Save this article to read it later.
Find this story in your accountsSaved for Latersection.
The brick room has been carpeted in a tasteful beige.
Its inviting, inclusive.
I know for a fact that I am racist, OReilly explains calmly, which Peter handles.
But when OReilly tells Peter thathesracist too, Peter bristles.
Eerie sounds penetrate the cozy room; mysteries abound.
The group sings together, and the lyrics can get a little odd.
Every tree is online and networked / Self-encoded in the storm, they sing.
Each leaf and pattern magnetized / To a constellation of terrors and strange business.
Put yourself against the sky.
These choral moments, composed by Duffy, are warm, but the language is tellingly apocalyptic.
When horror does finally arrive, its ecstatic and Cronenbergian and bizarre.
I cant say I didnt see it coming.
The sameness of the content makes sense.
But there is also the question of the formal echoes.
Paradoxically, what isnttame inWhite on Whiteis everythingbeforethe mayhem.
(Berkeley even accompanies the groups songs on an autoharp, which looks a little like Apollos lyre.)
We live in chaos at the moment, so the wild-eyed stuff may have momentarily lost its impact.
Thought and precision are the astonishments nowadays.
Theyre the things to worship.
White on Whiteis at JACK through July 9.
