Following the sensory adventure of Tancade, in which Gaspar Claus led his listeners to a secret beach, somewhere between friends’ parties and summer sun, a new territory opens up. With Cells, he offers an even more expansive journey: an inner journey as much as a cosmic shift, a plunge to the point of origin, where life is invented. True to his sole instrument, the cello, Gaspar multiplies its sound to the point of abstraction. This new work seeks to reach the primordial moment of the first cell division: a tiny, infinite moment when everything was still possible. On stage, he has built a shelter, a refuge-cell, a porous space where the visible and the invisible respond to one another. Lights, electronic breath, uncertain presences—everything conspires to confront the audience with its own dizzying presence in the world. On the album, this architecture unfolds across ten “musical cells.” Each piece observes the same phenomenon: the cello allows itself to be absorbed, dissolved, stretched, or replicated by the machines. Sometimes preserved, often transformed, the instrument becomes living matter, an unstable organism, capable of emitting both electronic landscapes and archaic beats. A rich, luminous album, imbued with an almost healing energy, Cells might seem more electronic than Tancade. Yet every sound that makes it up comes from the cello— transformed, filtered, and reworked through a series of successive transformations. This is music that doesn’t merely describe life: it re-enacts it, cell by cell.
