarity.

LW: Good morning.

CLC: How are you?

LW: I'm good. How are you?

CLC: Uh, I’m a bit tired already. [both laugh] I’ve just done the laundry, and going to clean up the kitchen. And, yeah, the kids in school, uh, are probably going to prepare lunch in a bit. Yeah. 

LW: Nice. 

CLC: Then go for class in the afternoon. 

LW: Right. School has started again.

CLC: Yes, yes, yes. My class is at 4pm today. Ezzam’s was yesterday.

LW: Yeah. He had a full day of teaching and then we got on a call last night to work on the website. So I was up late last night with him.

CLC: Oh no! You must be knackered.

LW: A little tired as well. But I'm I am excited to do this interview! I wrote up some fun questions.

CLC: Okay. [Laughs] ask me anything!

LW: Okay, so the title of the show is Mixtape vol 32. Do you have any memories, fond or otherwise, regarding this act between friends or lovers of exchanging of a meticulously curated tape or a CD?

CLC: Yes, I am of the generation that makes tapes that are being shared or given. And in my case, mostly taken or received. I'm usually on the receiving end of mixtapes because I was a kid who didn't really have much disposable income. I mean, I could save up, but then I don't really ask for pocket money, you know, to save up for buying anything. So in that sense, I've never really bought my own music on, say, an album, or on cassette. So around me, I had friends who bought the cassettes and then they would be the ones making mixtapes with them, and then I was the one on the receiving end.

LW: Right.

CLC: And because I guess my father's musical taste in particular wasn’t really contemporary pop [laughs] his vinyls were all sort of, what we would loosely call classical music or Western art music. And so my education in pop music came from mixtapes. One of my best friends, who was also my best man, Jimmy Fok, who is a photographer, he's the one who would pass me a mix of Pet Shop Boys with A-ha. So you can sort of guess what kind of musical diet I get through the mixtapes. 

LW: So you discovered a lot of new music through this exchange, or rather this gift, from your friends.

CLC: Yeah, exactly. Exactly. I mean, you know, apart from listening to it on the radio, you know, it's getting mixtapes and being on the receiving end of of mixtapes and yeah, I remember trying to figure out some chords from, say, the Miami Sound Machine. Which is Gloria Estefan. 

LW: Oh right okay.

CLC: This sort of Latin kind of riff, you know, and the sort of harmony that was a bit new to me because I was used to playing Bach and Mozart this was like, “What is this?” [vocalises] Yeah, the rhythm especially. I think a lot of it, of course, is repetitive, especially pop music. But because it's really meant to be danced to. But I guess when I was young, dance wasn't really in my vocabulary. You know, I had two left feet, so I really couldn't dance beyond beyond the very little Malay dance I learned in kindergarten, but after which I didn't really do any dancing whatsoever. So even this music, which is meant for disco dancing, didn't really move me in that sort of way, but it really intrigued me musically. So mixtapes represent for me a kind of exploration, I guess, with whatever my friends, in particular Jimmy, fed me.

LW: So this year's theme of SeptFest is uproot | rootless. I believe that there is power in fluidity and adaptability. Do you relate to these notions in your own practice or just in life?

CLC: It's a very interesting theme. Uh, for me, especially in the pair of words of rootless and uproot. ‘Uproot’ refers to taking out the root, but ‘rootless’ could mean that there were never any roots to begin with. If you consider that to be the case then, you know, if one is rootless then one could be floating around, you know, wherever, whenever, but to be ‘uprooted’ means that one has sunken roots somewhere and sometime, you know, and so they seem to be dichotomous.

LW: Mm. Yes.

CLC: But then, you know, I mean, if the Substation was ever rooted merely or simply in the building, then of course it could be uprooted simply by being chased out of the space. But I don't think that’s the case because obviously, you know, we are a living example of the fact that the Substation doesn't just rely on the shell or the premise, of course the name was inspired by the fact that it literally was a substation, a part of a network providing electricity. To take it literally it might be interesting to kind of speculate what it means to be uprooted from a physical housing to becoming virtual, by being fluid in that sense. But in my own thesis, what I have been researching for a substantial period of my life, is the notion of identity formation. It's to do with, I guess, being a composer and often being asked “So what kind of music do you write?” And of course, there's the assumption that if I'm a composer, then it's music that I make. So then I would switch topic by saying, I'm also a sonic artist. So that kind of dodges the question. But then, of course, if I have to be specific, I would often struggle for an exact label of the kind of music that I do because it is rootless. So that's a roundabout way of answering your question. You know, how does it relate to me personally, because I don't see my music as being ‘rooted’ in that sense, because I sometimes produce pastiche. They're basically copies, you know, mimicry or emulation. My job as a composer perhaps is to put things together so that it sounds like something that people expect. But of course, I don't want to to spend my life just doing that. That's perhaps re-production rather than production. So I like to take a form and then try to ‘deconstruct’ it and then put it back in a way which makes it question its original form. Maybe Derrida or someone like that would argue that there's no such thing as deconstruction. So in that sense, a lot of what I do really is fruitless, you know, because I don't really feel that I am necessarily being loyal to any particular camp or school of thought. So that in itself for me is not what composition is about. Sorry that's such a long winded answer.

LW: No, I think it lends a lot of colour to like the way that you think. And I guess I'm also selfishly curious because obviously I know that you spent a decent amount of time not in Singapore, and that's the same for me. And I think personally, I very much relate to this concept of uproot | rootless. And I'm curious to know if you see a reflection of your lived experience in this theme, not just your professional musical and other world experience, but your own life history.

CLC: Right. It's kind of intertwined too, in my creative career in a way, yeah. I grew up, you know, partly in London when I was 14, in 1989. So I felt that perhaps already there was an identity in me which I guess was somewhat conservative, protectionist maybe, like even at 14 I felt like I was some kind of ambassador to Singapore living overseas. Whenever I heard Singapore being mentioned my ears would sort of perk up, and I would be like “What would you like to know about Singapore, I'm ready to answer your questions,” but I was also somewhat prejudiced because of that position. And a lot of it has to do with the fact that often I'm being asked where am I from and “are you from x place, or are you x race?” And then, um, I would then feel a little bit indignant about it. But such questions really has to do more with people's expectations rather than who I am or what I am. So that part really makes me question what my roots are, who I am, quite constantly growing up. But it took me another 20 years or so to unlearn that prejudice, you know, like, why should I feel angry if anyone were to assume that I am from Hong Kong or from Vietnam or from anywhere else. Because I speak Cantonese, they would ask if I’m from Hong Kong, or they would think I'm Vietnamese because I’m the same colour as the people who work in the chip shop, you know, a fish and chip shop, which eventually also started to sell spring rolls, and other Asian delights. I was even asked once if I was Mongolian!

