Before arriving on Thursday night to PULP magazine’s all-black themed party, I had never heard any of the music from any of the acts. By the end of the night, I had over 4000 frantic words on my notes app, some of the highlights being “Tamborine — nice”, “SAX PLAYER HAS A CLARINET NOW?!” and “sick (but white) daft punk t-shirt”. The last of which was in reference to the sound guy’s cool but bright white, and therefore, off-theme, Daft Punk ‘Discovery’ t-shirt — a crucial detail for sure. It’s safe to say I got a little over-excited, but I’ve tried my best to condense the experience that was PULP’s 19th issue launch.
Kicking off the night was Sydney/Eora-based producer and instrumentalist Heartholder. His genre-blurring set masterfully fused the off-kilter rhythms of nu-jazz with the raw, syncopated energy of UK drill and the fragmented, experimental pulsations of glitchy electronica. From crisp, tightly programmed beats to cavernous, reverb-drenched saxophone lines that sounded like they were played from the next room (or arena) over. Heartholder’s set was a high-wire act of precision and chaos, a performance that felt both meticulously structured and off-the-cuff. His sheer effort and technical mastery — layering intricate pedal effects with warped jazz samples and the odd wailing sax solo — pulled an initially cautious crowd from the sidelines onto the dance floor.
His raw energy made me wish I was dancing to his set while plastered at 2 am in some sweaty European night club, not writing notes on my phone and drinking overpriced beer. Heartholder’s set was incredibly engaging — a masterclass in balancing spontaneity and precision. Every moment felt like a balancing act, switching between chopping up beats, ripping it Sun Ra style on his saxophone, and adjusting knobs on his pedal board. These relatively seamless transitions highlighted the raw, unfiltered energy of his performance. Bloody brilliant opener.
Following Heartholder was Sydney-based saxophonist, improviser, and composer Hinano Fujisaki. The set opened with a ritualistic drone from Jacques Emery’s double bass, its deep resonance filling the room before Hinano and pianist Lauren Tsamouras jumped into a lilting, folk-like, vocal melody in perfect unison. This opening established the mesmerising and theatrical atmosphere for a performance that continuously unfolded like a composition more than a series of discrete songs. Hinano’s music shifted seamlessly from gentle, contemplative jazz — reminiscent of Bill Evans and Coltrane — to expansive, Eno-inspired soundscapes, punctuated by sudden atonal bursts and improvisational detours that injected fresh energy.
One moment a discordant swell, the next a rhythmic shift that altered the entire feel of the piece. Bonnie Stewart’s precise and intricate drumming helped to anchor the performance amid a complex mix of polyphonic melodies and polyrhythmic patterns — her toms, dampened with tea towels, adding a muted, velvety warmth to the overall sound. The crowd had gathered onto the dancefloor, not to dance, but to sit in rapt attention; except for a loud group behind me, who earned enough side-eyes that I finally turned around and told them to be quiet during an especially delicate jazz sax solo from Hinano. As most of the crowd were sitting by the end of their set, Hinano earned an unexpected standing ovation from some members of the audience.
They say the rapture will come with the sound of trumpets, but I think it might just be to the sound of Manfredo Lament. Bursting onto the stage with a ferocious energy, Sydney-based improvisational jazz band Manfredo Lament immediately got the crowd pumping. The first thing that struck me was Gabriel Haslam’s drumming: imagine Bradley Cooper in Limitless but having dedicated himself entirely to the drums.That’s Haslam in full flight. On top of this was the seismic bass playing of ‘Lukey Gee’ whose solos were so tectonic they felt like the splitting of Pangea.
At the heart of this sonic maelstrom was keyboard player Kurt Lam, encircled by an array of synths and a vocoder that lent his sound an otherworldly edge reminiscent of the instrumental tracks on Daft Punk’s ‘Random Access Memories’ album. Lam punctuated the set with passionate shouts of “if you didn’t know, this is 100% improvised music!”, driving home the set’s unbridled spontaneity and drawing the audience into an intimate celebration of pure improvisation. Every keystroke and digital flourish wove together elements of funk, jazz, Samba, and even hints of heavy metal. At one point during a particularly impassioned solo, sax player Benjamin Samuels’s hair began to blow in the wind — the source of which I could only assume was divine intervention (or maybe the smoke machine on full blast beside him).
By the end of the night, my feet and fingers hurt from a complex mix of dancing and typing, so I had to sit outside on the balcony, where the light rain only added to the already immaculate musical vibes. Overall, the worst part of the night had to be the $9 schooner which, admittedly, was not the fault of PULP, but rather the University of Sydney, or maybe Sydney in general, and by extension capitalism. So aside from the obvious need for a class-based revolution to get me reasonably priced beer, the night was an absolute hit.
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