The Dog at the Free Improvisation Gig

Picture a venue full of middle-class people whose attention is riveted on an eclectic bunch. All are painting sounds in the least predictable fashion. The walls and ceiling are white, erhus & pipas are hanging by the window and you hear the sliding cries of a guqin fighting against percussive knocks on the viola’s body. Saxophones, flutes and fiddles grafted themselves to the cacophony for the second set. Why is there a dog running around? This venue is a traditional Chinese instruments shop in Taiwan and you are the only foreigner. There are other European-looking folks, but given their spoken mandarin earlier, they must be living here. The atmosphere is tense, and the gig will end soon, though nobody knows how yet. At this cathartic moment, the cellist grabs a squeaking carrot toy from her ever-expanding bag of accessories and makes a few people grin. The dog is super excited though. He runs towards the cellist, who at first tries to hide the toy away. She then surrenders the carrot. The other musicians haven’t stopped playing. The noise is getting denser as the dog fights against the carrot, fueling the energy in the room. Everybody starts laughing and this unexpected canine participation guides the rest of the improvisation to a loud climax. Shortly after the band reaches a dynamic threshold, the volume slowly decreases, and the sounds die out as the dog gets less and less interested in the plastic vegetable. The dog takes a last vengeful look at the toy and walks away. The musicians are silent. The dog had the last word. A tense moment goes by before praise and laughter burst out in the room. At this moment, you join the applause and wonder how a free improvisation event could ever be better than this.

After that performance, I felt truly exclusive for having attended. I couldn’t help but think about how difficult it would be to document the event in any way that would pay justice to the experience’s singularity. Indeed, no video or picture could ever capture the ecstasy of the canine-handled squeaking carrot dialoguing at frantic pace with the mass of sounds. This rather underground event coincides with a moment of my stay in Taipei when I begin to feel at home, with opportunities knocking at my door by the day. Speaking with some musicians that night, I come to realize that at least 5 similarly exciting shows are scheduled in Taipei for tomorrow. Unfortunately, I can’t attend any of those, I’m already going to another concert! Had I known a little earlier, I might have planned differently. But of course, when you visit a new place, things always start happening right when you’re about to leave.