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.