Copenhagen-based Slovakian artist Michaela Turcerová figures out a new language for the saxophone on 'alene et', taking the instrument's incidental sounds - like key presses and breathy exhalations - and transforming them into complex rhythms and hissing textures. RIYL Bendik Giske, Pita or Nakibembe Embaire Group.
Turcerová covered her sax in microphones to producer 'alene et', working out exactly how each gesture might sound if it was amplified in a different way. And it was worth the hassle - on 'in flux ė', the horn's character is almost unrecognizable. Turcerová plays rhythmic trills by tapping the keys, but doesn't use the reed at all, letting the instrument's body help suggest the tonal details. It's remarkable stuff, that only gets more powerful as Turcerová uncovers more sounds. On 'giraffes’ and wolves’ doubts', she cuts into boiling hisses with gravelly, sludgy noise and metallic whirrs, on 'jude, you're like new zealand' overdriving her breaths to the point that they cut out, leaving bizarre rhythmelodic phrases. We can almost hear a more trackable sax sound blare out on 'fi-hoi polloi', and even then, Turcerová stops herself, preferring to turn the vanishing wails into synth-like wheezing zigzags.
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Copenhagen-based Slovakian artist Michaela Turcerová figures out a new language for the saxophone on 'alene et', taking the instrument's incidental sounds - like key presses and breathy exhalations - and transforming them into complex rhythms and hissing textures. RIYL Bendik Giske, Pita or Nakibembe Embaire Group.
Turcerová covered her sax in microphones to producer 'alene et', working out exactly how each gesture might sound if it was amplified in a different way. And it was worth the hassle - on 'in flux ė', the horn's character is almost unrecognizable. Turcerová plays rhythmic trills by tapping the keys, but doesn't use the reed at all, letting the instrument's body help suggest the tonal details. It's remarkable stuff, that only gets more powerful as Turcerová uncovers more sounds. On 'giraffes’ and wolves’ doubts', she cuts into boiling hisses with gravelly, sludgy noise and metallic whirrs, on 'jude, you're like new zealand' overdriving her breaths to the point that they cut out, leaving bizarre rhythmelodic phrases. We can almost hear a more trackable sax sound blare out on 'fi-hoi polloi', and even then, Turcerová stops herself, preferring to turn the vanishing wails into synth-like wheezing zigzags.
Copenhagen-based Slovakian artist Michaela Turcerová figures out a new language for the saxophone on 'alene et', taking the instrument's incidental sounds - like key presses and breathy exhalations - and transforming them into complex rhythms and hissing textures. RIYL Bendik Giske, Pita or Nakibembe Embaire Group.
Turcerová covered her sax in microphones to producer 'alene et', working out exactly how each gesture might sound if it was amplified in a different way. And it was worth the hassle - on 'in flux ė', the horn's character is almost unrecognizable. Turcerová plays rhythmic trills by tapping the keys, but doesn't use the reed at all, letting the instrument's body help suggest the tonal details. It's remarkable stuff, that only gets more powerful as Turcerová uncovers more sounds. On 'giraffes’ and wolves’ doubts', she cuts into boiling hisses with gravelly, sludgy noise and metallic whirrs, on 'jude, you're like new zealand' overdriving her breaths to the point that they cut out, leaving bizarre rhythmelodic phrases. We can almost hear a more trackable sax sound blare out on 'fi-hoi polloi', and even then, Turcerová stops herself, preferring to turn the vanishing wails into synth-like wheezing zigzags.
Copenhagen-based Slovakian artist Michaela Turcerová figures out a new language for the saxophone on 'alene et', taking the instrument's incidental sounds - like key presses and breathy exhalations - and transforming them into complex rhythms and hissing textures. RIYL Bendik Giske, Pita or Nakibembe Embaire Group.
Turcerová covered her sax in microphones to producer 'alene et', working out exactly how each gesture might sound if it was amplified in a different way. And it was worth the hassle - on 'in flux ė', the horn's character is almost unrecognizable. Turcerová plays rhythmic trills by tapping the keys, but doesn't use the reed at all, letting the instrument's body help suggest the tonal details. It's remarkable stuff, that only gets more powerful as Turcerová uncovers more sounds. On 'giraffes’ and wolves’ doubts', she cuts into boiling hisses with gravelly, sludgy noise and metallic whirrs, on 'jude, you're like new zealand' overdriving her breaths to the point that they cut out, leaving bizarre rhythmelodic phrases. We can almost hear a more trackable sax sound blare out on 'fi-hoi polloi', and even then, Turcerová stops herself, preferring to turn the vanishing wails into synth-like wheezing zigzags.