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Yeong Die would typically be described as DJ, musician, or “experimental” composer, but in reality she is a sculptor. Between the rapidly disintegrating boundaries of composition and sound design, her work employs a hunting and gathering of intangible material—bursts of memory, fragments of liminal space, interstitial banalities—materializing as boundless expressions that evade genre constructs. As an integral presence among Seoul’s most forward thinking sound artists, Yeong is in a constant uphill battle rejecting the reverence that so quickly creeps in and infects contemporary craft, that relegates even the most audacious attempts of her peers to pigeon-hole pastiche. Given this style-agnostic starting line, her ESP Institute debut 'Uncapturable' exudes non-urgency, an unfettered pace that allows breathing room, affording the listener freedom to mentally isolate and explore elements without fear of missing a “bigger picture.” There is a warm and welcoming feeling that invites repetitive, even studied listening. While half the work is somewhat singular in presentation—'1km', 'Like Your Flaw', or 'Burnt'—there are moments of meticulous complexity—'Morning Rum Punch' (featuring vocals by Cifika) and 'Did' (featuring a smattering of spoken words by icecream drum), both underground Korean peer artists. These moments feel more of like an acute focus on execution that compliments the overall shape of the album, rather than a dynamic contrast. Cifika’s vocals, in particular, command the listener’s periphery in a playful and refreshing way, exaggerating negative space and in-between moments that not only the paint an arresting stereo field but a remarkable sense of depth, not easily achieved without production sorcery. It is, without a doubt, these beautiful fleeting moments that we describe as 'Uncapturable'.

Fashion Flesh tears the fabric of space and time. This is his first offering for the ESP Institute. With side A’s 'Atoms Revolt', ESP cordially introduces Fashion Flesh, AKA John Talaga, to the deepest corners of your mind. Using largely homemade electronics, circuit-bent gadgets, and tape manipulation, John manages to tap into the innate character of these otherwise introverted machines, eavesdropping and documenting their buried inner dialogue. His command of distortion is multi-tiered. On a micro level, he induces happy accidents and shepherds stray elements. Zooming out a bit, we begin to understand the sonic meat grinder that equalizes his bag of disparate ingredients. And from a macro vantage point, we fully recognize the greater tool that sculpts all of the above into form. Side B’s 'New Freedom' conjures a specific dystopian image—the byproduct of an artist involuntarily conditioned by the commute between up-river Bay County, Michigan and the Detroit metropolitan area. Like cutting away at flesh and muscle, breaking through the bone to suck the marrow, John depicts both the contrast and parallels between two post-industrial urban landscapes, the banal trek across The Thumb between them, and the gradual disintegration of agriculture as one nears the Techno city. Voice fragments begin to stutter in syncopation like radio frequencies interfering with our psyche, Geiger counters wail and moan, untamed oscillations mimic caged primates rioting at the zoo, and a steady-firing piston of drums struggles to break through a dense harmonic soot. The depth of personality John extracts through his manipulation process is remarkable— a point-of-view that foreshadows humanity’s looming technological singularity while hinting that it may have always been here, hiding in plain sight, waiting to be given a voice. These two songs will trip your circuit breakers.

There was a long time I considered Raymond Richards the ultimate secret weapon. There were sounds he could make that other people just couldn’t. Pure, whole, yet complex sounds. The pedal steel is an extremely niche instrument outside of its Country confines, but its sheer and transcendent depth has never failed to floor me. Raymond’s ear for implementing the steel into literally 'anything' has always been uncanny. After decades of being savvy to his work ethic, multi-faceted studio skills and overall sense of musical honesty, it became a priority for me to channel some of this into narratives through the ESP Institute and get his stories told. Without further recounting the history and trajectory of our musical relationship (see the press release for 2020’s critically-acclaimed album 'The Lost Art Of Wandering'), I can whole-heartedly confirm this sophomore release, 'Sand Paintings', opens an even wider door into Raymond’s visceral, contemplative world. The cast of players has elaborated to include Calexico’s John Convertino on drums and percussion, a bevy of eccentric stringed instruments and even a hint of brass to collectively stratify context for the pedal steel. Through diversifying the timbral palette, we invite an increased soundstage acuity but also reveal untapped wells of emotion for the listener, perhaps even testing cultural literacies. One foot remains in our established ambient realm, while the other steps toward grand cinematic gestures, and despite the dense, insurmountable emotion in these songs, there is a stoic singularity, like a lonesome cowboy pulling up his boot straps to endure another day. 'Badwater Basin' opens with courage, an enormous chord evoking Raymond’s image of “hard dawn”, but in navigating through the dramatic depictions of 'Monument Valley', 'Saguaro' and 'Deer On Hwy 80', we grapple with a cloaked vulnerability—weathered by the elements, beaten down and alone, yet still madly in love with the world. —Lovefingers