LW: Wow [laughs]

CLC: Yeah, I grew to also revel in the curiosity and excitement in what they would come up with next. So that part of me is just constantly being surprised now, you know? So the idea of being rooted in any particular culture for me is just, you know, kind of a rather futile, why would I want to insist that I am from this culture or I am of this race, when in fact, people make all kinds of interesting assumptions, which I can then dig deeper into. It's not just us and them, it's all of us, I guess, wondering what we are. Yeah, so that's part and parcel of my own personal journey. I think coming back to Singapore for National Service was a reverse cultural shock because obviously there was a fair bit of bullying. You know, I was  labeled as a ‘London boy,’ ‘Jiak Kantang,’ (a Hokkien derogatory moniker meaning ‘eating potatoes’ to refer to one’s affinity for western culture), and they’d say, “Why you English slang,” you know, like, their use of ‘slang’ basically means I've got an accent, right? 

LW: Right, mmm. I can relate [laughs]

CLC: Of course, yeah I had a bit of accent. I probably still do now. But the thing is, I kind of code switched quite naturally. You know, I passed off much later as a local, or what a local should be. I also quite consciously made my speech a bit more neutral, you know, neither here nor there. Not exactly English, from the southeast of London. When I was living in London, it was in Lewisham, you know, biggest borough, labour-voting borough in the southeast. Black middle, lower middle class, working class, you know. So I felt really comfortable going to school in such a neighbourhood. It was literally a neighbourhood school where when there's a fight, people gather around and watch. A neighbourhood school where in the back of a school building sixth-form students would be puffing away. I mean in the UK there was a lot of teenage underage smoking.

LW: You know, it's hard to imagine now, but I had friends when I was in school around that age who were smoking. So I was one of the few, I think of my group of friends who had never tried a cigarette before. My first was in college [laughs].

CLC: Yeah. I tried, but I didn't really like it. I think that's the thing about anything, really. You know, if we haven't tried it how would we actually know whether  like it or not? But in my case,  I didn't really like it. But I think pretty much into my adult life, most of the people I had become acquainted with, or that I've become friends with, smoke. So I became an avid secondhand smoker. It’s like a criteria to be my friend. “Do you smoke? Oh, good, good, good. Let's hang out.”

LW: [laughs] I guess to bring it back to Singapore, when was the last time that you entered the Substation's physical space? And can you describe how you felt about that space and if there are any poignant memories?

CLC: Yeah, actually I did pop into Substation now and then as a sort of artist/presenter capacity. It was when Alan Oei was the artistic director. This is of course, before the pandemic, but even during the pandemic, I mean, I would I would sort of just deliberately go past that way to to stick my head in and have a look at who's around. You know, like if Mrs. Chua was around, you know. Mrs. Chua was the lady who sort of maintains everything, you know, from cleaning the toilets to locking up. There's one time she gave me miso paste. She said, “my daughter bought this for me and I don't know how to use it. You should you should take it home!” Yeah. So thank you, Mrs. Chua, for the miso paste. But Mrs. Chua is also the one who would hang around rehearsals or even even really come in and watch the performances and have rather insightful things to share afterwards. So yeah, one of our most loyal audience actually worked there, but I don't know where Mrs. Chua is now, to be honest. In a way, I don't really have a fondest memory, but I think I have spent quite a long drawn out span of time with the venue and the kind of activities that happened there. Mostly in the nineties, I guess. When I was in NS and then after that, when I did my first show in 1999. It was an insane proposal, which was 2 halves of 45 minutes with, I don't know, a 15 minute break or something in between for people to go smoke. So yeah it was a very strange kind of set up where the audience is. There were these retractable seats, two sets of them and the audience was made to sort of face each other. And then in the middle of the space, nothing. When the concert started, the lights dimmed and then the spotlight comes on in the middle of the room. That's all they are given to look at. I was actually in the control room flying the show. So it was literally a soundscape or sound composition with no visuals whatsoever. I'm just surprised that, you know, there was even like 80 people, you know, over three evenings. Yeah. So that gave me some experience of being experimental in a local context. I mean, that was my very first solo show and it was good to interact with the audience afterwards as well. Right, to hear what the opinions are, and share their feelings and thoughts.

LW: Okay, so maybe you can tell me a little bit more about the work that you made for this show: What is the sound of one hand clapping?

CLC: For the longest time, I guess, I've always been fascinated with kōan (公案) and, you know, which is a sort of Zen Buddhist way of meditating by pondering or contemplating a kind of paradoxical statement. These statements are a paradox; unsolvable in and of themselves. Like, for instance, the famous kōan is “what is the sound of one hand clapping?” where my title comes from. Then the corollary to that would be, “what do you mean by using one hand for clapping? You can't connect with just one hand, right?” You slap someone with one hand or your thigh with one hand, and that will make a sound. But that's not clapping. Right? So to clap usually suggests that you put two hands together. That's a clap. I guess with me, philosophically speaking, it’s quite a good way to enter into the conversation about listening. So in fact to me that statement itself is sort of an invitation to listen. You can only imagine it, you know? Obviously it's physically impossible to do so, but it is just meant for you to maintain the state of contemplation and state of meditation. But in this case, I'm using it to invoke the very activity of listening. The very crux of what music or sound is all about, it's about listening. So on a good day or bad day, you know, if you were around the Substation, what would you hear? Like if you were ever a regular at the substation, have you heard certain kinds of sounds or do certain sounds reminds you of being at the Substation? You know, perhaps sound is part of your memory and then it could be something else. I'm not saying this in a moralistic sense, like you’re a bad person if you can't remember, but I'm just curious, you know, how much of the sound actually plays a part in our memory of places in time. Of course related to that as well. If we were not somewhere when something happened, like, for instance, you know, in the forest and the tree fell to make a sound, what sounds did it make? But obviously it's not just the tree falling. You know, there's also a lot of other things that are happening there, maybe birds are trying to escape from the tree falling, maybe there’s wind or thunder and all kinds of things. Maybe we were struck by lightning. That's why the tree fell. Who knows? You don't know, right? 

LW: I mean unless you're there or experience it yourself.

CLC: Right, and that sort of becomes your memories, your memory of what it sounds like. It's basically asking, What are you hearing? How are you hearing it and why are you hearing it? That's the context. If you add that up, it kind of suggests that that's perhaps how you listen and often I have to it's sort of what you might call an inversion of one statement of of the other. For instance, is what you hear, how you listen? Or is what you listen to, how you hear? How we hear is bounded by or limited by the physicality of hearing, that also is then informed by the experience that you've had in the past, so it's all quite tangled. 

LW: Yeah. Yeah, definitely very true. And I think it's made me contemplate a lot of these things as well as I’m hearing you say it. And I mean, obviously I had the privilege of watching you work and recording with the Geofone and the binaural microphone, which was my first time seeing these kinds of equipment in action. Can you tell me a little bit more about the equipment that you used and kind of what sort of sounds or noises do they do they capture? And what is it that our audience should listen out for, to distinguish those different kinds of sounds?

