Boomkat Editions News

Dreams are made and displaced on Mark Fell & Rian Treanor’s oneiric electro-acoustic inception 'Last Exit', borne from long days in the family garden, and assembled into a mesmerising masterpiece of minimalist modal rhythm and atmospheric exploration, into rapt smallsound detailing in breathtaking form. It’s a bit like listening to Virginia Astley’s ‘From Gardens Where We Feel Secure’, with washes of Autechre seeping into the mix from outside.

‘Last Exit…’ originally appeared in a different form as a cassette release for our Documenting Sound series in 2021, and was edited this year by Mark and Rian for this new expanded and altered edition, mastered by Rashad Becker. It renders a painterly,psychedelic, and diaristic depiction of sublime atmospheric tension, occasionally ruptured by their typical, asymmetric rhythm impulses in a form that rudely transcends their respective aesthetics. Across four parts, they kern, juxtapose and diffract synthesised percussion and field recordings into polymetric arrangements riddled with timbral nuance of a highly unpredictable nature.

While patently inflected with nods to Indonesian gamelan, Ugandan folk, Indian Carnatic classical, Morton Feldman-esque minimalism, free jazz improvisation and a sort of rhythmic cubism that speaks to their mutual, voracious listening habits and tastes, the results are arguably without direct compare. Attentive listeners will recognise, however, that ‘Last Exit’ effortlessly transcends their respective styles, achieving a new high watermark of imaginary future-hyperfolk expressed in a sort of personalised but highly relatable meta-musical language.

Seriously, they’re working beyond known conventions here; opening to a sublime frisson of Feldman-esque keys, birdsong and distant car engines, and closing to a combo of just-intoned drone and wafts of distant ballroom music. The 80 minutes in between feel like returning to a dream, with flashes of FM strings dabbed to sloshing rhythms and domestic detritus, tilting into a nervously tentative tension ruptured with abstract dance dynamism and angular free jazz ballistics.

The rejigged recordings also reflect the fidelity of memory recall, expressing an altered perspective on their time spent in the multigenerational family’s Rotherham garden during spring/summer 2020, replete with their mum/grandmother on piano and overheard singing and in convo, but now fraught with a more melancholic, distempered quality that makes for a genuinely unforgettable listening experience. A long-form isolationist fantasy, consider it crucial listening if yr into Robert Ashley's 'Automatic Writing', Graham Lambkin, Autechre or Nuno Canavarro.

Clear Vinyl

Laila Sakini and Lucy Van’s sought after 2017 EP Figures resurfaces on a newly expanded and remastered edition, deploying taut poetry and creeping electro-pulses for an alchemical suite of slowly encroaching trip hop x dub-pop.

Long before releasing her slow-burn classic ‘Vivienne’ and last year’s compelling Princess Diana of Wales album, Laila Sakini was at work with acclaimed poet Lucy Van for an impromptu session for a local noise and spoken word night in Naarm, Australia. Those initial ideas marinated and eventually resulted in ‘Figures’ - an EP that was originally released on tape via Purely Physical Teeny Tapes, offseting Sakini’s minimal production against Van’s text, spoken in a carefully enunciated dialect lifted and wrapped around Sakini’s nocturnes. It’s the sort of thing that reminds us of Tin Man & Rashad Becker’s ‘Wasteland’ sessions, fused with the spirit of the contemporary Naarm/Melbourne scene.

For all those references, Sakini and Van’s songs are displaced from the contemporary wellspring too. The dusky blue waltz of opener ‘Those Who See’ comes off like a lighter Leslie Winer or melodic, early AFX, as Van dryly intones “...all my enemies in an orgy, of IQ to body ratio,” while ‘Deep End’ sees them nudge into more claustrophobic introspection, before shoring up a dank sort of trip hop sleaze with the title song, slithering with a similar energy to early 90’s Autechre as the narration echoes to a blur.

The three previously unreleased songs flesh out the release into the full album it always should have been, cut of equally rare, hand-spun fabric. With its post-Sleng Teng B-line and noctilucent chords, ‘What You Need’ feels like an Eski rhythmic bump accompanied by sub-aquatic synth bass, and the opalescent, gumtree-shaking shimmer ‘Rough Desires’ secretes its intimations with an absorbingly hypnagogic slow-burn that pools into the perfect curtain closer; ‘Trees Make Me High’.

Blue Vinyl
Lynch protégé and Twin Peaks sound designer Dean Hurley coaxes an incredible puzzlebox of atmospheres and mood pieces on this killer contribution to our Documenting Sound series, now remastered and pressed on vinyl for what is, perhaps unsurprisingly, the most cinematic and neon-lit instalment in the series. Like a
smudged and overdubbed copy of the BoC Maxima tape, with added iridescence.
Across almost 40 minutes we transition from aerosolised synths to romantic chromatics, thru to Nurse WIth Wound-style severed rhythms and fading glimmers of hope, ‘Concrete Feather’ epitomises Dean Hurley’s prized knack for nuanced instrumental story-telling in the finest and most engrossing style we could imagine. Against the backdrop of the Hollywood film industry that has primed us for as long as we can all remember, the music spans a panorama of lush, mirage-like choral pads and starry flickers thru to gloaming
nightmare sequences and screwed drums, while touching on some of the dankest synth tones this side of his ‘Anthology Resource’ volumes or indeed his soundtrack work for Twin Peaks: The Return. It’s full of dread and a slowly unfolding sense of tragedy.
“Having a regular practice of recording is probably the single most important element to my craft. It’s a way of dropping indiscriminate mile markers while constantly moving forward in time without ability to pause.
Over the years, working for David Lynch taught me a great deal about this and the concept and importance of experimentation. I’ve found myself clinging to those lessons during this time and using them as tools for both productivity and balance. His notion of experimentation is a simple one, yet incredibly profound. It was one of the very first words I heard him say during our initial meeting, and I never stopped hearing the term daily over the subsequent 13 years working together. An ‘experiment’ can provide a legitimate mental back-entrance into the act of creation. It can position an approach toward discovery as opposed to effort, and eliminate the thought that one needs to ‘will’ something into existence. It also aids in calming the judgmental
side of a brain from stepping on/interfering with expression…after all, experiments are not about success or failure, they’re simply about learning. In the Lynch school of thought, multiple experiments then become firewood…and with firewood, one can not only build but actually sustain a fire…even turn it into a multipleacre blaze or more.
Dean Hurley