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He’d based dozens of projects on the vinyl records alone: scarring them with images, using a phonograph stylus like a lathe; melting them into cubes; piling them into menacing black columns.
He even strapped a revolving turntable to his chest, as if it were a guitar, and videotaped himself whaling on a Jimi Hendrix LP.
“Musical Chairs,” from 1999.) Adding the dimension of time infused Marclay’s wit with drama. ”) “Telephones,” as it was called, was quietly revolutionary: one of the first video mashups, it was created a decade before the genre became ubiquitous on You Tube.
His putty-colored face has been left to its own devices by an indifferent buzz cut.
There was a reason for this: Marclay’s physical collages were dependably clever, but their impact often faded once you got the joke.
(Rows of seating reupholstered with piano-score prints and images of instruments?
In his view, the best collages combined the “memory aspect”—recognition of the source material—with the pleasurable violence of transformation.
If Marclay could turn the sky green for one day, he’d do it.A reel-to-reel tape player, perched high on a ladder, plays water sounds, but the takeup reel is missing, so the tape cascades to the ground. (Apple later asked to use the video for an ad launching the i Phone; when Marclay declined, the company aired a rip-off.)He repeated his experiment with “Crossfire” (2007), an earsplitting installation featuring closeups of guns firing, especially the staring-into-the-cylinder shot favored by action directors.The sculpture was recently shown again at Paula Cooper Gallery, in Chelsea; as the weeks passed, the tape pile rose balefully, like sand in an hourglass, and the burbling contraption became a relentless memento mori. Marclay edited the clips into a loop of unnerving rhythms—pulsing techno-like beats, solitary booms—and screened four synchronized montages on the walls of a dark room.Marclay, who is now fifty-seven, went to London so that he could be with Lydia Yee, his partner, who had just become a curator at the Barbican Art Gallery. He settled on a grim nook, accommodating a five-foot-long desk, in shared office space on the fourth floor of a narrow town house in Clerkenwell.