“sorry if i make love with sound” (ZABRA006), Carincur's debut album and the second full-length release from ZABRA, traverses an intermediate space, a realm between light and shadow, something we can call an atmosphere. Everything is imbued with specters, ruins, fantasies, delusions, and unresolved ideas. A very fragile narrative asserts itself here and there, sometimes through the artist's voice and at other times through collages of external material, offering us the barest hints to access the performer's intimacy. Something is happening concerning reified bodies, doped minds, alienated identities, and the very possibility of humanity. These are, thus, apocalyptic themes, but from someone who does not fear the unease without which a last attempt is not possible.

Some references emerge, such as Grouper or Inga Copeland, and if we want to go further back, Laurie Anderson or Delia Derbyshire. But the fabric of Carincur's music is broader than what we can associate with these influences. Amid the diffuse atmospheres, there is something very tangible, alive, and with a horizon that renews itself with each listening. It is also a record about the possibility of discovering new reasons in the interstices and, finally, starting anew on the fringes of crystallized categories.