DDS News

Demdike Stare & Cherrystones unveil a long-in-the-making darkside fantasy weaving atmospheric and loose-limbed cuts recorded at labs in London and Manchester, brilliantly shaking a bush of ghostly trig points ranging from the Mars rehearsal tapes to Minimal Man, Randy Greif’s cut-ups, Conrad Schnitzler’s industrial prototypes and ‘70s ECM sides – with vocal contributions from Ssabae’s mesmerising Laura Lippie.

In dazed pursuit of styles heard on Cherrystones’ DDS tape ‘Peregrinations in SHQ (Super High Quality)’, the renowned London digger properly hexes sonic leylines with his label bosses on 10 wickedly grubby and hazed sound experiments. They tumble down the rabbit hole like some sixth sense-guided call-and-response, resulting in an exquisite unfolding of psychoacoustic spaces familiar to their mutually spirited sounds.

Honestly it's some of the dirtiest and most esoteric gear we've heard from Demdike; you can sense a lifetime of incessant digging drip through every loop and crack; grotty no-wave, industrial noise, DIY psych, proto-techno and gnarled concrète, further bolstered by Cherrystones’ perpendicular, equally insatiable and fathoms-deep areas of interest. With a focus on scrappy, feral cuts and hastily recorded edits, the trio roughly re-draw wordless chants and hyper-compressed knocks over a vortex of found sounds that curdle in rhythmic heat. Never staying sill for long, the trio get drowned by watery ambience, then shredded loops, Technoid shrapnel and electric bass prangs dancing into the aether.

The crankiest spirit perfuses the whole thing, evoking states of unravel and psychic distress as they pit a near-peerless collective knowledge into the void. Laura Lippie acts as human ligature to sanity, a fleeting constant found smudged into the hip hop chops of ‘Familiar Unfamiliarity’, spectral incantations of ‘Prophet in View’, or a channelling of Ozzy in ‘Thee Oath’, among more deranged tongues on ‘Observing the Crux’.

It’s the missing link between ECM, Earth and Dilloway we didn’t know we needed - up there with some of the most satisfyingly deep and frazzled gear this century.

NZO goes sick on a standout debut album for Demdike Stare’s DDS, distilling 2-step UKG, R&B and computerised funk within whirring mechanisms adjacent to mutant jungle and footwork - the proper good stuff.

On ‘Come Alive’ SoYo’s NZO bruks wild but tight on nine tunes chiselled from a distinctive percussive palette cut into fidgety, soulful samples. She dances in and around the cracks of myriad styles with a canny grasp of limb-animating, rhythmic diffraction; all stop/start rhythms and stuttering diva-vocaloids arranged with a rudely shatterproof, grooving pliability. More simply put: it’s dance music for those who like to get super loose and freaky with it.

Chopped up and stitched together over six months in Sheffield, it’s not hard to hear a lineage of advanced Afro-American rhythm science that also feeds into SND’s jerky-but-sexy angularities, and subsequently Rian Treanor’s rugged pugilism, now morphing back to the source, but heavily skewed with it. Her judicious sampling of R&B gems is offset in obliquely funked-up structures in ways that knowingly mess with conditioned anticipations yet never lose sight of the ‘floor, and we’re here for it.

Jumping in with the writhing darkside tekkerz of ‘Rolling Around’ and clocking out with a standout downbeat pearl ‘Looking For’, we hear her displace amapiano closer to halfstep D&B in ‘AXMM’, and decimate 2-step like Akufen on ‘CFML’, while ‘K-space baum bap’ appears to dart in the spaces between UKG and singeli, and the sloshing congas, bass motifs and dub chords of ‘Deadweight’ settle to a sort of aqueous UKF.

On their most explicit venture into music for moving image, Miles Whittaker & Sean Canty rudely fracture piano and vocal recordings by US filmmaker-musician Kristen Pilon in a short-circuiting of style and pattern.

Shredding up definitions of electro-acoustic opera, spectralist chamber musique and concrète rave, Demdike hit square between the eyes/ears of film music vernaculars on a startlingly strong addition to their unique oeuvre, now in its 16th year of elusive psychoacoustic strafes and jump-cuts across putative borders. The 13-part, hour-long album dislodges source material made for the experimental film ‘To Cut and Shoot’, by Kristen Pilon, an NYC-based musician and filmmaker, to farther refract the film’s themes of serendipity and the nature of ghosts and dreams with a flickering flux of sound-imagery and aleatoric weirdness appropriate to her original meditations, but also freely messing with their forms.