LCL: First of all, thank you again for accompanying me early in the morning and then late at night. And, you know, I'm so sorry to have to put you through all this.

LW: It was fun for me! [laughs]

LCL: Okay [laughs] so I think the equipment is just an extension of hearing for me, just like a camera would be an extension to a camera person, an extension to the eye that is optical. Yeah, but it's not the same as listening. So I think I thought for myself anyway, I would draw the line between hearing and listening that is mediated by technology. Yeah. So the equipment extends my hearing range and kind of makes me into a cyborg in that sense, you know, I can suddenly hear in a 360 or surround kind of way  because with the binaural microphones, they really capture a sound in that way from where my auricles are - or rather my ears. The binaural mics because they capture sound in an omnidirectional way but in stereo. It very closely reproduces the way that, uh, I would be using my own ears to listen. So it kind of puts the listener in the position of me doing the listening. I'm often guided by my ears to follow where certain sounds intrigued me, or has piqued my curiosity. So then I would walk towards the source of the sound, using my ears to guide me. And in capturing that it, I recreate for the audience the way I listen. So it's not just capturing sounds anymore. It's actually, you know, retracing the steps of me being the listener and my experience.

LW: Right, like really capturing a moment in time, in audio form.

CLC: Yes. And the way which I am guided, in fact, my body is moved by the sound that is in the environment. So like for instance if there was, there was a leaf blower, you know, at the back of the building and at first you didn't know what that sound is. But then as I got closer visually, I discovered what it was that was making the sound. Yeah. But I kind of also moved in the way that the sound kind of suggests to me the pacing, you know, I wouldn't walk faster, or slower, and just walk at a pace at which I kind of felt the vibration. So the binaural mics kind of helps to extend my hearing ability. But the Geofone, on the other hand, picks up really, really low frequencies and it's a product that is actually made in Slovakia at the chap who makes it sort of specialises in this product. He also makes equipment that picks up radio waves, which is a sort of electrical interference, uh, which is on the other end of electromagnetic interference on the other end of the spectrum. So again, invaluable to humans. And yeah, so the Geofone originally was meant for seismic measurements. You know, it picks up really low frequencies. And of course, you know, the tremors from an earthquake are really low frequencies and they travel away from the epicentre. So then you need equipment to pick up that vibration. And so in this case, the Geofone has been adjusted and adapted for field recordings is a lot more portable. I could just plug it into my recorder, and in this case it picks up frequencies between 100 hertz to a thousand hertz.

So without the Geofone I wouldn't be able to hear these sounds but if I were to maybe place my ear against the metal holding around The Substation now, I might be able to, you know, sense it. But it would still be different because that that the frequency range would be still limited by my ability to hear.

LW: And I guess in tying in with your process, are there any sounds that your memories are tied to in terms of the sounds of the former Substation space, or are there any sound marks that bring you back to that time? 

CLC: Actually, the Substation for me is is made up of many sort of disparate spaces. There's, of course, the dance studio upstairs, which has an air conditioning unit that sort of rattles [vocalising and laughing] that you know, it sort of drips as well. Um, that, that really reminds me of the space, you know, and the particular smell as well. Of course. So there was this transformation of the gallery space, you know, like that wasn't exactly subtle. But they stripped away the foam that was covering the ceiling, which actually reduces to the bleeding of sound right. Or the reflection. So then the space became a lot more reflective because it's just a concrete box there. And so I felt that that space, sound wise, became a little bit aggressive, and I'm not sure people found it conducive to listening in that space because it became so reflective. I think the sound of, I guess lots of gigs that that were played there. The office, of course, the Observatory of course were that many times, and I was also part of a few sort of group shows that were put on in the space. Yeah. So I guess those are the kind of sound memories that I have linked to the space. 

LW: And are there any surprising sounds that you encountered revisiting this place when making this work?

CLC: Yes. Yes, of course. You might ask yourself, you know, with the pedestrianisation of the street and you know, and the garden being incrementally and eventually destroyed or, I guess taken away. What would happen to the fauna? I mean, what would happen to the birds? And surprisingly, of course, there are plenty of birds around at the time. And you were there too, right? So these birds were a pleasant surprise because, you know, obviously, fauna is an indication of the health of the environment as well as people, in fact, Singapore is a stopover for a lot of migratory birds like, you know, from, say, Australia to Siberia. 

LW: [laughs] just like humans. We also have a lot of travellers make stopovers in Singapore.

CLC: Yeah, yeah, exactly. There are also, um, species that are sort of feral and local, you know, there's the mynah, the sparrows. But surprisingly, there were sunbirds, just these little birds that fed on the nectar. So that was a very pleasant surprise. But late into the night, I wasn't expecting, for instance, a solitary lone rope skipping, go rope skipping, young lady. You know, like this, I'll say from a distance, it can be a bit disconcerting. But that's the thing it's also durational and I feel that if you I need to produce a radio friendly piece that is between 3 to 5 minutes. A lot of these encounters when you're not quite sure what it is. And you go up, you get drawn to it and that takes time to unfold. It's the unfolding that is the appeal, not just the sound itself, but is the unfolding. And unfolding requires time. And, you know, we're always pushed for time. And we want to just make a piece that is of a fixed length. So a lot of it really is time based, so there's really no sort of shortcut to it. Yeah. So I am hoping that I would be able to release a longer track of maybe 15 to 20 minutes. That makes use of all the sounds I recorded. But for SeptFest, of course, I will make a 3 to 5 minute piece. And, you know, I'm hoping that a longer five minute piece, which, even on the radio would still get played. 

LW: We can call this our radio edit of the full piece.

CLC: Yeah. Which maybe would serve as a kind of teaser trailer for a much longer piece.

LW: So finally, what would have been the best farewell to the Substation space that you can imagine? And this can be totally fantasy. There are no limits on this, just for fun.

CLC: So sound wise, something quite curious to me that that the building is actually intact and no renovation is actually happening right now. Right, but next door, however, the Peranakan Museum, there is renovation going on and a lot of the drilling and sounds coming from there could possibly become coming from the place, so by contrast, however, the building right now is just standing very quietly, you know, on the corner next to a museum which is now making a little noise, right? So I am not really for any sort of fancy or grand statement about saying goodbye or farewell to the building itself, you know. But I think if people are around to listen to whatever renovations are going to happen in the near future, then that would be a yeah, that would be a sort of the song I guess from the construction work that's going to happen. And that itself would be, you know, the kind of rhythmic textural kind of song, where it's creating sounds or, you know, scratching the sounds or knocking sounds, you know.

