Drone Records
Your cart (0 item)


Format: LP
Label & Cat.Number: Small Voices SVV006
Release Year: 2006
Note: ed. of 320 copies, debut-album!
Price (incl. 19% VAT): €14.00

More Info

Italienischer Newcomer auf SMALL VOICES mit einer von Nostalgie und Melancholie durchdrungenen Drone/Ambient-Produktion, field recordings und traditionelles Folk-Material wird z.T. loopig verwebt mit Gitarren- & Synth-Klngen, 3 nostalgische Postkarten runden das vertrumt-nostalgische Bild ab... fr Atmo-Melancholiker.

SmallVoices is happy to present a new Italian promising artist: Fabio Orsi. 'Osci' is a two long tracks album (remixed by Gianluca Becuzzi/Kinetix) of ambient drone music, field recordings and experimental melancholic soundcapes... Using processed folk music parts (taken during folkloristic festivals, typical of the Apulian folk tradition), Fabio creates a dreaming atmosphere crossing between balls and bellows, silence and spirituality, everyday life: at home, in a church, in the countryside, at the small-town feast. All these sounds mixed and processed through digital machines: an encounter between modernism and tradition. Image a sort of mixture between Alio Die's ambient works, William Basinski's melancholia, Phil Niblock's experimentalism. Fabio Orsi plays: guitars, samples, field recordings, laptop. The black heavy weight vinyl was packaged in an elegant sleeve and including 3 postcards. [label info]

Osci is a deep hole into the ground of the loved/hated traditional music. It is a snatch with the past, watching it from unusual perspective, with deforming lens under coloured lights. Osci never meets "Art", it is something like a hack. As the sickle relates about the man, but it's completely unconcerned with their destiny. He speaks the speech of crickets and ants. Time no exist. Telephone are not used to ring and the bees are assembling a "flying saucers" with the elements of an old washing machine. Telephone doesn't know how to ring and voices are gliding in to the dark from mouths full of soil and cheap beer, talking about obscene love proposals. Under the Sun we reverse a big stone and the name of a girl crawls out, into the grass. Someone picks up it from the ground, and put it on the neck as an amulet. Violin's strings clasp the heart in an August night. Flames itching the flesh with pain. Finally our body shows infinite chances. Inside and outside. Every single pore is a hole. Inside is outside. A blink. We would like to shake the skin from bodies, jumping in the fire. A blink. Then we leave by car, disappearing on dusty roads. Sentenced to a slow craziness. All the rumours pushing under the scab. Where the streets are swelling as the veins and the buildings are collapsing, we plant a microphone, cold as a needle. [liner notes]