Since 2011, WATT has been exploring the fascinating maze of moving by standing still, playing more than fifty dates all through Europe and releasing two albums. The self titled and autoproduced debut was a collector vinyl, while the second, 77'06, released in 2015 on Becoq records. Long, tenuous and arcane, WATT's sonic net closes in on you as soon as you listen more closely, through tiny variations, through hypnosis, following the breath from beginning to end. They create a drone that densifies, thickens, dilates, drips and dilutes itself without once letting go of the listener's mental space. Four men sounding like one, using the clarinet as a real waves transmitter. Yet this unity is at the surface only. Everything happens underneath...
Fr / En
Julien Pontvianne clarinet
Antonin-Tri Hoang clarinets
Jean-Brice Godet clarinets
Jean Dousteyssier clarinet
On the waste, beneath the sky, distinguished by Watt as being, the one above, the other beneath, Watt. That before him, behind him, on all sides of him, there was something else, neither sky nor waste, was not felt by Watt. And it was always their long dark flowing away together towards the mirage of union that lay before him, whichever way he turned. The sky was of a dark colour, from which it may be inferred that the usual luminaries were absent. They were. The waste also, needless to say, was of a dark colour. Indeed the sky and the waste were of the same dark colour, which is hardly to be wondered at. Watt also was very naturally of the same dark colour. This dark colour was so dark that the colour could not be identified with certainly. Sometimes it seemed a dark absence of colour, a dark mixture of all colours, a dark white. But Watt did not like the words dark white, so he continued to call his darkness a dark colour plain and simple, which strictly speaking it was not, seeing that the colour was so dark as to defy identification as such.
The source of the feeble light diffused over scene is unknown.
Further peculiarities of this soul-landscape were:
The temperature was warm.
Beneath Watt the waste rose and fell.
All was silent.
Above Watt the sky fell and rose.
Watt was rooted to the spot.
Samuel Beckett, Watt, 1942