By: Will Bishop

Humboldt County is not often a place where stars land. Our biggest city, Eureka, feels as though, past a certain hour in the depths of night, you could imagine an apocalypse had occurred — wiping the scourge of humankind from the streets. Yet there is a certain pull, an uncategorizable allure that sometimes draws a very bright thing into our orbit. And so, it has happened once more. The inexplicable, almost baffling gravity of The Miniplex has pulled in yet another star. Like our own miniaturized pet black hole. Landing an intimate set with Animal Collective’s own Brian Weitz, currently on a tour under his moniker, Geologist.

Opener Complex Crown, the stagename of local electronic artist Max Brotman, established a heady atonal atmosphere. Primarily driven through rhythmic gymnastics rather than conventional melodic structures, it’s very much the sort of music you need to buy into entirely, or it will sound like nothing at all. As someone who buys into this sort of thing all the time, who owns stock in Richard Devine and loves killing the vibe with extremely confusing music that makes everyone go, “Why are you doing this?” — I thought it was very cool. A sort of full-body aural wash. Music to rewrite the polarity of your atoms. A projector displayed live video synth-driven visuals courtesy of Wil Bruce. Brotman also wielded a harmonium, establishing a precedent of artists throughout the evening using instruments I had never seen before in my entire life. 

Thus bringing us cleanly to the hurdy-gurdy man himself: Geologist. I wasn’t entirely sure what his live act would consist of. Weitz, known for using a headlamp onstage because of the sheer amount of knob fiddling necessary to fulfill his role within Animal Collective, has until this year been the solo projectless member of the group. That changed with this year’s release of his debut album, Can I Get a Pack of Camel Lights?, a psychedelic post-rock journey with the aforementioned hurdy-gurdy taking center stage.

The hurdy-gurdy is a very unusual instrument; something between a guitar, a piano and a gramophone. It conjures a sort of funereal aura, recalling that time you went to war for the independence of Scotland, when you and all of your friends were brutally slaughtered under the yoke of British expansionism. When hearing a hurdy-gurdy as played by Brian Weitz, it is more akin to experiencing a tranquil and voluntary heat death in the high deserts of the mind. Beholding cacti morph into shamanic entities of mysterious power and ambiguous intentions while you pound Arnold Palmers — periodically looking down at the visage embossed upon the can and watching him rapidly age 7,000 years over and over again while asking yourself, “Why 7,000 years?”

Standing in the tightly enclosed and low-capacity environment of The Miniplex, mere feet from the man while he conjured forth ancient beings from a great beyond, clicking pedals on and off — sans headlamp—  and absolutely hurding the flippin’ gurd. It was easy to feel as though he was playing this show specifically and entirely for you. With only one small, rhythmically confused individual standing in front of me, my eyes were as if magnetically locked to his fingers — clacking with tap dancer’s grace and the speed of genetically modified super gazelles. To witness such esoteric mastery, like the revival of some arcane Byzantine art, was an experience that can truly only be summarized with an enigmatic riddle: what spins round and round, walks five hundred steps and always ends up exactly where it started? The hurdy-gurdy, baby.

Bio: Will Bishop is a Cal Poly Humboldt journalism major. He is prone to writing essays about things that bother him and fictional works about things that also bother him, but in different ways. A highly bothered individual and a lover of cinema, music, large trees and rocks. He can often be found in the woods, dancing to bring down the sky.