Don't imagine anything, just listen: the sound of the sax passed through a mixing desk and its various filters, which reflects the sound worked on live and gives it another rendering. The two players here, Fred Wallich on saxes and Pierre Audoynaud on electro-acoustics, engage in impromptu combinations, like so many improbable combinatories, to thwart expectations and create understanding in live re-direct mode, to the auditory dismay of the listener. The jazz fan accustomed to hearing Wallich will be looking for the beginnings of a thread, an idea that structures itself in a known mode - when the very idea is to break new ground. Playing/replaying/filtering/hearing and watching how it gets thwarted each time a motif settles in, the better to progress.
Organic music - your sea - that seeks the space of play, in search of gaps and unfamiliar sinuosities.
The kind you find in contemporary music, but more rarely in improvised jazz, and whose codes seem to have been forgotten here. Tabula rasa - tomorrow we'll shave for free - from these two constants of sent/reworked/returned sound emerge new auditory geographies, those based on something other than the expected musical project, which confuse to grab you by the ear and transport you into new spaces, species of unheard-of spaces - not Eskimo for a note - but which explore a way of playing, a way of even enjouer, through the surprise/méprise of disappointed expectation. And that's where it gets exciting. It's about holding out the improvisation to you for a moment, opening up a new listening possibility. The better to jerk it then, right away, to keep you in the moment. To relax you around or wait for the next detour.
Don't wait, just let yourself be carried away by the sound proposal played/wanted/defended and delivered on the resumption of a passing breath, of a melody that begins to thwart itself by opening up another register. If, at the outset, it's far from easy to access, there's only one objective: to let yourself be taken in, to let yourself be carried away towards this elsewhere, this beautiful, bewildering/bewitching proposition.
On stage: two musicians, machines, a saxophone and the present in sovereign mode, in unknown mode, but in triumphant mode. ReBis, a different way of playing, hearing and listening
Has man been to the moon (and from whom?), it's perhaps here that it's played out, between known and recognized, between improvisation that blows and the machine that filters to improvise in turn.
As Dante said in his Inferno: “You who enter here, lose all illusion”. By transposing a little, the geography opens up, the breath is released, the music unfolds and you're left speechless. At the crossroads of electronics, electro-acoustics and the crackling sound that emerges from them, you'll have to let your listening escape, let it wander so that it grasps the springs and keys - of the sax as of the mixing desk; let yourself be tamed by this way of doing things, which first leaves you in doubt as to what's going on here, and then allows you to wander/offer/emerge this present moment of improvisation, which then gently opens you up to another listening experience, another universe to be recognized and shared. The space of a breath and its assured transport. ReBis, without repetition - and so much the better.
