REVIEW OF SIFIR’S NEW ALBUM ON ROCKERILLA AND BLOW UP MAGAZINE (JUNE 2024)
—
**SIFIR – IF I WERE HAPPY – RIZOSFERA-NUKFM 020 (2024)**
‘IF I WERE HAPPY,’ the latest work by composer, philosopher, and visual artist Zafer Aracagök, aka SIFIR (zero in Turkish), emerges as a precious box containing a USB card with 6 tracks, a series of artistic postcards, and two accordion booklets with presentation and lyrics. This work is characterized by a surrealist approach capable of narrating through emblems and symbolic references expressed through the lens of a labyrinthine and volcanic talent, dedicated to strong emotions and abrupt methods. His works are highly invasive shock therapies, fueled by industrial solutions, cold wave, ambient noise, and more, serving as cathartic stimuli FOR THE REDEMPTION OF A DENIED HAPPINESS (Rockerilla / Aldo Chimenti, June 2024).
Since 2000, philosopher Zafer Aracagök has been publishing his musical works under the name SIFIR, which means zero in Turkish; ‘IF I WERE HAPPY’ is released in an elegant and unusual package with a USB card containing six tracks and seven double-sided postcards (for 14 paintings) that reproduce his collage technique artworks, influenced by Francis Bacon. Aracagök’s sound research inevitably extends into the literary realm as well. In the deconstructed title track, amidst falling debris and a layered magma in an almost Laibachian atmosphere, a recitation by Lori from Beckett’s ‘The Unnamable’ stands out. In the subtly alienated ‘Exhausted,’ lyrics from compatriot Sevim Burak’s ‘Everest My Lord’ find their place. Excerpts from Farid ad-Din Attar’s ancient poem ‘The Conference of the Birds’ are recurrent in ‘Organs Of Virility,’ with a powerful EBM base that settles into a vibrant synthetic wall reminiscent of Suicide, featuring vocalizations and spoken word, martial percussion, noise cascades, and brutal mechanical rhythms. ‘The Whip’ is powerful, albeit with melodic singing. The chilling tones of ‘Sono morti’ feature a loop that incessantly repeats the title over a vaguely tragic backdrop, where Maurizio Crotti Fornaciari, sometimes overwhelmed by noise, recites Artaud. [7.6] (Blow Up, Paolo Bertoni, June 2024)
—
