Motorised Cosmicism.
A chat with Marie Delprat.
I have a distinct memory of hearing her music for the first time. Having a cigarette by the window sill, gazing at the vastness of the mountains from my previous visit in Switzerland last December.
To define what I was hearing; a distant, mystifying electronic accompaniment tempered by sweet, harmonic processed vocals that seem on the verge of breaking. Music delivered with something aggressive and visceral to the ears that touched me at an emotional depth I was unaware of. Although I was enchanted, it was the way in which Marie Delprat travels with sound that made it into something so unlike anything I had ever heard before. A juxtaposition between abstract synthesis and lattice-like organic textures. The flawlessness of digital mechanisms versus the humanity of analogue imperfection. The illusion of speed against the physical state of heightened stasis.
In the best sense of the word, Marie Delprat defies categorisation, as assigning her work in the ambient or techno domains would be futile. Rather, it is an approach to creativity that is equally cautious and optimistic, yet fueled by the same tensions between the woozily romantic and the subtly expressive, abutting sonorities derived from melancholic lullabies and a tapestry of slowly changing textures to parallel with existential thoughts. A flawless emulation of feelings, suffocation and isolation, taking illness and nausea and turning them into something transcendent and continuous, is when you will realise why the record before you is a cathartic visit, in the sense that it is a challenging descent into a decidedly human version of the unknown.
When disparities in uncertainty arise, when nothing else counts and you barely know yourself; what fills your mind, characterises your being, and propels you forward? To quench the thirst for what is to come in a constellation that we cannot see further than our own eyes? For a state of mind left in wonder that has become your own source of tranquillity when referencing what might be the foundation of your existence, is where Marie Delprat’s latest release has originated from. A French musician and composer residing in Basel, she creates hybrid projects influenced by several musical cultures such as ancient, contemporary, and experimental music.
What does it mean to be a female performer in a post-humanistic world, why does this personal quest need an artistic production, and why does this matter?
Such questions are interpreted and serve as the foundation for Ethereal Realms - all fiction is metaphor, a multi-modal electronic music performance inspired by Ursula K. Le Guin’s 1969 science fiction novel The Left Hand of Darkness. Although the story’s plot was seen as taking place in an alternate science fiction world far in the future, her imaginary settings have inspired feminist science fiction, feminist social movements, and humanist philosophical thinking for many years.
As Marie Delprat rotates between narrator and character, between objective and subjective vision, Ethereal Realms – all fiction is metaphor is not a mere re-telling of The Left Hand of Darkness, but rather a dynamic fusion of commentary and live music performance. Marie Delprat welcomes you inside her own science fiction world to denounce her idea of what it means to be human in our artistic age and her self-portrait of being in an introspective experience that encourages reflection on the fluid nature of identity and human connection.
Photo by Erwin Fonseca.
In your own words, who is Marie Delprat?
A complicated person who appears as light and amusing but is actually a bit of a tortured soul with multiple facets to their personality.
How do you apply this perspective of identity to your work knowing that you release it under your own under your personal name? How do you discern yourself from Marie Delprat the artist and Marie Delprat, the individual?
I actually do not make any dissociation between my personal self and artistic persona. I suppose this can be risky at times. But I think that for myself, I am a sincere person, thus cannot tell or make myself believe that I am a different person on stage. Evidently, there is a facet of my personality who is a performer, but the limit is so close and tied to each other that I cannot really distinguish the two. For me, that is what makes this standpoint interesting to reflect upon.
Is that something that you maintained from the genesis of your artistic endeavours?
Indeed. I never felt the need to create a pseudo. Perhaps for other artists, it is a way to protect their vulnerable core, to differentiate this identity from performance and personality.
So this transparency in identity allows you to showcase every facet of your personality on stage, perhaps some more hidden than others, as opposed to creating an alter ego that is non reflective of your fundamental personality?
Exactly. It’s also the way that I relate to music, in the sense that I like to feel a connection to artists first from their personality, then their work. If you can feel a sort of vulnerability or fragility of the artist, I feel a stronger attraction to their creative output.
As an artist, what are your core values and/or ideas towards your creative approach?
It’s to create a communal, somewhat interactive and sharing experience with the audience. It’s to transmit emotions that are after all universal feelings. Feelings that everyone is prone to feel. Whether it is being in front of an audience, or a spectator in front of the artist, I want to be able to create a moment that although you are surrounded by people, you are also self reflecting within yourself. I try to make my music as vast and open to interpretation as possible, in the sense that everyone should feel welcome and find a piece of themselves within it.
Relating to my earlier question of denouncing your own personality by using your personal name to be synonymous with your performer’s persona… I noticed that you use female pronouns, she/her, whether it being your signature in emails or presence on social media. To what extent is it important for you to make the listener aware that the music they are listening to has been composed by a woman?
To be honest, it's more of a pride thing and principle of respect. On one hand, I am proud to be a woman and to contribute to the representation of being a minority in a male dominated industry. Additionally, it is the idea that I make music that is equally very masculine and feminine, but that is composed by a self identified woman. On the other hand, I find that it should be normalised, as it is a manner of identification of the individual, and thus should be made out of respect for the other person's defined identity.