Evelyn spreads her wings and prepares to fly. This is her first offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Tremors' slams together a plethora of seemingly disparate rhythms, organic percussion, field samples, hypnotic chants and a relentless low end punch, that when in full-swing, works some seriously deep sorcery. Contrasting her pounding kick and rolling sub combo are a softer grouping of melodies, soft mallets and muted tones that lay subtly beneath the aggression, skillfully playing with a sense of spatial depth and room size. Its the kind of track that draws you in with meditative bars, concentric cycles that sit ever so slightly off-axis, inducing the mind and body to obsess and regulating its timing, and then drops you into a very intentionally arranged soundstage giving expansive space to explore. On the flip, 'Pregunta' continues this approach of natural versus industrial instrumentation. The consistent machine kick has a powerful but playful tone, the negative space between each stroke evoking a mighty gesture as its note bends in the decay. Set in 3/4, a community of live percussion successively adds and subtracts, each player’s imperfect attack accumulating into a mechanically smeared and addictive loop that toys with peaks a handful of times yet restrains any unnecessary climax for the betterment of a driving groove. Near the end, as the kick and various players mute and the base of the track is given a moment to breathe, its apparent just how layered the production was in the moments prior, as we’re suddenly at home, smitten with the wobbly and lopsided innocence of the foundational percussion. These two songs will push you headfirst into the light.

Patrick Conway crossed the threshold to find a new hope. This is his third offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Loss' sets an overall melancholic tone for the record. A single repeating high note on the piano establishes a guiding element, which is eventually supported by a tear-jerking yet resolving chord progression, a trailing choir of angelic voices, and a filter-modulating synth that pads the widest zones of the mix with the occasional counter-melody. Robust in and of itself, Patrick’s melodic arrangement floats gracefully over an otherwise antagonistic rhythm section built from his signature corroded dancehall arsenal. This hornets nest of boxed live kick drums, piccolo snares, and high-pitched toms is held together by a dry veneer of saturation, sitting at safe distance from but in natural harmony with the bulbous low-frequency atmospherics. On the flip, 'Silencio' employs a similar statement at the top of each measure, this time an anthemic polyphonic synth stab as opposed to the singular piano note, however, unlike the layered melodies throughout 'Lost', here Patrick explores the narrative possibility of negative space—call and response, rhythmic dialogue, and the implied notes that leave the listener’s or dancer’s intuition to complete a phrase. In the game “musical chairs,” children run around manically until signaled to find a chair, at which point their diverse personalties must urgently synchronize, until set free to run again and repeat the process. Patrick's approach for 'Silencio' conjures said metaphor—his melody and rhythm are unleashed to meander and spasm within the confines of each respective bar, until that anticipated synth stab unifies everything “on the one”—controlling the chaos, calling on muscle memory and affirming logic. These two songs will be with you always as they always have been.

Taking our time has become a sort of ESP modus operandi, often proving that when variables are left to cook long enough—relationships, styles, politics, moments in culture—we may collectively yield a more considered result. Once in a 'Blue Moon', we set sights on a record that conducts some strange voodoo, some rare combination of elements that commands our entire being. Entering our atmosphere with a concise 6-track debut, dub technician Brendon Moeller has brought us exactly that. Although we’ve long been admirers Brendon’s work, separated by only a few degrees—he and ESP’s Lovefingers are the same age and shared a decade of salad days in New York City—it took another decade before enough courage was mustered to suggest we actually work together. Our reticence has seen Brendon’s aesthetic and palette evolve over the years, and the label has simultaneously sculpted a tone of its own, but now we’re more than proud to finally marry his highly refined output with our, let’s say, “deliberate” appetite. 'Blue Moon' touches everywhere Brendon has been as an artist—from the obtuse corners of ambient to IDM, dub techno to liquid drones and bass—yet the vocabulary is honed and succinct, relying on a very intentional handful of expressions. This is almost an exercise in restraint, all 6 tracks are delivered from a disciplined and committed point-of-view, but what we find most captivating is the exploration that this allows in terms of depth, texture, fluidity and pacing. There is a complexity hidden in plain sight that begs to be studied, a comfort that allows us to slip inside like a warm bath, an addictive tingling sensation that we must prolong indefinitely. Even as we write this testimonial, the album is going on a fourth repeat and we languish the intervening silence between tracks. This is being under the spell of Brendon’s 'Blue Moon'.

