Scratch becomes Itch Critics of the Rolling Stones, or of other rock bands of a certain age, get it wrong with the familiar litany of accusations such as they're over-exposed, silly, incorrectly coiffed, sexually unattractive, hairy, old and smelly - or worse, they're Keith Richards. In fact, like many bands, the Stones are still remarkably good at being what they are: rock stars. It's being a rock star that's all wrong. With Itch, his interactive gallery installation, Mike Hansen gets it right. The 45-year-old Toronto artist understands that the DJ is pop's iconic figure, the centre of pop's defining live performances, a key symbol of its power structure. This is not the radio kind of DJ, but the platter player in club-land. What the turntable artist has going for her/him is one of the most culturally resonant art objects of the last 100 years - the record player. With Itch, Hansen strips the DJ of the ultimate source of power by controlling the turntable. Part of "Gobsmacked," Itch will be up and running tomorrow and again on Saturday at 7:45 p.m. in The Community Gallery next to the Brigantine Room at Harbourfront Centre, before heading off a gallery installation in Calgary. Itch is about getting to scratch where it really does itch - right in the ego. Visitors surround 12 turntables each with its own sound system. Hansen, as DJ supremo, controls who plays what by flashing a series of colour-coded cards, each colour signalling which records - in identically coloured sleeves - are to be manipulated in some way by part of the audience. A kaleidoscope of colour results in a cacophony of sound, a sort of instant art event and massive jam session. The DJs role as would-be cultural hero is submerged in a great group scratch session where no one rules. Hansen - who has a Wednesday-morning show of improvisatory music on radio station CKLN - has no illusions about the DJ's greater role in popular culture. "I don't see the DJ as an artist" he says. "In the club environment, I see the DJ as a marketer. He's there to sell beer. With Itch you don't watch the DJ; you actually play the music. Itch's position has nothing to do with commercialism. It's to teach you to listen and experience to listen to live music. With Itch I'm not working as an artist. I become an art facilitator, for the making of a collective improvisation." What puts this sound event in a gallery context is the record player itself that as Hansen notes, generate all sort of cultural references. "These are institution players reminiscent of the variety found in schools, libraries and dance studios," he notes. "Their square form and industrial colouring invite the participants to feel relaxed. The object-ness of the record player with record adopts sculptural qualities, not unlike Duchamp's ready mades and/or Jeff Koons's figurines. Placed on a white (invisible) pedestal the gray/brown record players on their own become pieces of art." Hansen is not exactly going out alone on a limb with this. Other artists have revisited old sound technology as art objects. Atom Egoyan trod similar territory recently at the Mus e d'Art Contemporain de Montr al with his installation, Hors d'usage/Out Of Use, where he explored the many mysteries of reel-to-reel players. Scottish artist Jim Lambie has tarted up a record deck into a sparkling sculptural piece, Hardcore (2000) that in turn goes along with his series of audio speakers-as-sculpture. What is most remarkable about Hansen's contention is that it needs being stated at all. Anyone who has ever worked a record player - that remarkable convergence of remarkable shapes, needle, circle, fingers and machine - knows what psychological hold a turntable can have on the imagination. A Walkman or portable CD player may - just may - have superior sound. They certainly are more portable. But who wants music to always be there, nipping at your heels like some pesky little dog which won't go away? The record player is there when you want it. And when you want it, says Hansen, it feeds "an overwhelming desire to touch, interact and manipulate the art." PETER GODDARD The Toronto Star Aug. 14, 2003