Bill Orcutt –
Black t-shirt. Jeans. Barefoot. Right leg crossed over the left. His right big toe crossed over the toe next to it. Twitching the foot rapidly throughout his performance. A graying beard. Messy brown hair thinning at his crown. He says few words. Hello. Thanks. Goodnight. Sitting on a chair. A lone spot light on him from directly above. Dust particles illuminated in the light. Ascending. Pulling him up. Isolating him. Removing him from this world. He glares at the light. At the audience. Like a belligerent drunk. “Yeah,” he seems to say, “I did just fucking play that.” Continue reading “rhys chatham, bill orcutt, mca, 9/9/10”
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