First: Time. The time of friction, rubbing, caressing—the time of interspace. The time to listen, one’s head stuck between the three drones. A possible immersion inside glissandi chords. You thus find moving sounds outlining harmonies—archaic and fluctuating. The musician will need to make his voice heard. The immutable drone of yesteryear is no longer: it moves, it changes, it plays. From converging to verging on, you have time to touch the sound. Then: the “scale” becomes “torment.” “Torment” might make one forget about “modes.” The chanter is voluble and unwavering. Seven notes are going wild, attempting to flee in aggressive speed. (At times, the mechanism blocks and jams). Target: the line is but a flow. You will no longer have time to touch the sound, yet you will feel its scratch.

Benjamin de la Fuente