Lucrecia Dalt was born in Pereira, Colombia in 1980. She studied civil engineering and worked for two years in a geotechnical company in Medellin before deciding to pursue music.
Her first recordings were released by Columbian collective Series under the name Lucrecia. After meeting Gudrun Gut, she contributed four songs to the 4 Women No Cry compilation released on Monika Enterprise in 2008.
After moving to Europe she released a series of recordings, including a release on Nicolás Jaar's Other People imprint and a series of collaborations with Aaron Dilloway. Among her more recent releases are the albums Anticlines (2018) and No Era Sólida (2020) on RVNG Intl.
Like the whirr of a wake-up call, Lucrecia Dalt’s metallic compositions entice us to rethink the possibilities of materiality and existence. The Colombian musician and sound artist has carved out a place at the contemporary frontiers of avant-garde and electronic music, hardware in hand, to channel age-old questions into a distinct and transgressive musical language.
Perhaps the ability to dig a little deeper is hard-wired into Dalt’s creative process through her background as a geotechnical engineer. Now residing in Berlin, Dalt often seeks inspiration in the worlds of fiction, poetry, geology and desire, excavating nuanced references to untangle and respond to in her music. At times, this exploratory impulse surfaces like an introspective call and response experiment with her source material, forming new perspectives on ideas rooted in Colombian mythology to German New Wave cinema. Dalt’s conceptual blueprints are intimate and intricate, emerging like cyanotypes cast in the sun. Around these frameworks she shapes her sound, using analogue instrumentation, a vast array of synthesizers and the processed glow of her voice.
Dalt joined the RVNG family in 2018 with the release of Anticlines. Interspersed with enigmatic metaphors, the record channels at its core the principle of tectonic plates compressing stratified rock: old material is pushed to the centre and sometimes becomes exposed. Guided by this concern with boundaries and edges, Dalt reframes traditional Latin American rhythms beside visceral tones of electronic composition and fragmented spoken word, tracing new contours in the topography of human consciousness. The poetic lyrics of Anticlines were written collaboratively between Dalt and artist Henry Andersen, and the accompanying artwork was realised by visual artist and ongoing collaborator Regina de Miguel.
With the release of Dalt’s seventh album No era sólida (2020), another world is located in her universe. In an embrace of introspection, Dalt sets out to capture the moment when one becomes pure sound. This transcendent process of creation summons Lia: an apparition of the artist as possessed by mimetic impulses. Language is dissolved into an evocative collection of glossolalia as the record swells with rhythmic tremors and the lunar echoes of a lawless organism tethered to sonic hardware. Navigating through each song as a different state experienced by Lia, the album closes with spoken word reflections on the existence of an unworldly lifeform seeded through sound.
Her sound work has been presented internationally in spaces such as Issue Project Room, Pioneer Works in New York, Haus der Kulturen der Welt in Berlin, Museum of Modern Artin Medellín, the Mies van der Rohe pavilion in Barcelona, the New South Walles art gallery in Sydney, among others.
Edge
Lucrecia Dalt Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
I'm gathering up skins and blowing them up like balloons
Breath-filled and moving about in a docent daze
A fleshless meandering
An organless freedom
A sharply delineated fog
An airy ego
A warm cloud
Skin making form as air pressure from both directions
How long does the body last without organs to fill it?
What does the body want except to pass blood
Through tiny vessels and keep the whole shape intact?
I wanted to fill you up with my exhalations
And drink out all your flesh
But keep your bones and skin still flawless
And blow through the tiny opening in the top of your scalp
Until all there was, was a perfect you and a perfect me
And breath and shape and pressure
And I would be the breath
And I would press against the back of your eyeballs
The root of your spine
The back of your teeth
The small of your shoulders
The inside of your navel
The slippery side of your throat
Your vocal cords
Your voice box
Your Adam′s apple
Your cheeks
And my breath would fill your lungs until it felt like your breath
And when you spoke, you'd have a voice that was not quite you
And not quite me but something rubbed through both of us
"What am I but an edge?", you ask me
"What am I but an edge?", you ask me
Lucrecia Dalt's "Edge" explores the idea of the body without organs and the power of breath to form identity. The singer is collecting skins and blowing them up like balloons to create an organless freedom, a shape that is delineated by air pressure from both directions. The questions that arise are how long does the body last without organs to fill it, and what does the body want except to pass blood through tiny vessels and keep shape intact?
The singer wants to fill someone up with their exhalations and consume their flesh while keeping their bones and skin still flawless. They want to blow through the tiny opening in the top of the scalp until there is a perfect you and me with breath, shape, and pressure. The singer wants to become the breath and press against every inch of the other person's body. And when they speak, they would possess a voice that is not quite you or me, but something that is rubbed through both people. The final chorus is the question, "What am I but an edge?"
Line by Line Meaning
I'm gathering up skins and blowing them up like balloons
I am collecting skins and inflating them with air like balloons.
Breath-filled and moving about in a docent daze
The skins are now filled with breath and drifting aimlessly.
A fleshless meandering
The skins are wandering without any organs or flesh.
An organless freedom
The skins enjoy the liberty of being without organs.
A sharply delineated fog
The skins form a misty and well-defined shape.
An airy ego
The skins possess an ethereal identity.
A warm cloud
The skins become a cozy and comforting cloud.
Skin making form as air pressure from both directions
The skins take shape by the pressure of air from both ends.
How long does the body last without organs to fill it?
What is the lifespan of a body without filled organs?
What does the body want except to pass blood
Apart from circulating blood, what is the desire of a body?
Through tiny vessels and keep the whole shape intact?
By flowing through tiny tubes, can the shape of the body remain whole?
I wanted to fill you up with my exhalations
I longed to inflate you with my breath.
And drink out all your flesh
As I blew into you, I would suck out your flesh.
But keep your bones and skin still flawless
However, I would not harm your bones and skin.
And blow through the tiny opening in the top of your scalp
I would exhale through the small hole at your crown.
Until all there was, was a perfect you and a perfect me
Ultimately, there would only be a flawless version of both of us.
And breath and shape and pressure
Just breath, shape, and pressure would remain.
And I would be the breath
I would be one with the breath.
And I would press against the back of your eyeballs
I would apply pressure to the back of your eyes.
The root of your spine
I would press on the base of your spine.
The back of your teeth
I would push against the back of your teeth.
The small of your shoulders
I would put pressure on your lower shoulders.
The inside of your navel
I would apply force to the inside of your navel.
The slippery side of your throat
I would push on the slick side of your throat.
Your vocal cords
I would apply pressure to your vocal cords.
Your voice box
I would press against your voice box.
Your Adam's apple
I would push against your Adam's apple.
Your cheeks
I would apply pressure to your cheeks.
And my breath would fill your lungs until it felt like your breath
My breath would fill your lungs until it becomes your breath.
And when you spoke, you'd have a voice that was not quite you
When you speak, your voice wouldn't feel completely like yours.
And not quite me but something rubbed through both of us
Rather, it would feel like something shared between us.
"What am I but an edge?", you ask me
You inquire in me, "Is my existence not merely a boundary?"
"What am I but an edge?", you ask me
You repeat the question, asking if you are nothing but a limit to yourself and the world around you.
Contributed by Micah M. Suggest a correction in the comments below.