LW: Well, this is a very achievable, like, fantasy farewell. Like we can actually arrange such a vigil for people to listen. [Laughs]

CLC: Yeah. They might just take down the building, which I'm not sure whether they would. That would be even more dramatic, I would say, like if it was like a wrecking ball, smashing through the building, you know. Right. And I would think that that's a lot more dramatic than, say, just some knocking and drilling, you know. So, that in comparison would be tame. But a wrecking ball smashing through the building. Yes. That would be like the final song of the building, which can be heard elsewhere. You know, Singapore is constantly being built and rebuilt, things being torn down and whatnot. Then the construction sector here they put up these things called sound barriers. These grey curtains that have the words sound barrier written on it, they sort of reduce the sound a bit, but they really don't make it go away. Um, so yeah, a wrecking ball smashing through the building. Yeah, that would be my fantasy. Why? Well, because it's a building, right? I mean, I honestly don't have that kind of nostalgic feeling for a building just for the sake of the space. You know, I mean, it's not it's not a gazetted building, that's for sure. It's architecturally not that special. And I mean, I think the fact that it was a venue that people had events and it's those memories more than anything. We don’t have to be nostalgic and be like “Oh, you know, save the building.” Yeah. I think that will last sort of natural sound would be the demolition of the building.

LW: Then we will be truly rootless.

CLC: Well, then that's the thing where we will be at the roots and what are we rooted in. So that's that's really the question that I think we should constantly asking. You know, do we really only feel a sense of belonging because that is the building, you know, or the venue is at a specific address. You know, or is it the sum of the parts? And it's bigger than that. And maybe the roots are elsewhere, you know, I mean, it's heartening to see that it is. I think it's a plant growing out from the site of the building or at the top of the building. Oh, I think I've got a lot of that. Yeah. And that plant. Yes, that plant has has roots, but it's very shallow, you know, and that's how it can grow in the cracks, you see. Right. And if you're a fan of botany, then, you know, in the urban built environment, often plant life of this sort is an indication, again, of the health of the you know, of the environment. You know, so even in this in a city, depending on the level of pollution, there could still be nooks and crannies and cracks that support plant life. And of course, you can even forage in the city, right, for edible plants that grows on the side of the cracks of concrete buildings. You know.

LW: A fitting image. I think.

Yeah. So I've always been one. Yeah. But would someone just clear away these ponds, you know. Yeah. To renovate building because, because I think it's is quite common. Yeah. A lot of these older shop houses they, they do have homes screen from the side or you know on the side of the building or in the cracks. Yeah. So they're a sign of life there, you know, is how do we see this sign of life in relation to what we were doing here before, you know, and the birds are there. So as a, as a corollary to what, what songs would I want to send off to building with I think a wrecking ball. Yes. And then just leave it.

LW: To the wreckage.

CLC: Yeah. And then then it will re-wild itself. It's a very popular term now in landscaping. It will re-wild itself. 

Okay. Well, I guess that concludes the interview. Thank you so much for taking the time to to do this and talk to me.

CLC: It's my pleasure. Thank you for letting me talk so much.

LW: Of course, I always have fun. When we when we talk, I always feel like I learn so much. We touch on so many interesting points that I am reminded of later on.

CLC: So I'm glad to share and thank you. Thank you again for for curating it and for being my companion in the field recording and of course, the hard work that you're putting in right now. Just putting everything together. Yeah. Thank you so much.

Biographies

Chong Li-Chuan (b.1975) is a Singapore-born composer and sound designer who is passionate about philosophy, culture and the arts. As a practitioner, Li-Chuan's activities run the gamut of acoustic composition, electroacoustic sound, sonic art, installation, free improvisation, ‘live’ electronics, and collaborative work with artists from different disciplines such as theatre, dance, spoken word, architecture, design and visual art. Li-Chuan started learning the piano at age 7 and studied with Madam Yeo Bee Choo in Singapore. At age 14, he moved to London with his father and continued to study the piano with the late Mr Peter Gellhorn. Li-Chuan's obsession with composing was kindled during that period and he later focused on Composition (Acoustic Pathway) and Aesthetics in his bachelor's degree (BMus) at Goldsmiths College, University of London. He went on to obtain a Masters's in Composition (Studio Pathway) at Goldsmiths College and worked under the joint supervision of Dr Katharine Norman, Dr Nye Parry, Dr Michael Young and Dr John Levack Drever.

Having returned to Singapore for more than a decade, in his role as an academic and educator, Li-Chuan had crafted and delivered the curriculum with the School of Technology for the Arts, Republic Polytechnic (RP). He was previously the Programme Chair for the Diploma in New Media (now known as Media Production and Design) from April 2012 to April 2014 and was the founding Chair for the Diploma in Design for Interactivity (now known as Design for User Experience) that started in April 2007. From 2018-2020, Li-Chuan also taught as a part-time lecturer with the McNally School of Fine Arts, LASALLE College of the Arts. He looked after one of the elective offerings for the BA Fine Arts programme, designing and delivering "Sound – A Mutual Tuning" to Year 2 and 3 students interested in exploring sound in their various art practices.

Lizzie Wee (b. 1993) is a Singaporean multidisciplinary artist, curator, designer, illustrator, art director and video editor. She received her BFA from New York University and an MA in Fine Arts from the Goldsmiths programme at LASALLE College of the Arts. Her present practice-based research investigates notions of identity and belonging; through an examination of archetypal female roles found in Southeast Asian pop culture and visual media. Her works are expressed through video, performance, writing for performance, and mixed-media installations. Wee has exhibited internationally in various galleries, showcases, symposiums, and art fairs in Singapore, Taiwan, Shenzhen, Szczecin, New York, Shanghai, and online.

Her curatorial practice has focused greatly on making art accessible and exploring tools like social media to allow a wider audience to experience and interact with either a physical or digital show. Most recently she has curated a 6-month takeover programme at the I_S_L_A_N_D_S Peninsular gallery space, a two-person online exhibition for the Substation, and this two-part online showcase for Substation’s Sept Fest 2022, Mixtape Vol. 32 - Side A & B. She has also presented solo exhibitions at Leevan Art Fair, Shenzhen in 2019, and I_S_L_A_N_D_S Peninsular, Singapore in 2022. She was awarded the Winston Oh Travelogue Art Award (Special Edition) in 2021. Apart from her artistic practice, Wee has worked with Sotheby's Hong Kong, and Kitchen Hoarder, a woman-run production team focused on lifestyle and food culture. 

Mixtape Vol. 32 - Side A & B

Mixtape Vol 32 is a two-part online exhibition included in the line-up of The Substation’s SeptFest 2022, which features 2 artists, Chong Li-Chuan and Andy Yang for Side A and Side B, respectively. Curated by Lizzie Wee, this online showcase is organised in a way that is reminiscent of the act of making a personalised 2-sided mixtape for a loved one; to share a curated playlist that soundtracked a particular moment in time. In What is the sound of one hand clapping? Li-Chuan captures the sounds around the still-existing-but-closed space at Armenian Street, where The Substation used to reside, to create a soundscape composition for Side A; while Andy Yang animates abstract forms and light to an original composition which ebbs and flows in Swan Song, an uplifting farewell to the space we one knew for Side B. In tying with The Substation’s theme for SeptFest 2022: uproot | rootless, Mixtape Vol 32 is an ode to the transition from the physical space that The Substation used to inhabit for the last 32 years to the uprooted, transient, and versatile entity it currently exists as. 

