When silence is revealed as a translucent, almost imperceptible and delicate vibratory fabric, any sonic phenomenon, even the dimmest murmur, can be felt as a yell of reality. Realities, perhaps, since they get expressed as multiplicities, ownerless storytelling; aimless, at the pace of time scales, where frequencies interweave to generate a faceless sound, thin, suitable for careful though no weak interlacing of both subtleties and surprises. Sounds that appear to challenge the linear timing of the sequence, rather making a nest within the variations of memory, responsible of animating worlds from dreams and compositions resulting from ways of stretching and collapsing the voices of Marguerite Duras between micro and meso realms, suggesting the macro not in the complexity of rhythm and structure, but in the detail, sometimes of the tiniest sound, sometimes of an infinite possible set of them. Luigi Turra seems to sculpt sound with a magnifying glass in order to reveal internal universes of what seems tiny. It is faithful to a n idea of the cosmos as a multiple and vast web not only for its macro eternity, but for housing in the tiniest grain, any possible sonic universe and significance of listening. Among sudden oscillations, subatomic noises, dissected voices and faint tonal apparitions, the composer seems to find a model different than the traditional morpohological or spatial intentions. It is like finding the essence of sound right inside the impossibility of having an essence as such, and be, forever between listenings, between aural pinches, between events like those of Alea, which one can not truly say if are past or future, if are there or not there, but still doesn’t stop to speak beauty. (LINE)
Luigi Turra – Alea
