Imagine a one-man band whose limbs have unionized - eyes peeled for synchronization violations while the saxophone snoops into your ear canal and drumsticks holler answers back. Katapult is that feat, equal parts circuit-bending bravado and acoustic meditation, played live by Marseille-based polymath Pierre Borel. This is improvisation on maximum discipline mode: sax, drums, and whatever friction arises when your body declares musical independence.

Borel’s setup is schematized choreography:
Mouth + all limbs: full-orchestra activation
Mouth + one hand: half-limbs on percussion
Mouth alone: bare-limb drumming

This isn’t novelty; it’s composition in motion. Limbs split like electrons in a collider, sometimes orbiting together, sometimes slamming unpredictably. You watch that tension manifest in sound.

The opening track "Kurze Pause Zum Rauchen" can be described as a cameo intermission that teases limb limitation by letting the left foot rest. It’s playful and minimalist - like a sigh before the ascent. The following ones, "SolSiRéTchakBoom" and "RéSiSolBoomTchak" are twin behemoths recalling early 19th-century French "hommeorchestre" Solsirépifpan in name, but musically they’re post-human juggernauts. Rhythmic loops loop and collapse; sax line fractures flood the beat. Like multiverse versions of the same logic - one detunes subtly, the other pushes chaos a few notches deeper. The closing track, "For J.C.", is a salute to Chicago drummer Jerome Cooper, whose multi-voiced, polyrhythmic realism seems almost ancestral here. The piece tightens, separating sax from percussion in a dialog that honors precision as ritual.

Borel isn't sampling or layering - this is raw body-instrument synergy. The sound blurs between sax and drum so thoroughly you wonder if two players are hiding behind him, performing Gershwin’s lesser-known polyrhythms. But it's just one man, five points of contact, and infinite possible fractures.

The humor lies in the grotesque elegance: when multiple limbs jab at drum skins while the sax bleeds melody, you hear both the coordination and the comic misalignment. A beat falters? Good - sometimes cue the next dissonance.

Borel’s lineage includes collaborations across jazz, free improv, and experimental film - and that breadth shows. He isn’t building grooves or melodic arcs but rather dynamic tension fields. You don’t dance so much as become aware of gravity’s elastic recoil.

This LP isn’t background music; it’s somatic listening. You feel your own limbs instinctively reference his - ready to coordinate or sabotage, depending on your attention.

Katapult lands like a sonic high-wire stunt: meticulous, astonishing, and beautifully precarious. It asks: Must bodies coordinate? Must coherence feel serene? Borel’s answer is an emphatic no - hurl rhythm into entropy and watch what flies. This isn’t mere performance; it’s performance physics.

So if you’re up for music that makes you feel your own joints flex, your heartbeat syncopate, and your brain think in polyrhythms, Katapult is your ticket - no helmet required, but you might want ear protection.

Perfect for fans of rhythmic acrobatics, bodily music-making, and anyone curious what happens when you play human Tetris with instruments.