These two works act as bookends of SeptFest 2022: Side A will be released on the 1st of September and Side B will be available for view on the 30th. Mixtape Vol 32 - Side A & Side B are both a nostalgic interpretation of how we grapple with the loss of what The Substation once was as a place and institution, yet still look to its current fluid form and identity, while considering how to shape its hopeful future.   

Sept Fest 2022 presents

Mixtape vol. 32 - Side A & Side B

Mixtape Vol. 32 - Side B

Swan Song (2022) — Andy Yang

Based on the myth of the mute swan, which describes these creatures’ apparent voicelessness as the inspiration for the phrase “Swan Song,” the eponymous title of this work, the piece begins with silence and visuals of glorious light. It builds visually and musically, gradually forming into an imaginary entity of abstract forms and structures. As shapes move freely around the collecting subforms, the main form slowly encloses the subforms in a womb-like structure. As the light ebbs and flows and emits light from within a new form, the work mimics the misconception that mute swans cannot and don’t make noise, when they indeed can, they are just quiet and can only be heard from a certain distance. The main form closes with the sight of faint silhouettes from within. Simulating the muffled sounds of a struggling being in a lonely world, the music fades in or out, and the video ends with light fading into darkness. Akin to the dying light of a candle. Just when everything seems to be ending, the form delivers a final glorious and beautiful song before it dies. Everything blacks out, not unlike the former The Substation venue. A final farewell.

The Interview

Andy Yang — AY | Lizzie Wee — LW

AY: Liz! Hey. Good morning. Good morning. How’s it going?

LW: Good morning! I’m good. I’m alive [laughs] I was at the Billie Eilish concert last night.

AY: Oh you went for Billie last night? [laughs] 

LW: Yeah, it was so fun. But also in the crowd, we just kept checking the Straits Times website for news on the repeal. 

AY: Oh yeah yeah. Yesterday was crazy man, I immediately texted Ezzam, and he was like “no, don’t, no kidding right?” I said “no, no, no, it’s true! Turn on your TV and see, they just announced it” and he was like “ Oh My God!” 

LW: Yeah man, we heard the news there so we all danced for a while and the cheers in the crowd were not just for Billie, but also for no more 377A; it’s not perfect, but small victories right?   

AY: That's great. How was the show? 

LW: Wow, it was really… just great. I actually saw Billie perform many years ago at Laneway and I was already her fan from then, but I was so blown away. She’s just such a performer now, to see her growth was truly amazing. Also just 3 people on stage.

AY: Right, and her brother. He’s the real mastermind, right?

LW: Yeah, Finneas, he’s so talented. Speaking of music, the title of this show is Mixtape. So I was wondering, do you have any memories, fond or otherwise, regarding this act between friends or lovers of exchanging or gifting meticulously curated tapes or CDs?

AY: Um, okay. I mean, I grew up on mixtapes, like cassettes and everything. Yeah. So my earliest memories of like mixtapes were from my elder brother, who's like five years older than me, it was like back in the 80s, and he was like, you know, really into Depeche Mode, and all this New Wave Synth Pop stuff. He would come back with the hair… You know like in those days the hair dyes? So I remember this Depeche Mode cover. I think one of the guys in his yellow hair. So he went to do it. But his hair actually all dropped off. [laughing] 

LW: What! [laughs] Oh no!

AY: Yeah, I don't know, because, you know, the chemicals back then were like really hardcore. Yeah, yeah. So back to mixtapes, all the like pop culture and everything, we got from there. The thing is because I was growing up in Malaysia I think all this music may have come out in like maybe 1982, but you probably listen to it only in 1984, so it wasn't really up to date, and also being kids, we didn't really have much money. So everybody's like overdubbing and overdubbing and we keep using the same cassette, right? Because like, we finished with this mix tape. Okay. After a week or two, we’re like “hey let's do another mixtape.” You get somebody else's, then you find a double deck, and then you re-record the other one. But the thing with magnetic tapes is that the more you record on it, right, the worse it gets. The sound quality just degrades. But nobody minds because some of it was just playing on a like mono speaker of a cassette player. So nobody was complaining. So all this led to like all the little mobile discos all. There used to be pop-up discos here and there at some places. And then we would just go there and just play a couple of bucks because to just hang out and listen to music, you know. Yeah. So yeah, I have a lot of fond memories surrounding mixtapes. But I think my dad threw them all away.

LW: That's so cute. I feel like the idea of like a mobile disco is also very interesting. 

AY: Yeah, it is. Nowadays we have so many pop-ups. But you know, back then we were only doing this because it was like, I think it was cheaper to run. You know, it's like, yeah, then you don’t have to like pay a lot and I think most kids that go were underage so they couldn't go to the clubs.

LW: Right, youth culture. A place to hang out. 

AY: Right. Yeah. So it was really, really fun and we will always trade cassettes but I think I spent quite a lot of my money on music, so it's crazy. Since like from CDs till now. Before that there were cartridges, but I didn't buy too many. They were mostly for my dad. So I remember getting ABBA and listening to it by plugging it into the car, but there were also cassettes. So actually LPs were too expensive, obviously, especially if you don't have a turntable or a hi-fi. So cassettes were the best. Yeah. Then when it came to CDs I started to do mixtapes that way as well. So actually when it came to CD, it was much more sophisticated. Like there were still pirated cassettes and pirated CDs, which we didn't know any better, but we have the music, so we just shared it, so it's kind of like, you know, the early pirate bay. 

LW: Yeah, haha I remember the time of Limewire too. 

AY: Yeah, so people did make a business out of, like selling pirated CDs and even cassettes. I remember in school there were some enterprising guys who would like, you know, do a couple of mixtapes then sell it for like five bucks or something. We would all pool our money to get five bucks saved, then share the mixtape amongst ourselves, then use empty or re-tape our cassettes and redub everything. Yeah, yeah, so it was quite crazy and when I think of it, it was actually quite lovely.

LW:  wow, how were these mixtapes curated? Were they just like “oh these are the popular songs like this is what's going to sell?” 

AY: Yeah, but for me, it was my brother who started me off on like this New Wave stuff. It was interesting to me. So then eventually I started to look for other sources of new music. We found like, you know, magazines like Smash Hits at a time, right? 

LW: Right. I remember.

