Christian Wolfarth’s work clearly thrives on tactility and manipulation. In Spuren he also applied some techniques to concoct and subsequently remodel the acoustic substance on offer. On the one hand, his instrumental expertness is in evidence; on the other, processes of cut-and-paste and natural-sounding looping furnish several sections with potent connotations: relievingly hypnotic a moment, almost suffocating the next.

In fact, there are dynamic surprises waiting for the listener. In the first side, the layering of twinkling tolling strata is broken by discrete interferences and sudden spurts where the mix’s volume is abruptly increased, thus generating sequences of small conflicts and bigger clashes. These incidents are typically short-lived, ruptures utilized for the time necessary to radically alter the initial setting. At one point, all we’re left with is a chain of shards of white noise-like frequencies; elsewhere we perceive a liquefaction of sorts of the entire textural mass.

The second half is largely typified by irregularly clattering sonorities, principally of skin and metal descent. The timbral variations are seen as parts of an ebullient totality, energies channelled into spurious fluxes where predictability is not a given. Magnetizing reflections and rumpled concreteness interact in a multitude of ways; improvisational wildness is nevertheless out of the equation. Rather, we observe the progressive accumulation of percussive deposits embedded in a deceivingly welcoming framework. A few dangers are presumably lingering around the corner; sinister cracks can be seen on the walls.

An absorbing record, as expected by an artist gifted with discriminating resourcefulness as Wolfarth has always shown himself to be.

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