But since you make music that is open to interpretation, that blurs the lines between different genres, is your creative voice at risk by implementing such labels to your music prior to listening to it? Could it restrict the message of no boundaries within your music?
That’s a good point. But I think that since I am trying to express myself on stage, which includes being a woman, the point is that even as a cis gender white male (to name an example), you should be able to find a piece of me within yourself. It’s the idea of osmosing into each other that I find powerful, to the point that at the end of the performance, you should be able to dare to ask yourself such questions, without creating an existential crisis of course. In any case, everything that I do, or that you see from others, to some degree should not be taken too seriously. I am just here to draw attention to a few ideas for you to grasp upon.
Do you find yourself at times restricted in not being able to communicate things efficiently by limiting yourself to certain labels? Things that you cannot express properly to the listener?
What I am going to say is very paradoxal. I actually despise categories, at least related to music. I think that this relates to the classical music training I received as a background, which was very dogmatic. I find it frustrating that although I am continuously finding my creative voice, I need to find terms to label it, so that people who do not know me can identify and relate to it to some extent. I mean, you have to have some definition in order to get booked and such. Regardless, the point where I am at today (creatively speaking), is much more freeing than my prior years of classical training background. It is thanks to electronic music that I managed to somewhat liberate myself from this premise. It’s really a matter of being as self indulgent as possible and to simultaneously leave the audience to interpret my work as they please.
Photo by Erwin Fonseca.
Since classical and electronic music, whether historically or contemporary speaking, is quite male championed, why do you find, as a woman, that the aforementioned couple of genres are best to interpret your creative voice and transmit your message across the audience?
I think it’s due to it being a style of music that is really unlimited and unrestricted from boundaries. It was in my early teens that I found this love for it, sneaking out to go to clubs and discovering this immense palette of sound. It’s super flexible for any means of expression. It was really instinctive. Electronic sounds really speak to me. I really have a fascination for the whole process of listening to electronic music in a club context, the way that sounds travels, the vibration of subbasses… besides club music, I found my attraction to this style of music after seeing a dance performance by the choreographer Olivier Dubois with the musician François Caffenne. Although it was very minimal techno, the music was accompanied by a performance of the audience being surrounded by around twenty nude performers in a very mediaeval setting. I think that witnessing this combination of extremes, past and new, is really what gave me the revelation of what was possible for my own creative voice. In my case, to appropriate baroque and electronic music.
Although this happened more than a decade ago, this shock in the discovery of merging old and new, artistically and historically speaking, really was a revelation for me. The thing is.. I find that when you learn a traditional instrument, such as the violin, you are a sort of slave to it. Its technician. Whereas electronic music, you appropriate it to yourself and your needs. There’s no bending yourself over to make it sound good, such as arm positioning and fingering. On the contrary, you are in control of it. Well to some extent anyways. Happy mistakes in electronic music can be very prevalent but again, don’t usually lead to frustration, but rather unsought avenues for exploration.
For myself, there’s definitely a complimentary subsconscious between techno and older music, whether it being its tribalistic rhythms or extended drones. These are techniques, after all, that have been used for centuries. I guess for your case, is it fair to say you are just reappropriating them to what you’ve learnt and thus adapting them with a contemporary twist. Since you mentioned the tendency of producing electronic music to lead to avenues of exploration…. Do you keep a balance between what you learned from teachers, tutorials and other producers with what you discovered, understood, and achieved yourself? Or perhaps do you rather attempt to uneducate yourself to find your true creative voice, untainted by past influences?
I think it would be a bit of both. I mean, it is very difficult to discredit my background and heritage as I do like many facets of it, although perhaps not so much the educational academia premise. There’s also the factor that in order to break rules, you need to first learn them, right? Therefore it is a balance of both. I’m not someone who is very disciplined in their methodology of creation, but rather work a lot based on instinct. which is probably why it was a tremendous task for me to learn how to play my instruments, because I am totally not rigorous.
A specific example is that since I am based in Basel, there is a couple weeks of break in the summer after the first of August (National Day in Switzerland). I find this period of calmness extremely therapeutic as it is very dead in the city centre, so to speak, and thus I find it extremely inspiring since I am far from any major external influences or stimuli. It becomes very liberating and yet I find myself disciplined to achieve the most that I can (creatively speaking) during those two weeks in order to prevent conflict with other jobs I have throughout the year. Being restricted with time, but having total freedom during this small window of the year, are necessary for me to meet deadlines to release music. It teaches, or rather forces me to let go and move on.
I think with electronic music, exploration and experimentation are essential. It happens a lot that I just record myself improvising and trying out different sound design techniques to find sonic ornaments that I like or feel inspired by. It is only after, when I have deadlines for a new project or a gig for instance, that my music accademia background serves its purpose as it gives me structure and focus into how to construct pieces or performances in order for it to make sense to the listener or audience. They really feed into each other, so it's nice for me that this style of music is enough that I can dive into a somewhat naive fashion whilst having the backbone of relying on my classical training to have a solid foundation afterwards.
Photo by Erwin Fonseca.
