Synthwaves and woodwinds inside a 100-year-old barn
Starting the year with a low-key but resonant performance by Noah Klein + M. Sage and Rayonism.
Never doubt the precision of a dropped pin.
The one I tapped on last weekend (January 6) got us from our garden-level apartment in Denver to the site of a big yellow barn about an hour north in Longmont. There was a large playground outside with a slide and tetherball pole. There were black cows, a black horse and a fluffy white dog. Behind the barn in the distance were the white-capped tips of the Rocky Mountains.
There were about 30 others who arrived at the same spot, dapperly dressed with blankets and thick coats. We sauntered up the stairs and into the barn’s loft, where for two hours we listened to rich layers of modular synths, flutes and clarinet.
And if I hit the switch, I can make the ass drop.
— Ice Cube
This wasn’t my first time popping up at a serene and rustic setting for Floating, a series of ambient music performances that run weekly in Los Angeles and frequently enough in the Front Range and other states. Last year, Matthew Sage, an experimental musician, artist and professor from the region, performed from a mountain amphitheater overlooking Boulder. The atmosphere was nothing if not resplendent; even the clouds parted in time for Sage’s set. It was also, for me, a bit puzzling: How do you behave during a performance like this, where you are extra sensitive to the people, environment, and sounds around you? For the self-aware, it takes more than just a gentle breeze to ease in.
For the yellow barn show (the “Hay Loft Sessions”), Sage brought along Floating co-founder Noah Klein and another Front Range artist, Rayonism. Huddled on the floor around them, we welcomed a reprieve from the chilly gusts outside.
Klein and Sage started with a loosely structured duet of flute and clarinet, respectively, from the back of the room. They have some nice boots on, I thought as they slowly crept to the front of the room. It wasn’t until Sage shifted over to the synthesizer, however, that the room’s full potential was tested. His rolling drones hit the off switch deep inside me, and I leaned back onto the floorboards to rest after a fitful week.
Rayonism, whose real name is Matt Loewen, devoted most of his set to the swelling overtones Sage set the stage for. Patient and unbothered, Loewen moved between passages of drones and even some clarinet, occasionally shrugging at and adjusting the modular rig in front of him. After a while, I once again found myself on the floor with my beanie flipped over my eyes.
His set ended abruptly, cutting off mid-drone. He raised his fists in victory and thanked us for coming by, or as Klein had said earlier, trusting the pin drop that led us to this big yellow barn in the high plains.
Going back to my earlier question: How are you supposed to behave in a performance like this? I couldn’t help but sense an anxiety among the crowd when the set started, as if we were waiting for a signal to let our guards down. When I lay down, I felt I occupied too much space, even if that’s what that music drove me to do. I must admit it was a sensation that initially kept me from fully embracing Floating.
It’s a slippery balance, the pull between comfort and sustainability. I think Floating — at least in Colorado — is still figuring out how it can offer this incredibly deep, pleasant, relaxing music while also being respectful of the space and environment in which it exists. I wish it also made it more accessible for those who can’t drive up to a barn outside of town. After all, time and space are immensely valuable in today’s culture. Because many of us don’t have much of it, we are protective of what we do have. Were Floating to extend its hand just a bit further, it could reach its fullest potential.