Weeds and wild ideas are VIPs here.
To-do for wanderers:
- Sniff the pixels
- Water the code
- Harvest a quote
- Get lost on purpose
Kara Kaire
Malagola (2025)
improvisation with voice and space - sound reflections, absorption and reverberation
performance exerpt
Mourning the dead is a luxury.
There’s no chamber for those lying under the rubble today. No beds with carved names.
Faces become numbers.
Language seems to be meaningless.
So, I let music be my language, the only one that still feels real in an upside down world.
where bombs are normalised. words terrorised.
I turn to music.
If there’s no space to mourn the dead, let music be that space.
To meet, to greet one last
time, before parting.
Let it be the place that welcomes our voices, lets them linger till they
melt into its forest walls.
No matter how many luxury hotels will be built on people’s blood,
their voices will stick to its soil.
Kaire. Kara.
I did not mean to use language. But somehow, syllables came to visit me. Kaire, to rejoice.
In the language of my ancestors, both a hello and a goodbye. Welcome and farewell.
Kara, the head, the seat of the soul, the loved one.
I did not know their meaning, but it seems like words found their way, anyway.
It may be my ancestors
whispering.
Unstructured. Just three strings. repetitive. slowed and inconsistent. about to stop
anytime. lingering.
a voice that breathes and breaks.
As I sing, I see someone saying goodbye to the dead.
Or the dead saying goodbye to the living.
Or a musician comforting both, cause this is what music
does. It stitches back the space that separates us.
I experiment with recording the reverberation of the improv in my room. As I listen back, I
hear the sound of a ferry, a farewell.
And I know it is not, and I know it is me attaching meanings to sounds and syllables, but if I
am to be in this meaningless machine, let it be on my terms, let it be through music.