Mark Feldman & Sylvie Courvoisier
Malphas: Book Of Angels Vol. 3

THE REVIEW

The tireless, unstoppable Tzadik stoically perseveres in her admirable, unique, and remarkable ethical/philosophical/expressive audio-opera: not satisfied with having released, in almost impossibly short times, a literal audio-mountain of assorted materials at a consistently and dangerously close level to absolute excellence {just mention the simply fantastic and bulging series concerning the “Birthday Anniversario Zorniano”} here at the disposal of the joyful masses (it would be a little way of saying) the third intense Volume of the intoxicating “Tomi Angelici” series: Malphas.

A few (im)perceptible chronological fractions separate the work from reaching the total hour of duration: a captivating sound-temporality spread across ounces of stunning/seductive chamber fragments, dense and really imperishable characterized by an ultra-acoustic/dazzling chamber jazz approach endowed with quite a wavering sound-character; all skillfully generated by His Majesty Monsieur Zorn and promulgated by the talented, visionary and “artistic” bodily extensions belonging to the crepuscular Sir Feldman (violin) [a happy protagonist, very recently, in the new lightning-fast work by Masada String Trio] and to the jovial and young Madame of central European origin, Courvoisier (piano): sole and exclusive sound-artifacts (sometimes) tinkered with and (a little less) lovingly caressed; two refined and exquisite musical sculptors/performers who direct and intersect their expressive aims towards intricate scores often (but not always) serious (“Labariel” is a clear example) as much as sinisterly engaging.

If the chilling yet meaningful acoustic cohesion promulgated by the duo can be a symptom/synonym of the effective spiritual union of the two noble performers in question (companions, besides art, in daily and routine life), then it could be easily argued that they understand each other (even in the worst-case scenario) quite wonderfully indeed.

Increasingly challenging and decidedly avant-garde, largely sound-edgy and rugged (listen to what they release in the exhausting “Basus” or inside the jazz-neurotic “Zethar”) and also episodically characterized by an impossible inclination for easy public consumption due to a frankly remarkable yet disturbing underlying melancholy in overall executive mood.

It is almost impossible not to get inextricably captured/enchanted by that authentic (merveilleuse) audio-trap called “Rigal” in its simple yet immense and mood-swinging chiaroscuro substance that literally rips the heart from the hairy chest or from the authentically feral and magnificent “Paschal.”

Qué Espectaculo (as usual).