Situated just a few miles north of Houston, Cut and Shoot is a relatively insignificant Texas town with an unforgettably bizarre name. Pilon grew up not far from Cut and Shoot, and it's there where she ran into 65-year-old machinist and motorcyclist Robert Lewis Stevenson, better known as Bobbo, who's pictured on the album's cover. The meeting occurred a few months after Pilon recorded her improvisations on piano, strings and voice in the basement cellar of the Halle in Manchester, with Bobbo providing the necessary narrative heft the trio needed to inspire an experimental film and its accompanying soundtrack.

Responding to Kristen’s initial piano and operatic vocal recordings, Demdike return a volley of discrete parts tilting from typically cantankerous mayhem to quieter, more clandestine buzzes sliced with crazed interstices of the imagination, all marbled with the plasmic contrails of the paranormal which have long been peculiar to their work. With a poetic flair reflecting Pilon’s own phrasing and melding of mediums, Demdike unfold and expand her melodic fragments into temporal mazes, variously resembling the most messed-up ends of The Caretaker in ‘A Grave Fall (January)’, but also liable to skew into buckshot club turbulence, as with ‘Belly Up’, or the bittersweet bruk contortions of ‘Twist’.

The storyline wickedly frays and loops into itself with a non-linearity that recalls the mid-to-latter stages of Lynch’s ‘Mulholland Drive’ or waking from a sweaty fever dream only to pitch back into its thorny bush of ghosts, often within the space of one track. It’s testament to the ever-tighter binds of Demdike’s symbiotic vision that the results nevertheless hold a thread of logic that weaves in everything from their Jon Collin jams to reams of mixes and Gruppo edits with an unresolved, open-ended quality that still keeps us on our toes, perhaps more so than ever here.

DDS presents the debut EP from unknown entity NZO, whomever she may be, dancing in the gaps between amapiano, Afrobeats, broken beat and R&B with a rare guile and flavour.

The 4th in the DDS 12” series, NZO helps stake the label’s 15th year of operations with a typically Janus-faced approach to classic >< contemporary club ruffage. Tune to tune, she decimates and distills familiar tropes in singular, whirring syncopations designed to prompt bodies to move in fresh new ways. It’s all primed for proper animist magick, bound to snag rhythm fiends with its shape-cutting manoeuvres.

Working deep in the hardcore ’nuum’s 30 odd year tradition of concrète sampler chicanery, the four tracks find fractured vocals and echoes of club classics revitalised and reset with advanced drum ingenuity. 160BPM opener ‘Concentrate’ appears like Hessle Audio’s Joe stripped for parts, whilst ‘Mallet’ swivels like SND remodelling Afrobeats’ palette of tuned percussions, next to what could almost be a lost Various Production edit in the sublime tension of syrupy R&B and frothing drums on ‘Come Alive’.

The EP ends with its standout, ‘Body & Soul’, an undulating ama simmer punctuated by dub chords like some lost Basic Channel production re-cast for the lovers.

Since 2019 Demdike Stare had been playing edits of Dolo Percussion’s bare-boned breaks in their DJ sets, eventually sharing them with Dolo’s Andrew Field-Pickering (Beautiful Swimmers, boss of Future Times) and fomenting a creative fusion that hits at the square root of their shared tastes for unruly, deadly rhythms. In a transatlantic back ’n forth - or what Kodwo Eshun termed a double refraction - they juggle the rudest aspects of UK hardcore, as derived from electro, breaks and garage-house - that would feed into Dolo’s pool of sound, and return to the UK via the likes of breakbeat wizard Karizma, who was a key touchstone for the whole late ‘90s broken beat movement key to Demdike’s tastes.

Still following the thread? It’s not that tricky - both US and UK operators favour breakbeat music more than anywhere else, and this devilish hook-up is the epitome of a conversation ongoing for generations now. At each parry, the three cuts here are exemplary of the way DJs, producers and dancers on both sides of the pond have pushed each other to new heights in a feedback loop designed to make the dance throw the maddest shapes.

