“Propagate air,” she intones elastically, her voice morphing from a childish treble to an inhuman basso profundo. “Blast the spine that has become reptile… keep breathing, as it will save you, as it is electricity… Sound athlete…Body-instrument… Source-transmitter.” Anat Ben David’s Deleuzian-Dalcrozian text score cum-manifesto is performed to a backing track of looped electronic croaks and stutters in the main gallery at Stanley Picker. Simultaneously stripping back and complicating the code sand gestures of pop, Ben David is multiplied and…
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