Wrenched hard. We begin with the sound of surfaces and strings pulled taut – hoisted up, stretched out, left hanging in cruel postures and quivering with muscular fatigue. I barely recognise these shapes as instruments. Instead, I see wood panels splintered and snapped; guitar strings spilling like hair; hands and bows
What is Golebiewski hoping to find? A lot of these percussive improvisations evoke images of rummaging, prising open, scrambling – wading into piles of cymbals and frantically upturning bass drums, in a desperate search for an object that Golebiewski needs right now. There’s a violence and urgency to his process.