Martusciello, Fega and Lella: almost quietly and without unnecessary roars, this trio has released an agile and slim album, one that after a few listenings firmly takes place in your cd player. A Global Taxonomical Machine is made of microstatic, granulous bursts, and of evocative, placid and never too silent silences, often interrupted by sly-as-a-serpent’s-kiss acoustic forays.

The magnifiyng lens the trio uses has been already tested on many live occasions-the three musicians generate a sound path made of microscopic, isolated cells, each one of them being the constituent of larger structures.

This is errant electroacoustic music, moved by a quest for the detail; an acousmatic shadow-line that-as in the beautiful Behind Me-crosses and trespasses different stylistic strata, always with an economy of means, careful not to get stuck too long in too fixed a place.

These are fast and serene neural migrations that move along a series of sensorial, fascinating ellipses; that rummage between improvised spasms and sneaky, minimal instances; a sarcastic behind-the-scene aftertaste that makes all the difference.

These pieces seem fantastic, strange stammering creatures, grown in the shadow of a mountain made of doubts; they are simple creatures that move continuously and involuntarily forward right when you stumble upon them; they are rude and not really talkative; they do not offer easy grips to be interpreted with, only a general fragrance floating in the air after they’re gone, a particular, interior resonance that deeply shakes without ever being hostile. Harmony and awareness.

Action and praxis.