FEDERICO DURAND – La Siesta Del Ciprés
Argentinean Durand is interested – like many of us, probably – in the unconsciously creative aspects of the pre-sleep phase, the moment in which the brain executes a sort of disk-scanning retrieval, re-proposing the results to our dwindling awareness. In those moments, your reviewer usually pictures places more than sounds, as to remember the exact locations of dreams occurred maybe ten or thirty years prior. In that circumstance, La Siesta Del Ciprés would constitute a pertinent sonic commentary, constructed as it is on diminutive fragments of cute melodies and aged tapes that Durand patiently assembled and levigated on a slow-functioning old computer. Easily palatable small pieces whose luminescent kindliness is immediately congenial, absolutely not wearing or permeated by that humdrum smell that regularly characterizes these kinds of statement. In a word, modesty and grace overcoming affectation and lofty aims. In spite, and also in virtue of its almost childish plainness, a good record. Maybe not destined to last forever, but certainly sincere.
KEN IKEDA – Kosame
Dabbling around the vagueness of the concept of Yuragi (“fluctuation” in Japanese), Ikeda juxtaposes real and electronic sounds according to principles that try to balance improvisation and everyday’s resonances in artistically constructive fashion. Though the notion is in itself sufficiently interesting, his ambit of research is often limited to rather shallow investigations of concrete (or less) sonorities that, in all honesty, lack the structural coherence of a really significant work. The variety of the sources (which include whispered voice, wooden windows, cheap flutes, blown bottles, boiling and drizzling water besides the synthesis) helps in maintaining a modicum of interest and curiosity in some of the episodes: “Hakuchu” is intriguingly dynamic for a while, “Marebito” is an amusingly irregular abstract concoction, “Stillness” offers a measure of insight into its micro-sonic constitution. However, this appears more like a collection of unremarkable domestic experiments than an inventively charged tale.