Following 2020’s 'Point Vacancies', the debut EP from Jamie Paton and Mike Bourne’s collaborative act Metal, the duo return with a trio of dubwise remixes from Mr Paton himself as well as a peak-time stormer from fellow Bristolian artist, Hodge. The latter immediately sets the record ablaze with a driving-tempo kick thump, a duo of grain-textured 16th note hi-hats and chalky clap. He layers an anthemic three-chord pad progression with layered octaves, peppering in arpeggiated bleeps and articulate lead melodies, then tops it off with a few modular elements that retain the character of the original, before climaxing in true rave fashion. Proper. The following three mixes by Metal’s own Jamie Paton make clear his sonic obsession, the type of infinite tweaking that sees some artists/producers to the edge of madness, or at the very least satisfies some dragon-chasing addiction. There’s a successive deconstruction from 'Remix' to 'Dubwise' to 'Dubwise II', most notably in the reduction of rhythm and drum machinery, but also in the general tonality. The melody remains central but is gradually obscured, taking on a less and less recognizable form, and by the end we’re left with a skeleton of the track, quips and cranks, an assembly line of aluminum sheeting punctuated by an array of demented nuts and bolts. As with the previous EP, the sparsity of elements illustrates just how far one can twist an aesthetic, proving that self-imposed limitations can often propel an artist’s process and land them somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere foreign, somewhere enchanted.

ESP Institute artist Bartellow, one third of the project Tambien and otherwise known in the Contemporary Classical sphere as Beni Brachtel, returns to the label with his second full-length release, Noosphere. While currently heading the SVS label and residency series out of Munich, Beni’s resume expands well beyond electronic music to include immersive sound installations such as The Adven- ture Of The Empty House (solo live performance across seven floors of Walter Henn’s Deckelbau building), a slew of compositions for the Bavarian State Opera (for which he doubled as conductor), and a prolific career of over twenty-five theater scores for institutions such as the Münchner Kammerspiele, Schauspiel Basel, Maxim Gorki Theater Berlin, Berliner Ensemble, Schauspiel Köln, Schaus- piel Graz and with directors Ersan Mondtag, Alexander Eisenach, Jessica Glause and Tobias Staab among others.

Noosphere is a compendium excerpting from theatrical scores WUT (Elfriede Jelinek, at Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2020), Ödipus and Antigone (Maxim Gorki Theatre Berlin, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2017), Der Zauberberg (Thomas Mann, Schauspiel Graz, directed by Alexander Eisenach, 2017), Hass Tryptichon (Sybille Berg, Wiener Festwochen / Maxim Gorki Theatre, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2019), Wonderland Ave. (Sibylle Berg, Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2018), Die Verdammten (after Visconti ́s film, Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2019) and Roi Ubu (Alfred Jarry, Theater Neumarkt, Zurich, directed by Alexander Eisenach, 2018).

The work traverses homages, infusing everything from Baroque to Impressionism, and while these types of references are certainly built into the canon of Theatre as a discipline, here we gather histor- ic layers in an even wider net. Under the self-referential thumb of Contemporary Classical music, this sort of "hindsight" approach has been largely avoided, however, in today’s all-access arena, the constant stream of historic causal-chained events has opened a delta where anything is possible. This defines Bartellow’s stance among his colleagues as well as his cultural position as a composer.

Beni considers beauty a fleeting objective in the arts, that expression is often expected to follow notions of Destructivism or the unfulfilled. Art will pore over wounds, collective angst, mourn- ing a loss of natural habitat or a fear of technological invasion, yet there is a bitter irreverence for the friction or salvation in beauty itself. Acknowledging this subjectivity — what one audience considers superficial pleasure may be deeply profound to another — he leans into musical instinct as if composing via divine conduit.

