Argentinian composer Ulises Conti covers a lot of ground as a composer, working with field recording, acoustic, electric, analog sources and digital processing.
As mentioned before in this space, he has a knack for crafting lovely, emotive piano and chamber pieces, with a resolutely cinematic feel to his work. The acoustic flutter speckled with sandpapery digital glitch evokes luminous flickering images upstairs to the extent that you can imagine what old masters Nino Rota or, say, Lalo Schifrin would sound like if they had access to all of the new doohickeys and processing options of today’s digital workstation.
Here, Conti returns with a collection of 27 miniatures, each titled for a letter of the alphabet, plus Ñ (I’ll admit to my own not-knowingness here- I finally searched that mark on top: it’s called a “diacritical tilde”)*. Taken as a whole, it’s an experience similar to going through a notebook or sketchbook: there are simple three-line drawings, short stand-alone couplets and quickly-composed aphoristic bursts meant to be enjoyed for their brevity, while other pages appear studious and well-crafted. Impressive, as only a few pieces appear off-the-cuff, like a jumble of ideas quickly jotted down with the promise of fleshing out later.
[*-More of my know-nothingness: according to The Fader, the title translates as The Greeks believed that the stars were small holes where the gods listened to men. English, French - ok. Japanese -working on it. Spanish? I never said I was a polyglot.]
Source: SoundCloud / _flau