Krause / Jacques Malle / Robert Breton

Not too long ago, a young artist from France’s rural Romandie got hit with a bizarre summons from the heavens. He was asked to make one of a series of pieces for the Czech archduke of Prague’s radio tower. The piece was a series of surrealist collages. In the show—a collaboration between a young French artist, an archduke and Malle, an actual satellite dish, and Breton, the son of a Belgian industrial designer—the young man’s armory-grade computer-animated sphere of influence was used as a canvas.

It’s a strange kind of music, and it’s difficult to imagine how it might have been made. The pieces are so simple and so hypnotic—a single note, a single color, a single texture—that it’s hard to believe they’re going to work. And yet they do.

The first piece, “Coral”, is an eerie, hypnotic drone, which Malle plays with. The second piece, “Coral’s Vengeance”, is an organic music that’s partly static, partly stroboscopic. “Coral’s Vengeance” is so simple, it sounds like it could have been ripped from the pages of a nursery rhyme, and Malle’s computer-animated elements are as striking as the ones that surround them. It’s a chameleonic fizz, like someone’s breathing, and Malle seems to be playing with a delicate blend of melodic notes and melodic fragments. He’s working with a composition with a large number of small notes, and the texture of the pieces is as delicate and dreamy as anything you’ll see played in a dream room.

The next piece, “Coral’s Vengeful Flame”, is the most ambitious and beautiful piece. It’s a drone that’s twice as long as the first piece and as complex as the first. It’s a pair of drones, one melodic and one not, and the melodic fragments in the mix are so finely placed that it seems intended to evoke the feel of a psychedelic trip.

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(Music courtesy of Emilie Weibel)