I realize that I’m listening to a milestone whenever hearing sounds coming out of every small corner of my room, like silent creatures invisibly giving me their hand while heartbeats slow down and breath is almost stretched into stillness. Klaus Filip and Mattin’s computers are – paradoxically – a sort of guideline in the mist raised by Radu Malfatti, whose trombone is sanctified by the attention to textural speleology that only this man is capable of. Dean Roberts’ few statements deliver telluric news to silence, imposing their presence for a while before laying on the ground in a fantastic mimetism with the computers’ feedbacks and elongated drones by Mattin and Filip. For long moments we could be justified in giving up any physical activity, just to aspirate these ceaseless sonic wonders; but the manner in which this music finally takes control over everything else cannot be described by sheer words. Pity the unlucky people who won’t share this listening experience, or whose ears are still deaf to the evolution of broken silence.


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