BORSHCH

Mariana Berezovska: How did it feel to present Lux Aeterna on such a big scale, touring with across Europe and presenting the album at festivals such as Berlin Atonal?

Corin Ileto: I’m based in Australia, and while we have a vibrant music scene and many talented artists, opportunities are somewhat limited compared to Europe. So, having my second release on Lee Gamble’s UIQ (following Enantiodromia, 2021) and being represented on a global platform is great. Much of the album was completed between lockdowns, from 2020 to the end of 2021, mainly in my home studio. I had a chance to present the first version of this audio-visual performance at Soft Centre Festival in Sydney, and it felt special to share it with the local community. But taking it further to many European stages, especially on such a scale as Berlin Atonal, was wild and unexpected. I especially enjoyed being able to present the show in really , which is a former powerplant, and L.E.V. Matadero, which took place in an old slaughterhouse complex in Madrid. It’s interesting to hear the work with the acoustics of these spaces, especially knowing the history of that architecture. A memorable moment was Uncloud Festival in Utrecht. My performance was in the gymnasium of Pieter Baan Centre–a former forensic psychiatric observation clinic. It was a great set but right at the end during a really heightened moment the stand holding my keyboard collapsed and I had to end the performance there. I remember leaving the venue thinking about what spirits and presences might still haunt the venue.

MB: In Australia, your work is focused on commissioned projects and collaborations with other artists on performances and exhibitions, rather than touring or performing live, right? 

CI: In Australia, there are many incredible artists and a supportive arts community. However, there is a lack of experimental music festivals like you would find in Europe. So I have fewer chances to showcase my solo work. Instead, over the past few years I’ve focused more on my work in composition and sound design, collaborating with performance artists, dancers, and video artists. One of my main collaborators is Justin Shoulder, an artist with a Filipino background like me. We’ve worked on a couple of theatre works and art installations together, and he also worked on the costume design for the Lux Aeterna video. Justin creates these fantastic inflatable biomorphic sculptures that transform into costumes, adapting to various spaces. Together, we’ve been able to showcase our work both in Australia and Europe.

I enjoy working with non-musicians, especially visual and performance artists, and translating their ideas into sonic forms. Working with artists from different disciplines gives me a deep dive into their world and processes, offering a different perspective on how to approach my own work. Whilst working with these artists, I’ve developed my own language, and many of my albums are influenced by those collaborations. Take Lux Aeterna, for instance. While working on the album, I was simultaneously composing pieces for ‘Sky Blue Mythic’ a performance work by contemporary dancer Angela Goh, another one of my main collaborators. Her focus was on exploring the concept of sentience in dance, delving into the idea that dance has its own autonomy. I wanted to translate this idea into a musical form, using sound in a multichannel format to convey the illusion of the sound swimming in space. Much of the material I created for her work found its way into the album. I continued these experiments more recently in another collaboration with her called Axe Arc Echo’, presented in the ‘tank’ at the Art Gallery of NSW in Sydney, an large-scale decommissioned underground concrete oil tank. For her performance, I created a composition in quadraphonic sound, experimenting with the illusion of the architecture ‘humming’ and ‘breathing’. Hopefully we get to present the work in other similar spaces.

MB: For the video Lux Aeterna, which premiered through FACT magazine, you collaborated with the multimedia artist Tristan Jalleh, resulting in the creation of an avatar that represents a mythological sci-fi version of yourself in a hyperreal world. What served as the inspiration behind the development of this avatar and environment?

CI: The concept of the avatar emerged during the 2020 lockdown when I started thinking of creating a performance VFX video. During that time, I was watching many online Avatar performances and virtual spaces, and observing how my artist friends in Asia, like Meuko Meuko and NAXS Corp in Taiwan, and Matryoshka Club in Manila, Philippines, were exploring virtual club experiences. This period gave me the idea to conceptualise a performance VFX video. I’ve always been hesitant to appear in my own music videos, preferring a bit of distance. Creating a character avatar in collaboration with Tristan Jalleh allowed me to insert myself into the narrative in a different form, presenting just one facet of my persona that I wanted to reveal.

I drew inspiration from Mary Immaculate iconography for the avatar figure. It’s such an iconic representation! I wanted to give it a twist and portray Mary Immaculate as the mother of technology, blending traditional religious imagery with a tech aesthetic. I envisioned her hovering above a large globe with sentinel snakes around her, sort of like a celestial android being. There are also some references to Philippine mythology—Marian apparitions and sea goddesses reflected in the shell patterns of the costume. That was one aspect of the music video.

The other aspect was the creation of the hybrid virtual instrument. I’ve always been fascinated by ancient instruments, and I came across the hydraulis, an early type of pipe organ powered by water. Tristan created a 3D model based on shell fractals for the virtual part. Since I’m a keyboard player, I thought it’d be interesting to use actual piano keys, so I visited a piano recycling centre—a treasure trove of abandoned pianos that were being repurposed into furniture, where I found a box of piano keys to use as the basis for the keyboard in the video. The video came together beautifully with the help of a talented team working on the costumes (Justin Shoulder, Willow Darling, Anthony Aitch, and Mat Hornby). I am proud of our collaborative effort.

