Buscar:air space ark

Moonshoe Records has bowled over first listeners by presenting this new side of their sphere - Air Space Ark’s debut, “All Rivers Lead” charts the course of divergent streams of contemporary ambient music, downtempo rhythms, and electroacoustic experimentation, arriving at a calming confluence of these sources. Across the 6 songs on these two sides, they evoke a calming and contemplative headspace

333 is an exquisite study in balance - the intermingling of bird song water sounds that could equally be field recordings or synthesized foley - the ambiguity adding a delightful trompe l'oreille effect - and crystalline keys ; these airy sounds weighted by washes of subbass.

BLANK PAGE is almost like a version of the previous track, retaining the nimble birdsongs and heavy sub, but foregrounding a lolling, stumbling hip-hop beat and placing more emphasis on the effects wizardry as abstract sounds careen across the track in wipes and wisps, before stripping down to a beautiful coda of birdsong, piano plinks and a textured backdrop.

The celestial keys, flute-like thrums and gentle chimes of WORDS BETWEEN SELF evoke the golden age of spiritual jazz, but the hazy ambiance and shuffling beats transmute the other elements around them into something more introspective and personal than jubilant praise. Lyrics aside, the subtle funk coupled with the pensive, meditative air channels the spirit of Stanley Cowell’s classic TRAVELLIN’ MAN.

LOFT IN 7 Is the most “out” moment here. It has echoes, literally, of jazz. Like decaying tape reels disintegrating in real time, we feel the tape buckling and warping under the weight of time as the sounds of a synthetic band warp and shift against electronic impulses and glitches, eventually leaving just a lingering, ghostly imprint. .

DUST SONG veers the closest towards a straightforward instrumental hip hop cut - a submerged sounding breakbeat coupled with a tender piano melody - but is buoyed by drifting pads and a dense, hallucinatory bed of effects.

CONCRETE closes proceedings. Charged with a crepuscular energy, it’s all-together as mercurial and magical as the transition from day to night. Different elements swirl and coalesce, honing in on dense, textural moments across a horizontal drift. The end effect is hypnotic yet captivating, so much so that when the track eventually blooms into silence at the end you’re struck by the brevity of the whole experience. Thankfully you can listen to it again!

In syrupy slow pursuit of a strong 2023 debut, Yungwebster's somnolent sequel is bolstered by pitch-perfect production from Space Afrika and Nathan Melja, who vaporise the rapper's auto-tuned post-Future drawl with euphoric orchestral drones, brittle micro-trap beats and weightless pads.

Over a decade ago at this point, Future released 'Codeine Crazy', the decelerated finale of 'Monster', one of his best-loved mixtapes. The track neatly summarised themes the Atlanta rapper had been circling for years at that point, layering his slurred, lean-dizzy rhymes over producer TM88's rubbery, melancholy synths. "Take all my problems and drink out the bottle," he moaned robotically, using the track's minor key bounce to represent the crushing delirium that followed fame and its tasting menu of intoxicants. It's still Future's high water mark creatively, and its traces can be observed in a full spectrum of contemporary sounds, from 6LACK's downtrodden, self-aware R&B to Lil Uzi Vert's feverish trap. But it's Yungwebster who's taken the haze to its logical conclusion, reimagining the Magic City-sculpted bumps as hypnagogic Actavis- 'n Xanax-hued ambient music. You could argue it was bound to happen - the more you sip, the slower it gets - and plays as a cracked mirror to cloud rap's long-smoked hybrid of Southern psychedelia and post-OutKast eccentricity.

Webster's opiated POV is clearer than ever before on 'II'. Just peep the cracks in his voice on the Space Afrika-produced opener 'Skyfall' as he coughs and splutters over watery samples, booming subs and SA's patented collage of soundtrack-ready strings and sirens. Presented at regular speed and in chipmunked form, it sets the pace for an album that, like its predecessor, constantly fucks with the timeline, pitching the whole master into doubletime or slowing it down to a crawl to present a curved, inebriated narrative rather than a straight line. Even without the tempo switches, Webster singles out beats that accent his warbled rhymes that sound as if they'll fall apart at any moment. French DJ and producer Nathan Melja backs 'Disheveled' with Black Ark-styled oscillations and airlock'd echoes, filtering the bassline until it almost disappears entirely; with room to breathe, Webster's able to take the lead - you might not be able to pick out the words, not entirely at least, but you get the message.

