In the beginning was the voice. This eerily beautiful sepulchral voice – somewhere between Siouxsie and Banshee; the dead can dance to it – the despairing mantras, melancholy litanies, mysterious incantations in the cradle, where lies music equally as ritualistic as it is minimalist. It embeds itself with a meaningful, ominous sound carpet, woven from repetitive drone electronics, reverberated violin tones and simple percussion. Time-thinned and yet original; music as an entranced trance, as a conjuring ritual, as a vehicle for the transcendent.
Text: Thomas Jenny