All of the eight utterly splendid tracks comprised by Soirée are old Asmus Tietchens selections that he subjected to ten layers of recycling process, each layer the reworking of the previous “version”. When I read, on the sleeve, the composer’s philosophical question regarding the necessity of producing new music when there is a chance of infinite generations of material from just one piece my amazement grew, since that is exactly the same thought that repeatedly pricks the mind during growingly longer stretches of time spent without actually composing, only playing. And yet, there is no discontinuity in an artist’s life: even when silent, something inside is always ready to be transformed into consequence. Tietchens is a master of sonic camouflage, so – despite the different origin of this particular work – the results are pretty similar to the ones found in many of his past milestones. Silences that count are interspersed between sudden apparitions of strange codes; washes of frequencies halfway through a “moribund choir” (alright, a definition half-stolen from Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells) and a Kafkian fog clutch our stomach and don’t let it go until remote infancy vibrations are perceived. This composite of dejection and bliss symbolizes one of the most distinguishable styles in contemporary audio art. But the incredible modesty of the perpetrator of these crimes against mediocrity makes sure that fundamental opuses remain virtually unnoticed in the places where “good connection” means much more than “creative ability”.