Noosphere conjures a array of suspense, ecstasy, melancholy, and dread, but in isolating the work from its theatrical component, Brachtel directs our focus toward formal qualities, clearing unim- peded space to conceive fresh narratives and examine dynamism and interconnectivity. In sympathy with often difficult theatre pieces, the passages can be dark and transgressive, but more importantly they remain relative to Brachtel’s circumstances at their time of creation. The title Noosphere speaks to the evolution of human thought and knowledge, opening a door to subjective points-of-view. For example, Nexus II On The Beach refers to both Roberto Musci’s Water Messages On Desert Sand as well as the film Bladerunner, invoking the image of an android enjoying the sunset, but whether or not this abstraction may be considered beautiful depends the listener’s cumulative life experience and perspective.

This is hybrid chamber music, augmented by electro-acoustic layers, juxtaposing various periods and successively processing their residual themes into a trans-generational rendering of “now.”

It has become clear that Matthew Shipp is the most interesting and important jazz pianist of his generation, the most continually evolving and pushing forward. (We could also say “best,” even have been known to declare that, but it’s such a loaded term.) Now that he’s in his sixties and something of an elder statesman of the art form, he’s overdue for a retrospective look at his catalog, and to help make that happen, ESP-Disk’ will be reissuing some of his great early work that’s gone out of print:
• The 1990 trio recording Circular Temple (originally self-released on Quinton, then reissued in 1994 by Henry Rollins on his Infinite Zero label) will come out this September;
• His 1994 duo album with William Parker, Zo (originally on Rise, reissued in '97 on Rollins’s 2.13.61 label), will reappear in Spring 2024.

These will both be reissued not only on CD, the format on which they first appeared, but on vinyl as well, since many jazz fans prefer that medium. Additionally, his solo piano album Zero, released by ESP-Disk’ in 2018, will be put out on vinyl for the first time, also in 2024.

Circular Temple has marked many firsts for Matthew Shipp: his first CD release, first piano trio album, first of many times on record with Parker and Dickey, first album to be reissued, and on ESP-Disk’s reissue of it, first CD-only album to finally appear on vinyl and first album to be released by three different labels. And, more trivially, the first Shipp album that current ESP head/reissue producer Steve Holtje acquired, back when the only choices were that and a 1988 LP-only duo by Shipp and saxophonist Rob Brown on the Cadence label.

Jdotbalance left the moon and the sky for a city that works. This is their first offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Sublimate' combines two aspects of a digital pipe and mallet assortment—both as the percussive base for a groove, and as an interstitial layer where inherent resonances are massaged into melody. Bubbles and squeaks dance around the sound-stage periphery, occasionally pierced by high frequency statements, presenting as either ghostly yelps from the aether or as bursts of kaleidoscopic shards. A third of the way through the track, the instrumentation truly does sublimate, crystallizing into a new self—bolder and naughtier, abandoning its pensive optimism for a detour around the spectrum's dark end. On the flip, 'Precipitate' continues with its predecessor's primer of metallic percussion, but accelerates the pace to reveal Jdot’s attitude leaning toward cunty malice. The kick drum relentlessly pounds us as 16th note droplets metamorphose from chrome-dipped hail into full-blown acid wind. As intensity retreats beneath the digital rubble and the track draws to a close, so does our stream of Jdot’s consciousness. These two songs will accelerate your nervous system.

Close your eyes and merge into Benedikt Frey’s 'Fastlane'. Imagine sitting in the driver’s seat of a an automobile, one with exceptional horsepower and torque, as you stare out the windshield at the red light, warping in fata-morgana a mile down the road. It’s a straight-away, a black top with two lanes, and against your better judgment you decide to floor the gas. No hesitation in your muscle, your ankle or the ball of your foot, which you now realize is some kind of universal pivot, the first point of contact fusing your body with the will of machine. In this moment you’re in awe that you, a human, an animal, grew from pond scum into something so advanced as to engineer this thing, a mechanical beast capable of overwhelming power and exhilaration. But you also feel a seductive dread, an outside force diverting you from caution toward a dangling carrot of curiosity, asking yourself, ‘How far can I take this thing?’ The dread, now a constant, is numbed, equalized by an adverse intoxicating gratification. You feel both sensations in real time, however, rather than take responsibility for yourself, friends, family and innocent bystanders, you cement your foot to the floor and lean your head back. Noise around you fades to mute. Smell the benzene-scented air, feel the wind on your face, the menacing vibration of the vessel you control beneath you and every grain of asphalt under its tires. This mile has now lasted an eternity and you’ve left your body for some objective view, as if watching climax of a film. Past the point of no return, you embrace abandon and lean into fate. The film becomes slow motion, a crawling pace so mesmerizing you convince yourself of an option to eject yourself from this madness, but as you finally let go of your last morsel of fear, you run the red light head-on into the nucleus of a fantastic glistening sculpture of torn metal, glass, oil, broken dreams and heartache. 'Fastlane' may be just drum machines and synthesizers if you’re timid, but listen harder and know the catastrophic reality of existence, a wreckage so gruesome we dare not rubberneck, but afterall it is our nature to stare.

