Lucatelli is an abstract vocal artist who with suppressed screams, whine, rattle and gurgle presents an expression which I do not have experience with. She is also an actress, which is a clear point, when she is to be experienced live. The visual expression is both scary and breathtaking. It gives the extra dimension, where one as listener and viewer is blown away by wonder and admiration. (...) It's not music for many. There are many prejudices and ideas that you have to leave behind when you have such an experience. Wild!
Niels Overgård for JAZZNYT (DAN)
Her style is at the same time totally self-delivering as with the most daring autofiction writers and fierce as the most exhibitionistic fourth-wave feminists. (...) Her forceful will to expose herself appears both as infantile and powerful, it cleverly puts her paradoxical virtuoso, dadaistic vocal in check, so it does not become a showoff. Where other composers storm the scene to add the music to a de-professionalized twitch, Lucatelli appears with her convincing technique and natural stage presence as an authority. She gives the whole environment around the young composers an outgoing energy, which has not been seen before. The great quake has so much materialized in her works and puts an impression on the surroundings. Here's a new direction to search, new impulses to embed in the music concept.
Sune Anderberg for SEISMOGRAF (DAN)
A constant explosion.
Jens Peter Møller (composer)
In cooperation with Olsson and Kimestad, Lucatelli is also consistent and does not seek the limits, but goes far beyond them. She screams, pinks, grits and rattle. At no time does she sings or speaks. She twists and turns on the vocal cords. There is something tragicomic and scary about it. It works because nothing is taken into account. It is inhuman human noise.
Niels Overgård for JAZZNYT (DAN)
I had seen Youtube videos floating around, but it wasn’t until I first saw Lucatelli at 5e’s Mandagklubben (a weekly free-jazz/improvisation night held in a small venue in Copenhagen’s meatpacking district) that I experienced the full force of her stage presence. Raw, animalistic, uncompromising; all these words are clichés when describing her work. Whenever I see her perform, I am struck by the vitality, even necessity, of what she does. It would be too simple to categorise it as avant-garde vocal performance art (‘crazy person makes crazy sounds’). Something else is happening, and I am determined to find out what it is.
James Black for SEISMOGRAF (ENG/DAN)
In an epoch characterized by rampant neoliberalism, global warming, and technological omnipresence, the work of Marcela Lucatelli violently embodies that which destabilizes the collective psyche. In her works’ aestheticization of the nonsensical, the chaotic, the undesirable and ugly, as well as the obscene, Lucatelli reveals (whether consciously or otherwise) how traditional aesthetics of the sublime and beautiful are inextricably linked with racial, gendered, and class oppression. Her appropriation of the everyday sludge—bordering on nightmarish in affect—not only represents an increasingly fractured sense of self and other, but also offers forth an alternative path towards an altered sublimity. At the forefront of this aesthetic reinvention is Lucatelli’s voice and body, which evince the collapse of an objective language, the failure of the individual voice, as well as the fetishization of the other corporeality. Within her sonic landscapes exist primal shrieks, grunts, a wails as well as the squeaks and thuds that emerge from everyday objects. These sounds hardly yield pleasing, or even sparkling results, ignoring the trends to prioritize certain resonances. Instead, her sounds—being fundamentally referential in nature—are uncompromisingly linked with banal physical materials, creating music out of unwanted and dejected noise. As such, rather than guiding the listener through an enticing listening experience, the music makes that which is taken for granted, or simply overlooked, unavoidably immediate. By utilizing dull sounds in a violent manner, these everyday thuds, wisps, taps, clicks, squeals, screams render an alienated listening experience, dispensing with soundings that elicit reactions of “cool”, “good”, or “neat.” Fortunately enough, the assertive nature of Lucatelli’s music holds promise for a new ethos beyond the limits of the everyday and the physical.
Bethany Younge (composer-performer and music scholar)
(…) The standout is Impossible Penetrations, a collaboration with vocalist and composer Marcela Lucatelli. It’s polymorphously perverse, a little scary, tender and very gross, involving fiddling with beads on sticks, jumping through hula hoops, and genderfuck costumes. Lucatelli’s breathless chorus of ‘’Happy, happy, happy Bad Things!’’ reaches a frenzy of helium menace as the four Bastard Assignments performers dance, uncomfortably linked within the hoops. The music is punctuated by one sided mobile phone calls and a scene resembling a cuddle puddle. At the end, the four performers fill their mouths with condiments – mustard, ketchup, Gatorade and squeezy mayonnaise – and I feel the urge to puke. Job well done. (…) Lucatelli reappears to perform Run Run Run, where she performs extended vocal technique takes on 12 characters, including a Jagger-esque rock star, a Rambo-style action hero complete with a fake muscle shirt, groupies, starlets, ventriloquists (with that aforementioned sex doll as a dummy) and ranting older ladies. As she changes outfits between acts, a pop song with the lyrics ‘‘Run Run Run’’ in the chorus plays. Her act is part Cindy Sherman, part Natasha Lyonne in Russian Doll in need of an exorcism – there are corpse growls and actual foaming at the mouth.
Emily Bick on SPOR Festival 2019 for THE WIRE (ENG)
That some say that music and politics should not be mixed together, is the cleanest gibberish, when you hear Lucatelli. Her screams had so much anger, frustration, cursing and despair in themselves, that it could almost be too much of a good thing. But using different aids, she got the audience to sit spellbound on their skeletons. Her anger came out in the form of a primal scream in different manifestations, that hurt far into the spinal cord, and it's clear here that there is much life lived hidden under clothing.
