Karen Jebane on tape decay liturgical drones and Pasolini’s final words

Transmission 177: Interview with Golem Mecanique

Golem Mecanique is the musical project of Karen Jebane, a French composer and multi-instrumentalist active since 2007. Her work spans experimental folk, drone, microtonal composition, and themes drawn from mysticism, theology, and poetry. Initially involved in black metal and noise bands, she later focused on solo work using tape recorders, field recordings, and processed voice.

Title: Siamo tutti in pericolo
Artist: Golem Mecanique
Release Date: 2025-03-21
Genres: Avant-garde, Drone, Experimental Music
Label: Ideologic Organ
Description: Interview with Golem Mecanique about her album Siamo tutti in pericolo out March 2025 on Ideologic Organ.

Central to her sound is the drone box, a mechanised hurdy-gurdy built by instrument maker Leo Maurel, which supports her vocal compositions. Influenced by figures such as John Cage, Pierre Schaeffer, and Alvin Lucier, Jebane describes her music as “sacred experimental,” often engaging with literary and cinematic referencesHer third album Siamo tutti in pericolo, released on 21 March 2025 by Ideologic Organ, draws inspiration from the final words of Pier Paolo Pasolini. The work reflects on his death and legacy through long-form compositions combining voice, drone, and degraded lyrical structures.

Featured image: © Romain Barbot

What first drew you toward music? Was there a moment or presence that made it feel inevitable?

I think it started when I was a little girl. I listened to a lot of music with my parents and attended concerts at a very young age. I saw David Bowie when I was around seven. I was very small, and the experience left a lasting impression. It felt incredible, almost like an unreachable fairytale. When I discovered I could sing, that I could become a songstress, I realized it might be the path I wanted to follow. Music was always the aim. But my parents didn’t see it the same way—I had to study and work. I worked as a bookseller for a long time and stopped listening to music. I was very sad not to be singing or creating. So I eventually quit everything to focus entirely on music. It’s been around 20 years now that I’ve been developing the Golem project and other musical works. For me, it was like an epiphany in childhood.

Why did you decide on the name, Golem Mecanique?

I made music with different bands—black metal, noise, etc.—but when I decided to go solo, I didn’t want to use my real name. I wanted to remain anonymous, not bring any shame to my family [laughs], and also create ambiguity about whether I was a woman or a man. The name Golem came from the Jewish legend, a creature made of clay, summoned from the void—a kind of proto-Frankenstein figure. It resonated with me. I always saw myself as a monster—not in a negative sense, but as something made of different parts. It fit. I was using tape recorders, so the mechanical aspect was central too. “Golem Machine” didn’t sound right, so I used the French mécanique. It stayed.

How did watching Accattone at a young age disrupt your perception of reality and expression?

Oh yes, it really impressed me because I was used to watching fictional Hollywood movies with stories that ended well or were very manipulated in relationships between people. Seeing Accattone showed me real life, strong life, violence, the fact the hero isn’t really a hero but an antagonist. It could be great to admire an antagonist. I was also impressed by Pasolini’s filming of the city. It opened many intellectual inspirations. Just as when I first read Charles Baudelaire, the French poet, Pasolini opened a door to intellectual pursuit. It was very important and still is.

Can you describe the atmosphere of the early scene around you?

I live in what I call a “cave,” but in the city. I’m a very home-oriented lady. I didn’t go out a lot. The atmosphere around me is built from books, music, and my husband, who is also a musician. We’re constantly creating and researching. I study theology—specifically art in the Bible—which occupies much of my time. My intellectual life moves between spiritual mysticism and esoteric subjects. That’s the atmosphere I inhabit. A dark one, I suppose. What a surprise—I’m a goth girl!

How has Pasolini’s work influenced or inspired your music?

I worked some years ago on Medea by Pasolini. All my music is connected to poetry, books, or films. I made three albums about La Comedia—Dante’s Divina Commedia—and a tape inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. I’m deeply drawn to creators like filmmakers and writers. Years ago, I recorded a tape, later released on CD, about Medea, focusing especially on Maria Callas’ character. When I composed that music, I didn’t feel finished with Pasolini. I worked with the desert landscapes, the land of Colchis where Medea lived, her fortress, and her garments—all of that inspired my music. It started as a tribute to Pasolini.

Last year, I felt—like an epiphany—that it was time to create a funeral, a personal mass for him. It took a long time because writing a mass for someone you’ve never met, and never will, is difficult. You’re not in the same time or space, but you want to speak to him. It’s hard to find the words for someone who has been dead for so many years. The tracks became little letters I wrote and placed at his tomb. Writing these eternal letters to him in a fictional world was very important to me.

The Tarantella has a history tied to trance and possession, dancing until collapse. What drew you toward that rhythm?

At first, I didn’t want to use the Tarantella. But while composing, the roaring of my hurdy-gurdy became a continuous drone—it hypnotized me. That drone reminded me of the trance associated with the Tarantella. Friends of mine who specialize in traditional Italian music mentioned the connection. My music created a kind of nexus, a double layer of trance.

Someone who listened to the album told me he couldn’t do anything else while it was playing—he just stayed still, caught in a trance. It created a feeling of possession, both conscious and unconscious, like being bitten by a spider. It’s intense. But I’m not deeply familiar with the traditional Tarantella. What I created was more of a fantasy version of it.

After Siamo Tutti in Pericolo, are there sounds or themes pulling you in a new direction?

After this LP, I’ll take a completely different direction. I’m working on a new phase of Golem, focused on guitar-based compositions. I’ve created a second Golem Mecanique project with dark folk songs. Siamo Tutti in Pericolo was a significant work for me, but I need to move on from it—it took up a large part of my creative life.

Now I’m focusing on songs that are easier for me to perform, like a breath of air inside Golem Mecanique. Maybe later I’ll return to cinema. I’ve been thinking about Alexander Nevsky by Eisenstein—a film that impressed me deeply when I was young. I fell in love with the figure of Alexander Nevsky. Eventually, I’d like to explore Russian visions and literature. But not now. Right now, it’s just songs and guitar.

Photos courtesy of Golem Mecanique

Matteo Damiani

Matteo Damiani is an Italian photographer and author. Curator of the sites Retrofuturista.com; weirditaly.com; china-underground.com and others