(C3R)

A fascinating recording, this 45-minute track for trumpet, percussion and spoken word. The cover captures the attention right away: we see the close-up of a wide-eyed wonderful kid staring at the camera with the facial attitude typical of children who are half scared, half curious of what appears in front of them. The piece begins with the pairing of rustling emissions – generated by Chamy on the drum skin – and pensively detached, peculiarly billowing exhalations by Dörner who sparingly uses a mute. In the background, the percussionist reads a text that goes on for quite a while, then the music is left naked and wordless until the end. It is immediately evident that the guys have no hurry or nervousness to spare, the margin between the sounds ample and welcoming. It’s neither reductionism nor free-flow improvisation, recalling instead two painters in a tranquil open air setting, confronting the results of their work as hues and layers are progressively added. Then it cuts to new tone comparisons, the trumpet slightly agitated in burbling slimy waters or in search of acute overtones while sparse hits of resonant bells attribute a ritualistic charm to the procedures. The most memorable occurrence of the whole CD starts around the halfway mark: after a soundless pause, Chamy elicits impressive mumbles from the bass drum, stunningly beautiful gentle drones upon which Dörner glues additional steamy protuberances and grayish hisses in a thorough dissection of his instrument. The adjacent elongated lamentations heard around the 30th minute, who somehow made me think “Alvin Lucier”, are just fantastic. Although entirely shaped by timbral constituents that have been used time and again in recent years, there’s not a single moment in this album that doesn’t contain a wealth of significance.

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