“… But I Can Give You a Feeling” Anna Homler

I have been coming to Zurich through the years for different projects… But not often enough.

I know. I finally got there. Somehow, Zurich is my spiritual home.

A bit. But mainly the way this language came to me was from a completely different route. It came more from the interior and more spontaneously. It didn’t have an intellectual component. Later I would find an intellectual component; I did research afterwards. Actually, Surrealism was a big influence and inspiration on my early work.

No, it was so intimate and authentic, I trusted it. It came as chants and melodies. I recorded them on cassettes and soon I had drawers full of tapes with song fragments in this language. Later, I met a composer, Steve Moshier, who placed them with an electronic background, and producer/musician Ethan James, who did instrumentation for them. I recorded as I was driving in my car.

With some of the melodies I could see images. For instance, in “Karu Karu,” I could see a white walled city in the desert where women were dancing in a line. That’s on my first CD, Do Ya Sa’di Do. “Karu Karu” is also a Maori song, but that is completely different from what I am singing. Only the name is the same. Ethan James did the instrumentation for my version. He had a studio called Radio Tokyo in Venice where all the LA punk bands and poets recorded.

The language is a bit like Hawaiian. It has twelve syllables or letters. It’s not a large language. And it’s spontaneous.

No, but I was in Hawaii and I knew a bit of the language, I knew that the alphabet only had twelve letters. Do you speak Hawaiian?

Oh yes …

This may be a more philosophical answer to your question. Everyone has a different process. In my opinion you need to go down inside yourself to go out, a bit like the letter “L.” Jungian psychology appeals to me. What’s inside is reflected outside. Outside is a big mirror. After all, everything is connected on the quantum level.

There is something Enzo Minarelli said to me years ago. He is a poet and was the organizer of a sound poetry festival I participated in. He said: “Don’t perform in English. English is the language of the rulers of the world, it’s the language of Nixon. Stick to the ‘chika chika.’” I always remember that.

So I think my language is on another level, I think it’s biological. It’s cellular. I cannot give you an analysis in my language, but I can give you a feeling. It’s really a different brain hemisphere.

I did one performance piece with Steve Moshier that was called Deliquium in C. It was about the dissolution of language and stages of alchemy. We called it an underwater sound poem. I’d like to present it again with a dancer.

This is most obvious in my Pharmacia Poetica, which is an ongoing installation/performance project. The prescriptions are poetic: images, sounds, colors, and stories. These are perceptual shifts from the literal to the lyrical. It’s a manicure for the mind. A big part of the Pharmacia is a library of glass bottles containing an assortment of objects floating in liquid. The Pharmacia started as a radio play and then evolved into a storefront installation that travelled throughout the US and Europe. Right now it’s in my living room in Los Angeles and in my friend’s cellar in Cologne. Most recently the Pharmacia has found a new life as a film by Will Saunders and Hans Diernberger and will be presented at a conference on sound called “Fluidity” in San Diego.

Kyn Taniya [aka Luis Quintanilla] is a poet I just discovered. I read some of his texts in the performance with Christian yesterday. He was a Mexican surrealist, who started writing after translating avant-garde poetry into Spanish. In the past, I’ve bottled poems and will definitely bottle some of his. Eventually, all the words dissolve in the liquid and only the essence is left.

I didn’t have the time and the space to develop something new until now. I prefer to play with another person on stage. I like interacting with another person’s sounds and energy. It’s the magic of another person.

It’s mostly by Zufall.

We were introduced by a friend in Zurich about four years ago.

Yes, four years later.

Oh, we have played together before; I didn’t just get on stage with Christian and play. We spent a whole afternoon in Zurich jamming together. Christian had access to a big studio where we could play. It seemed like we would work well together.

I used to play with Peter Kowald, who died more than ten years ago. Since then I’ve been looking for a stand-up bass or cello player to work with. I really love the sound of the human voice with those deep strings. I was hoping it could be a possibility to work with Christian so I was happy to have a chance to play at Moods, thanks to Mara.

I like the energy of collaboration. It’s more interesting for me and new things come out of it.

I didn’t know his music before I played with him. The label that re-released Breadwoman, RVNG Intl., put us together. He is a road warrior and an art star. He’s really great to tour with and I’ve learned a lot from him.

Steven and I didn’t use existing material for Breadwoman. We improvised and found some patterns we liked. I have some unreleased projects that are now just starting to be released in the UK. There’s a saying: “What’s old is new again.”

Sadly, I don’t have the quality of time and space that I used to have to create new work in LA. I probably need to go on a residency.

My father died and there was a lot of complicated administration. My life in LA is more administrative than poetic. To create new things, I need to be in Europe. All the people I work with are here. Also, like everyone, my mind is more free to dream without day-to-day responsibilities.

Yes, it is. [Laughs] Natürlich. [Laughs]

Last year I was able to perform a work in progress with the London Improvisers Orchestra called Probate Codes: An Exorcism. It combined layers of text in English: probate codes, poetic extractions from Bleak House and The Godfather. Adam Bohman and Sue Lynch read the codes, droning on and on. Steve Beresford conducted the orchestra and I read the text. It was very fulfilling.

I’m a collector, first of all. I collect sounds, words, and images. I look for sonic objects that are visually interesting. For instance, I love wood devils—it’s this toy that makes a very dry, creaking sound. It’s an instrument that I always have with me. And because they don’t live very long I have to find one, no matter what country I am in. Anyway, I really know my toys, my objects. It looks like Krimskrams on the Tisch, not so organized, but I have a relationship with each one. Where somebody else might do a different setting on a device, I have an object that makes that one sound that I love. I like it like that, even though it’s hard to schlepp.

Like the Klebeband?

Mostly I have the toys so I can play with other people—they allow me to relate, sound-wise. Sometimes it is not possible to connect with the vocals to the sound. The toys can always do it.

Because I am a niche singer in another language.

Yes, I have a room in my house entirely filled with toys and sound-making objects. Mostly the toys and objects are on shelves and in color-coded plastic tubs. Larger items are in trunks and smaller items are in drawers and baskets. They are grouped together by “families.” The things I use all the time are in a suitcase that gets re-packed before a trip.

Well some things come with me, always. I travel with some beautiful French bird whistles for example. Those always come, because they are portable. I have really great sounds at home, but it’s impossible to bring them, like a clock case, for instance. It looks beautiful and mysterious—but it’s too bulky. I have really large things that I could only use in LA. My toy suitcase is already really heavy and expensive—it’s always an extra EUR 100 to bring it.

I love the visual aspect of the toys. Looking at a computer isn’t really interesting for me. It’s about time as well. When would I record all those sounds my toys and objects are making?