If a building could speak, what would it say? Might the cold marble floors and stone walls retain subtle sonic traces of the events and people of its past? Would we be able to hear them?
Constructiile, de orice fel ar fi ele, sunt toate (ca) niste bureti: absorb bucurie, suferinta, vietile tuturor celor care le-au locuit. Orice atingere, orice cuvant rostit, se intipareste adanc in memoria casei, rabufnind uneori – atunci cand te astepti mai putin. De ce scriu aceste lucruri? In primul rand deoarece le-am simtit pe pielea mea, iar in al doilea rand deoarece cele doua albume prezentate aici reusesc sa aduca in mintea, inima si intreg trupul ascultatorilor memoria / vocea / povestile “spatiului locuit”, cum ar spune Augustin Ioan. Unora poate ca li se vor parea infricosatoare, altora diferite de tot ceea ce au ascultat pana acum. Este adevarat: casele folosesc o altfel de limba pentru a vorbi, una incarcata de suferinta / vietile tuturor celor care le-au locuit de-a lungul timpului.
Caesar Ursic – Lithophonia:
Cesar a inregistrat sunetele pe care le puteti auzi in acest album in vechiul si dezafectatul Highland Hospital in Oakland, California. Timp de 6 luni, artistul a batut fostul spital inarmat doar cu un microfon stereo si cu un digital recorder. Acest album
is an attempt to capture the faded aural residues of human activity that once resonated through the now-abandoned pavilions, walkways and chambers of this grand old structure.
Dronaement – Ezoterick Soundzcapes:
Intre acest album si cel de mai sus exista o deosebire fundamentala: daca primul este realizat intr-un spital, loc al suferintei si deznadejdii, acesta reda un
field recordings from an hydroelectric powerstation in natural environment.
Mie acest album imi aduce aminte ce spunea Heidegger in a sa Question concerning technology:
The hydroelectric plant is set into the current of the Rhine. It sets the Rhine to supplying its hydraulic pressure, which then sets the turbines turning. This turning sets those machines in motion whose thrust sets going the electric current for which the long-distance power station and its network of cables are set up to dispatch electricity. In the context of the interlocking processes pertaining to the orderly disposition of electrical energy, even the Rhine itself appears to be something at our command. The hydroelectric plant is not built into the Rhine River as was the old wooden bridge that joined bank with bank for hundreds of years. Rather the river is dammed up into the power plant. What the river is now, namely, a water power supplier, derives from out of the essence of the power station. In order that we may even remotely consider the monstrousness that reigns here, let us ponder for a moment the contrast that speaks out of the two titles, “The Rhine” as dammed up into the power works, and “The Rhine” as uttered out of the art work, in Holderlin’s hymn by that name. But, it will be replied, the Rhine is still a river in the landscape, is it not? Perhaps. But how? In no other way than as an object on call for inspection by a tour group ordered there by the vacation industry.