Faisant suite, logique, à la récente publication d'un disque de l'ensemble Dedalus, le label Potlatch nous invite à une visite guidée dans l'univers de deux artistes complémentaires. L'un, Klaus Filip, distille une onde sinus insistante (forcément) mais discontinue, l'autre, Dafne Vicente-Sandoval, pousse son basson dans un retranchement minimal (et presque animal, pour évoquer sans autre intention que de forcer le jeu de mots (bien que...), une chanson qui marqua la jeunesse de certains d'entre nous, Animal on est mal). Le jeu suppose ici une concentration extrême de la part de ses interprètes, comme si chaque son prenait garde de ne pas bousculer son voisin et provoque, j'en ai fait l'expérience, un étrange état (torpeur et béatitude) chez son auditeur, avec ces effets (à la limite) du larsen, ces glissements vers le néant et autres accidents plus percussifs qui perturbent heureusement la rigueur annoncée. C'est la bande sonore du film d'un week-end abstrait. Un voyage avec cette œuvre s'impose, pour une expérience singulière, jusqu'à l'effacement.
Dino l Revue & Corrigée l Décembre 2013

En suivant l'historique du label français Potlatch, on remarque de moins en moins de musiciens publiés qui proviennent du jazz. L'esthétique se trouve rafraîchie du coup, mais aussi l'instrumentation. Qui aurait imaginé il y a encore quelques années qu'on pourrait voir un basson dans ce catalogue (bois qu'on trouve très rarement à l'extérieur des orchestres), aux côtés de sinusoïdes qui plus est ? remoto, déjà, c'est cette prouesse instrumentale, cette collaboration inédite entre Klaus Filip aux ondes sinusoïdales et Dafne Vicente-Sandoval au basson.
Le duo propose deux longues pièces, de trente et vingt minutes, la première enregistrée en studio et la seconde dans une église. Les changements d'attitude se remarquent peu, mais la différence de nature entre les deux lieux démarque clairement les pièces. Le changement minime d'attitude (des silences plus marqués en extérieur, des apparitions plus brêves ou plus urgentes) montre tout de suite l'attention particulière portée aux conditions de production de la musique : que ce soit dans un studio insonorisé ou dans une église ouverte à l'environnement sonore extérieur, le jeu musical s'en trouve bien modifié. Ce n'est pas évident de décrire la différence entre les deux pièces, mais à l'écoute, elle se fait vraiment bien ressentir ; et ce n'est pas que ce que l'environnement apporte de plus qui les différencie, c'est aussi l'attitude du duo qui change selon le lieu d'enregistrement - qui joue de manière moins linéaire et d'apparence plus accidentelle sur la pièce enregistrée dans l'église par exemple.
La différence est mince, car ce que propose le duo est très minimal et épuré. De longues sinusoïdes, très longues, qui apparaissent et disparaissent sans que l'on ne s'en rende compte. Klaus Filip produit des sine tones très douces, très calmes, des ondes qui ne bougent pas, qui ne se superposent pas, pures et simples (au sens où il y en a très peu en même temps et qu'elles ne sont jamais modulées) et qui ne font jamais violence à l'environnement sonore : au contraire, elles s'y intégrent et en sortent avec une subtilité déconcertante, à tel point qu'on se demande souvent si elles sont présentes ou non. Quant à Dafne Vicente-Sandoval, si c'est très attirant de la voir créditée au basson sur la pochette, elle pourrait jouer de n'importe quel instrument à vent, je ne suis pas sûr qu'on pourrait faire la différence la plupart du temps. Son jeu est aussi impersonnel et neutre que les sinusoïdes de Klaus Filip : quelques souffles, quelques clés frottées, des registres aigus extrêmes. Ses interventions s'insèrent également avec beaucoup de finesse et de subtilité, on ne sait pas toujours si elle est présente, si on la confond avec Klaus Filip, ou si elle est absente.
Je ne sais pas si le duo a écrit ces pièces ou les a improvisées ; intuitivement j'ai plutôt l'impression que c'est improvisé car c'est difficile de percevoir une structure. La forme est excessivement floue car le contenu est très linéaire et minimal. Des apparitions fantomatiques, des notes tenues qui ressemblent plus à des ombres qu'autre chose. Klaus Filip & Dafne Vicente-Sandoval proposent une musique aussi neutre que discrète et subtile, un musique d'une douceur telle qu'elle ne fait pas violence à l'environnement, et peut s'intégrer à n'importe quelle situation. Une simplicité précise, extrêmement talentueuse et virtuose, réduite à la beauté la plus primaire : de la pure musique minimaliste en accord total et poétique avec l'environnement.
Julien Héraud l Improv Sphere l Novembre 2013

