Project Description

MONA FOMA

19-21 January- Hobart, Tasmania

(Live Festival Review)

Reviewer – Benjamin Smith

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When one of the most unusual artspaces in the world announces that the festival on its grounds, curated by the bass player for one of the most iconic bands in popular music, might be its last its fair to say something a little different is probably scheduled.

Referring to the Museum of Old and New Art’s Festival of Music and Art 2018 as something a little different is like referring to Uluru as a good sized pebble. Everything about MONA and its festival is extraordinary. The line up of acts, put together since 2009 by Brian Ritchie of Violent Femmes fame, is defined by its diversity.  From Chicago soul-singer and poet Jamila Woods to experimental collective Godspeed You! Black Emperor; from Norweigan black metal overlords Mayhem to protest songs reinterpreted by multi-instrumentalist Brian Jackson and the Southern Gospel Choir; from former Sudanese refugee Ajak Kwai performing Afro-funk and traditional Dinka music to Filastine and Nova posing as a flight crew doing some kind of electro pop psychedelica.

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The preceding list is a tiny sample of what the festival had to offer in terms of performance and the highlights were indescribable. Listening to  Emel Mathlouthi, the voice of the Tunisian revolution, sing in a mixture of Arabic, French and English over industrial-minimalist soundscapes on an outdoor stage poised on the waters of the Berriedale peninsula backed by the imposing mountains surrounding Hobart whilst storm clouds gathered was both terrifying and soul enriching. Listening to Gordon Gano perform Australian poetry to the simplest of acoustic accompaniment was unadulterated joy. Sonya Lifschitz played compositions set to iconic speeches throughout history and told stories of Stalinist Russia and Maria Yudini, his beloved pianist.

But the wonders of FOMA extend well beyond its musical performances. In a wine room at the entrance to the festival a highly respected massuer gave free massages to people enjoying frozen wine pops shaped like Donald Trump called “protesticles” while listening to Djs playing records from countries affected by Executive Order 13769.

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A cinema housed in the bowels of the museum played films as unusual as a documentary on space jazz pioneer Sun Ra and Vanishing Point, a two hour car-chase scene cult anti-classic.

One of the most impressive aspects of the event though, was the inventive means of dealing with rubbish and trash. The organisers of the festival had, in an effort to reduce the carbon impact of the occasion, completely eliminated single-use packaging. There were no plastic cups for drinking, instead partiers could pay  ten bucks for a steel cup that held wine and beer, to be refunded at the conclusion of the festival or retained as a souvenier. There were no straws. Likewise coffee was either served in china cups  and saucers or a glass keep-cup could be purchased for a pretty modest sum. No paper plates to be seen either, bakelite crockery for the food, silver cutlery and linen napkins all collected by proper bussing staff who seemed to be everywhere all the time.

There was a silent barber for those who wanted a little beard maintenance but don’t go in for the usual banter. Free beeswax earplugs for anyone needing a little noise reduction. Ice sculptures. If I spent a week trying to recall every crazycool thing we came across I probably still wouldn’t do it justice.

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One of the things most noticeable at an event that’s organised in such a way is that it becomes clear that if you treat people like grown ups, they act like grown ups. In the whole three days we were on site, we saw one bloke who was mucho fucked up and carrying on. One. Out of the thousands that came through the gates. And even then, it seemed that security was more concerned with his welfare than anything else. There were no bagchecks as far as I was aware and we saw no weapons, no violence or aggression and no overtly drug related carry on, apart from the occasional waft of a spliff. I’m not implying people weren’t having a dabble, just noting that if you trust people to find their own levels, they’ll usually do so without needing Emergency Medical Teams to come a-running (although they were there and clearly prepared to do so should the need arise).

On top of the incredible calibre of acts the tickets included entry to the extraordinary space that is MONA, and if you were there at just the right time you could see and hear the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra Choir strolling between floors, adding a haunting edge to the soft glow of the just-lit sandstone that the behemoth gallery is carved into.

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The whole caper culminated in a performance of the Violent Femmes and the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra at the Federation Concert Hall in the centre of Hobart. It was the result of over a year’s work, was a truly phenomenal moment and an entirely fitting end to an amazing affair.

They should put up a plaque at the entrance to MONA that reads “MONA: showing motherfuckers how its done since we got here”.

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AMNPLIFY – DB

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