“I was deeply affected by DIY culture, which also gave me a new perspective on the world: that human beings can be as free as they choose to be.”

Yuqing Pei, a multi-disciplinary sound/noise performer based in London, uses harsh noise and DIY methods as a way to process personal struggles with mental illness and as a strong critique of corporate control and the high costs of modern commercial music production. Often featuring a hacked vintage keyboard, the artist’s practice of “circuit bending” and signature “bunny masks” carry a double meaning; the axis of their practice is the act of freely making noise. Drawing inspiration from outsider culture and extreme music, the artworks create an emotional release for individuals through immersive performances. As each performance and the sound produced add to the artist’s own personal exploration, it challenges traditional sonic aesthetics, equally promoting eco-friendly instrument modification and destigmatising mental-health vulnerabilities.

The artist’s debut noise performance, N013e M4N1F3ST0 (2025), staged at the Rio Cinema in January 2025, presents a way to take a deeper look at the artist’s work. Pei, whose childhood was filled with extreme music, later came to understand the deeply embedded political messages that some of these aesthetics can carry and created an anti-capitalist manifesto designed to “rip apart the lie of ultra-processed music". The project, performed on the floor while wearing an oversized, handcrafted Bunny Dog headpiece with yellow fluff and plush ears was the start of the conceptual and sound-experience pieces they create today. It introduces the Bunny Dog character, which continues to be found in later works, derived from a personal friend with autism who loved chaotic music and felt compelled to wear a disguise to blend into societal standards. For the artist, it carries the same significance: the central visual element, inspired by David Lynch, Swans, and the movie Gummo by Harmony Korine, symbolises a tamed and muted figure in contrast with the aggressive, ear-splitting noise. It also creates a masking shield and character representing the “normal” disguise worn in society and acts as physical armour against performance anxiety when facing an audience.

The artist sits surrounded by green DIY synth boards and hacked mini-keyboards generating glitched, piled-up noise until the sound explodes into the room. These keyboards and instruments are a core technique and message behind the performance. The artist modifies second-hand keyboards using an old hacking technique from when technology was not so advanced; with the advancement of technology, it is nearly impossible to hack new instruments and manipulate the sound. For the artist, this shows the flip side of technology, noting that modern electronic music equipment is extremely expensive, far from eco-friendly, and intentionally complex, making it more difficult for artists to rely on raw creative intent. When using these old, cheap keyboards to make sound, the artist challenges the aesthetic of “ultra-processed” music production and stands against hyper-controlled perfection, extreme polish, and industrial efficiency over creativity.

“Nowadays people would rather buy expensive tools to help them make music than ask themselves what's actually important, which I think misses the point entirely. I believe there's a much cheaper way to challenge this kind of capitalist trap - by making DIY instruments, I get both a customized visual language and the pure joy of making something myself." The artist explains.

This performance and most of the artist’s work can be understood through Michel Foucault’s concept of normalisation. In Discipline and Punish, he argues that society creates systems of normality that establish standards for how people should behave, look, communicate, work, and produce. Those who do not fit these parameters are classified as inefficient, disruptive, abnormal, or socially unacceptable, thereby creating a performance cycle. Pei’s practice runs counter to this idea, resisting pressure to create a more mainstream sound experience; their Bunny Dog character, harsh noise, hacked instruments, and chaotic performances create an alternative space where pain, difference, anxiety, and instability are not hidden but made publicly audible.

This theory is particularly relevant when looking at the concept behind the use of the bunny mask, as it can be read as a response to this pressure to appear normal, acting as both a disguise and a form of protection. Although the mask may represent the pressure to conceal one’s identity or difference to fit into society, it also allows the artist, during the performance, to freely express usually suppressed personal and collective emotions. The mask is not simply a costume but a tool for moving beyond conformity and toward resistance.

In Sonic Warfare (2026), presented at SET Vauxhall and The Stone Space Gallery, Pei scales up their performance framework. The artist constructs a post-apocalyptic scene in which they wear a bunny mask, positioned beside a human-shaped figure fitted with a silver gas mask. A flexible vacuum hose runs from the gas mask to an activated “chip-bug keyboard,” linking the figure to the machine. As the circuit-bent keyboard is played, it visually and conceptually generates energy for the gas mask to “suck on” while outputting distorted, screaming soundscapes. The performance, directly influenced by Steve Goodman’s book Sonic Warfare, examines the affective dimension of sound and how acoustic environments produce feelings of fear and dread. The artwork presents an interesting duality: the title Warfare suggests violence, militarisation, and sound as a weapon, where the noise is disruptive to the point of becoming a threat. However, the artist also describes the noise as a resource that keeps the performer alive, as it is the sole energy resource required for survival. This creates an important contradiction. The sound explores themes of posthuman trauma and unreleased psychological urges, but it also creates a protective layer around the performer. It not only aims to produce fear but also helps to create a safe space to release trauma.

Read through posthumanism, and Donna Haraway’s concept of the cyborg introduced in her 1985 essay A Cyborg Manifesto, the performer in Sonic Warfare (2026) is no longer entirely separate from the machine; the body, the mask, and the circuit are interconnected and depend on each other. Keyboard, sound, and energy operate together as a hybrid organism. The unstable relationship between performer and machine represents a space where human identity is no longer autonomous but entangled with technology, trauma, and non-human forms.

The work Sonic Warfare (2026) will be showcased this November at Oasis Peckham gallery, and the artist recently started collaborating with other performers/researchers on ideas for a game tied to one of their book launches, combining performance and immersive digital installation and other art forms. Across Pei’s compositions, noise holds an entry point to confronting the pressures of normalisation, emotional suppression, and technological control. The Bunny mask poses the conflict between conformity and the desire to remain strange, vulnerable, and free, while the circuit-bent instruments challenge the economic and ecological assumptions built into contemporary music technology. The artist’s combination of outsider aesthetics, DIY culture, harsh sound, and performance demonstrates that noise can be both politically disruptive and emotionally restorative. 

Read more about the artist's work here.

Cover Image:

N01S3 M4N1F3ST0 (2025). Performance, 120 x 200 cm.

All images courtesy of the artist.