Some musicians treat sound as something to be controlled. Vukašin Đelić seems more interested in what happens when sound is allowed to misbehave. The Serbian guitarist and sound artist has spent years exploring the unstable edges of music: radio frequencies, electrical interference, machine noise, feedback, and the strange little accidents that appear when instruments meet everyday devices. In the early 2000s, Vukašin began approaching the guitar less as a traditional instrument and more as a kind of receiver. Phones, diskmans, media players, computer equipment, and other battery-powered objects found their way into his setup. Instead of hiding their glitches and disturbances, he used them as raw material — turning hums, signals, interruptions, and unwanted frequencies into music.

Between 2006 and 2012, these experiments led to a series of recordings that documented his fascination with fragile, unpredictable sound. Around the same period, he performed widely across Europe and the United States with visual artist Incredible Bob. Their A/V shows brought together analog video feedback and organic electronic music, creating a slow-burning kind of psychedelia: hazy, immersive, and strangely alive. In 2020, Vukašin released U Zavisnosti Od Dana, his first album under his own name, recorded over six days at his home in Grocka. The record moves through dark, repetitive rhythms and bright, cinematic melodic fragments — music that feels intimate, but never entirely settled. His 2024 album Od Sutra pushed further into the unpredictable character of machines, while Ogledala, released in 2025 with musicians from Novi Sad, opened his sound world into a more collective space, where improvisation, ambient textures, and jazz sensibilities quietly pull against one another.

What draws us to Vukašin’s work is not only the sound itself, but the attitude behind it. There is a sense that music can begin almost anywhere — from a signal, a mistake, a loop, or a small machine behaving in a way no one fully expected. That way of listening feels close to what we care about at wunderkammer. WoO.1 was made with a similar belief: that a musical idea does not always need to start in a studio, on a screen, or inside a finished song. It can start with a tiny fragment, a sampled sound, a rhythm you catch by accident, or a loop that suddenly feels worth following. In that sense, WoO.1 is not just a portable sampler. It is something more casual, and maybe more useful: a music friend you can keep nearby — a small object for catching sounds, trying ideas, and staying open to the moments when noise begins to feel like music.