Issue 95 / Dec18/Jan19

CONTAINER
Trance sybaritism in a shipping container – Evian Christ pilots a 50-person party through smoke and strobes
that is both communal rave and personal hedonism.
“Who knew a
two-hour strobe
examination
could prove so
metaphorical, so
scathingly political?”
Attempting to decode the failures of Britain’s postimperial
trade policy, those that continue to echo
through the port city of Liverpool, sounds more like a
dissertation thesis than the idea behind a conceptual
rave. To help navigate such a debate, you might expect to find the
likes of David Olusoga, camera in tow, wandering the dock road,
staring longingly at freight cranes glistening in the distance over
Seaforth. It would be an apt starting point for explanation, at least.
When it comes to SEVENSTORE’s approach to the subject
matter – purveyors of fashion dreamed up on the glitziest
subterranean catwalks – it’s unsurprising they’ve attempted to
reroute the debate through the abstract, rather than rest on the
clichés of pre-watershed television. It’s a fascinating concept, one
that leans on visceral emotion as opposed to dry-eyed academic
research. Billed simply as CONTAINER, a series of three parties
held in a secret location within the once industrial Baltic Triangle,
there appears to be an emphasis on an exploration of the
question rather than a quest for comprehensive understanding.
Yet, ambiguity can be a versatile and provocative substance
when drawn from the furnace by a creative pair of hands. In this
instance, SEVENSTORE has acquired the strength of four; those
belonging to EVIAN CHRIST and his audio-visual collaborator
EMMANUEL BIARD. At this phase the idea seems as elaborate as
the Ellesmere Port native’s future-perfect music. But there’s clarity
in the picture, if you take a step back. A narrative akin to the energy
and anguish felt in Rothko’s prosaic brush strokes. In Evian Christ’s
own words, Container will attempt to channel the “history of
containerised global sea-freight” over the course of three secretive,
invite only, raves. Better still, they’ll take place in a shipping
container lined with high spec strobe lighting, an LED wall, smoke
machines and 50 dancers – there to help absorb the 150 decibels
cannoned out by the command of Christ (producer, not the son of
God – though, at times within the container, this is questioned).
For concept alone, the designated mobile phone number
tasked with guarding the secretive whereabouts – and guestlist
spaces – is likely ringing off the hook. For all of the escapist
sentiment, though, it seems like Container is attempting to
take a sincere, leftfield route to realist understanding. An
acknowledgement, at very least, of certain features of our postindustrial
lineage, and the prescribed feelings that can be shared
between an abrasive post-industrial history and an abrasive
170bpm soundtrack. To round off the pre-flight information
for this mission to the next solar flare, Evian adds: “[Container
will follow] the story of a country with an unsustainable and
ever-widening trade deficit; of a city whose industrial sites
were replaced with monuments honouring the speculations
of international financiers; and of a culture which services this
ongoing state of affairs by holding itself accountable to an
unsolvable set of moral values.” All there’s left to do is step inside.
It’s the night of the first event. While the back story offers
more pre-attendance intrigue that your average four-to-the-floor
warehouse rave, there’s no knowing how this storyboard will
be processed; firstly, by Evian and Biard, second, by the sensory
receptors charged with withstanding an intensive, strobe-lit
history lesson focussing on freight trade in neoliberal Britain, and
its socio-economic impacts.
With a prized guestlist spot secured, messages are
passed through the waves by SMS to provide the lucky few
with coordinates to the container, resting in the Baltic. Time of
departure is clearly outlined. Total flight time is only two hours,
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