In fact it's Webster's voice that's the revelation on 'II' - with a coherent mix from producer tnotsobad, the nuances and fluttering tonalities emerge more vividly than they have before. It makes the flip between the regular speed and fast on 'Txts Red on iMessage' a textural decision, the different pace shifting the warbled cadences so Webster's voice becomes far more important than the additional elements. And on the album's Space Afrika-produced eight-minute centerpiece 'Crochet / I Swear', Webster's mumbled bio-mechanical whines create a much-needed foil for the decelerated boom-clack and suspended save room ambience. We get to encounter a personality here, not just an aesthetic, so as the album moves into its twilit fourth side, the beatless, voice-led somniferousness of 'YA SA' and ululating 'Phone' come off like a descent into tranquillised sedation. Rap has rarely sounded so chimeric.

Amputechture Beneath the technical flash, the fury, the fearless creative brinkmanship of the first two Mars Volta albums lay a potent seam of the blues, an existential vexation that powered every twist and turn of Omar and Cedric’s imaginations. That mournful vibe would come to the surface of the group’s third full-length Amputechture, a simmering/blistering set that was unquestionably the group’s darkest yet. There was no overarching theme here, no interlinking concept binding the songs together, though Cedric concedes that, lyrically, the album was influenced “by a lot of stuff I was going through, a really bad break-up and a lot of other crazy stuff, and trying to put that feeling into the record.” But Amputechture – its name another of the late Jeremy Michael Ward’s invented words – was no downbeat bummer. Opener Vicarious Atonement might’ve been a deliciously gloomy, slow-burning thing, capturing Cedric in delirious duet with Omar’s swooning guitar lines, accompanied by squalling saxophone by Adrian Terrazas-Gonzales and dream-frequency fuckery by the group’s new sonic manipulator, former At The Drive- In member Paul Hinojos. But second track Tetragrammaton swiftly set pulses racing, an epic-in-miniature and containing more ideas within its 16 minutes than most bands manage over an entire career, its proggy, complex guitar figures tessellating in infinite configurations and converging as if conforming to mathematical formulae from another reality. The raw material Amputechture was hewn from started life on the road. Omar now travelled with his own mobile recording studio – a little Neve ten-channel tape recorder and an array of microphones – and was able to work on new ideas on tourbuses, in hotel rooms and during soundcheck (and, occasionally, after the show was done). After touring for Frances The Mute was complete, Omar relocated to Amsterdam, staying with his photographer friend Danielle Van Ark and her partner, Nils Post. It’s here that he demoed Amputechture, flying in engineer Jon DeBaun, drummer Jon Theodore and his brother, Chino, to work on these raw sketches. He later returned to Los Angeles, where the album was finally recorded. Omar ceded guitar duties to his dear friend and kindred spirit John Frusciante, instead assuming the role of musical director. “I wanted to hear the sound of the band,” he says. “I thought, I’ll be able to sit at the console, feel the air of the speakers moving, the unified sound of everything, and not feel distant from it. It was fun, but it was also challenging.” Part of Omar’s new method was to teach the musicians their parts only moments before the tapes rolled. “To keep things fresh, and to keep everyone on edge,” he says, before chuckling. “No, not on edge – on their toes. Amputechture would prove The Mars Volta’s most diverse set yet, drawing into the group’s tornado of influences moments of fiery jazz spirituality and esoteric folk introspection, finding space for passages of devastating subtlety and also their most fierce and full-on moments to date. The aforementioned Vicarious Atonement found its meditative mood echoed by Asilos Magdalena, an intimate, acoustic piece that invoked traditional Latin folk music, as Cedric sang in Spanish a sorrowful tale of a lost soul’s quest for sanctuary within a Magdalen Asylum, a refuge set up by the Catholic church for “fallen women”. The shadowy, sinister closer El Ciervo Vulnerado, meanwhile, tapped into the darker side of spiritual jazz to further explore the album’s themes of redemption and religious myth and magick. Elsewhere, the interplay between guitar and clarinet on Viscera Eyes created complex, unsettling counter-melodies, while the coiling, ornate Meccamputechture – Cedric’s wild fusion of sacred texts, occultism and dystopian science fiction – proved a great showcase for Ikey Owens’ swarming, infernal organ runs, in concert with Frusciante’s arcane guitar-play. But it was Day Of The Baphomets that would prove Amputechture’s most ambitious and most defining epic. Cedric’s lyrics tore into the hypocrisy of religious cant and myths of sin and punishment. “I wanted to make a song that was like the movie The Believers, where this cabal stole kids and did some occult shit with them,” he explains. “But I wanted it to be like, ‘What if the people you hire to do jobs you don’t wanna do rise up one day and then pull some shit like that?’ Like it was the guerrilla warfare, them taking over – wouldn’t that be some fucked up shit? And the music just lent itself to that – the big intro, the bass solo, and all of the ruckus that occurs.” That ruckus was some of the most thrilling Mars Volta music yet, as Omar directed his musicians to rumble through fiery modes of wild tribal groove, ransack-the-palaces riot- rock and supreme progressive experimentalism. Amputechture, then, is the sound of The Mars Volta in imperial mode: fearless, insatiable, unstoppable.

