Steven Hall, the man behind the Nirosta Steel moniker, is fond of mentioning the notion of “deep play.” It’s a phrase coined by the 18th-century British philosopher Jeremy Bentham that describes a game with impossible odds, one that no sane or rational person would ever sign up for. More than amateurism or religion, “deep play” seems to have been the governing principle of how the musician has navigated his remarkable life.
Hall moved to America from Scotland after urging his widowed mother to marry her closest suitor, studied poetry with Allen Ginsberg, Buddhism with the Chögyam Trungpa (the teacher who popularized the idea of “first thought, best thought”), and found his ultimate creative partner in the late Arthur Russell. Hall shared his appreciation of “deep play” with Russell, and in time, it became the animating spirit of their many recordings together. After all, what is music but an extended bout of play? A conspiracy between an artist, collaborators, and audience to test the limits and possibility of sound? “I want there to be no distinction between rehearsal, performance, and studio recording,” he summed up in a recent conversation with Tone Glow. “There should be no difference—they should all be one. It’s as if you’re walking continuously from one to the next, and it’s all one party from beginning to end.”
No score yet, be the first to add.
Play is an essential human behavior, but it has also never done much to launch and sustain a career. Unlike Russell, whose legacy has been beautifully maintained in books, films, and re-releases, Hall’s solo work has only been available as a series of rarities and independent releases. He has been a generous friend, serving as a reliable talking head and stoking Russell’s legacy through his project, Arthur’s Landing. However there hasn’t been a sustained effort to put the full scope of his solo work into wider focus. Now, after partnering with the label Ulyssa, Hall has finally found his long-overdue starring vehicle.
As Nirosta Steel, Hall’s four-decades-in-the-making major statement, MY SKYSCRAPER, is a bit of a paradox: a gorgeously realized and fundamentally incomplete work of art; an archival triumph and one of the year’s most thrilling new releases. It serves as a small encapsulation of an enormous talent and offers one of the most vivid expressions of a queer sensibility indigenous to Downtown Manhattan that’s all but vanished from the Earth. It not only establishes Steven Hall as one of Russell’s most valuable collaborators, but confirms that he was his true musical and creative equal all along.
MY SKYSCRAPER is first and foremost a party record—though the location, company, and vibe of the party change from track to track. For every song as fun and immediate as “English Party”—which began as a potential demo for Madonna—Hall will throw a curveball that is weirder and dirtier than the last. He has a stark oddness to his delivery that places him in the same league as David Byrne or Jonathan Richman, and a handsome, lascivious edge to his voice that makes his more smutty songs feel almost indecent. Even when there are moments that verge on the ridiculous, like the insistent, falsetto brags of “Yhema” or the swooping Chinese opera vocals of “Mohan (Mandarin Version),” Hall has a phenomenal ability to turn on a dime and seduce you again. On its face, “Boss Trix (Benny’s Song)” sounds simply like a lost jewel of Balearic disco. Over muted strings and a guitar that bounces and flirts to the beat, Hall sings, “It’s all coming down/Blessings of peace and love!” The song was inspired by his boyfriend, who, when aroused, came over his head. To lightly torture the Buddhist idea of non-dualism, it’s both filthy and hysterical—so moving, so funny, all at once.