Something that I enjoy a lot of your music is that it frolics between atonality and non western scales. Do you have external non musical elements in your daily life that you find inspiring?
Absolutely. I find trains, the metro, basically running machinery at regular intervals very soothing and relaxing. Something that has a rhythmic base but also the hums and high pitch of electricity that translate into drones have left a soft spot in me. Ironically, I find that the most non musical element that really took my breath away was actually from a visual revelation. I am native from the French seaside, so being in Switzerland was an opportunity to see the greatness of the mountains. This experience occurred in April in The Bernese Oberland, so there were little to no tourists. And at that moment, being faced with absolute vastness, a deafening atmosphere that made me realise the insignificance that we all are was supported by a layer of anxiety.. Or perhaps adrenaline, that made me feel more empathetic towards apathy. Having this cathartic realisation really let me dive in with a heavier focus in my creative endeavours, and thus was very inspiring. The idea of being presented in front of such an open space whilst feeling so much from within, translated into an aspect of juxtaposition between reflective solitude intertwined with utter vastness. It truly was a liberating sentiment.
The previous release you did with unvague titled Life is Sick has a basis of approaching darker themes, a macabre soliloquy, inspired by the works of Sylvia Plath. With Ethereal Realms - all fiction is metaphor, it explores the works of Ursula K. Le Guin’s 1969 science fiction novel, The Left Hand of Darkness, with the theme of discovery as a premise. Was there an intentional departure from seperating the respective themes within these two works?
No, not at all, but I did want to do something different. Like I previously mentioned, I am a person who works a lot based on instinct. Life is Sick was a self confrontation after a post covid depression that really affected me. The works of Sylvia Plath that drove the themes of this project are what helped me get out of the doldrums and to find beauty in the macabre. You can find beauty in most things really, which is why Ethereal Realms - all fiction is metaphor is also based not on a similar theme to my previous works, but a similar approach.
It’s not to say that I am once again going through depression, but rather finding or rather daring to approach socially taboo things such as feeling morose. I find that these themes are not something that are encouraged to talk about in society, yet why shouldn't they? These are all feelings that we have experienced at one point, therefore why not discuss them as opposed to feeling ashamed? It’s been commented upon that although I come off as someone who is lively and humorous, the music I make is very dark.
It’s pointless to have this constant trend of positivity and happiness in today’s world, when sorrow, grief and despair are also very real emotions that we all succumb to in our lives. This inner conflict is what drove me to explore matters.. thoughts.. from within, based on external stimuli and opinion. But the idea of discovery that I am so keen in pursuing is what led me to Ethereal Realms - all fiction is metaphor. I didn’t want to repeat myself and therefore wanted to take other risks of exploration to not only evolve as an artist, but also as a person. This once again reflects the idea of using my own name as my artist’s. It’s a joint effort that feeds into each other.
Photo by Erwin Fonseca.
In terms of production, has it changed a lot since your prior releases?
In some aspects, yes. Gear wise, my setup slightly changed. But it is very important that I maintain the philosophy that my equipment should position me as a conductor whereas my synthesisers and instruments, my orchestra. In my previous releases, I had equipment that was suited in recreating what I had produced in a live fashion. It was important for me at the time that while I was composing, that I could not only recreate my productions but be able to perform them live. Now, I tend to go with the flow and then deal with such issues much later on. This is also in part because I did not want to feel so restricted in my ideas during the creative process. That, and the fact that I am now collaborating with people, whether performers or visual artists, that I leave it open enough that other individuals may have the flexibility in implementing their creative voice through it. It’s to maintain a collaborative spirit as opposed to push dogmatism. I make music to showcase the complexity of the human spirit, and hopefully so people may relate to it.
And what was the premise of positioning yourself around The Left Hand of Darkness.
Well I think that the 60s were really a period in time where there was a lot of room for exploration in various creative disciplines. Whether it was the hippy movement or the growth of technology, they all had a direct influence on art and music. Activism during the time seemed to have had a stronger influence in how one can correlate and intertwine art, culture and politics.
Photo by Erwin Fonseca.
Are there specific ways that you have reinterpreted it? Or perhaps, did you foresee any particular challenges in presenting a sonic pallet from literature?
Well it’s important to mention that foremost, it is not a soundtrack per se of the book. The manner in which I composed Ethereal Realms - all fiction is metaphor was by dividing different parts of the books and using the ones that spoke to me the most. From there, I rearranged these parts for it to represent the release before you. It is in no way chronological to the book. Partly because it would be too long but also because what I am doing is not a soundtrack. But as you know, there will be some visual representations for my live performance that will further encapsulate the story telling aspect whilst also retaining originality. A brief example of the performance for instance would feature lines of text reading that will be shown through LED lights.. But I am not trying to visualise or sonically represent literature, but rather create an atmosphere to guide the audience into the setting of what is going on in the book. It just felt very suitable to use this book because although it was written in the 60s, the fictional themes that Le Guin is describing are very relevant to the world we currently live in, or that we will soon be subjugated to, such as glaciers melting, the disappearance of seasons and ambiguity in individuality when it comes to genders, to name a few.
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