Logoplasm's music blends electronic drones and concrete sounds – including location recordings of conversations or rain, for instance. Their sounds are always extremely well chosen and have an unmissable triumphant, mystic quality, while succeeding in reacquainting us with forgotten memories or natural mysteries. Their art lies partly in a semi-surreal approach to sound organisation a la Alejandra & Aeron, partly in a needle-like precision in selecting and editing sound material – think french composer Michèle Bokanowski, for instance.
"Testa piena d'orche" (Head Full of Killer Whales) starts with a slowly pulsating, beautiful electronic drone, building up with a choir of high pitched, children-like voice, 6mn into the mix. Then a cornucopia of little bells supplement the sound. That's when, 10:30 into the piece, a chit-chat between a handful of people enters the mix amid a tapestry of bell sounds. It's the warmest part of the composition, where we can feel in familiar territory, almost at home with friends – a big contrast with the end of the piece, taking place outdoors and under a storm.
The electronic drone resume at 14:30, only to fade out shortly after. A barely audible italian speech gives way to sitar-like sounds from a guitar (18:30). From 20:00 on till the end of the track, the electronic drone gets more and more upfront and the field recordings of water splashing, hurling wind and storm, wooden branches ruffling, creaking noises, and other unidentifiable sounds, becomes prominent over the stately pulsating drone. We are outdoor in a remote place facing the unfriendly elements, experiencing an ancient feeling of fear.
"Testa piena d'orche" has strong transforming effects on the listener, bringing forgotten memories from childhood. This is mercilessly beautiful, goosebump inducing music which leaves you speechless and with tears in your eyes.