Virevolte (which I think translates from French to English as "Twirls" [which makes sense when looking at the cover]) is an uplifting and consoling experience. It's the first release from electronic conjurer Kata Phore, who seems to be from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. A sense of placelessness suits Virevolte, though. Its methodical, soliloquy-like progressions pursue a self-referential dialogue with themselves, unraveling like a ball of yarn, and snapping back into geometrical loops like a slinky. Its twists and inversions would seem to be alienating if the direct experience of them was not like losing touch with gravity and but not your orientation in space; like being forced upward to a stable altitude within the unperturbed stream of a vertical wind tunnel and permitted to glide and summersault in ambivalence to the normal rules of terrestrial living. The album is wordless, but as I've alluded, the looping selections of sequences serve as a worthy lyrical substitute, sublating the need for a particular lexicon, while creating space for a distinguishable acoustic colloquy. I feel that if I had a synth in front of me at this very moment, I could carry on a full conversation with the chiming, churning passages of Virevolte, and it would somehow feel like I was having a dialogue with Kata herself. Kind of like me in Chicago, and her in a far-off land, where actually neighbors, gossiping into tin cans connected by a string strung between parallel windowsills facing an alleyway; a live wire binding two souls; our vibrations intelligible to each other, if to no one else.
Debut release from DDDD. Learn more here.
