Aho Ssan & Resina - Ego Death

A Closer Listen

The instinctive collaboration between Aho Ssan & Resina (Niamké Désiré & Karolina Rec) started at the Unsound Festival, continued on Rhizomes (ACL’s #2 album of the year in 2023) and blossoms on Ego Death, an engaging nine-part suite for cello and electronics.  At the core of the project is a question once relegated to the realm of sci-fi, but which now seems increasingly possible: what happens when human intelligence is transferred to the electronic realm?  Various television shows, from Pantheon to Upload, have speculated about the possibilities, while the film Lucy now seems surprisingly prescient.  The album honors each of these by wondering about Ego Death and whether it would benefit or hinder the individual.  Cleverly, the interplay between organic and electronic instrumentation reenacts the plot and the possibilities, and no spoiler alert is needed to tell prospective listeners that the integration is seamless: bold and experimental, while highlighting the positive aspects of science.

Is something lost, or is something gained?  Each track is titled “Egress,” eight chapters in nine parts, itself a metaphor as the distinctions between tracks are erased.  At first there is only light shuffling, a preparation for the upload or merger, each partner considering the other, imagining the give and take.  Neither partner is dominant, nor does either seek to seize control.  Crackles rise like lightning or firing synapses; the drama swirls.  “Egress I. (Pt. 1) is more prelude than overture, but already the potential is on display; toward the end, Resina’s voice enters carefully and calmly, unafraid to lose its identity.  In contrast, “Pt. 2” enters in a flurry of electronic percussion and savage strings, violence seeking connection, edges struggling to integrate, which it finally does in a soft drone.

Now that the two – organic and electronic – are intertwined, they are ready to explore.  The first sub-question, regarding physical integration, has been addressed.  The second involves emotion. Does integration with the machine sublimate feeling?  Rec’s strings continue to convey yearning and determination, while the electronic framework enhances, rather than counters, the depth of the drama.  Whenever the beats recede, the meld seems more like a bond.  There’s no disguising the sadness embedded in “Egress III,” but the trick is that the emotion shifts from the cello to the static, agitated and forlorn.  A single voice has become a duet, two languages now one.  Tension rises like a siren, then breaks: a final line, an echo, a loop.

Now to the third and final sub-question, the one most difficult to answer: that of the spirit.  If the consciousness is uploaded, does the soul accompany it, or does it die with the body (or go on to an eternal punishment or reward)?  An adjacent conversation: can artificial intelligence possess such a soul?  Aho Ssan & Resina cannot possibly answer such questions, but their definition of music as spiritual leads one to believe that their answer to all of these questions may be yes; either a soul may be split or a new soul created.  When Resina’s voice returns in “Egress V,” it seems robotic, until it is joined by another: the same voice, but different.  When organ joins the first voice, the religious association is cemented.  In the next movement, birds enter the layered choir, but as “Egress VI” unfolds, one wonders if the birdsong has been processed and uploaded as well.

When the beats return in full force on “Egress VII,” one remembers “Pt. 2,” but now the tension is dissolved in synthesis.  Each voice retains its distinct identity, leading to a tentative answer: even if something has been lost in ego death, more has been gained: a new clarity and an alternate shot at the eternal.  (Richard Allen)