Ondanaconda does not compose with the jaw harp, but through it. For their self-titled debut album, the quartet turns this lamellophone, often perceived as archaic, into the record’s sole sound source. Found for centuries across continents, from Asia to Europe, the jaw harp is played against the teeth, using the mouth as a resonating chamber, shaping sound through breath and bodily movement. Here, amplified, prepared and sometimes pushed to its limits, it becomes percussion, bass, drone and texture — a true mouth synthesizer with vast possibilities.

Between performance and trance, Ondanaconda crafts an unidentified sonic object, somewhere between collective ritual and raw electroacoustic experiment. Each piece emerges from specific combinations of instruments, exploring timbral affinities and rhythmic or harmonic potentials, while leaving room for drift and improvisation. Repetition acts as an unstable engine, bending patterns until they morph into something else.

Together, Laurent Bruttin, Antoine Läng, John Menoud and Daniel Zea weave a dense, shifting mass where individual voices dissolve into an organic, almost hallucinatory polyphony. Conceived as a continuum, the album unfolds as a hypnotic flow, a physical and immersive music that moves from mouths to bodies, saturating the surrounding space. A radical UFO, at the crossroads of concert, performance and sound installation.