Space Time Solutions are performing (Mike Morasky, Steel Pole Bathtub, Valve Games) and Kal Spelletich (Seemen, Survival Research Laboratories) at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts on Thursday October 2, 2025.
701 Mission Street, San Francisco, CA 94103
We are opening for the astonishing Tommy Guerrero!
Our set starts promptly at 7 P.M.
We have produced a sound score to a series of videos of the San Francisco landscape using custom sound machines and sound processing.
This is part of the exhibit,
BAY AREA THEN
Curated by Chris Johanson and Ethan Swan, the free series celebrates the artistic spirit of the Bay Area’s countercultures and artist communities.
https://ybca.org/event/bay-area-then/
We are reflecting on the noise machines conceived and constructed in 1913 by the Italian futurist artist Luigi Russolo (1913), John Cage,
Einstürzende Neubauten, Eno, Stravinsky, Penderecki, Stars of the Lid, John Adams, Terry Riley.
-Stop the Wars-
I submitted some ephemera and posters that are in the show celebrating the 1990's. Below is a thing I wrote for the exhibit (which didn't make the cut for the show).
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These posters and zines were our internet. Xeroxed gospel, handed out, wheat-pasted, stapled and taped to telephone poles. They were a summoning and a battle cry. Some were so beautiful we stole them back to hang on our walls. A calling, it was a communion.
We stood on the shoulders of those who came before.
The Black Panthers in leather and rage.
The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, cloaked in satire and sacrament.
Radical punks and extreme artists, raw and righteous.
Even the hippies.
Each one a spark.
This was a mass gathering, strange and unstoppable.
A critical mass of freaks.
We showed anywhere but mainstream places. Nonprofits, fundraisers in old drafty warehouses 8 people lived in, basements that smelled like ghosts, abandoned buildings full of echoes, bars and most sacred of all: the streets. The streets didn't care about credentials. The streets respected nerve.
Cops came sometimes, but we had charm. Or lies. Or dumb luck.Most shows were illegal. That was the truth of it. That was the point. This was art with steel toe boots. Shows lasted until dawn or until the keg ran out or a fight broke out or the floor gave way.
Rent was $250 for a room in a freezing Victorian filled with painters, drummers, mad scientists, drugs, and dreams. Food was cheap. No one had insurance unless you counted divination. Food Not Bombs fed us, body and soul. You could live for weeks on lentils, day old bagels, burritos, beer and the thrill of the next show...
Spaces were run by artists—no sales, just presence. Maybe a $5 cover if someone remembered to collect it. Everyone was in a band or three, or made noise that wasn’t really a band. Everyone made something. Noise, poetry, chaos. It counted. It all counted. Everything counted.
We were broke, but we were free. We had each other. We had the city, trembling under our boots, wrapped in our leather coats. And we had art—raw, loud, defiant, free. The magic didn’t come from money. We were free from that. It came from the sacred hunger to make something, to scream something, to be heard. Together.
Kal Spelletich
July 27, 2025
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#yerbabuenart
Cost: FREE