It’s almost four years since their last opus - two years since the most-recent run
of live shows. Now, Bitchin Bajas return from whatever kind of rare ether they
occupy when they’re at home, bearing the riches of the whole cosmos in their
hands. And strictly OG as well - on cassette only.
 ‘Switched On Ra’ is the outcome of a typical Bajas exercise: pouring some out
for the pioneers that came before (as they’ve done with Bitchitronics and their
participation in the annual Chicago performance of ‘In C’ over the years). It’s a
nice way to get a flow - they play a little of themselves, then some for the
pioneers, then a little more for the band. Before long, they’re playing with the
inspirations twined, as they can only come from within.
 For ‘Switched On Ra’, this meant a deep delve into the song-book of one of their
soul-predecessors, Sun Ra, whose music is literally written in the Bajas DNA.
Digging into this music sounded wild on paper: the drone synth group taking on
the Arkestra harmonies and Ra’s loose grooves? The trick was to get that sense
of rhythm to translate across the spectrum from Ra to Bajas, in a way that
worked for them both.
 Their rearrangements of the tunes went good - up and down the EQ band, they
were finding the round sounds and jagged edges that brought Ra’s music into
their own thing. Then at the last minute, there was another twist - why not pay
tribute to the Queen herself, and think of the arrangements with a Wendy Carlos
vibe? A little side homage? After all, ‘Switched on Bach’ was visionary, bringing
analogue synths from the outside all the way into the mainstream in the late 60s -
and this take on Ra is meant to take him to new ears everywhere.
 Sun Ra of course was his own kind of original keyboard visionary, using electric
keyboards in the late 40s and 50s to fill a role in jazz that had traditionally been
played on acoustic piano only. Once he’d done so, he took his writing in
directions inspired by the electricity, places no one had thought to go before
then.
 Bitchin Bajas have been content to dominate in a microtonal world, usually
without a single chord to be found anywhere. But here, they step up righteously,
their vibe triangulated as they bring Ra’s music forward with some Wendy C
style, making an unexpected space for all to thrive. There’s a real feeling of joy
as these collected signals bounce off the tape and through the speakers into
your space.
 To get this unique colloid exactly right, Bitchin Bajas used nineteen different
keyboards. They abstained from deploying their arsenal of reed and woodwind
instruments: everything had to be on the keys. This meant Yamahas, Rolands,
Korgs, Casios, a MicroMoog and of course their trusty Ace Tone organ. They
even broke out the Crumar DS-2, to have some of Ra’s chosen tone in the mix.
Then Jayve Montgomery added an EWI as a solo voice on a few tunes, just to
get some air-blown signal (and a natural shout out to EWI master Marshall Allen)
in there, after all. It felt like somewhere in the universe, Ra was decreeing it.

Through his dedication to the Los Angeles grassroots projects that gave so much stability and focus to many younger musicians, artists and the community, Horace Tapscott became a neighbourhood hero at a time when the world wanted his presence. He stayed in Los Angeles and focused instead on building a community, rarely giving interviews and instead focusing on passing on the message from his mentors. He shaped a unique sound with his arkestra and community minded musicians. It was a close-knit family that emanated a sound that was deep and unique, flowing with a creative spirit that definitely comes through on this album.

In 1961 he founded the Pan-African Peoples Arkestra, which aimed to preserve, develop and publicise African-American music through the ever-growing family that emanated within many of the deprived areas of Los Angeles. Through his subsequent collaboration with Bruce Albach, a producer and founder of Nimbus West Records, they sought to document the importance of this music alongside many artists who were energetically linked to the ethos and understanding which came from the collective dialogue.

Here the composer leads four extensive arrangements through his 16 piece orchestra, featuring many of the Nimbus West artists including Adele Sebastian, Jesse Sharps and Linda Hill. The music weaves the sound of afro-futuristic music through changing tempos and a relentless dynamic expressive sound that is complex and beguiling with a deep spiritual sound throughout all four tracks.

