I am interested in the point at which sound ceases to represent something.

My compositional work moves between two poles. Threshold: sounds at the edge of perceptibility, coloured noise, subtle gradations at the interzone between pitch and colour. Saturation: the point at which instrumental identities, through the superimposition of complex spectra and an excess of energy, fuse into a kind of hypersound. The materiality of the sounds comes to the fore at the expense of their identity. These two poles run through all my bodies of work as a process that drives itself forward from piece to piece.

Feedback-delay networks, spectral freezing, and differentiated distortion processes are themselves compositional material, the setup as an instrument in itself. Instrumental sounds feed a network of layered feedback delays that generates a continuous sonic band, in which acoustic and electronic sound merge indistinguishably (empreintes cycle). What interests me here are sounds produced with conventional instruments that seem electronically generated, and that hover at the very edge of perceptibility even for the performers: every tremor of the bow is audible, the slightest changes can cause the sound to break off at any moment.

The Verwirbelungen series radicalises this approach. Stereo feedback delays generate an immersive, spatially expanded sonic continuum in which the solo instrument risks disappearing into its own echo. The starting point is an accumulative process with a historical reference: the prelude to Wagner's Rheingold, in which from a single fundamental tone a sonic space is built up through the successive addition of overtones. The Verwirbelungen transfer this process to feedback delays.

Distortion itself becomes a formal principle: a gradual process from barely perceptible roughening to maximum distortion, while the ensemble produces noise sounds − extreme sul tasto, formant-filtered air noise, sub-bass playback that addresses the listeners' bodies directly (campi deserti, 2023). The rhythmically articulated passages in HYDRA (2025) extend my compositional register in a different direction: physical energy, motoric force, theatrical gesture.

The question of how text and sound relate to each other has occupied me since my earliest works for music theatre (fremd körper, 2011). The relationship is energetically determined: text and music share an intensity, not a content. The music creates its own aesthetic space that surrounds, permeates, and exceeds the words. The voiceless of fremd körper and Ginsberg's overflow of language in howl.still appear to be opposites − yet in both cases what is at stake is the point at which language ceases to be a carrier of semantics and becomes corporeal, a sonic sign.

In howl.still (2026), for ensemble and voice after Allen Ginsberg's Howl, these threads converge. Ginsberg's long lines follow the breath of the bop saxophonist − each line a single exhale, accumulation as a path to transgression. This energy is translated into shimmering ensemble textures − until the sound sinks to the threshold of audibility: pulseless swell tones, whispered consonants in the instruments, the bass drum stroked in circular motions. These sounds surround Ginsberg's words like an acoustic aura, transposing the spoken text into a state of utmost fragility.