Son goût pour le duo (Malfatti, Nakamura, Veliotis, et Blechmannen Taus), poussait récemment Klaus Filip jusqu’en bord de cuvette – le basson est celui de Dafne Vicente-Sandoval.
Lorsqu’ils ne font pas acte de Remoto (soit : s’éloignent l’un de l’autre et aussi de l’auditeur) pour, en silence, reprendre leurs esprits, les musiciens l’imaginent tout autre, dessinant des parallèles dont la proximité fait naître des sonorités surprenantes. Au jeu des fréquences, larsens et graves opposés (Clair et Obscur dont se chargent à tour de rôle ondes sinus et basson), brise et haleine croisées, révèlent un paysage d’où la musique émane, insaisissable et prégnante : les bruissements y sont rivaux quand les drones refusent l’amalgame.
Serait-ce en présence de que Filip brillerait particulièrement ?  Revoir – refaire, voire –  l’espace à coups d’ondes portées qu’un instrument plus conventionnel modifiera à force de mesure concurrente ? Alors, Remoto serait un très bel exemple de ce que la méthode peut « donner ».
Guillaume Belhomme l Le son du grisli l Octobre 2013

From the initial breathy flutters and wafts of pure sine tones, it is clear that this duo of Dafne Vincente-Sandoval on bassoon and Klaus Filip utilizing computer-generated sine waves are on to something. Remoto pairs two pieces, obscur, recorded with the usual crystalline detail and presence by Christoph Amann at Amann Studios, and clair, recorded live at a church in Nickelsdorf. Both utilize the barest of sounds shaded with micro-detailed gradations for maximum effect. Vincente-Sandoval has a background in contemporary composed music, having performed solo works by Richard Barrett and Jakob Ullmann as well as participating in groups like Ensemble Modern. She is also an active improviser, working with musicians like Ferran Fagés and Bonnie Jones. Utilizing tactically placed, small microphones, the bassoonist is able to capture and manipulate the subtlest of nuances, from breath across double reed, to the sound of metal keys against the wood of the instrument to biting high-pitched skirl. This has become standard stuff for saxophone players, but Vincente-Sandoval brings a highly personal sense of timbre and color to bear, assiduously balancing her playing with her partner’s sonic fields. Filip responds in kind, working with overlapped layers of elemental, pure sine tones ardently tuned to the qualities of Vincente-Sandoval’s playing, moving with measured pace from gauzy transparencies to rumbling, low end frequencies.
On the studio piece, the sound fully inhabits the listening plane, building to palpable rumbles and receding to subtle skeins and detailed creaks. But even at the quietest moments, there is an ineffable presence to their playing. What also comes through is a clear sense of poise and form. The live piece, while still utilizing close-recording, introduces a room presence to the mix and the two seem to push things a bit more to fill the space. Filip chooses more cutting tones for the sine waves, and Vincente-Sandoval introduces shadings of feedback, harder edged textures, and clattered, gestural actions. Even so, the piece is framed by an unhurried pacing and vivid intentionality to the placement of sounds against each other. This is all about listening and the acoustics of the church become another element to be balanced and woven in. Potlach has been putting out some of the most consistently challenging and rewarding releases for a while now and this one is no exception.
Michael Rosenstein l Point of Departure l March 2014

Few improvisors work with as restrained a palette as Klaus Filip, and even fewer produce music as subtly varied form from such minimal tools. Having settled with just pure, computer generated sinetones a good few years back, he has refined his art to the point that he has become one of the finest practitioners of quiet improv around. The bassoonist Vicente-Sandoval emerges here as a perfect match.
The two tracks, one from the studio and another captured in a church full of sounds of its own, see her produce a variety of contributions rarely associated with her unusual choice of instrument. Breathy whispers, high pitched squeals ans the most miniscule of tapping and scratching sounds find themselves sometimes wrapped in the warm cocoon of Filip’s tones, sometimes left to stand amone. remoto takes a huge amount of concentration to get the most out of it. The studio take in particular demands serious listener focus as the negative spaces between sounds sit devoid of background texture, but close attention brings considerable reward as the subtle, often decidedly oblique conversation between these two is a joy to behold.
Richard Pinnell l The Wire l December 2013

