magoski
How was I suppose to
(k)
no
(w)
passed me
by
(a)
waiting tail in the night
bring me
back
to clear water
is a barrier
I can't be if I think
I could ever live
outside m
y
suit of
sin
becomes scar
becomes tales
to be be told
around
campfires
in the night
Dark Sines / Taylor Proffitt
I love the way you let the wind cause aa full spectrum of noise and not filter out the low end like most producers would and let the full range of mic noises be cherished
Favorite track: Sorry.
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- black vinyl (1200 units)
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'Space As An Instrument' Old Stone CAP
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- Low profil dad cap
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BUNDLE 2 / GOLD LP + TSHIRT
Record/Vinyl + Digital Album
SPACE AS AN INSTRUMENT Bundle, incl.
— Limited gold LP (Bandcamp Exclusive)
— Desert Dust TSHIRT
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'Space As An Instrument' Desert Dust TSHIRT
T-Shirt/Shirt + Digital Album
- high quality unisex t-shirt
- combed ring-spun organic cotton
- size M/L/XL available. design works well if wear oversized.
- drawing by Félicia Atkinson / limited edition
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'Space As An Instrument' Coal TSHIRT
T-Shirt/Shirt + Digital Album
- high quality unisex t-shirt
- Australian made ! Sizes run big !
- 180 GSM 100% combed cotton
- size M/L/XL available. design works well if wear oversized.
- drawing by Félicia Atkinson
- one-time limited edition / leftovers from Australian tour
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'Space As An Instrument' Mauve TSHIRT
T-Shirt/Shirt + Digital Album
- high quality unisex t-shirt
- Australian made ! Sizes run big !
- 180 GSM 100% combed cotton
- size M/L/XL available. design works well if wear oversized.
- drawing by Félicia Atkinson
- one-time limited edition / leftovers from Australian tour
Includes unlimited streaming of Space As An Instrument
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One of the universal experiences of life on Earth is staring, neck craned, at the cosmos. The vastness of one’s internal life meets the vastness of space, and in that moment those perspectives fuse in a state of wonder and curiosity. Space as an instrument, the new album by French artist and musician Félicia Atkinson, invites listeners to explore the phantasmic landscapes created in such transformative encounters, when the mind is open and receptive to its environment. Like being absorbed by the immensity of the night sky, this music dilates the imagination and helps us to sit comfortably in the mystery of the ineffable.
We are guided through Space as an instrument by the piano, its alinear story told through restrained, iterative melodies that become entwined with the sounds at the music’s margins - a wisp of electronics, a pinprick of an enunciated consonant. They were recorded on Atkinson’s phone, which was placed next to the keys, or behind her, with the sound of the room bleeding through to give a sense of the place and time of the encounter. She describes these sessions as meetings where she and the piano commune to co-create these spiraling phrases and vaporous dissonances moment by moment. Complicating this dynamic is the presence of digital pianos, which exist in the surreal space of diodes and LED displays. They act as avatars of their three-dimensional counterparts: nowhere and everywhere simultaneously.
Still, the inhabited world of people, water, and wind can be heard throughout Space as an instrument. Often these recordings are integrated into the backdrop of electronics, or reduced to the sound of movements whose physical forms are obscured: the microphone straining against a forceful gust on “Sorry,” arhythmic footsteps traversing an invisible terrain on “Pensées Magiques.” These field recordings take us to the brink of synesthetic experience, allowing us to glimpse with our ear the topography of the imagination. But Atkinson’s music resists any kind of singular perspective on the scene, or any distinct conclusion. “It doesn’t explain anything,” she says, “but it translates the way I perceive it, somehow.”
Atkinson is a polymath by nature, engrossed in a variety of daily artistic practices that nourish one another. In her garden, she performs the slow work of cross-species relationship building, cultivating an ideal space for introspection and further creation; many of the album’s vocal and electronic elements were recorded there. Poetry, which she prizes for its capacity to render the everyday tools of meaning-making more enigmatic, becomes folded into the music as well. She paints as often as time allows. One personal limitation Atkinson finds in painting, the rendering of perspective, has become one of her music’s defining characteristics. The vantage point of the listener is slippery and undefined, with sounds at once appearing gigantic and miniscule, distant and immediate.
This phenomena is central to “Thinking Iceberg,” a 13-minute piece that was whittled down from an hour and a half performance, who remain only a ghostly presence on the album’s recording. Atkinson wrote the piece in response to Olivier Remaud’s book ‘Thinking Like An Iceberg,’ in which the philosopher assigns agency to these massive, endangered objects and imagines how they might perceive their millenia-long relationship to humans. Stoic synthesizer tones percolate while water flows just out of the immediate frame with a disarming clarity and presence. As the piece crests, Atkinson’s whispered voice emerges softly, placed right against the listener’s left ear, contrasting with the billowing mass of sound that otherwise dominates. We emerge with a glimmer of awareness of how immensity and delicacy can coexist as time and humanity extract their toll.
Atkinson says her music exists “on the verge of understanding and not understanding,” which often precludes such literal interpretations. But in that nebulous space there is humility and openness, and perhaps enough empathy to understand the consciousness of a massive, frozen chunk of water. With the listener’s perspective diffused into many different vantage points, how might that, too, become a vehicle for the development of compassion? As we listen, we encounter the wisdom that there is meaning not just in the experience of the sublime, that radical juxtaposition of limitlessness and intimacy, but also in the continuum of countless individuals that have taken the same journey.
credits
released October 25, 2024
Composed and recorded by Félicia Atkinson
Painting by Harold Ancart
Mastered by Stephan Mathieu
supported by 142 fans who also own “Space As An Instrument”
Fall
Down
Down
Into
Onto
Cold
Shores
Forever you are
chained to that
Cold Rocky Shore
Winds
Carry
Marrow
Pleasure
Marrow Pain
There is no
cell to hold you
have the key
cold
windy
sea
magoski
supported by 118 fans who also own “Space As An Instrument”
It's Thanksgiving
I've been asked to make
Mashed Potatoes.
I think I’ll honor my Ukranian ancestry by doing them deconstructed Perogie style … there will be dill. Which some will not like … which then makes me think I could put the dill on the side, but then
maybe
I just shouldn’t concern myself with what to do to make
The ‘dish’ acceptable to everyone; and rather, just make the ‘dish’ the expression of me
that it’s suppose to be. magoski
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