Hearing
in Bed is a sudden awakening in the midst of
a dystopian shipwreck. An immersion in the
fragmented reality of screens that we are
experiencing in the year of COVID-19. Each
of the eight people who make up the ensemble
battles on a tiny rectangular screen. They
play together, but their loneliness is
infinite. They are agitated. They are
hyperactive, nervous, lonely. Their speed
has been speeded up. But so has the centre
of their lives. At times, some of the
discontented threaten violently to break out
of their small confines. Others, on the
other hand, seem not to be there. Sometimes
the performance becomes even more
dissociated: the instrumental gesture we see
does not correspond to the sound we hear. At
other times, however, it is endless
hyperbolized. The visual fragmentation
contrasts with the fine sound articulation:
the music is a constant and continuous flow
that varies in textures, patterns, gurgles,
densities and colors. Its transformations,
comings and goings, tend to be gradual. At
times, its edges are rough and its borders
scratchy. They are crowned with sharp
outbursts and bubbling harmonies that wander
through peaks and valleys; whether well
prepared or surprisingly unusual, they are
always exciting. (...) Hearing in Bed
weaves a fine seam between the discipline of
the screen and the rich and sparkling sound
propulsion that imprints a necessary “break
ranks” and an essential ironic look at viral
times. Rubén López-Cano