Luz González does not write tracks so much as she sets forces in motion and watches what survives. "Bi Gezur" unfolds like a compact but dense chapter in her ongoing investigation into bodies, friction, and unstable terrains, both physical and emotional. The sentence printed on the cover is not decorative poetry but a functional warning. These sounds will collide, merge, tear apart, and then calmly masquerade as landscape.

González’s background in sound art and electroacoustic composition is crucial, though never paraded like a diploma on the wall. Her music thinks with muscles rather than concepts. Rhythms arrive whipped and uneven, textures grind and smear, and distortion behaves less like an effect than like a condition of the air. Nothing here is ornamental. Each sound occupies space, pushes against it, tests its density. This is electronic music that understands its own weight.

The title, "Bi Gezur" - “two lies” in Basque - suggests misdirection, and the EP lives by that principle. Narrative gestures appear only to dissolve into abstraction, then re-emerge as something uncomfortably intimate. “Volverse paisaxe” opens the record by doing exactly that: becoming terrain, letting rhythm erode into contour. “Today Yesterday Tomorrow” toys with linear time until it buckles, while “Drawing Dinosaurs (Where can I hide my anger?)” channels tension into intricate, restless sound design that never quite releases its grip.

“Tsunami” hits without ceremony, a sudden compression of force rather than a dramatic build-up, followed by the brief, fragile suspension of “Óxido e flores”, which lasts just long enough to leave a bruise. The closing “Erreka” stretches out and earns its duration, drifting through industrial abrasion, submerged motion, and exposed vulnerability. González allows space to breathe without turning it into refuge. The sound keeps moving, alert, unsentimental.

"Bi Gezur" resists classification. It draws from experimental electronics, sound sculpture, and improvisational thinking without pledging loyalty to any single territory. What it offers instead is a physical listening experience, where anger, tenderness, and joy are treated as materials with texture and mass. This is not music that asks to be solved. It asks to be inhabited, even briefly, even at some cost. When it ends, the space it occupied feels altered, as if something passed through and left its trace.