The ceremonial ‘Peyete Song no. III’ is a great swirling evocative piece from the large collective, with amazing solos from especially Horace Tapscott who seems to find a sound from the piano that is from another dimension. The arrangement airs an important message of a people and their rituals.

Horace Tapscott gives Cal Massey’s composition ‘Nakatini Suite’ a splendid futuristic big band interpretation. The composition had been earlier illuminated by both Lee Morgan on his ‘Lee-Way’ album and John Coltrane on his ‘Believer’ album titled ‘Nakatini Serenade’. Through the more expansive soundscape, the interpretation allows for some great interplay between saxophonist Jesse Sharps and drummer Everett Brown Jr. with the whole orchestra led by Horace Tapscott capturing the essence of Cal Massey’s message.

Vocalist Adele Sebastian opens up the free probing arrangement ‘Quagmire Manor at 5am’ composition with a similar delivery as with her ‘Day Dream’ from the classic ‘Desert Fairy Princess’ album before the music takes off onto the mothership adding a sense of what time and space within the manner was about amongst many great musicians and artists. Their journey and moments encapsulated within the music.

There are certain albums you hear something new every time you revisit the music and this is one of those albums. An important part of Afro-American history; the politics and art which surrounded the album. If you get a chance check out the film ‘Horace Tapscott, Musical Griot’, by filmmaker Barbara McCullough, or buy the book ‘Songs Of The Unsung’: The Musical & Social Journey of Horace Tapscott’. Mark Jones/UK Vibe

The vitality you hear on Antique Blacks is a testament to the unique energy of the community around The Foxhole Cafe in Philadelphia, as Ra honed his unique brand of Afro-Futurism through the late 60';s and 70's. Cosmic theatre, spiritual chants, and experimental electronics make this record an essential document that was ahead of its time. Ancient to future! BIG TIP !

The 1970s saw change in Sun Ra's recorded output, and as far as we can tell, the content of his live performances. By the middle of the decade, Sun Ra's music no longer seemed comprehensible as part of the jazz New Thing – quirkier, more idiosyncratic elements were more to the fore.

At this time, 1974, every Sun Ra record still surprised, and seemed radically different from everything else he had released up to then. The musical universe proposed by free jazz had never circumscribed Sun Ra. He had been part of the movement, but was able to use the possibilities it suggested without being limited by its conventions.

The Antique Blacks illustrates this well. Recorded as a radio broadcast in Philadelphia, according to Dale Williams, it has a well defined but oddball structure. Sun Ra was a master architect, very concerned to use the unfolding of an album, a broadcast or a live performance to create a satisfying structure.

Song No 1 starts on an upbeat note, it's a lively, tonal introduction, featuring John Gilmre on tenor saxophone, Sun Ra on roksichord, Dale Williams, then aged 15, on guitar, and Akh Tal Ebah on trumpet.

Sun Ra's poetry is featured on There Is Change In The Air, a track which has on occasion been used for the album title: in its original incarnation as a Saturn LP, there was no dedicated sleeve artwork, and this record appeared under many names. Ra's poetry is allusive, elusive and paradoxical, and this was its first major appearance on a record. During instrumental passages, Dale Williams' guitar is heard, along with the saxophones of Marshall Allen and Danny Davis.

The Antique Blacks is a similar setting for a Sun Ra poem, which encompasses "spiritual men", and Lucifer as a dark angel. The Arkestra is heard in conducted improvisational ensembles, in between the sections of the poem.

This Song Is Dedicated To Nature's God has Arkestral vocals, with John Gilmore's voice in th foreground. Williams' guitar is once again prominent in the instrumental passages.

Sun Ra's poetic declamations provide the structire for The Ridiculous I and The Cosmos Me, which also has a fine unaccompanied tenor solo by John Gilmore, keyboard improvisations by Sun Ra, and closes with bass clarient from Eloe Omoe.

Sun Ra's keyboards are heard with minimal Arkestra support on Would I For All That Were – a fine synthesiser improvisation, with electric piano left hand accompaniment.

Tension is resolved by Space Is The Place, which rounds the album out in an upbeat mood, with Akh Tal Ebah, James Jacson and Sun Ra prominent among the vocalists. The closing section includes the chant Sun Ra And His Band From Outer Space, often used at the close of live performances. This isn't strictly live, though: in one line the vocal is played backwards on tape!