Musica Genera

Robert Piotrowicz: modular analogue synthesizer

Nothing surpasses the pictorial potency of an analogue synthesizer handled by an expert. That said, too many albums – even from celebrated professionals – constructed on this family of instruments oftentimes correspond to an out-of-control divertissement at best, or a procession of bell-and-whistle, first-stupefying-then-stupid effects at worst. Not to mention instances where – given an artist’s indubitably serious intents and unadulterated discrimination – the underlying concepts remain far superior to the ultimate recorded consequence in spite of official glorifications (Laurie Spiegel’s over-exalted The Expanding Universe comes to mind without putting in unreasonable memory efforts, but with a bit of perseverance I could come up with several unexpected shots).

What seems to be of particular interest to Robert Piotrowicz – clearly noticeable in Lincoln Sea – is his attempt of reaching the uppermost limits of ponderousness while retaining a thorough logic across the composition. This music can be irresistible, invading the spaces of a listener’s mental representation like a ferocious army, no prisoners taken. At the same time, the sheer vibrational strength communicated by forbidding throngs of discordant pitches (“discordant” only for those who still drink the myth of Mozart as a supernatural being) contains a wealth of vital principles, forcing us to adopt a symmetrical stance – between total receptiveness and self-defense – in front of acoustic phenomena whose physicality is just about alarming, with infrequent exceptions.

What’s more fascinating is the way in which every sonic factor finds a fitting pronunciation inside the main device’s framework. One can travel flanked by idiosyncratic lines and see how they move and interact, or melt within an electronic mire. Or change state into stunning incandescence, for that matter. Based on this, the proper adjective setting forth the integrity of this awesome work is perhaps “burning”. Vividly as a fire, continuously as the energies that life keeps subtracting to our spirit when we’re feeling weaker by the hour. Getting the synapses refurbished by this system of tones pulsating at various rates, oscillatory masses and chest-filling subsonics might represent a means to stand relatively unhurt by the unjust tolerance of people’s inability. In all meanings.

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