Jan Granlie for salt peanuts* (NOR)
analysis #0.1 was performed by Lucatelli alone, who prefaced her performance with a brief introduction to the piece, which she had been recently developing inspired by the dynamics of a psychiatry interview. The performance was framed as her response to an imaginary(?) psychiatrist’s query, beginning with a hesitantly confessional tone (‘Well, it feels to me that…’) before suddenly descending into what can only be described as extremely extended vocal techniques. It is difficult to describe these sounds Lucatelli produced – imagine Cathy Berberian crossed with the frontman of Meshuggah for a start – but they were thoroughly virtuosic, fluctuating between disturbingly nonhuman and achingly delicate (it is, moreover, a considerable challenge to think of the sort of notation that might serve as a roadmap to these sounds). A somewhat literal interpretation would suggest that this was an attempt to reconcile our ways of processing very wrought, indescribably intense phenomena, sonic or otherwise, into a coherently communicable structure (e.g., an analysis). Again, this level of nuance and engagement might easily have been lost if the audience was not prepared for the performance, but this is precisely what Lucatelli’s introduction provided. (…) It was the most daring, inspired, and thoroughly enjoyable concert of the entire festival.
Max Erwin on Donaueschinger Musiktage 2017 for Tempo (ENG)
One moment in particular stuck in my mind. At one point, Lucatelli set off a smoke bomb in the room. The following ‘sketch’ consisted of all the performers gathered around a giant rum ball, taking bites. Because of where I was in the room, the smell from the smoke bomb hit my nostrils at the exact moment the first performer took a bite, resulting in a bizarre piece of cognitive dissonance where smell collided with visual and nothing matched up in the best way possible. Of course, this is easily dismissible as a fluke. If I had been standing anywhere else in the room perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. But that misses the point. Maybe the moment was not choreographed (in fact it certainly wasn’t, as she told me when I brought it up). But the possibility of such a moment is there, present in the space opened up by Lucatelli’s creative choices. For me, these kind of ‘perfect moments’, where everything combines together in a bizarre and unexpected but satisfying matter, at exactly the right time, are Lucatelli’s trademark.
James Black on Off-Off-Human for SEISMOGRAF (ENG/DAN)
I want to start by making a point about Off-human’s politics. One didn't have to guess how this performance fit (or rather didn’t fit) into the hyper-serious social resistance compounded by the events of the past several weeks, not to mention years. Thousands, if not millions, of lives are placed in danger, a danger that continues to grow with each day of this presidency. How can anyone create art that thrives in this climate? Off-human makes no explicit rejection of this reality but still lands far outside of its realm, presupposing nonsense and bullshit as order. Marcela Lucatelli and MOCREP are at the frontline of this destabilisation by asserting their validity as humans, particularly if it may be slightly off-color. It's here, in a concurrent performance of resistance, that Off-human leaves its mark. The ethics at play are of sensuality and divinity, but there is no god -- only respect and accountability. This is what's at stake within the temporal and spatial bounds of Off-human: vulnerability in the hands of a mob, prostration at the foot of the observer. The present indulgence is in celebration of sociality -- this is the case for the participants as well as the audience.
Jen Hill for Cacophony (ENG)
Opera, machinery and chaos meet each other in the evening's last work, Marcela Lucatelli's Veritas Sanitas Vanitas (Going Somewhere?). She occupies the theatrical starring role herself, as she is tied to a chair in the middle of the stage and slowly gets out of her bondage. The musicians are wearing ironic New Year bows in the hair and brightly coloured plastic ties, and the video projection offers intelligent chat bots, drone-like bombing raids and bread production. "There are so many buttons here" as repeatedly voiced by the projection. Everything can be involved. Computer and man meet each other as equals individualities, and things break, and things build up. It's too much. Everything is happening. Eggs smashed cabbage heads are hammered into pieces, Philip Thomas plays directly on the grand piano strings and throws ping pong balls into the space. A dictionary is teared apart and random words are announced. A cascade of information, one can hardly accommodate. But one is not alienated, not puffed up, on the contrary, you want to see it all again. (...) Especially Lucatelli's sensory bombardment was popular.
Sune Anderberg for SEISMOGRAF (DAN)
With the Brazilian composer and performance artist Marcela Lucatelli there is always a surprise awaiting. Her works are often intense, beautifully confusing, psychedelic and wild.
AUT for [OpenScores] (DAN)
Marcela Lucatelli’s TUNING TIME was one of two pieces which, for me, seemed almost to make the whole festival collapse, by destabilising the assumptions which form its foundations. From the start the piece evaded any attempt to read it and categorise it. It invited us to see structures and frameworks, but refused to run its course in the way that we expected. At the same time, its ‘free’ elements were far from anarchic, and seemed carefully prescribed, albeit not according to the patterns initially suggested. The humour was intense, but very dry – not anarchic, but a parody of an expectation of anarchy. Here was a piece whose resistance was highly ‘situated’, and turned against its own context and audience. The listener, desperate to find value and meaning in every piece, is made aware of their own desire to understand and categorise a piece – to fit it into some sort of aesthetic logic – in order to judge it unequivocally. In refusing our attempts to do so, it challenges us to dismiss it, yet leaves us feeling uncomfortable. Obviously, this review is just such an example of an attempt to contain it, albeit as pure negation.
Thom Andrewes on Ung Nordisk Musik 2014 for the biting point (ENG)