Underskog

SIMONA BARBERA
OH, MY DARK SOUL!
Space 4235, Tromsø, Norway

a sound installation, visual, music live performance
…

Sparse tunes organs and keyboard based, long reverberations, breathy ghostly echoes, layering drones: the sound performance consists on a long immersive track with evolving variations, timeless.

Simona Barbera is currently exploring soundscape and dark ambient compositions, epic lyrics and text compositions exploring the dark side of music expression…from various influences, Nico’s latest production.
From ambient drones, the random music structure of the compositions contrasts with the voice on the top of the multiplicity of microsounds.

The mood is dark: heavy distortions and voice over. Alchemy and use of the sonic space referring to natural elements.

‘Paradise haunts gardens’, writes Derek Jarman, ‘and it haunts mine’.
Ghostly tunes arises while the voice emerges and then dissolves again, while a series of mixed-media collage of pictures and drawings describes a dissolved garden: a magic scenario more closely resembling hell than a Paradise.

Low bass frequencies are the most surrounding motif, while a soft reverb gathers on the background voice, giving things breath, while dark escalating drones randomly continue gradually through the entire sequence of the sound installation.

THE COLD DARNED SKY SEEMS UNCHANGED
AND LITTLE MOVED BY THE SHORTNESS OF TIME
BETWEEN OUR PLANET’S BIRTH AND ITS DEMISE

A FURY OF A DEMON SUDDENLY POSSESSED ME
REVELING NEW CONNECTIONS
HE PUT A SPELL ON MY HANDS
CARRING ME AWAY

I LOOKED OUT, GLITTERING ALONE THE SKYLINE
DANCING RAYS, FUZZY, LIKE SOMETHING I WOULD SEE IN A DREAM
FEELING LIKE, A SINGLE STAR IN A GLITTERING SKY

simona barbera

You know the lightgreen steam.
It is the middle of the century, you come home from an heavy day of red smell. The track took ages and seemed alright some time, now the sonic sound is the way of the dark dream.

Steam comes in smoke out of purple barrels, time to walk a little faster down town, bypassing mainstreet I heard a blue scream of fog.
Fog out of forgetting, or forseenig the steps, faster and faster where the sun ends. Outside of downtown, and the four corners of the known space.

It does not stop, and I driftet on watching the heavens open. Not alone, never. The hawk sings to her, he is a white river, running out in the big velvet sea. The human nature, the constructed chaos of all that is natural. Against the grain, as one last year put it.

ronny faber dahl

www.space4235.com
www.simonabarbera.com
www.simonabarbera.com/texts…
www.federicaschiavo.com/Art…