MB: I read that while working on the album and the visual part you were experimenting with the idea of futurism, and referencing a choral piece by 20th-century composer György Ligeti’s that is featured in 2001: A Space Odyssey [1968, by Stanley Kubrick]. How do you approach the concept of futurism in music, given that nowadays every day feels like the future arrived yesterday?

CI: There’s an ongoing conversation about futurism and sound. I see it as a dialogue. I am interested in this idea of “future folklore,” a term coined by a collective called Club Ate that was founded by queer artists from the Filipino diaspora—Justin Shoulder is one of them. They’ve produced several video works exploring the concept of future folklore by drawing from Philippine mythologies, transforming them to create new meanings, and retelling traditional narratives. I’m intrigued by this idea, living in the internet age when things are continually being recycled. Even our concept of time is so Western-centric while other cultures have ideas that diverge from linear temporality. So, I’m interested in playing around with this idea.

MB: Recently you’ve been drawing influence from Philippine musical traditions. Is that something you’re looking to explore more?

CI: Absolutely. I grew up in Australia, but I’ve always been interested in returning to the Philippines, connecting with my heritage, and understanding more about the diverse music traditions there. There are a lot of amazing contemporary musicians from there, too. I’ve also been learning about the music traditions connected to my mom’s side of the family from the part of the Philippines called Batangas. It’s a very rich area in terms of pre-Hispanic history. I’m particularly interested in the subli—an ancient ritualistic song and dance used to calm the volcano that sits in the main lake. On the surface, it has this kind of Catholic and Hispanic influence but if you peel back the layers there are a lot of interesting pre-colonial beliefs retained musically in the lyrics and the drum patterns. So, I’m curious to delve more into that, especially the mythology from that area, because I think it could be interesting to create music inspired by that.

I’m interested in delving into tuning systems and melodies rooted in Philippine traditions for my next album. In 2022, I participated in a workshop by Nusasonic and Dr. Khyam Allami, who developed the software Leimma & Apotome (a browser-based tool for exploring, creating, hearing, and playing microtonal tuning systems). Khyam guided us in transcribing pitch systems from Southeast Asia. I created a piece called “Utom Summoning,” based on a song from an album called Utom: Summoning the Spirit: Music in the T’boli Heartland (originating from Lake Sebu, an area south of the Philippines). I was lucky enough to travel to Lake Sebu later that year with Justin as part of research for ‘Anito,’ his upcoming theatre piece that I’ve worked on which will premiere this year. Together we learnt about the music and dance traditions of the culture, including the kulintang (gong-based instrument). The experience inspired me to explore these ideas in my future releases. 

MB: In the current global music and art scene, many artists with diasporic backgrounds are exploring their cultural roots as part of a broader movement to decolonize mindsets and rediscover previously muted or forbidden traditions, melodies, and languages. At times it feels like artists with a diasporic or immigrant background are forced to delve into their heritage as the tokens of trauma, marginalization, and exoticization. Considering this context, how important is it for you to reconnect with your non-Western heritage? 

CI: In my classical music education, everything related to tuning is in equal temperament, the standard pitch system. Exploring different systems means looking beyond Western norm. Interestingly, the software used in music production is often designed in a particular way with inherent cultural biases, making it crucial to understand how to navigate it. For instance, Ableton doesn’t necessarily support tuning systems outside of equal temperament. We need to discover alternative methods, and that’s where Khyam Allami’s software Leimma & Apotome comes in, challenging and questioning norms in a revolutionary way. It makes us reconsider our definitions of what is ‘standard’, acknowledging the plurality of music practices across the world, and how much diversity there is in that history.

MB: As a classically trained pianist, you’ve explored piano recording and live performances, incorporating rhythms and hyper-digital trance-inspired sounds. What direction do you plan to explore next? 

CI: I’ve always been teetering between both worlds. The tension between ambient experiments with piano and more club-oriented music becomes especially evident in my live shows. I like experimenting with club sounds but placing them in a different context.

I’ll continue to create these kinds of live club sets, but I’m also interested in diverging from this, creating performances that are more acoustic-based and returning to my roots in piano. Later this year I have a residency devoted to developing a performance that incorporates piano improvisation with multi-channel sound. I’ve always been inspired by the career of Ryuichi Sakamoto, who was able to switch between different genres, modes and contexts of performance. I was very saddened to hear about his death last year as I would cite him as one of my main inspirations, from his early career with Yellow Magic Orchestra to his more ambient piano explorations and film composition work. 

MB: You’ve introduced a vocals alongside the piano and electronics in your latest live show and album. Is your voice a new tool you are experimenting with? 

CI: I always strive to tell a story through my music, even during the playlisting of my songs from start to finish. This narrative approach carries into my live sets, where I aim to create a gradual build-up by adding layers. This time, I decided to incorporate my voice into the performances. I’ve never considered myself a singer, and I wouldn’t call what I do singing, at least not in a lyrical way—it’s more of an additional textural vocal layer. The inspiration came from the performance artists I collaborate with, observing how they incorporate vocals into their performances in a really visceral way. I appreciate the physical aspects of the voice—it’s the most human part of music. Given my fascination with folk music, I believe the voice can be a powerful instrument. Adding it as a layer has been a new way to incorporate another part of myself into the performance.