Thrangh
Erzefilisch

"Life and dreams are pages from the same book. Reading them in order is living; leafing through them at random is dreaming" (A. Schopenhauer)

Thrangh!! Onomatopoeically it's like banging a shutter.

There's no way out anymore: there's no more continuity between outside and inside. Everything is outside. Indeed, everything is inside this visionary work where in the dreamlike convulsion everything ignites and grips.

Thrangh is then the noise that the mind produces when it needs to find an escape route.

The title of the work is a linguistic artifice slipped into the memory of a Freudian dream. The analysis of apparently nonsensical verbal forms that appear in dreams is the result of the dream work through their condensation. Ezerfilisch is "the poisonous effect" that denotes the rejection inherent in the mind of one who is a victim of misleading education.

Un-educated music, conceived through a journey on disregarded coordinates that nonetheless meet at the right moment. An action-painting à la Pollock where the brushstrokes and chromatic gestures are the semi-anarchic musical script that reconstructs itself in an atmosphere typical of dreams, or rather, of nightmares.

A blow to the head and neck. Just enough to let oneself be supported by the stream of consciousness that such sounds inspire.

<<Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken>> (O. Wilde)

Enough with the usual games of references. Thrangh is Thrangh sound.

Angular art-rock, overflowing noise, screaming jazz-core. One above the other, one next to the other. One inside the other. A matryoshka whose seed impregnates 48 minutes of structured sonic cataclysm permeated by improvisational outbursts and millimetric calibrations. In short, feeling and rigor. Without boundaries. Savage and refined musicality at the same time. Chaos and order. An entropy that reshuffles everything and puts everything back into place.

Seven instrumental tracks interspersed with five more meditative micro-pieces placed there as if to catch one's breath.

An improbable scenario without apparent logic. A cluster of floating solutions in the amniotic fluid of the avant-garde.

The quartet in action exudes energy from every pore. A journey without rest. A blinding light. A breath of fresh air.

The cacophonous noise of the titles paves the way for the notes swallowed and vomited in a swirling sonic fresco. The naked and flayed soul is now clothed in skin and bones, and its body is sublimated by the technical prowess of the four.

Sudden openings guided by sax virtuosity, adventures that scratch and caress the eardrums. At times, noise outgrowths lead the way through the sizzling of the six-string and the tapping on the pickups. Harmonic variations and collective bursts chase each other to impossible extreme solutions. Sax and guitar often intertwine, abusing each other unscrupulously. Experimentation and delirium. But also phrasing and meditation, driven by the impulses of an electrified and distorted bass that serves as a guide. With great courage, the percussion completes the picture by shortening or stretching the times with an appropriate aesthetic sense.

A psychoanalytical session lasting about an hour through a sonic tsunami that attacks, a hand-to-hand without holds barred.

Ezerfilisch is a language.

Ezerfilisch is a motto of the spirit, an act of rebellion that is born from the dream.

It shakes the soul

and reaches the heart.

End of the record.