In "Permanent Parts", an extraordinary "battery" of five artists melds into a sonic ritual so fluid, it feels sculpted in real-time from the fabric of spontaneity. Katharina Grosse, primarily a visual artist known for her large-scale, vibrant installations, and Stefan Schneider, a veteran of the German experimental music scene (from groups like To Rococo Rot), find companions in Carina Khorkhordina, Tintin Patrone, and Billy Roisz to create a collective improvisation that defies definition. Each performer wields their instrument like a brush or chisel, layering textures and frequencies into an abstract yet unified whole, reminiscent of Grosse’s vivid colorfields - except here, the palette is sound.

The album's opening piece, "Permanent Part 1", is a microcosm of what makes the entire work feel timelessly unbound. It begins with pulsating electronic waves, like a heartbeat in a cavern, then flows into a trance of trumpet calls, electronic noise, and subtle trombone ripples that echo off each other. Grosse’s synthesizer mingles with Schneider’s electronics, creating an undercurrent that both anchors and frees the brass and noise textures. Each sound seems to invite the next, as if they are feeling their way through an auditory fog to find each other. The artists met only hours before the initial recording, a fact that astonishes as much as it illuminates; they had to listen not with their ears alone, but, as the liner notes hint, with their "skin" and bodies.

The track titles might seem ironic, with "Permanent Part 1" and "Permanent Part 3" being anything but fixed; rather, they dissolve and morph as if embodying an impermanence intrinsic to the performance. This music isn’t planned or rehearsed in the usual sense; it's a venture into the unknown. Grosse’s explanation of the musicians as a "battery" - both a force of energy and an interconnected set of components - feels apt, capturing the synergy that allows each performer to retain their voice yet contribute to a single, pulsating organism.

For Schneider, the term "improvisation" doesn’t quite capture the intent behind "Permanent Parts", suggesting instead a sort of instinctual coalescence. "Perhaps it was not even an improvisation?" he muses, hinting that this music lies somewhere beyond classification, in a realm where preconceptions dissolve. The sound is both disorienting and deeply comforting, like a dreamscape that is surprisingly lucid.
The album’s sense of discovery mirrors Grosse's own artistic approach, one defined by embracing the unknown and pushing against the boundaries of expectation. "Permanent Parts" isn’t about showcasing virtuosity or dominating the soundscape, but instead lets every instrument, from trumpet to piezo, hum with its own life force. It's a testament to the power of listening and responding with utter immediacy, an improvised dialogue that becomes a cohesive whole.

In the end, "Permanent Parts" feels like a live wire, conducting something powerful yet undefinable, and it’s this openness to pure potential that gives the record its mesmerizing strength. The title’s irony - a “permanent” that slips through the fingers - serves as a reminder of music’s most ethereal nature: the art that lives and dies in each moment.