At first glance, the duo of Klaus Filip and Dafne Vicente-Sandoval seems to have all the ingredients of an archetypal electro-acoustic improvisation encounter. Filip certainly has the bases covered on the electro side, with an impressive track record as a pioneer, including his development of the influential open-source software lloopp and its successor ppooll. Here, though, he is credited with only using sine waves. In contrast, being a classically-trained bassoonist places Vicente-Sandoval firmly in the acoustic camp, despite her frequent ventures into contemporary music and improvisation. The pair first performed together in 2012. remoto consists of two contrasting tracks, the thirty-five minute studio-recorded obscur from April 2013 plus the twenty-two minute clair, recorded in Nickelsdorf church, Austria, in August 2013.
On paper, the combination of bassoon with sine waves probably conjures up a mental image of the resulting soundscape. Whatever that may be, it is very unlikely to closely resemble the one actually produced here by Filip and Vicente-Sandoval. That is mainly because the distinctive full, fruity tone of the bassoon is absent, with Vicente-Sandoval adopting a minimalist, deconstructed approach to her instrument that includes long periods of silence punctuated by percussive tappings or scrapings on various parts of it and blown (especially breathily under-blown or overblown) notes across its full range of possibilities. Filip is just as assiduous in avoiding stereotypical uses of the sine waves, never resorting to employing them as steady-state drone accompaniment or filling, instead exploring a range of durations and frequencies, including lower frequencies which provide some dramatic highlights.
The end result is that the sounds produced by Filip and Vicente-Sandoval inhabit territory which emphasises the similarities between them rather than the contrasts. When both of them use low frequencies together some thirteen minutes into obscur, the chemistry between them verges on sexual and the effect is enough to make the hairs on one's neck bristle. Each of them is so far away from playing on safe, familiar ground that it is often difficult to determine from which a particular sound originated. As with any good eai collaboration, the secret of its success lies in the interactions between the players and their reactions to one another.
Crucially, this is a pairing of equals, with no senior partner or hierarchy of esteem; neither of them is obviously leading or intended to be heard as the foreground sound. Instead, the ebb and flow between them is constant, as they allow each other sufficient space and time to say what they need to. On the second track, the space in which they played—the church—becomes an equal third member of the grouping, its acoustics and the players' reactions to them helping to shape the music. Altogether, this is a textbook case of eai at its mesmerising best.
John Eyles l All About Jazz l November 2013

What are the expectations minimalist musical artists have for their audience? The live experience aside, what presumptions are set forth for the listening experience of a consumer of a CD? Will the listener's happening be on a bus (via headphones) or in a sterile sound room? And what part will background noise and visual distraction play?
A recording like remoto by Klaus Filip (sinewaves) and bassoonist Dafne Vicente-Sandoval elicits such questions. Their minimalist improvisations presented in two tracks (one in studio and the other a church) invite the listener into the sounds.
Filip is an Austrian innovator of electronics and laptop performance. He has performed and recorded with the likes of Christian Fennesz, Eddie Prevost, John Tilbury, Axel Dörner, and Jean-Luc Guionnet. Here he limits his presentation to sinewaves unfurling long tones throughout. His sonic painting lays down a background of atmosphere that is both meditative and somewhat tactile.
The notes Dafne Vicente-Sandoval's bassoon emits are not typical of a double reed woodwind. Rather they are tapping its body, breathy exhalations, and microtonal emissions. Her multi-phonic approach, like that of many minimalist improvisers, is to reinvent the instrument. She places microphones at various points along her horn (perhaps similar to Colin Stetson) to capture the barely perceptible sound.
Both tracks invite listeners to meditate on the occurrence of recorded sound and also each listener's environment. The farther we travel into the performing and listening experience, the closer we come to realizing John Cage's sound theories.
Mark Corroto l All About Jazz l November 2013

Not nearly enough bassoons in these here parts...though anyone pining for those deep, reedy tones will have to search elsewhere.
Two pieces, one (Obscur) recorded in Christoph Amann's studio, the other (Clair) in a Nickelsdorf church. Filip is on sine tones here, not his customary lloopp, using them for relatively long notes, though never really settling into drone territory. Instead, I have the image of thin layers of cloth, multiply-hued within a narrow range, wafting and falling, layer after layer. Vicente-Sandoval skitters between, piercing a swatch of fabric here, caressing it, subtly staining it there. Her attack is entirely outside of standard bassooning, sometimes high-pitched, often tapping the body or the bocal (a newly learned word!--the metal tube between the double reed and the bassoon proper). Part of me really wanted to hear at least a few traditional notes from the woodwind, thinking they may well have blent deliciously with the sines but it was not to be and, in a sense, I credit Vicente-Sandoval with sticking to her guns, so to speak, and doing a great deal with less. I find it difficult to otherwise describe the work. In general form, it's akin to previous music I've heard from Filip (I believe I've only encountered Vicente-Sandoval as part of Bruno Duplant's Presque Rien prior to this) in that there's a supple, taut but elastic flow, quiet but firm, a feeling of tonality that accepts perturbations. Even when he descends to speaker-threatening depth, there's a serenity in place, a surety of purpose. Given the nature of the sounds they tend to produce, it's difficult to avoid hearing the sines as being foregrounded though I found that, making a conscious effort not to do so (perhaps more my issue than other listeners') resulted in a fuller, very rewarding experience.
On the second track, the duo is joined quite clearly by the environs in and around the church in which they're recording. The music Flip and Vicente-Sandoval produce is more urgent and pinched at the beginning, sharp slices that become embedded in the ambiance, shrill enough that they (in my imagination) cause the abrupt falling-to-the-floor of some heavy object about seven minutes in. The sounds from both musicians are more aggressive, the sines a bit more sour, with subtle harmonics, the bassoon being assaulted with vigor, rapped at noisily and overblown harshly. But still, there's no crowding and things never get steady-state; always there's an allowance made for ebb and flow. It disintegrates beautifully.
Strong work, very challenging to deal with the fluidity and slipperiness of the structure. I like it a lot and, as ever, would love to hear the pair live--I can easily imagine the sonic repercussions.
Brian Olewnick l Just Outside l October 2013