In an archetypical case of “less is more”, the 35 minutes of Obsidiana – a live recording – are indeed “more” than enough to establish a conception of unadulterated elemental power, conveyed by Maranha on a Hammond organ whereas Z’EV utilizes parts of his percussive array (in this context comprising stainless steel discs, bass drum and maracas). The initial phase sounds like a measuring of the currents in the place where the respective waters join, much similarly to a raga’s alap: the organ’s dark hues are surrounded by sparse touches introducing a progressive intensification of the metallic component. When the mechanism starts working at full stretch, we enter a psychoacoustic realm whose exterior facets have already induced someone among the many wannabe analysts to evoke the ghosts of celebrated names from the past (who, needless to say, have absolutely nothing to do with this music). Let these people be reminded that Z’EV is not a man who “bangs” nonchalantly and that this CD is not stuffed with mere droning psychedelia, despite vaguely analogous effects on a willing-to-be-overwhelmed audience. All the rhythmic structures respond to knotty paths of numerological quality, something that in an ideal world should be conscientiously studied for a better involvement in the composite propulsion that affects the whole piece’s systems. How those changing patterns get etched inside the massive clusters applied by Maranha – the man’s love for the first third of a keyboard is evident – is all for you to discover: I can only suggest that the trip will be instructive and fortifying, even if the light at the end of the tunnel is never visible. Comparisons are not necessary, opening the channels of perception is a must.