Gilles Gobeil - Voix blanche
  Year :   1988
  Location :   Canada
  Worktype :   Acousmatic Work
  Materials:   -
  Info :   Salle Claude-Champagne in Montreal, and on presented on CD back in 1989, on Cultures Électroniques Vol. 4 as 2e Prix de la Musique Électroacoustique Mixte

  Work Details  
  The beginning is pastoral, fresh with green plants and densely wooded forests, hiding many a secret existence: those specks of light dancing over the rocks in the meadow! The music wakes up in this natural bliss, its heart thumping, the score suddenly fresh with oxygen and dew! The very first bar of the music makes a wide gesture, opening our eyes to the scenery, which is half real, half myth: enchanted! The electronic music bends slightly downwards from its upward beginning, leveling out, short and well-marked bird chirps measuring time, while the Ondes Martenot – thin and elastic – rises slowly in a glissando, upwards, slowly upwards, as the electronic motion down under begins to circle like the current of water that disappears down the drain. Gobeil’s music grows granular, like the surface of the sun throw sooty glasses; that boiling motion of prickly elements – but in Gobeil’s world this property is cold, icy – more like myriads of distant stars… and in the following development I can no longer distinguish Martenot from Gobeil, so to say. It all comes together in a vibrant, soaring elasticity of audio, venomously beautiful, dangerously pleasant! I hear surfaces tilting, I see the dust sounds of gold, I piggyback off on the circumstances! I feel ballets in here, see motions around the premises, hands making signs, feet circling over a wooden floor; I hear the intermittent friction of ballet shoes and planks; a wheezing grayness, gravity focused through an act of utter equilibrium, all the way into the central star, gathering momentum way out from the most distant planets: the gyro of the solar system; the ultimate prayer wheel! Gobeil and Suzanne Binet-Audet shape the moment wonderfully, at times merging so crazily that they become one and indistinguishable from each other, only to pry lapsing durations open in disparate tendencies, torque and pull straining space and perception ominously, only a distant murmur rising under the horizon like the wasted songs of renounced gods as time runs towards the vanishing point…. Accessed 15.11.06 from