Composed using only the hefty Yamaha CS-60, the little sister of the CS-80 that Vangelis used to make the iconic 'Blade Runner' score, 'Sky Flesh' is an extraordinarily focused and expressive set from Italian composer Marta De Pascalis, fittingly released on Caterina Barbieri's light-years imprint. Properly blissed Radiophonic fractalism here - like Jean-Michel Jarre reworking AE's 'Oversteps'.
The twisting, unusually phased sound of the Yamaha CS-80 is trapped in our cultural memory banks like a prehistoric fly in amber at this point. Used exhaustively in late-'70s and '80s sci-fi movies and television, its firework display of buzzing oscillators set imaginations on fire - off the shoulder of Orion, possibly. Vangelis famously said, "it's the only synthesizer I could describe as being a real instrument," remarking on the way he could physically play it. The CS-60 that De Pascalis uses on 'Sky Flesh' is a slightly smaller "light" version of its beefy sibling (100kg with all accessories), but still possesses the same idiosyncratic sonic heft. It's a synth that was developed with performance rather than sequencing in mind (the MIDI protocol would arrive a few years after it was released), so it's appropriate that De Pascalis chooses to keep things live and direct, harnessing the instrument's timbral expressiveness instead of lashing it to a grid.
Using just a single synthesizer, De Pascalis is able to immediately set parameters for her experimentation. Opening track 'voXCS60x' builds a lush sonic environment with lightly reverberant oscillations that dance and whirl as she bends her sounds with the CS-60's signature ring modulation effect. Older listeners will recognize that sound as the introductory blast from Peter Howell's '80s 'Doctor Who' theme redux, and it immediately de-materializes us from the present, establishing a hauntological fantasy without resorting to tired thematic beats. De Pascalis is more concerned with showing how versatile the instrument is, and plays it sometimes like a harpsichord, and sometimes as if it was a fanfare of uncanny brass. Her sounds are familiar from the recent past, but her choice of melody and harmony is driven by concerns from further back. The filigree phrases on 'The Shapes We Buried' and 'Yueqin' sound as if they could have been penned in India ink in some candlelit crypt in the Papal States, way back in the 16th Century.
But De Pascalis isn't using 'Sky Flesh' as a history lesson either; her interest in the past and how its memory and decay impacts the present comes from her time growing up in Rome, and infusing this with pure feeling, she writes a personal narrative that's relevant but not walled in by current mores. There are comparisons we could draw with Caterina Barbieri's bejeweled modular symphonies, but De Pascalis also gives a nod to the sinewy algorithmic melodic phrasing that Autechre experimented with on the misunderstood 'Oversteps'. On 'Harmonices Infinity', she slows things down to a slither, curving the pitch into glassy beads of sound, while on the undulating closer 'Equal To No Weight At All', her improvisations are stretched into roughly textured clouds that dissipate into each other, shifting slowly and magnificently like pigments dissolved in water. It's beautiful, gestural and incredibly deeply considered music - a healing salve in the face of the vapid AI revolution. If you're sick of predictable, gridded electronic music, this is the celestial meat you need in yr life.
View more
Composed using only the hefty Yamaha CS-60, the little sister of the CS-80 that Vangelis used to make the iconic 'Blade Runner' score, 'Sky Flesh' is an extraordinarily focused and expressive set from Italian composer Marta De Pascalis, fittingly released on Caterina Barbieri's light-years imprint. Properly blissed Radiophonic fractalism here - like Jean-Michel Jarre reworking AE's 'Oversteps'.
The twisting, unusually phased sound of the Yamaha CS-80 is trapped in our cultural memory banks like a prehistoric fly in amber at this point. Used exhaustively in late-'70s and '80s sci-fi movies and television, its firework display of buzzing oscillators set imaginations on fire - off the shoulder of Orion, possibly. Vangelis famously said, "it's the only synthesizer I could describe as being a real instrument," remarking on the way he could physically play it. The CS-60 that De Pascalis uses on 'Sky Flesh' is a slightly smaller "light" version of its beefy sibling (100kg with all accessories), but still possesses the same idiosyncratic sonic heft. It's a synth that was developed with performance rather than sequencing in mind (the MIDI protocol would arrive a few years after it was released), so it's appropriate that De Pascalis chooses to keep things live and direct, harnessing the instrument's timbral expressiveness instead of lashing it to a grid.
Using just a single synthesizer, De Pascalis is able to immediately set parameters for her experimentation. Opening track 'voXCS60x' builds a lush sonic environment with lightly reverberant oscillations that dance and whirl as she bends her sounds with the CS-60's signature ring modulation effect. Older listeners will recognize that sound as the introductory blast from Peter Howell's '80s 'Doctor Who' theme redux, and it immediately de-materializes us from the present, establishing a hauntological fantasy without resorting to tired thematic beats. De Pascalis is more concerned with showing how versatile the instrument is, and plays it sometimes like a harpsichord, and sometimes as if it was a fanfare of uncanny brass. Her sounds are familiar from the recent past, but her choice of melody and harmony is driven by concerns from further back. The filigree phrases on 'The Shapes We Buried' and 'Yueqin' sound as if they could have been penned in India ink in some candlelit crypt in the Papal States, way back in the 16th Century.
