Concatenations, maps, paths, games, challenges. A work in progress and an attempt to write in the flesh of the world.
A /nu/thing project: the attempt for a truly collective writing. Première in Milano Musica (28 and 29 october 2017)
A trip to abstraction, as an hypothesis on how mountains may have formed.
True identity must be a collective one. Here’s an attempt of depersonalization of musical writing, in 269 (short) steps.
In random order: someone looking from the window of a train; an endless fall; the passage from contour to image; the passage from animation to film. Somehow an exploration of space an time, with no knowledge of where we are going. (“– so long as I get SOMEWHERE,” Alice added as an explanation)
The An Experiment with Time installation “brought to life” by an (amplified and distorted) ensemble. Can installations become live events?
Come un lasciapassare talks about the passage from an acoustic to an electroacoustic world. In counterpoint, Shakespeare’s 123th sonnet: “No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change”
Speech becomes sensation, mechanic, material, and a sonorous incarnation; a giant mouth treading along the invisible boundary between installation and live performance.
Could dreams contain references to both past and future? In what proportion? Dreams, cycles and the construction of a time-dilating machine, inspired by John Dunne’s “An Experiment with Time”.
Is there a perspective to understand our universe, in which time, space, ages are somehow less interesting parameters than a network of shared things across geography and history? Is there ever a chance for music to be not “mine” nor “yours”, but – in a very deep sense – “ours”?
The path from an absence to a presence is a totally absorbing experience, analogous to the one in acousmatic music: imagination is guided by an object, almost magical, which represents its source. Then we see something, and the seen objects become a horde, a tribe of loudspeakers learning how to speak.
A Middle Ages catapulted into a non-place of a deformed imagination, with strange and disturbing interactions between different dimensions that reach the threshold of Chaos. The ghastly and immobile vestiges of the medieval iconography are deformed, transformed and destroyed to finally sprout again. The meeting of three disproportionates human skulls, vanities, triggers perturbation up to chaos. Skeletons dance to announce a cycle of continual construction and deconstruction.
An anthology whose raw material are masterpieces of past and recent history of music (from Ockegem to Grisey). Belonging, universality, authenticity: put these concepts in a composer’s hand, and they’ll immediately clash against the hermetically sealed compartment of copyrights. Eventually, all music is meta-music.
Four Chansons by Ockeghem, four lieder for cello or viola, piano and lo-fi electronic device: “L’autre d’antan”, “Presque transi”, “Ma bouche rit”, “Malor me bat”. Distant voices, still lives. Can we sing with someone else’s voice?
Electronic sounds are elsewhere, in an unknown land where laws of physics get tricky, in a non-place where everything suddenly becomes possible, where sounds become symbols, and where words and ideas are mingled with the heavy burden of their possible meanings, as phantoms of a young Pessoa, in an dreamlike view.
A playful attempt to give a semantic value to sounds, taking as starting idea the articulation of the chapters of Lewis Carroll’s “Through the looking glass”. And as soon as the sounds become words, the words lose their sense, and turn into meta-words, which hold, as a faint shadow, traveling towards the other side of the mirror, a trace of their previous meaning.
Ecume deals with melancholy, as impossibility to come to terms with loss, an everlasting hope, yet constantly deceived.
A desperate cry for help, the frantic monologue of Bernard Marie Koltès in a chamber opera for an actor, two singers, ensemble and electronics.
“How can you read at present? Night is falling.” – an epiphany, a nocturne. Roxanne rewinds all the previous events and reads them from a new point of view. Everything changes, but it is too late.
Nietsche, Marinetti, Savinio, Bellezza, Joyce, Apollinaire: each one weaves the net for a criticism of Italian Futurist movement. Just outside the door: telephones, fireworks, megaphones. And right below the surface, between objects and shadows, the reflection of an hommage.