A Scar In The Air is a part of the “Inscapes Series”, namely music “based on the structural and aesthetic capacity of sonic matter”. Six tracks, all connected in a continuous flow, for a total of half a hour which shows the most ear-satisfying traits of this Greek composer’s artistic vision, occupying a well definite place between the (often exaggerate) seriousness of cultivated acousmatics and the kind of vibrations that should be associated with the concept of “space”: not in a celestial acceptation, more as anything associable to the notion of “propagation of sound in an environment”. Under this meaning, Chrysakis offers numerous moments of profound integrity and gratification, leaving the sounds activate our psyche in a state of self-determination despite the evident care behind the compositional effort.
The sources are not indicated, but there are several of them that are clearly intelligible and, although regularly exploited in this ambit, used in such a discreetly clever manner that those colours look just perfect for the segment in which they’re appearing. Coming to terms with the perception of interiority is a perennial struggle which sees human ignorance constantly defeated – here’s the reason of the flourishing of “extreme anxiety groups” sticking definitions to something that exists only in their mind's eye. Yet it’s doubtless that music like this - offering different departure points for the observation of phenomena whose resonance, both outside and inside, is impressively effective – might constitute a good start for inquisitive thinking.
One can decide: appreciating the pure magnificence of an obscure reverberation, recognizing the typicality of chatting people, being displaced in amorphousness when a voice is fused with a marimba which reproduces its same elocution patterns, or just accepting the whole as a mixed-energy macrocosm. What remains is the impression of an unexplainable deeper implication that’s better left undefined, unless you want to join the extended queue of those who sing “progress” to themselves while standing at the centre of a depressing miniature universe, their imaginary advancement a mere shadow elongated by the sun of someone else’s ideas (which in turn had been pick-pocketed elsewhere).