No Knuckleheads

by Chris Cox

The red darkness of the Rivoli's back bar brings visions of our lioned-clothed ancestors. This cement womb is alive with the glow of expectancy. There is a primitive energy in the air tonight, and all of us here want to be a part of IT, although we are not sure what IT is yet. Peter Gualt, author, and Amy Racheal, editor, of Elephant Press, will be indulging our hedonistic tendancies to be entertained by presenting a "multimedia" interpretation of their newest literary release, Knucklehead. A large screen begins to pulsates light, replacing the pagan glimmer that has begun to dim. In this way, the book's protagonist, Billy Blowe, comes to life in dark and compelling hues.

In a blast of light, Peter and Amy appear, but they are no longer mortal. They have been transformed by the interaction between machine and man to a priest and priestess of a more mystical, magical time. Amy's voice rises and falls against and with the images on the screen, her chanting complimented by Peter's performance on the birimbau. We have become mezmorized. Something is happening here, something is being born. Our senses are being massaged by a crazy harmony of sound and light is being created before our disbelieving eyes.We have ceased to be individuals and are melded together by our universal connection to what's going on in front of us. We hear throbbing drums, we see druids and we feel mysticism of a primitive magic. Amy's chants stop suddenly. Peter disappears and the screen fades to black. The lights come on. Rather harshly. The audience fumbles out into the streets of downtown Toronto, like newborns. This is the Spoken Word of Elephant Press.

Toronto. Queen Street. Afternoon. Quiet cafe. Sitting across from me like that, side by side, accompanied by a black, placid four-legged creature inconcrusouly named Tiger, Peter Gault and Amy Rachel would have me believe they are very normal human beings. But I have been to that performance. There is still a magic that clings to them like a scent, a quiet calm that is disturbingly soothing.

The Spoken Word is the brain child of Elephant Press, a small independent publishing company headed by Amy and Peter. Knucklehead follows on the gilded heels of Peter's first book, Goldenrod, but it is the first to be brought to life in a multimedia arena. Exhilirated by the literary product which resulted from the blending of two minds, Amy and Peter wanted more. A new art form was needed to bring Billy Blowe's mind-blowing journey to a higher, more abstract form than simply just a guy, a boat and a journey. Focus was centered on creating a non-literal interpretation of the book.

"We went through and picked out section," explains Amy, "Peter had done the hard part by writing it, so all we had to do was decide on a sort of beginning, middle and end." The words of Billy Blowe would rise from their one dimensional prison of print and spring, multi-dimensional, into the minds of his audience. A character once written would now be spoken. As to how this effect would be reached, the artists were unsure. Peter elaborates. " We knew a guy with a camera, so we just did it....It just sort of evolved."

But the video was not enough. As artists they demanded involvement in the artistic process itself. As performers, they were looking for ways to completely involve the audience. So, they took the process one step further. It was felt that a visual prop, the video on a screen, could act as powerful mental energy. They used their own physical presence to supply the necessary tangible dimensions to give the performance a more visible reality. In this way, the artists became parasites, feeding off the beast they created. They had also become conduits of pure human energy, revitalizing the same energy they had gorged themselves on, before feeding it back to the still hungry audience.

"I feel a type of energy coming off the top of the crowd and just working with that energy inside myself and pulling it through and giving it back and creating, feeling