Source: The New York Times.
Peter Evans brought a piccolo trumpet to his lips at the start of a recent solo performance at Pioneer Works in Brooklyn, and within moments he’d cast a deep and disorienting spell. Standing on the concrete floor in semidarkness, he played one long, unbroken improvisation that defied the conventional limitations of the instrument, if not the laws of physics.
At surface level, it was a special-effects demonstration, a bonanza of texture and timbre: quavery drones, like an oscillating synthesizer; delicate ghost tones, hovering in flute range; sharp, plosive rivets of percussive airflow. But Mr. Evans was also engaged in an enigmatic ritual of physical exertion and formal control. His brazen inventions took on a durational logic, as a larger shape emerged from a blizzard of details.