But De Pascalis isn't using 'Sky Flesh' as a history lesson either; her interest in the past and how its memory and decay impacts the present comes from her time growing up in Rome, and infusing this with pure feeling, she writes a personal narrative that's relevant but not walled in by current mores. There are comparisons we could draw with Caterina Barbieri's bejeweled modular symphonies, but De Pascalis also gives a nod to the sinewy algorithmic melodic phrasing that Autechre experimented with on the misunderstood 'Oversteps'. On 'Harmonices Infinity', she slows things down to a slither, curving the pitch into glassy beads of sound, while on the undulating closer 'Equal To No Weight At All', her improvisations are stretched into roughly textured clouds that dissipate into each other, shifting slowly and magnificently like pigments dissolved in water. It's beautiful, gestural and incredibly deeply considered music - a healing salve in the face of the vapid AI revolution. If you're sick of predictable, gridded electronic music, this is the celestial meat you need in yr life.
Composed using only the hefty Yamaha CS-60, the little sister of the CS-80 that Vangelis used to make the iconic 'Blade Runner' score, 'Sky Flesh' is an extraordinarily focused and expressive set from Italian composer Marta De Pascalis, fittingly released on Caterina Barbieri's light-years imprint. Properly blissed Radiophonic fractalism here - like Jean-Michel Jarre reworking AE's 'Oversteps'.
The twisting, unusually phased sound of the Yamaha CS-80 is trapped in our cultural memory banks like a prehistoric fly in amber at this point. Used exhaustively in late-'70s and '80s sci-fi movies and television, its firework display of buzzing oscillators set imaginations on fire - off the shoulder of Orion, possibly. Vangelis famously said, "it's the only synthesizer I could describe as being a real instrument," remarking on the way he could physically play it. The CS-60 that De Pascalis uses on 'Sky Flesh' is a slightly smaller "light" version of its beefy sibling (100kg with all accessories), but still possesses the same idiosyncratic sonic heft. It's a synth that was developed with performance rather than sequencing in mind (the MIDI protocol would arrive a few years after it was released), so it's appropriate that De Pascalis chooses to keep things live and direct, harnessing the instrument's timbral expressiveness instead of lashing it to a grid.
Using just a single synthesizer, De Pascalis is able to immediately set parameters for her experimentation. Opening track 'voXCS60x' builds a lush sonic environment with lightly reverberant oscillations that dance and whirl as she bends her sounds with the CS-60's signature ring modulation effect. Older listeners will recognize that sound as the introductory blast from Peter Howell's '80s 'Doctor Who' theme redux, and it immediately de-materializes us from the present, establishing a hauntological fantasy without resorting to tired thematic beats. De Pascalis is more concerned with showing how versatile the instrument is, and plays it sometimes like a harpsichord, and sometimes as if it was a fanfare of uncanny brass. Her sounds are familiar from the recent past, but her choice of melody and harmony is driven by concerns from further back. The filigree phrases on 'The Shapes We Buried' and 'Yueqin' sound as if they could have been penned in India ink in some candlelit crypt in the Papal States, way back in the 16th Century.
But De Pascalis isn't using 'Sky Flesh' as a history lesson either; her interest in the past and how its memory and decay impacts the present comes from her time growing up in Rome, and infusing this with pure feeling, she writes a personal narrative that's relevant but not walled in by current mores. There are comparisons we could draw with Caterina Barbieri's bejeweled modular symphonies, but De Pascalis also gives a nod to the sinewy algorithmic melodic phrasing that Autechre experimented with on the misunderstood 'Oversteps'. On 'Harmonices Infinity', she slows things down to a slither, curving the pitch into glassy beads of sound, while on the undulating closer 'Equal To No Weight At All', her improvisations are stretched into roughly textured clouds that dissipate into each other, shifting slowly and magnificently like pigments dissolved in water. It's beautiful, gestural and incredibly deeply considered music - a healing salve in the face of the vapid AI revolution. If you're sick of predictable, gridded electronic music, this is the celestial meat you need in yr life.
Composed using only the hefty Yamaha CS-60, the little sister of the CS-80 that Vangelis used to make the iconic 'Blade Runner' score, 'Sky Flesh' is an extraordinarily focused and expressive set from Italian composer Marta De Pascalis, fittingly released on Caterina Barbieri's light-years imprint. Properly blissed Radiophonic fractalism here - like Jean-Michel Jarre reworking AE's 'Oversteps'.
The twisting, unusually phased sound of the Yamaha CS-80 is trapped in our cultural memory banks like a prehistoric fly in amber at this point. Used exhaustively in late-'70s and '80s sci-fi movies and television, its firework display of buzzing oscillators set imaginations on fire - off the shoulder of Orion, possibly. Vangelis famously said, "it's the only synthesizer I could describe as being a real instrument," remarking on the way he could physically play it. The CS-60 that De Pascalis uses on 'Sky Flesh' is a slightly smaller "light" version of its beefy sibling (100kg with all accessories), but still possesses the same idiosyncratic sonic heft. It's a synth that was developed with performance rather than sequencing in mind (the MIDI protocol would arrive a few years after it was released), so it's appropriate that De Pascalis chooses to keep things live and direct, harnessing the instrument's timbral expressiveness instead of lashing it to a grid.
