A few days ago I turned into a fly and landed on the wall at one of Richard Ormrod’s performance events. Far from having his foot in his mouth, Rinkadon was an excellent communicator, with or without the bass clarinet.
Along with Rus Pearson on bass, he played a set of Charles Mingus music. The two of them seemed to have gone on quite a long musical journey in order to arrive at such a standard of riveting artistry.
Later Rinkadon read strange collections of words from books and sheets of paper while Matthew Bourne replied to him atonally and frenetically on a keyboard.
The evening was a real slice of DIY, cutting edge art which didn’t dumb itself down, nor was it brought to us via a BBC cultural commentator whose job it is to tell us what is and isn’t worth liking. If I had any friends, I’d tell them about it.