Worsa - Omoioi - 01 Ato 01

Worsas’s music is distorted, crooked, heavy, and crass. It seems an entangled mess of rough outlines by afar, but is strikingly complex from up close, just like Brasília’s indigenous trees (part of the savanna-like cerrado biome). 

In such a dual scenery, what may sound, at first as a myriad of technical mishaps to ill-advised listeners, is, in fact, the foundation of an unusual experiment on tuning and timbre: electric guitars assembled with bass strings, bass guitars assembled with guitar strings and oddly pitched drums playing altogether, yet meaning to sound disjointed. Their cunning peculiarity is also rooted on dissonance, compound rhythms (that usually come and go), schizophrenic harmonies and ever-changing tempos. 

Therefore, this constant mutation seems to be one of the most important guidelines on Worsa’s work: no color, texture or shape remains unshaken. Every musical note dies and revives in a struggle so remarkable it can only be matched by the resilient (and aforementioned) vegetation that sprouts from Brasília’s soil. Everything, of course, apart from one tiny factor: the endless atmosphere of flagrant surreality