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'How does silence create noise?'

Glamcult meets Jespfur

Jespfur, the Amsterdam-based multi-instrumentalist and producer, has been on our radar for quite some time – and his latest music video for Luuped cemented our infatuation with his DIY-infused artistry. Coming off the 13-track album Pedestrians Of Bright Silence, released earlier this year, Luuped is ridden with his signature glistening vocal arrangements and distorted guitar loops. Paired with roughly chopped moving imagery, Jespfur’s world is both warmly familiar and completely estranging. It is an experience where the sonic and the visual fuse in an inexplicably satisfying synchronisation, gently prickling the surface of reality. This recent release gives us a perfect reason to come back to Pedestrians Of Bright Silence this season – and to dissolve into it fully in preparation for our yearly autumnal hibernation.

Let’s talk about the project as a whole. What were some of your starting points in the birth of Pedestrians Of Bright Silence?

Quite literally going into the essence of silence & light. What is silence? In what form is silence in your presence? How does silence create noise? For light: the absence & presence of view, what we can’t see, what we can see, the capacity of saturation, brightness, darkness. POBS started as a selection of solo recordings developed in a space going into these two conceptually. Then shaped into an un-official album.

What you’re describing feels like a complete blurring of lines not only between genres, but between music and sound-art more broadly. What inspires you to break these boundaries?

I never plan what I make. Some people can really thrive creatively out of editing towards some sort of language, for me it’s the classic “what the moment has to offer”. A flow, where not much thinking is involved. As I’m creating it’s guiding itself towards something where then some intentional (or more unintentional) things happen. It has always been flowing organically with a microdose of disorientation.

This element of disorientation – and microdose does feel like the perfect description – is also present in your visuals, particularly in Luuped. It’s a whole sensory experience. How do visual and sonic art interact within your creative process? 

It’s in documenting the non-set-up stuff, often with serendipity in various sizes. Visually, I’m really just picking up situations the whole time, things that catch my interest by matching a thought or question I have in mind. The other day a person walks in the middle of a road wobbling left and right with a suitcase in hand; yesterday, I saw someone with 9 attempts to park the car properly from a balcony angle. There are lots of things that represent both situations individually. The music directs me more precisely to which situation. With the visual I hear music and with music I see the visual. It is really fun, sometimes overwhelming.

In Luuped, I also loved the idea of the performer being in different places – a notion generally present within your work. There is a feeling of different instrumentalists and vocalists throughout each song and across the album. What is the intention behind that?

There has never been a conscious intention on that, to be honest. The different performer angle popped up when different versions consolidated together and formed the final version. For example ccccccc had lots of versions but I ended up just using a tiny loop (from draft v?) and built around that again, even though there were vocals attached. It’s the same song layered with a new performance. There’s a lot of moments in the project where older recordings in songs are resampled and form instrumental skeletons.

And how do you conceive a sound in first place? Are there any core elements around which you build a song, or does it always vary?

Improvisation & jams. You squeeze the wet sponge, you make the dry sponge wet. All happens naturally inside, whether you’re aware or not. But once aware there’s a more defined direction. It feels the most honest and is the most exciting to me.

Your work evokes a strong sense of otherworldliness and a kind of disturbance. It’s dizzying but somehow grounding at the same time. What’s the journey you’d like your music to take the listener on?

It’s always a bit more fun when you don’t know where you’re going, even when you think you know (type journey). I like unexpectedness, those experiences or moments instantly put you in the present. Giving priority access to surprises also shows you territories you haven’t been in yet. Certain elements that I try to keep in my live shows create this feeling of complete misguidance. I think the people who have seen me perform probably know what I’m saying.

I also feel a lot of nostalgia in your music. Is it something that is present for you, too?

Not necessarily, no, or I’m not aware of it. Our past created our present, our present creates our future. What you record turns into a “past” document? The past document might contain more past documents? I don’t know.

A Russian doll of past documents… Assuming a more linear take on the construct of time, what does the future hold for you?

Sexy stuff.

Images courtesy of the artist

Words by Evita Shrestha