A Brief Tale: Bach in Seville

In the spring of 1745, Johann Sebastian Bach, weary from years of composing and performing across Germany, embarked on an unexpected journey south. Rumors of the vibrant music and golden light of Andalusia had reached Leipzig, whispered by travelers and fellow musicians. Intrigued and seeking inspiration, Bach set his sights on Seville.

Upon arriving, the composer was struck by the city’s intoxicating mix of Moorish architecture, orange blossom-scented air, and the ever-present rhythm of flamenco echoing through cobbled streets. He was welcomed by local musicians, curious about the German master whose music, though foreign to them, stirred something familiar in their souls.

One evening, in a small courtyard lit by lanterns, Bach joined a gathering of Spanish guitarists and singers. They played bulerías and soleás, their hands moving like fire across strings and palms. Bach, fascinated, responded with improvisations on his clavichord, echoing the passionate melodies with Baroque flourishes. The music transcended language. In those moments, the sacred and the earthly met.

Before leaving Seville, Bach climbed the Giralda tower. From its heights, he gazed across the red rooftops and the Guadalquivir River, listening to the distant strum of guitars. He did not write down what he heard—but in his final compositions, there would linger a warmth, a rhythm, and a hint of Spain that no one could quite explain.

And so, though unrecorded in history, Seville left its mark on the master of counterpoint—just as his music left echoes in the alleys of Andalusia.

Based on the show “Improbach. The Intangible Infinite”
Dance–Choreography–Texts: Alba Lucera
Piano: Pierre Mancinelli

Sound Design: Chuse Fernandez

Time travel has long been a tantalizing concept in both science fiction and theoretical physics. While we often imagine time travel as a physical journey through past and future landscapes, it can also be experienced in a more abstract yet profound way—through sounds.

Sounds of the Past
The past resonates with echoes that we can sometimes recreate or reimagine. Ancient musical instruments, historical recordings, and even the ambient noise of a bygone era—such as the clatter of horse-drawn carriages or the crackle of early radios—allow us to immerse ourselves in history. Time capsules of sound, like phonographs and vinyl records, are portals to another time. Through these, we don’t just hear the past; we feel its texture and rhythm.

Imagine walking into a cathedral where Gregorian chants are sung exactly as they were centuries ago. In that moment, the separation between now and then dissolves. Similarly, technologies like audio restoration bring forgotten voices and music back to life, giving us a sensory experience of eras we’ve never lived.

Sounds of the Future
The future, by contrast, is harder to predict. What will the world sound like in 50 or 100 years? Speculative sound design in films and media offers some possibilities—mechanical drones, synthetic symphonies, and alien languages. Advances in technology might also bring us auditory experiences we can’t yet conceive, like music tailored to our emotions in real-time or soundscapes of entirely virtual worlds.

The idea of time travel through sound becomes even more fascinating when paired with concepts like acoustic archaeology or audio synthesis. Could we someday accurately recreate the voice of a long-dead figure based on historical data? Could we design sounds that represent the potential noises of a future city or a space station?

Living Between Past and Future
We live at an intersection of temporal sounds. While digitized archives allow us to dive into historical audio, modern soundscapes are already capturing this era for future generations. Every recording, from a bustling city street to a personal podcast, becomes a thread in the fabric of history.

Time travel, then, doesn’t require a machine. It requires listening—tuning into the echoes of the past and the imagined vibrations of what’s to come. Sounds are a bridge, a timeline written not in years but in waves and frequencies. What does your time sound like? What echoes will you leave behind?