(Absurd)

Dedicated to the memory of artist Michaela Koelmel (1956-2007), Remnants From Paradise brings us back Werner Durand’s army of self-built and exotic instruments with a vengeance. This music was conceived between 2001 and 2005, except for a 1986 Persian ney part on “Floating”, the longest and probably most anguishing piece. We know that Durand has been active for decades with this kind of experimentation, the owner of an absolutely personal style highlighted both by a scarce solo work and alternative projects (does anybody remember The 13th Tribe’s Ping Pong Anthropology? That’s really a great disc). The three tracks featured here follow more or less a compatible scheme, with subsequent variations: born from silence, they grow up very slowly amidst all types of drones and superimposed repetitions (WD uses “prepared resonators” together with electronics and delays), forming a textural patchwork that absorbs the mind while at times becoming almost scary, especially when the sliding PVC neys and clarinets take centre stage, doing what is expected from them – slide. The gradual glissando coming out of this process is breathtaking to say the least. This effect reaches its deepest meaning in the last track, the above mentioned “Floating”, which ends the album with an ocean of lamentations and moans, only not from human voices. No problem: when the sound touches deeply, that’s all you need. A highly enjoyable release, better enjoyed through speakers due to the peculiar vocal character of Durand’s wonderful plastic animals. Their refractions on the room’s walls work wonders on the psyche.

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