One might be forgiven for anticipating that this collaboration between Italy’s ambient techno demiurge Donato Dozzy and Rome-based vocalist Anna Caragnano would be equal parts Dozzy and Caragnano, with his productions coursing beneath garlands of her voice. But Sintetizzatrice thrills in inverting such expectations. Imagine if Andy Stott’s Faith in Strangers drew upon only Alison Skidmore’s voice and you have an idea of what Dozzy and Caragnano are up to here. There’s not a throb, kick or ambient wash to be heard, no hardware to spot. Caragnano’s effervescent and honed voice is the only instrument at work, providing stratospheric highs and low end, with Dozzy deploying an array of strategies and processing to mirror, multiply, and fracture Caragnano’s flexible voice across these nine tracks.
“Introduzione” begins with Caragnano surrounded by multitudes of herself, a solo performer on a subway car soon crammed with chattering commuters jostling for space. While it sets the stage for what will follow, it’s one of Sintetizzatrice’s least interesting moments. But once Caragnano’s utterance “rain” on “Starcloud” begins to sound through the space, soon surrounded with innumerable echoes of herself, we enter two-and-a-half minutes of rarefied space, Caragnano’s every hum and sigh transmogrified into a heavenly body.
Dozzy finds myriad ways to recast Caragnano. “Luci” brings to mind the likes of Grouper, Julia Holter and Julianna Barwick. Dozzy takes the gossamer thread of a single breath at the start of “Fraledune,” loops it until it becomes as expansive as a choir and then once that mass of sound is built, teases an even high sonority out of it. He moves Caragnano to the other end of the register for “Parallelo,” favoring deep resonant tones, as if she is sounding from the bottom of a well. Another small mouth sound is used to approximate a thump on “Parola,” which leads into the traditional Italian folk of “Festa (A Mottola).”
Myself, I prefer Caragnano when she’s less tangible and earthly, more cloudy and ineffable, as she is uttering “love without sound.” About the only complaint to level at Sintetizzatrice is its brevity. The body-erasing moments collected here don't even break the half-hour mark, which is a shame, because the sound of Caragnano’s brief sighs stretched towards infinity is a wonderful sound in which to luxuriate.
