Witty name for an album, especially when one reads “tiles” associated to Alessandra Rombolá’s flutes and preparations. Muta’s other members are Rhodri Davies on electric harp and electronics, and Ingar Zach on percussion, sruti box and what’s called “drone commander”. These recordings, happened in 2009 in Beirut, show how textural tampering can still yield copious harvests when the starting ideas are unequivocal. The fundamental coordinates around which the musicians carry out the researching are those of cultivated clatter, puissant humming and ringing upper partials, intermittently spiced with insistent popping manifestations applied by Rombolá via tongue-smacking patterns accompanying the whole. In the initial “Driphlith”, this originates a growingly charged amassment of never-unkempt frequencies, totally mesmerizing to hear and dissect in its varying components. Fixed pitches and pulsating bowing run parallel to animal-like grunts and gurgles in the subsequent “Encilion”, the absorbing exfoliation of a monolithic structure immersed in Lucier-esque vibrations; the eardrums cry mercy at the end.
Throughout the disc, Muta let us see the sort of self-incentive that transforms a nude materiality into something that, acoustically speaking, disjoins the corporeal aspects of playing from an analytical approach to the performance. Their work belongs to a sphere of ascetic concreteness that is infrequent nowadays, the resounding implications inevitably pushing the right buttons in a responsive beneficiary. The awesome “Hafflau” – a menacing cluster of drones escorted by gradually accelerating toneless clumps and rubbed objects – exudes consistency while thrilling persistently, symbolizing the unshakable concentration transpiring from the entire record. Among the many, Bricolage will definitely appeal to fans of artistic entities such as Jgrzinich, Michael Northam, Seth Nehil and Jim Haynes in virtue of a balanced recipe of instrumental and tactile ingredients.