Debut duet album of 5 audio tracks with accompanying pdf book. Sounds and Texts by Jeff Gburek, Filippo Panichi & William Blake (5). Cover photo by Filippo Panichi. Layout by Serena Di Pietro
We all know that parallel spirals do not formally exist, otherwise they would be circles, closed upon themselves. Here we have (we hope) the poetry of sound circling itself without boundary, without any points of connection in any formal sense; although when we listen we feel they do, against all reason, also, form themselves, somehow, perhaps as gyres, generous gyres.
The elements of this playing situation involved the sun of August, in Tuscany, objects withdrawn from their normal uses, the noises found surrounding everything else and... the impossibility of being a circle.
Things never seem to return to themselves. Or those that do seem to return to themselves also seem to have never gone away.
"One lives in time as in a forest. One encounters people, then leaves them, just as the leaves lose their trees." This is a bit of a mistranslation from Joseph Roth's "Die Flucht Ohne Ende". Normally one says that the trees lose their leaves. But leaves seem to equally lose their trees, don't they? I want to speak of Rimbaud's magical science but I can't forge the link when Descartes keeps messing with my mind. Our mind.
The recordings were spontaneous improvisations and each track is more or less one "sitting" which also includes many sub-events where one or more of the two participants stood up, walked around and listened to the "automata", smoked a cigarette, sipped a coffee, or a beer, made small adjustments, returned to seated position, added more contact mics, etc. etc. There were no plans and no rules but those that concerned tables and audio wires (nothing for you to worry about, as a listener, of course).
Il sole che da dietro San Miniato, stendendo su di noi trame di luce radente e torrido fastidio, dava il tempo alle cicale e passava il centro della città, ha lasciato ai suoni il tempo di farsi e disfarsi e una bella dissolvenza in rosso cupo. Solo per noi l'opportunità di riprendere cose che c'erano state e non c'erano più e un bel tramonto come aperitivo.*
There was a hot wind rousting about and it did blow leaves into the rooms of the villa. We had to close the doors. The windows both open and closed were the windows of Apollinaire, that is to say, the windows of that thing which windows alone let in, the windows without glass. We drank in the atmosphere that was equal to environmental identity.
*
The sun coming from behind San Miniato shredding beams of torrid and abraiding light agitated the tempo of the cicadas and passing from the center of the city left the sounds their own time to make and unmake themselves and leaving a rosy early darkness, leaving us the opportunity to gather in the things that were there and soon would be, no longer.
Jeff Gburek & Filippo Panichi
Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction?
Or the glistening eye to the poison of a smile?
Why are eyelids stored with arrows ready drawn,
Where a thousand fighting-men in ambush lie,
Or an eye of gifts and graces showering fruits and coined gold?
Why a tongue impressed with honey from every wind?
Why an ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
Why a nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?
Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?
WILLIAM BLAKE, THE BOOK OF THEL
Guitarist, composer, sound designer, field recordist, shortwave radio poet, blending electro-acoustic, electronica, spectral
comp., cracked circuits, sounding organic objects with an ear towards earth voices. Studied Javanese and Balinese gamelan and theories of Partch and Xenakis. Working with dance/theater/butoh co. Djalma Primordial Science. More than 400 concerts throughout Europe since 2005....more
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