When I see Francesco Gregoretti playing I often
have the impression of being in a math lab. I don’t mean
a lesson, where you have to prove theorems or program
algorithms, but a place where the very mathematical concepts
take life, inventing an ever new geometry capable of trapping
for a moment the entropy of the objects, the vibration
of the skins, the mechanics of the limbs. Francesco Gregoretti
is a mathematician: he doesn’t calculate or count; he
doesn’t think of beats or of harmonic ratios. Rather he
invents regularities in the midst of chaos and unpredictable;
discovers inaudible cyclic turns that he then composes
together with fanatical perseverance; he looks for the
controlled stumble. But he stumbles for real. The objects
falling on his drum-kit follow free trajectories, while
his limbs are equally free and confused in trying to follow
them; the beating and rubbing techniques are not just
ways to produce sounds, but are the trigger of resonances,
played in a complex feedback loop where, reacting in chain,
they produce unexpected and sometimes seemingly unmanageable
results. For this reason Francesco Gregoretti’s music
is for me the expression of a precise poetic truth: the
nature is never as mathematical as the deconstructive
will, that, by wrapping in on itself with disarming precision,
it gives life to new kinds of shapes, perverted natures,
little monsters that open to us the way to beauty.
(SEC_)
Artwork by Tommaso Moscarelli. |