In various languages including this writer’s native idiom, the word “folia” (or slight modifications thereof) translates as “craziness”. This tune of centuries ago – you can read its history here – was reworked via guitar and computer by Moor and Kyriakides, who took the essential content of the piece and subjected it to a slow but decisive growth. It gradually evolves from a series of melodic, if rather dissonant fragments interspersed with microsounds and tiny noises; after that, we get jangling combinations of the same strings morphing into semi-structured shapes. The intertwining parts, though probably improvised for their majority, are deployed with comprehensible logic and total articulation. The resulting music is unsophisticated yet not crude, maintaining a level of intuitive refinement, fruit of the duo’s huge experience and instant responsiveness to the varying phenomena that Kyriakides’ laptop emits. This constant change is the secret behind the (appreciable) intelligibility of the whole recording, even in the rare instances where the sonic mass becomes so powerful that the risk of disgregation appears in all its threatening cruelty. Those saw-edged harmonic turns, perennially altered by the juice of instability, lead the listener through an absorbing trip across an utterly solid compositional arc. And there’s no way of imagining the musicians getting crazy while performing the stuff.