An attentive analysis of Edith Alonso’s CV gives several clues about the typology of creative energies fuelling Collapse. Having been an active practitioner/student both in punk bands and electroacoustic environments, this Spaniard attempted to transfer the disorderly drive of anarchy into a more structured context, prepared electric bass being the lone source. Over four tracks, the raw dynamism of a growling sonic coagulation maintains its clutch on our focus, in a way forcing a physical absorption of its constitutional substances. In the meantime, a multitude of micro-components adds various layers of vivid intricacy to the music.
The violent oscillation of thick strings is a generator of compelling vibrational irregularity. With Alonso setting in motion an arrhythmic interaction between manual skill and bottom-range resonance, the solitary listener becomes the innermost core of a magmatic compatibility. The sonorities are mostly aggressive and relentless, still allowing the detection of an intrinsic design: a low-frequency monarchy, with a few openings to the comprehension of what happens behind the scenes. The sense of organization is clearly discernible even in the presence of strong factors of intimidation, which is especially highlighted as the volume goes up.
As the title may suggest, the composition transits across states of relative intelligibility to gradually turn into a jarring ensemble of filthy throbs, raspy densities, echoing thuds and fighting partials. The spitefulness of a grubby harmony accepts no armistice; and yet, listening to this album with the whole body and all aerials up is mandatory to receive the access code to its underground chambers. The ultimate surprise: you’re going to feel finely tuned at the end of the apparent chaos.