Tape

The music of Melati ESP aka Melati Malay is a euphoric vision of megacity rhythm and rainforest escape, club breaks and weightless pop, mapping new dreams from the sound of futures passed: hipernatural.

Drawing on the music era of her teenage years growing up in Jakarta – Javanese radio Dangdut, gamelan cassettes, Moving Shadow-era liquid jungle, Japanese chill-out, etc. – as well as her current work in progressive percussion trio Asa Tone, Malay’s solo debut is boldly borderless, bridging worlds and wavelengths into a richly imagined hybrid synthetic utopia.

hipernatural is momentous linguistically, too, as Malay’s first foray into singing in Indonesian, the language of her youth. She characterizes her lyrical mode as “abstract, and a bit broken,” an intuitive collage of diaristic emotion and oblique poetry (“plant me in fleeting twilight / missing home, where is home? / I am another you”). Her voice serves as its own versatile instrument, alternately intimate and alien, sensual and sacred, shaded with the haze of hidden heavens.

Co-produced with long-time collaborator Kaazi (100% Silk, Asa Tone), the album’s 12 tracks are cohesive but eclectic, threading through temple bass music, cyber siren techno, Stereolab drum n bass, new age downtempo, and dial-up rave reveries, flecked with tactile fragments of offworld dialogue, computer hum, bubbling water, and beyond.

Malay’s technique of sampling and processing her voice into an electronic palette which she then performs on generative instruments gives the songs a bewitching artificial intelligence elegance, exquisite but uncanny. Hers is a hybridity both organic and hypermodern, deeply personal yet globally sourced – YouTube rips, nature tapes, cheap sample packs, club bootlegs. hipernatural champions a dynamic new language at the axis of then and now, of east and west

When David Drucker of Painted Faces begins to write and record, every dumb sign, bad horror movie, seemingly innocuous turn of phrase, petty embarrassment, transcendent joke, and musical
influence are drawn together like iron filings to a magnet.
What results is a document of a particular point in time for the artist. There are infectiously haunting hooks and raw atonal passages, cheap synths (and as time goes on less cheap ones), simple but effective chords, ramshackle percussion (a plastic toy maraca passed among audience members that refuses to die), and a host of other elements that all add up to something very special and deeply personal.

It’s a portrait of the artist as a freak.
On his latest album, Normal Street, the story continues. The title track opens with a nebulous cloud of beeps and squeals which slowly give way to more solid melodic form. Drucker, always searching for ever
freakier and liberated pastures, walks a particularly unique line between unpredictably risky experimentation and skillful songcraft. It’s this interplay hat makes Painted Faces truly original and exciting.
What “works” is totally relative, and through his long honed practice of trying things, he has created his own sonic vocabulary.

Normal Street is a fractured collection of songs, sounds, ideas, sometimes brief and other times delicately sustained; its stream of consciousness mischievousness bringing to mind Zappa and the
Mothers filtered through the angst of bedroom pop and tape label minimalism.

Communique Records USA sub label, SOUNDS. brings another classic release back on vinyl.
This time it's the collab between DJ Skull and Label owner DJ ESP aka Woody McBride from 1996!!!

Jasper James fights for what he wants to be, cuz function is the key. This is his first offering for the ESP Institute, and after many trials and tribulations with the pressing plants, everyone’s patience is now handsomely rewarded. On the A side, '0141' is percussion-based track utilizing a variety of overdriven metallic percussion and petite vocal snips that roll up neatly into a seductive rhythm. This is one for the hips and hands, with instrumentation chopped into short staccato spikes, Jasper invites impulsive body theatrics and the freedom to spastically express oneself. On the flip, 'E-Maniac' is a bona-fide tops-off Summer anthem if we ever heard one. What would typically qualify as an A-side banger, we’ve decided would better suit our contrarian leanings as a nice Easter egg, just to make sure you’re actually listening. This one drives hard, shuffling at a maniacal pace with gut-bending bass notes and stuttered pad stabs. These two songs will ping your pong and pong your ping.