Using just a single synthesizer, De Pascalis is able to immediately set parameters for her experimentation. Opening track 'voXCS60x' builds a lush sonic environment with lightly reverberant oscillations that dance and whirl as she bends her sounds with the CS-60's signature ring modulation effect. Older listeners will recognize that sound as the introductory blast from Peter Howell's '80s 'Doctor Who' theme redux, and it immediately de-materializes us from the present, establishing a hauntological fantasy without resorting to tired thematic beats. De Pascalis is more concerned with showing how versatile the instrument is, and plays it sometimes like a harpsichord, and sometimes as if it was a fanfare of uncanny brass. Her sounds are familiar from the recent past, but her choice of melody and harmony is driven by concerns from further back. The filigree phrases on 'The Shapes We Buried' and 'Yueqin' sound as if they could have been penned in India ink in some candlelit crypt in the Papal States, way back in the 16th Century.
But De Pascalis isn't using 'Sky Flesh' as a history lesson either; her interest in the past and how its memory and decay impacts the present comes from her time growing up in Rome, and infusing this with pure feeling, she writes a personal narrative that's relevant but not walled in by current mores. There are comparisons we could draw with Caterina Barbieri's bejeweled modular symphonies, but De Pascalis also gives a nod to the sinewy algorithmic melodic phrasing that Autechre experimented with on the misunderstood 'Oversteps'. On 'Harmonices Infinity', she slows things down to a slither, curving the pitch into glassy beads of sound, while on the undulating closer 'Equal To No Weight At All', her improvisations are stretched into roughly textured clouds that dissipate into each other, shifting slowly and magnificently like pigments dissolved in water. It's beautiful, gestural and incredibly deeply considered music - a healing salve in the face of the vapid AI revolution. If you're sick of predictable, gridded electronic music, this is the celestial meat you need in yr life.
Out of Stock
Composed using only the hefty Yamaha CS-60, the little sister of the CS-80 that Vangelis used to make the iconic 'Blade Runner' score, 'Sky Flesh' is an extraordinarily focused and expressive set from Italian composer Marta De Pascalis, fittingly released on Caterina Barbieri's light-years imprint. Properly blissed Radiophonic fractalism here - like Jean-Michel Jarre reworking AE's 'Oversteps'.
The twisting, unusually phased sound of the Yamaha CS-80 is trapped in our cultural memory banks like a prehistoric fly in amber at this point. Used exhaustively in late-'70s and '80s sci-fi movies and television, its firework display of buzzing oscillators set imaginations on fire - off the shoulder of Orion, possibly. Vangelis famously said, "it's the only synthesizer I could describe as being a real instrument," remarking on the way he could physically play it. The CS-60 that De Pascalis uses on 'Sky Flesh' is a slightly smaller "light" version of its beefy sibling (100kg with all accessories), but still possesses the same idiosyncratic sonic heft. It's a synth that was developed with performance rather than sequencing in mind (the MIDI protocol would arrive a few years after it was released), so it's appropriate that De Pascalis chooses to keep things live and direct, harnessing the instrument's timbral expressiveness instead of lashing it to a grid.
Using just a single synthesizer, De Pascalis is able to immediately set parameters for her experimentation. Opening track 'voXCS60x' builds a lush sonic environment with lightly reverberant oscillations that dance and whirl as she bends her sounds with the CS-60's signature ring modulation effect. Older listeners will recognize that sound as the introductory blast from Peter Howell's '80s 'Doctor Who' theme redux, and it immediately de-materializes us from the present, establishing a hauntological fantasy without resorting to tired thematic beats. De Pascalis is more concerned with showing how versatile the instrument is, and plays it sometimes like a harpsichord, and sometimes as if it was a fanfare of uncanny brass. Her sounds are familiar from the recent past, but her choice of melody and harmony is driven by concerns from further back. The filigree phrases on 'The Shapes We Buried' and 'Yueqin' sound as if they could have been penned in India ink in some candlelit crypt in the Papal States, way back in the 16th Century.
But De Pascalis isn't using 'Sky Flesh' as a history lesson either; her interest in the past and how its memory and decay impacts the present comes from her time growing up in Rome, and infusing this with pure feeling, she writes a personal narrative that's relevant but not walled in by current mores. There are comparisons we could draw with Caterina Barbieri's bejeweled modular symphonies, but De Pascalis also gives a nod to the sinewy algorithmic melodic phrasing that Autechre experimented with on the misunderstood 'Oversteps'. On 'Harmonices Infinity', she slows things down to a slither, curving the pitch into glassy beads of sound, while on the undulating closer 'Equal To No Weight At All', her improvisations are stretched into roughly textured clouds that dissipate into each other, shifting slowly and magnificently like pigments dissolved in water. It's beautiful, gestural and incredibly deeply considered music - a healing salve in the face of the vapid AI revolution. If you're sick of predictable, gridded electronic music, this is the celestial meat you need in yr life.