AY: Yeah so then we’d be like “let's just get a couple of magazines” and also we’d share the cost and take turns to cut out you know, the bands that we like and the artists we liked then. Whoever paid more could choose and we’d just like, also listen to the radio. We listened to the radio from Singapore because we were on the Johor side right? So, most of the time we listened to Singapore radio playing all this old stuff like from the late deejay Chris Ho. Chris Ho was quite far ahead when it came to new music so we always tuned into his shows like of course he also played all the American top 40 and all those things. Then after that my music taste changed and I got into heavy metal and then went back to jazz again, then after that it was like experimental stuff. So I mean, right until now it's like, I mean, there's always like a mixtape kind of mentality to me. I don't even have a Spotify account, actually. I could have had Spotify, but I didn't. I've not used it because I've got so much of my own music. All my curated playlists, and my playlist of songs that I always play like, you know, it’s like my…uh deserted island…

LW: Desert Island Playlist? Oh please do tell. 

AY: Hmmm, old Jackson Browne stuff like, Heavy Metal stuff, The Black Crowes, Rock and Roll. Yeah all the classics and then some like Synth Pop, then some Jazz. It’s kind of an eclectic mix. So I still have like a couple of, like, iPods, right? iPods. Like you can’t use it casually because the old chargers don’t work well. But they’re actually kind of like these time capsules. You know, like during this time you were into this kind of music, and, you know, there are certain things that you carry on like right till like…  there are certain songs that will stick to you all the way. I'll try to work these things out, because the battery doesn't really work, so you’ve got to try to charge it and try to keep it alive. The whole thing, right? So it's like trying to buy back all the childhood memories. So I'm always like buying records. So that's like, quite crazy. So now that I can spend a bit more. [Laughs] I can now afford turntables and it’s like “oh this is how we’re supposed to listen to music” because with the mixtapes the sound is just muddy and all, you know. But with LP’s is like “oh shit, man, this is how it should sound,” you know. So then you start to appreciate the music more and you start to realize that you know, even listening from a crappy kind of sound system, right. If your music is good, like it touches you, it doesn't matter what kind of sound system you have. You could have a very good sound system, but if your music sucks, it still sucks [laughs].

LW: [laugh] Real.

AY: So, yeah, those are those like my memories of having mixtapes. Music was always quite a big part of my practice actually.

LW: Right, so this year's theme for SeptFest is uproot | rootless. And I believe that there's power and fluidity and adaptability. Do you kind of relate to these notions in your practice or like in life, maybe like someone who lived elsewhere and then came to find your home here in Singapore?

AY: Yeah, of course. Of course. I mean, it's like in fact, I was just thinking about it coming up with a theme for my next show. I thought of the Malay word pindah (to move) because I really pindah from Malaysia to Singapore [laughs] and I’ve still got roots in Malaysia. Then a couple of days ago I was meeting up with a few Malaysian friends, and I always feel that no matter how far you go, because you grew up in Malaysia together, it’s like this special bond, right? Yeah. Even though you're not a citizen anymore. But it's always just like that, roots that you have from childhood are quite hard to actually shake off and I find that quite cool. Like the other day remember I shared with you? Like when you’re Malaysian or you grew up there, there's this special bond there. Wherever you are. Yeah. So sometimes I do feel that you know, like, I don't belong here. But again, that, you know, because of the situation in Malaysia is like, you know, it's just not really conducive for my children. So I just have to move forward and you know, and it's just, it was great while it lasted or when I was growing up there, but I think I just like keep it as a memory. So this theme of uproot | rootless is quite similar to these ideas that I'm always thinking about that even though you're here as a Singaporean but you know, your roots are still there. It's quite strange and somehow that feeling that when you cross over the causeway into Malaysia, you're like, “oh, it's home.” It’s a very strange thing. And you’re always told, “be careful, you know the crime rates are high.” Somehow I feel like I'm like an OG there. You know that kind of mentality as soon as I enter, and you know, you just slip into, like, the language easily. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

LW: I guess like when you go back to Malaysia, I also feel like I am always reminded of how kind and how friendly everyone is in Malaysia, and having grown up there myself, I also have a deep connection to the country. There's something that really like brings me back to my childhood also and that’s very comforting.

AY: Yeah. Yeah, definitely. There's always this root. Even my music taste was like heavy metal, or rock stuff, you know, I was always hanging out with the Malay boys. So they also had their own mixtapes, like all the heavy metal mixtapes. Yeah. So I don’t know why I’m always closer to Malay guys rather than Chinese guys when I was younger, but I mean, even now, most of my good friends are Malay. I guess also because I can speak Malay better than I speak Mandarin. So it's like the language is there. Yeah, obviously I mean childhood plays a big part. But also Malaysia is nice to explore. Yeah. So I’m always thinking like I should go to places like Australia to do a residency or like overseas in Europe. But just next to Singapore you've got like a really rich and interesting neighbouring country to visit and learn more from, yeah.

LW: Agreed. I think especially because of Covid I've been looking at everything with a new perspective. Yeah, and you don't need to travel so far to visit somewhere that's like very culturally rich and I guess like the fact that Malaysia is just our neighbour, we all always overlook it because it just seems like, “oh. Can go anytime.”

AY: Yes. I think we took it for granted, I feel. But for me what I took for granted is, you know, initially, you grew up listening to songs from the U.S. and of course we’re Westernized. You want to visit London, you want to visit America. But again, is that you realize that in fact, after Covid, even before Covid, you start to realize how fucked up some of these countries are. And they are actually looking to us in Asia because we have come a long way from the colonial period.

LW: When was the last time you were in the Substation’s physical space, and can you describe how you felt about that space, and are there any other poignant memories of the Substation?

AY: Oh, the last time was I think it was like Tang Da Wu’s show, together with his son, Zai Tang. I think that was the last time I was there, I was there with Ezzam and then I think Zai Kunning had a show there… Oh yeah! That’s the last show that Zai Kunning did. So that was the last time I was ever there. Yeah. Then after there was all the hoo-ha, all the drama and everything online. Trying to keep the place. Yeah, but yeah, I had quite a couple of gigs there, so there's quite a lot of memorable gigs, like some experimental ones with Bani Haykal, I think I did one or two shows, I worked with Bani when he was, I think, artist-in-residency. Yeah. Then there's another show which was with Syndicate. One of the best gigs there. Then even all the people, you remember the other day when we were at Crane? Yeah. You know that guy Shaiful. So he was there too. This how I meet all these guys like, I mean, they were like from Esplanade then they went over to Substation, so everyone seems like part of a family. So every year for the Night Festival, the Substation is the craziest, craziest place and the most happening will always be Armenian street. I remember. Yeah, I think this year must be quiet because they don't have the Substation at Armenian street anymore. Yeah.

LW: Oh, but the Night Festival had like a bazaar on Armenian street this year, that I saw. 

