Thr33fold came to be during a brief “back to the roots” lapse that occurred last week. I had to record some drums to finally close an old pending project — a rock song that needed to come to an end.
I hadn’t played our primal, beloved instrument for a long time, and reconnecting with it wasn’t free of friction or insecurities. Still, I was determined to do it — as naturally as breathing. And so I did. I finished recording the drums and ended up enjoying the process a lot.
That experience took me back to a past where everything felt very different from today, and I think it uncovered a reservoir of long-kept feelings and memories. Suddenly, I felt the need to be closer to the ground. I took one case from my main desk and placed it on the floor of my studio, trying to express how vulnerable we are to our past and our genealogy.
As I allowed myself to feel and observe those impressions, and as I looked at my instrument, I was reminded of the beginning of my modular expedition — when the canvas was blank and everything was there to be discovered. A tabula rasa, waiting to be shaped by curiosity and devotion.
Back then, I was all in for analog sound. I wanted nothing to do with digital gear, with its menu-diving and all those “inspiration-draining traps.” Yet, while learning the modular craft and exploring the available tools, I repeatedly stumbled upon silver-panel modules with evocative names and colorful knobs. My analog obsession was at its peak, so I didn’t give them much of a chance — but every time I read the developer’s name, my modular vein pulsed unmistakably: Mutable Instruments.
Come on… how could you resist at least taking a peek?
Clouds — saliva glands at full steam.
Rings — a resonating heart.
Rings into Clouds… what’s that?
Elements… mallet, blow, strike…
My all-analog obsession slowly dissolved into Clouds’ reverb, and a whole new universe revealed itself behind a thick veil of ignorance — one not ill-intended, and therefore destined to transform into a mantle of understanding.
Time has passed, and now that Mutable Instruments is no longer operative, I can’t help but recognize the enormous mark Émilie Gillet has left on the synth world. And I’m not speaking only about the technical dimension — much has already been said about that — but about the conceptual and perceptual one. For me, Mutable Instruments was an invitation to experience. It removed the fear of being wrong when embarking on the modular journey and offered sensorial inputs that pushed me far beyond a simple analog-versus-digital distinction.
Looking at my Erica case now, I notice a holy trinity of voices — Rings, Plaits, and Elements (even if two of them are clones). I can’t help but laugh, imagining what my past self would say while pointing at Beads, twisting his mouth in anger.
How little I knew then that Mutable Instruments was no other than an invitation to mutate myself through those wonderful tools and to expand myself into a Digitalzelf.
So here it is: an ambient wandering through a timeless ellipsis, crystallized somewhere within my dusty archives — a proposal to change perspective, to experience things from different distances and moments, and to reconnect with the core, threefold.