Opal Sunn (Alex Kassian and Hiroaki OBA) believe in unicorns, leprechauns and mermaids. This is their first offering for the ESP Institute. The A side leads with 'The Problem With George', a percussive monster at a half-time tempo that goes deep with a dual mission; to successively build round after round while keeping the listeners mind and body in an ecstatic state of surrender. Imagine the dancefloor pumping, and at a dynamic peak the DJ halves the timing and wipes the floor with your spinal fluid. On the flip, 'The Mystery Of Mr Lee' takes a similar approach in terms of arc and arrangement, although replacing the analogue percussion with 16th-note arpeggios of synthetic steel, glass and tubes. Beneath this glistening veneer lies another scale-wandering melody constructed of machine toms that eventually opens up, morphing into a more decisive hook, wrapping more tightly around the drum pattern before retreating back beneath layers. If dropped at the opportune time, let’s say the sensitive blue morning before dawn cracks, we expect a dancefloors to reach the highest level of psychedelic escape, after which hugs are essential. These two songs will tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.

'Night Of The Endless Beyond', the sophomore album by Lord Of The Isles AKA Neil McDonald for the ESP Institute, had almost become a mythical piece of work. The tracks very slowly crept into formation from the lowest depths of 2021, and once the completed album finally made the leap from creation into manufacturing, an entirely new onslaught of follies and delays awaited at the pressing plant. We began to laugh, for not only did Mario Hugo’s otherworldly sleeve artwork visually translate this music so well, but it was an uncanny premonition to the album being lost in space, falling through a black hole, evaporating into the aether like a dream that never really happened. But, at long last, ground control has confirmed contact! It did happen, it will arrive, and it’s not a myth.
Listening to 'Night Of The Endless Beyond' now feels like the return of a strayed friend, one whose distance left us pining for an embrace. Although this Techno relies on unassuming means, there is a remarkably complex and persuasive emotional statement embedded here, insisting we learn to endure the long game and allow ourselves patience to investigate and appreciate the minutiae contained not only within the notes, but their negative space. From its introduction, through its mellow crests and valleys, there is a conveyance of restraint — subtle dynamics that quietly beg for attention, repetition so hypnotic that imaginary melodies are inescapable, transient peaks so deliberately scaled that we mourn the subsequent decay. In accordance with Neil’s ESP debut, 'In Waves', we never feel attacked by instrumentation but shielded from sharp edges, able to step inside the music, breathe the air it occupies and know its true intentions, whether bright or bleak.
Just prior to the album close, a film dialogue excerpt summarizes everything quite honestly by proposing, “The truth of the universe is waiting … the truth of what is … it’s all going to go away … everything … into blackness … the void … and nobody is in charge.”
“…and what do you do with that?”
We stare long into the 'Night Of The Endless Beyond' and answer… “You smile.”

This extraordinary NYC trio combines free jazz and post-punk with pointed commentary about issues of race, gender, the pandemic, and political autonomy.

Rose Tang, a Mongol from Sichuan, sings/recites and plays guitar, piano, and percussion. Tenor saxophonist Ayumi Ishito, from Japan, plays in a plethora of bands along the jazz/rock spectrum. Drummer, composer, and educator Wen-Ting Wu, from Taiwan, combines jazz drive and classical rigor.

The group came together to play one song at an event. ESP-Disk’, already familiar with the separate work on the NYC scene of all three members, immediately invited them to make an album. After intensive rehearsals, the members recorded the album in a one-day session, then reunited during the pandemic to add words about its effect to an existing instrumental on “8 Steps/7 O’Clock.” This album is simultaneously part of ESP-Disk's Drive To Revive Weird Rock and an extension of the label's famed free-jazz legacy.

This extraordinary NYC trio combines free jazz and post-punk with pointed commentary about issues of race, gender, the pandemic, and political autonomy. Rose Tang, a Mongol from Sichuan, sings/recites and plays guitar, piano, and percussion. Tenor saxophonist Ayumi Ishito, from Japan, plays in a plethora of bands along the jazz/rock spectrum. Drummer, composer, and educator Wen-Ting Wu, from Taiwan, combines jazz drive and classical rigor.