Arigto - Lungs

A Closer Listen

After a loved one dies, might part of their essence be inscribed in the objects they owned?  When the object is as personal as a beloved accordion, the case grows stronger.  When a member of Arigto happened upon such an instrument, memories came flooding back: not only of the relative playing but breathing, an act performed not only by the artist, but the instrument. When one hears the lungs of this accordion – the only instrument used here – the impression of breath is so strong that we wrote to receive confirmation.  Is this really Arigto (Noah Haußmann and Sebastian Stauß) or a communication from the great beyond? There’s no reason why it cannot be both.

The cover photo is haunting; black-and-white lends itself to such moods, and has been the color palette for most of Arigto’s career.  The impression is similar to that of the poster for the movie “Woman in the Yard” ~ who is this woman, and why is she here?  She seems to perform for an unseen audience, as the horse is uninterested, and the dog is looking at the horse.  Or perhaps she plays only for herself, the instrument an extension of her feelings, “breathed rather than spoken,” a reflection of an era a time in which such feelings were suppressed.  As if to embody or empathize, the music is similarly mysterious and forlorn.

After a light rustle, the music begins: wood and leather, metal and flesh.  A descendant is speaking to an ancestor, an ancestor to a descendant, and through a descendant.  The clicks and murmurs are as important as the bellows.  This is (thankfully) the furthest thing from polka music that one can imagine; instead, it seems like a communication in another language, a dispatch across time. “Mortal Veil” displays a tempo, although it doesn’t hold steady; the tapping is like the clacking of carriage wheels, joined by a release of steam and a snippet of forgotten song.  “Confined Lungs” seems to be panting, reflecting the exertion of playing the accordion, which requires muscle and stamina.  When the sound resurfaces in the following piece, one thinks how easily the set could have been called Steam Engine, albeit with a less personal connection.  The tension increases as multiple layers converge, recalling Arigto’s soundtrack work.

Technically, the bellows are the lungs, expanding and contracting, gathering and expelling air. While performing the same function as human lungs – in a human, the “pipes” a synonym for a voice – it has seldom seemed as human as in the concluding piece.  When the accordion’s pipes are silenced, the deceased relative seems to breathe through the recording, which might be considered either consoling or disconcerting.  Small skin cells, undetectable to the human eye, remain in the instrument, touching those of the newer player: a benign haunting, a light possession.  The past is always with us, and on this album, it has been given the invitation to make its presence known. (Richard Allen)