- 1Fia Fiell - Endless Filament
LE107
•
Open edition
Artist notes:
Endless Filament is flowing, energetic music of synthesiser drones, pulses, resonances, microtonal phases, subconsciously-formed melodies, shepherd’s whistles and a lullaby from the motherland. It’s best to listen to it facing speakers, not quietly, and to notice how the sound might change with a slight tilt of the head, as layers of chords and drones constantly change their tunings on a micro level, interacting in strange ways in the space around you and in your ears, and seeming to pulse while staying constant.
The title is an attempt to describe an imagining of the endless flow of energy through time and space—the law of conservation of energy, dreamt as visible threads of light interconnecting everything; connecting the stars to the earth on a clear moonless night, and my hands outstretched to everything around me. In this waking dream, each of my palms meets a soft resistance in space as I move, a resistance seemingly carried by light in thin, swaying strands. A soft roar of sound in the distance seem to furl and funnel itself through the space behind me, pulsing and unwinding as the sound of insects rises up in a soft, enveloping layer. Where I sit and stand in the middle of the bridge over the river, I get a sense of the immense, ageless spirit of the land and the valleys around me. I can’t help but think of the journeys my ancestors took, and what they gave for me to be here now. I remember the songs my mother sang to me in her language; songs like those her mother sang to her, like those her mother sang to her, and like those before, going back to the first song. Was the first song a lullaby? Did we whistle to copy the birds, before we could even speak? Do our songs become endless if we just keep singing them?
I recorded this music intending to record a long, loud drone piece I used to perform a few years ago, but sometimes, things you perform don’t exactly make sense as recordings. I didn’t think that piece expressed enough warmth, movement or even love, or my experiences since the time I started performing it. But that was my starting point, then everything flowed on from there. It used to be drone music, but now it’s something else; perhaps a constant pulling, flowing, winding and unfurling of tones, driving away from its source yet meeting a soft resistance.
While completing this music, I kept returning to one of my favourite poems; ‘Life, Life’ by Arseny Tarkovsky, perhaps best translated by Kitty Hunter-Blair. He writes about immortality, death, light and “life’s flying needle” better than I could hope to, but perhaps this piece is an answer to that; there’s a connection here in what I’m trying to express. I feel that it would not do the poem justice to quote it here, but I hope somebody reading this might find it and listen, and come to love it as much as I do.
Endless Filament is flowing, energetic music of synthesiser drones, pulses, resonances, microtonal phases, subconsciously-formed melodies, shepherd’s whistles and a lullaby from the motherland. It’s best to listen to it facing speakers, not quietly, and to notice how the sound might change with a slight tilt of the head, as layers of chords and drones constantly change their tunings on a micro level, interacting in strange ways in the space around you and in your ears, and seeming to pulse while staying constant.
The title is an attempt to describe an imagining of the endless flow of energy through time and space—the law of conservation of energy, dreamt as visible threads of light interconnecting everything; connecting the stars to the earth on a clear moonless night, and my hands outstretched to everything around me. In this waking dream, each of my palms meets a soft resistance in space as I move, a resistance seemingly carried by light in thin, swaying strands. A soft roar of sound in the distance seem to furl and funnel itself through the space behind me, pulsing and unwinding as the sound of insects rises up in a soft, enveloping layer. Where I sit and stand in the middle of the bridge over the river, I get a sense of the immense, ageless spirit of the land and the valleys around me. I can’t help but think of the journeys my ancestors took, and what they gave for me to be here now. I remember the songs my mother sang to me in her language; songs like those her mother sang to her, like those her mother sang to her, and like those before, going back to the first song. Was the first song a lullaby? Did we whistle to copy the birds, before we could even speak? Do our songs become endless if we just keep singing them?
I recorded this music intending to record a long, loud drone piece I used to perform a few years ago, but sometimes, things you perform don’t exactly make sense as recordings. I didn’t think that piece expressed enough warmth, movement or even love, or my experiences since the time I started performing it. But that was my starting point, then everything flowed on from there. It used to be drone music, but now it’s something else; perhaps a constant pulling, flowing, winding and unfurling of tones, driving away from its source yet meeting a soft resistance.
While completing this music, I kept returning to one of my favourite poems; ‘Life, Life’ by Arseny Tarkovsky, perhaps best translated by Kitty Hunter-Blair. He writes about immortality, death, light and “life’s flying needle” better than I could hope to, but perhaps this piece is an answer to that; there’s a connection here in what I’m trying to express. I feel that it would not do the poem justice to quote it here, but I hope somebody reading this might find it and listen, and come to love it as much as I do.