AY: Yeah. But you can't compare like to that time. Yeah, it was like a street fair. It was like this, you know, back then you've got traffic still going through it and people are running across the street to say “cheers” to each other. It was almost like an outdoor bar. Everyone hanging out the front, you know. And having like all the concerts there, it was like a highlight for the Night Festival. That's the one thing actually missing this year. Yeah. So usually everybody would go down, and like the artistic director will always buy durian for Night Festival. [Laughing] Always buys two big baskets of durian and everyone eats.

LW: Wow, shiok. [laughs]

AY: Yeah. Then everyone drinks. It’s very kampung spirit. A group of punks always hung out there, I don't really know since when, but they've always been there lah. Yeah. So yeah punks were there, and it's a bit like a cultural area, where you can hang out at. You don't hang out at Esplanade. They’re actually the same, both like art institutions, but you really only hang out at the Substation. So I think that's the importance of having the space, after all, the rawness. Right now the rawness isn’t the vibe, of course, the show is only run by a skeleton crew, like Ezzam, Yvonne, and you guys. I mean all the curators right?

LW: [laughing] that’s true. Especially for this SeptFest. 

AY: Quite DIY. I was telling Ezzam “be careful, don’t work yourself to death,” compared to other festivals with more support like crew and all, like their budget is really much higher. But yeah. It’s nice that that DIY spirit is still there. A bit of Punk rock mixed in you know.

LW: [Laughs] Like a punk rock mixtape. Like our show. So tell me more about the work that you made for this show Swan Song. Obviously, I saw a lot more colour in some of the earlier drafts and like maybe you can talk about how you made the decision to make a completely black and white work.

AY: Oh yeah. I started off feeling like everybody was talking about like this whole thing about the Substation closing down and everything, but nobody really like bid farewell, at least I felt, properly. So this work came from wanting to make a closing… like to get some closure. So initially I was like, I was really looking at it as like a video work. Ezzam was the one who said “I want you to do a digital piece.” Which was cool because he wanted it to be a bit more complete, like he wanted to start with like Li-Chuan’s work as if everything being really lost. Then we end with like a sort of like how you wrote it, like bookends, which actually completes everything. So initially I wanted to use colours to actually show like, how the whole thing, how colourful the Substation was and then let that go into an ending of sorts. But then after doing that I felt like, you know, that iit just doesn’t feel right. Remember, I told you like, “okay, let's just put this aside and see what's the best.” So I just strip down all the colours and then I had like the image of a black swan from Swan Lake in mind and then this idea of the swan song, right? It's like a farewell song to actually send the Substation off from the physical space and to emerge as something else, you know? So it's like a second life. So which is why I stripped it out the black and white as well. So it's actually a bit more melancholic, but still, you know, you get the message across much better, I feel. Yeah. And then, you know, of course when you strip it down, to the forms to actually speak more. So you're not distracted by colours and yeah, so that's the whole idea of like coming up with the black and white. So if you look at the works now right, the textures and all, they look kind of smoky and feathery and almost like a form slipping in and then ending and then coming back up again. Almost like a Phoenix of sorts. Yeah. So, that's going to be like the future and nobody knows, you know, what's going to happen in the future, but that's where we are. So it's like a proper send off also. Well, for the physical space. Yeah.

LW: Very cool, and can you describe to me the process that you kind of went through in terms of for the music? Because obviously not just the visual, but the music you did yourself. One stop shop! So yeah, I think they really respond well to each other and maybe you can tell me about that process, a little bit of how you composed, then played and also recorded the musical component.

AY: Okay. The thing is, because like while I work, my mind works both musically and visually. So as I was working on the piece, I roughly already had what I had in mind for the music part. So I always do stills of a work even if it's a video work, I'll do the stills first and it has to work as a still and bring the message across as a still image before it’s animated. So while I was doing that, piecing them together layer by layer in Procreate, in Photoshop, then the idea of the black swan came in and then I had like bits and pieces of like how I wanted it to sound and like what kind of effects I wanted to use. So I tied down like certain parts with certain effects and how to do this. How to make things broad, how to make things like more dramatic in certain areas. And how to peak in certain parts where I put like these shimmery parts of sound and to depict the movement. Yeah. So that's how I tied things together. So it's all really tied in my head as I put it out. So after I finish kind of like roughly, not even looking at the animated piece, when I send it out for animation. So I just put the pieces onto my iPad. Then I went into the studio to record the song, yeah. So I just timed myself roughly like, you know, 3 to 4 minutes. I'll look at the visual for a while then put it away. Then I'll just let it flow. So I just started playing and recorded the whole thing and then I handed it over to the animator and yeah. So he did the rest of the work. Yeah, of course going down to the little details like all the nitty-gritty. But the main call was already there.

LW: Yeah. And I obviously had the privilege of coming to your studio to see your physical paintings and kind of the integral parts of your process that you've developed. Is there anything that you have picked up as a ritual whether it's superstitious or functional, and does it differ whether your work is digital or physical? like what is the difference for you when you kind of start a piece?

AY: Okay, the thing is, my mind kind of looks like it's a bit of a sketch. So it's a mishmash. There's a lot of stuff going on in my head, so I'm… usually I have to start somewhere. So I get very paranoid if I don't do anything. So that's where I get, you know, “what if I don’t paint today, I don't know, I may lose my skills the next day,” so I'll always be doing something like if I wait for the paint to dry, I'll be working on the computer while waiting. So no time is wasted. So most of these things they will just come. And the thing is, I think my approach to making art is always like, you have to start first, you can’t wait for like the inspiration to come in. So I need to stimulate that creative journey. I need to start the journey first, and then see how it goes. Yeah. And sometimes you get lost. Most of the time you get lost. Then you find your way back again. Yeah. So of course with years of practice and of doing work. I roughly have this certain style of getting things done, sometimes under pressure. Sometimes not under pressure, but it kind of works lah. Sometimes I'll write something when I’m half asleep,  I'll just like have an idea or something, and just type it out on the phone and get back to sleep again. Or I'll have like a very vivid dream or something then I’ll just like try to write it down, in my notebook or on my phone, which is always at my bedside and then try to see it again to try to work on it again. Yeah. So most of these things work that way. So whenever there's a brief or something then of course I'll try to work from there. But sometimes how I start may not turn out to be what I initially wanted it to be, which is actually the best part. I mean, it's always the element of surprise there and it's quite a scary anxiety and just kind of a feel there. But I mean, that's how life is, right? You can start something, and you don’t know really. You can plan as much as you can. You know, but by the end, sometimes it turns out well, sometimes it doesn’t. Yeah.

LW: I am also curious if there was a surprising aspect of any point of making, this work, Swan Song. So during the process was there anything that surprised you? 