‘DOLO DS 1’ racks up a full clip of flintiest breakbeat hardcore, pivoting gasping samples inna dervish of ruffneck syncopation, ruggedly distinguished from the pitching, gritty drum machine chicanery of ‘DS DOLO EDIT 1’, and their super crafty sidestep into the offbeats, hingeing around ghost snares and practically spectral levels of percussive suss in ’DOLO DS 2’ which basically sounds like a prime Autechre tumbling thru dub.

Clear Vinyl

DDS catch enduringly absorbing sonic alchemist Jim O’Rourke at his knottiest and most ingenious in a wormholing suite of amorphous rhythm and psychedelic electronics - a massive RIYL Autechre, Roland Kayn, Bernard Parmegiani, NYZ, Keith Fullerton Whitman.
Playing up to and into DDS’ freeform aesthetics, O’Rourke renders 40 minutes shearing hyaline synth tones and ruptured rhythm generated at his Steamroom facilities in Tokyo, a modular outzone trawling that harks back to his iconic Mego releases and some of the more recent Steamroom experiments. It’s an ideal addition to the ever expanding DDS cosmos, following Demdike’s recent ‘Drum Machine’ expo with a slice of purist and screwed modular magick that transcends early
electronics and modern styles in pursuit of musical sensations that defy stylistic brackets.
‘Too Compliment’ was assembled using a bespoke Hordijk modular system, a rare West Coast-style setup hand made by Dutch engineer Rob Hordijk. O’Rourke focuses on the frequency shifter here, using it to coax out fluxing tone thickets, haphazard frequencies and elongated drone corridors.
It’s transportive stuff, harking back to the early days of private press academic synth music but also sitting on edge alongside Autechre’s recent long-form work, as well as O’Rourke’s classic “I’m Happy, And I’m Singing, And A 1, 2, 3, 4” In O’Rourke’s hands, the mass of electronics takes on throbbing, organic dimensions, congealing
grey matter and purplish veins of fluid in viscous transitions that glisten and spark with invention as they form new tissue. What comes out is as unearthly as the earliest electronic music, but also
blessed with a psychedelc spirit in a way that’s long kept O’Rourke right out on his own, teetering between paradigms yet never settling into any single style. If you’ve always been keen on finding a way into that sprawling soundworld, ‘Too Compliment’ is a perfect entry point into a highly rewarding creative macrocosm.

‘Still Strange’ reaches back into the prized loft tapes of Jeff Sharp aka Orior following the revelatory discovery of his overlooked early ‘80s gems on 2016’s ‘Strange Dream’ collection, as coaxed out by
DDS dons Miles Whittaker and Sean Canty.
Huddling another sublime, dusty set of analogue tapes freshly baked and remarkably well-restored by Andy Popplewell, ’Still Strange’ contains four gorgeous flashbacks to the era 1979-1983
surrounding and even pre-dating ‘Strange Beauty’, and then shifts focus to recordings that Orior made around the early ‘90s.
As with its predecessor, Orior is not alone on the material in ’Still Strange.’ From those feted early tapes we find Phil Hollis returning to lend jagged guitar on the drum machine sizzle of ‘Feels Like
Summer’, while the mysterious synth player New Cross John makes vital contribution to ‘Invium.’
Along with the aching synth sigh of ‘To Return’, which pre-dated all of these recordings, and the nine minutes of haunting bedsit strums in ‘Larbico Alt Mix’ which came from the first batch, the
early material is all arguably worth the price of admission alone for seekers of lost synth treasures - really this stuff is just so good..
However, the album’s other six tracks expand knowledge of Orior’s work into the ‘90s and also contain some extraordinary material. Salvaged from further loft tapes found in various states of degradation, and subsequently mixed down between London’s Goldsmiths College and Miles Whittaker’s Whalley Range attic (and elsewhere), they are decidedly more blunt and gloaming, especially in the Deathprod-like ‘Under Shadow’ and the near static witching hour ambience of ‘Endless’, while shorter vignettes such as ‘Unknown Future’, ‘Gothic’ and ‘Another’ point to pre-echoes of BoC’s crepuscular scapes and even Bladerunner-esque sci-fi noir soundscapes