Samo Kutin (SI)

Samo Kutin: basovska harfa, lira, hurdy gurdy z akustičnimi resonatorji Koncert ob izidu plošče PROSTOR XI • SAMO KUTIN • HARFE, posnete v jami, vrtači in ob kalu v zaledju kraškega roba. Na tistih krajih, ki so še uspeli obdržati del divjosti, je nekaj, kar me privlači in hkrati po malem straši. Kar je sprva zaznati kot tišino, se kmalu izkaže za mozaik pokljanj, malih komaj slišnih krikov in bolj predirnih oglašanj, ki ponavadi pridejo s frfotanjem. V tej tišini je dovolj prostora za vse; tiste ki se skrivajo in tiste, ki napadajo, za iščoče snubce in valeče samice, za tiste z velikimi okroglimi očmi, ki zrejo tik nad gladino in za hrzajoče sence, ki stopajo v najkrajše noči v letu. Mogoče ni prav, da tej lebdeči preprogi zvokov pravim tišina, a zdi se primerno, ko v svojem stalnem dihanju nadaljuje z neopaženim čaranjem poganjajoč sebe in vsa dihanja, ki radovoljno sledijo. Sprašujem se, če sem tu tujec - s svojimi harfami, okvirji z napetimi žicami, lesenimi telesi in opnami - pa si kmalu priznam, da sem tu tujec le toliko, kot to sam hočem. Na meni je, če svojo nit vtkem v to kričečo preprogo. Ne vabi in ne izključuje, prav tako kot vse druge me sprejema, ker sem pripravljen tkati. (Samo Kutin, spremni tekst na albumu PROSTOR XI) Angleški prevod: There is something that attracts me and at the same time scares me a little about places that have managed to retain some of their wildness. What is at first perceived as silence soon proves to be a patchwork of craclings, small, barely audible shrieks along with the more piercing cries usually accompanying a flutter. In this silence there is sufficient room for all of them, those who hide and those who strike, for the questing suitors and the frolicking females, for those with big round eyes peering out just above the surface, and for the shuddering shadows entering the shortest nights of the year. It is perhaps inaccurate to label this floating carpet of sound as silence, but it seems to grasp the persisting breath that keeps intact an undetected spell, propelling itself and all the breaths that wilfully follow. I wonder if I am a stranger here, with my harps, frames with strung wires, wooden bodies and membranes, but I soon acknowledge that I am only a stranger here insofar I want to be one. It is up to me to work my thread into this screaming carpet. It does not invite or exclude, it accepts me just like all the others, because I am ready to do my weaving. (Samo Kutin, accompanying text of the album SPACES XI. Translated by Gregor Zamuda.)