A wild run, through a curtain of droplets, through the quicksand of a relenting slowing down that leads nowhere, and if anything gets increasingly feverish – across gardens, cities, suburbs, drought, frost, flood, fire. Everything sinks, everything rises. The storm is on the horizon; it’ll come.
An immersive journey in a novel that crosses the fates of men and women who came to California to participate in the construction of a gigantic suspension bridge.
With the complicity of Schubert, “Fathers” is both a concert piece and a documentary on ‘auditory fatherhood’, containing a set of interviews to composers and friends.
Rewinding the film, the voice of Alan Watts: you can see yourself as existing only now, that’s the only “you” there is. The alternative to that, logically, is to see yourself as everything.
Speech becomes sensation, mechanic, material, and a sonorous incarnation; a giant mouth treading along the invisible boundary between installation and live performance.
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”?
A wager: the orchestration of a purely electroacoustic piece. An attempt: the rapprochement of the electroacoustic and acoustic writing. A game: sounds become words, and words become meta-words, keeping, like a faint shadow, a more or less indelible trace of their previous meaning.
Luz, ojos, mundo. Light, eyes, world. An intimate exploration of of proximity and distance, through the words of Gustavo Adolfo Becquer.
Always keeping Mahler’s eight symphony as a distant mirror, a small fragment from un unknown Schlussszene aus Faust.
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 desperate cry for help, the frantic monologue of Bernard Marie Koltès in a chamber opera for an actor, two singers, ensemble and electronics.
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.
“So that there is no sun and no unveiling / and no host / only I and then the sheet / and bulk dead”
A clarinet player and a narrator face to face in an intimate and passionate journey towards Maurizio Cucchi’s unknown lands and marvelous towns.