AY: I think I didn't really expect it to turn out this way. [laughs] So initially it was very, you know, you saw the first images and drafts of the video and all those things that I put together. So yeah. It's quite surprising that it turned out this way, but I actually had something similar in one of my sketches, I always keep my little sketches, whatever, like pencil sketches or things. Um, so it’s one of those things that I did a couple of months ago and I never thought that it would make any sense, until maybe a few months down the road, when I was like stuck on Swan Song. So and then I was like, “oh, I remember I did this form before, should I just expand on this, I think this works for Swan Song.” So then I'll just go right in. Then it became “Wow. Okay. It’s alive!” So there's been a couple of these experiences, which is why I stopped throwing away my sketches [laughs] and works that don’t work. I don't destroy them. I just put it away. Because there's always time. Time is actually one of the very important things for my process of making. But it's just that because you know, we are all so pressed for time, so everything needs to be quick. But you know the painter Howard Hodgkin? His work takes 2 or 3 years to complete. He starts one, then he puts it away to one side, most of his works are titled by the years he spends on them. When he starts and ends. I mean, so the time in between is also very important. And of course the mood for the day. So, you know, certain days you just can’t get it right out. But some of those days could also be days that you do really good work. Yeah. So this is why I'm always like trying to be in the studio or even in front of a blank paper or something at home or at a studio, just to start something and see where it goes. Yeah. Because I'm not really the type that likes to sit down and wait for ideas to come.

LW: So I guess I actually only have one last question and it's more for fun. Obviously, Swan Song is already a farewell to the Substation space, but what would you imagine to be the best possible farewell to the Substation space? And this can be a totally no limits on like anything: cost, timing, anything that you want.

AY: Well, yeah, I think probably having something like how they celebrated for Singapore Night Festival. [Laughing] Yeah, probably like, I don't know, probably just like, have something at the garden or something. Yeah. Maybe this is a little dark, but we could probably do like a fun funeral, [laughing] you know, usually funerals aren’t so fun but seriously, I had a friend who passed away two years ago. So she knew that she was going to pass on because, you know, she was in a critical condition. So she did a living wake. Yeah. So everybody attended and was happy, I remember it was on Zoom like because it was during Covid, nobody could go out, and we were all talking about like good times we recalled, and she's actually like there! You know usually when you're gone and people go to your funeral, you are not there. So you don’t get to hear how people feel about you. But she then got to hear all these things like, you know, uh, how they treasured, like, you know, their friendship and everything. So yeah, it's more like a celebration, I guess. There are some funerals which are more like a celebration. We should do something like that.

LW: Yeah, we should. But also definitely have baskets of durian! Punks eating durian, I really think is a very strong image in my mind.

AY: We should do like a procession. Like, you know, some Chinese funerals for those who have lived for like more than 100 years. So everything, even the candles aren’t white, they’re red. Because it's like a life well-lived. So it’s really more like a celebration and it's like a good send-off. Yeah, yeah. So it’s a bit dark, but you know.

LW: But I think it’s very fitting. It's like bittersweet, right? It's like a farewell, but also like celebrating all the times that everyone has had. Well, thank you for taking the time to talk to me for this interview and for being such a pleasure to work with on this project!

AY: Most welcome, so yeah. Alright. I'll catch up with you again. [Laughs] We can go for a kebab.

LW: Yeah. Sounds good to me. [laughing]

AY: Me. Yeah. It's been crazy to work with you.

LW: [laughs] same here. Okay, I’ll talk to you soon, bye!

AY: Okay bye, let me know if you need anything, okay?

LW: Alright, bye!

AY: Ciao babe!

Biographies

Andy Yang b. 1973 is a multi-disciplinary artist known for his abstract visual and sound experimentations. His explorations between visual art and music led him to the creation of works under musical stimuli with The Observatory. In Anitya 1 (2011) at the Earl Lu Gallery of the Institute of Contemporary Art Singapore, the process of his art-making cycle was exposed in full, from the point of creation to destruction. In his latest ArtScience Late feature at the ArtScience Museum, the work Ceremony (2019) produced together with SAtheCollective, saw the artist celebrate the experiences of human childbirth through an energetic sound performance set against an elaborate visual art installation. Andy was also one of the key artists (in a select group of 8) who presented DE:VOTED (2020) a critically acclaimed immersive art experience at Helutrans for Singapore Art Week 2020 featuring an intense communion with light, sound, and performance art.

Lizzie Wee (b. 1993) is a Singaporean multidisciplinary artist, curator, designer, illustrator, art director and video editor. She received her BFA from New York University and an MA in Fine Arts from the Goldsmiths programme at LASALLE College of the Arts. Her present practice-based research investigates notions of identity and belonging; through an examination of archetypal female roles found in Southeast Asian pop culture and visual media. Her works are expressed through video, performance, writing for performance, and mixed-media installations. Wee has exhibited internationally in various galleries, showcases, symposiums, and art fairs in Singapore, Taiwan, Shenzhen, Szczecin, New York, Shanghai, and online.

Her curatorial practice has focused greatly on making art accessible and exploring tools like social media to allow a wider audience to experience and interact with either a physical or digital show. Most recently she has curated a 6-month takeover programme at the I_S_L_A_N_D_S Peninsular gallery space, a two-person online exhibition for the Substation, and this two-part online showcase for Substation’s Sept Fest 2022, Mixtape Vol. 32 - Side A & B. She has also presented solo exhibitions at Leevan Art Fair, Shenzhen in 2019, and I_S_L_A_N_D_S Peninsular, Singapore in 2022. She was awarded the Winston Oh Travelogue Art Award (Special Edition) in 2021. Apart from her artistic practice, Wee has worked with Sotheby's Hong Kong, and Kitchen Hoarder, a woman-run production team focused on lifestyle and food culture. 

Mixtape Vol. 32 - Side A & B

Mixtape Vol 32 is a two-part online exhibition included in the line-up of The Substation’s SeptFest 2022, which features 2 artists, Chong Li-Chuan and Andy Yang for Side A and Side B, respectively. Curated by Lizzie Wee, this online showcase is organised in a way that is reminiscent of the act of making a personalised 2-sided mixtape for a loved one; to share a curated playlist that soundtracked a particular moment in time. In What is the sound of one hand clapping? Li-Chuan captures the sounds around the still-existing-but-closed space at Armenian Street, where The Substation used to reside, to create a soundscape composition for Side A; while Andy Yang animates abstract forms and light to an original composition which ebbs and flows in Swan Song, an uplifting farewell to the space we one knew for Side B. In tying with The Substation’s theme for SeptFest 2022: uproot | rootless, Mixtape Vol 32 is an ode to the transition from the physical space that The Substation used to inhabit for the last 32 years to the uprooted, transient, and versatile entity it currently exists as. 

These two works act as bookends of SeptFest 2022: Side A will be released on the 1st of September and Side B will be available for view on the 30th. Mixtape Vol 32 - Side A & Side B are both a nostalgic interpretation of how we grapple with the loss of what The Substation once was as a place and institution, yet still look to its current fluid form and identity, while considering how to shape its hopeful future.