Peak Oil Novedades

Returning to Peak Oil for a second expedition, veteran Russian producer Kirill Vasin, aka Hoavi, explores an untrodden path on 'architectonics', drawing from his lifelong appreciation of Indonesian gamelan musics to mastermind a rhythmelodic hybrid sound that's sinuous, subtle and remarkably dubby. Over the last three and a half years, Vasin has used the music's methodologies and rhythmic forms to evolve his existing processes and signatures and transform his musical philosophy. To start the exercise, he knew he needed percussion, so used his phone and a contact microphone to pick up nearby sounds, drumming on various tables, railings, empty glasses and other objects to create a library of textured, tonally complex percussive sounds. But the work wasn't done yet - in fact, it was just the beginning of a long process of trial and error: Vasin created two full versions of the album before 'architectonics' was finished.

There are still echoes of the chrome-plated sci-fi atmospheres and complex, stuttering beatscapes that underpinned 2021's 'Invariant', but 'architectonics' asks very different questions, prompting fresher, more innovative responses. Leaning on his bank of organic percussive sounds, Vasin is able to concoct a tactile aura that he fills with eerie fluctuating repetitions that shift subtly, sometimes imperceptibly. The cavernous reverb and booming bass that supported his last few albums is still present, now employed as scaffolding for different architectures: skittering sequences and ornamented overlapping phrases that owe as much to Steve Reich's hallowed minimalist compositions as they do to Indonesian traditional forms. Lulling, almost hypnotic tessellations appear like fractals on the polished surfaces, morphing from jazz to techno and dub while retaining gamelan's haunting xenharmonic resonances and Vasin's concept becomes crystal clear. 'architectonics' isn't an attempt to make a gamelan album, it's Vasin's way of developing his own artistic process by looking far beyond the traditional boundaries of electronic music.

Meticulously assembled from a good 15 years' worth of source material, Cong Burn boss John Howes' second Paperclip Minimiser transmission proliferates its predecessor's network of turn-of-the-millennium aesthetics and concepts, bringing us closer to the lost future promised by the mid-digital age. If the debut album rooted itself in 2006, using an era-specific rig to activate its vintage Winamp-ready sound, 'II' pushes the clock forward just a little, recycling an unreleased album that Howes engineered in various locations across the north of England, starting way back in 2011. Working quickly and methodically with his homebrewed "DIY DAW" system, Howes improvised live using the record's bank of sounds, transforming the skittering bio-electronic rhythms, bitcrushed modem whines and inclement Lancs soundscapes into a suite of sleek, bass heavy steppers.

Howes has refined his setup and process over the years to function as an antithesis of contemporary production logic, a system that he can use easily to retreat from the excessive layering, overdubbing and editing that plagues modern electronic music. With only limited separate channels in each track, 'II' sounds both archaic and strangely novel. Showing respect to the early days of techno, when stone-cold classics were jammed out live using just a drum machine, a sampler and a couple of synths, Howes simultaneously acknowledges the promise of the transition to a digital future, as nascent algorithmic technology began to rehydrate stale rhythmic and melodic patterns. Fabricating its wrinkled cyberpunk landscape from shovelware blips and whines, spacious environmental echoes and lustrous, plasticky FM hits, 'II' is dense but never congested. It's a reminder that bass music thrives when it's given the room it needs to breathe.

‘3' saw the core Lifted duo of Max D & Matt Papich unravel their visions of excess into their most divergent and wide-eyed collection to date. Presented here by Peak Oil in a vinyl edition featuring the painting of Jordan Kasey (yes, related to Martin Kasey, saxophonist on 2019’s LP 2) and packaged for a seamless listen.

First scene ‘Chefs’ places us squarely off-center, landing in a cinematic environment that feels a bit like steadycam Luis Bunuel , wine bottle whoo-ing and horn fanfare. Its music without a hard surface, defined more by its fluidity and characters, found sounds and performed dialogue. “Cymbecko” shifts gears into blissful ambient dub, and paves the way for a Luke Stewart led excursion into the uncanny that is ‘Trip Tongue’. Stewart’s upright bass never stops seeking, while Jordan GCZs Rhodes barely touches down before lifting back up into and out of Jacob Long’s (Earthen Sea, Esau) liquid tone sheets. An outside world of percussion accompanies.

The mood morphs and the scene cuts in hard with “Born in the Roof”, slacker techno that grows shimmering parts, Perlon for potheads. Voiceover slacks right with it, a half-convo caught in the billowing chorus of fx. “Macarena” snaps things into focus, working almost like an open window to airing out the heady fog. Simplicity in the vignette.

After “Mecha Perfume & Variety”, “Snow Dancing” reignites the drama, with burning guitar by Jonny Nash taking a plucky and sliding lead over wildly fused drums by Max D, we get a test of new depths for Lifted with the somber and exuberant “Whipped Cream”. Crackling like a radio but with modern propulsion in the form of richly evocative pads courtesy of Motion Graphics, it sounds like a dinner, a space trip, a storyboard, a scene, threaded together in bouncing, oblique ways.

"Bobby V" drops refreshingly, timed like a credit roll and leaving an afterglow that feels more tuned-in than ever.

Players on this album include: Luke Stewart (Irreversible Entanglements, Blacks Myths), Jeremy Hyman, Jonny Nash (Melody As Truth), Jordan GCZ, Matt Papich, Josh Levi, Mezey, Hirama, Dawit Eklund (1432 R), Motion Graphics, Max D, Jacob Long (Earthen Sea, Esau)




d 4.Born In The Roof Radio Mix
e 5.Macarena Radio Edit

The core duo of Max D and Matt Papich debut on Peak Oil following full-lengths for Future Times and PAN with a fresh suite of tactile, diffuse fusion. Half the collection emerged from a 2021 session at Tempo House rounded out by Dustin Wong, Mezey, and Jeremy Hyman, while the rest took shape in moments both collaborative and isolated, collaged together with CDJs into something more liquid and liminal than the sum of its parts.

Across fractured jazz, pitch-shifted downtempo, revelatory guitar, and interstitial interplay, Lifted’s sound is one of flux, fragments, and filigree. Oblique harmonic synergies dusted in chance encounters and rogue acoustics. Diverse moods mapped with split strings and the space between notes. Music untethered by form or expectation, snaking like an ungrounded cable through a geodesic dome of deep-listening.

Repress!

The latest by Chicago trio Purelink unspools an alchemical suite of fractal ambient, dusted dub tech, and interstitial electronica, born from a spirit of unity and flux: “All hands on the mixer, forever finding the sound.” Since forming in 2020, Tommy Paslaski (aka Concave Reflection), Ben Paulson (aka Kindtree), and Akeem Asani (aka Millia) have convened regularly in a shared studio to workshop, swap samples, and hone their collective muse via “the endless possibilities of a laptop,” seeking “something different than we would make on our own.”

Distilled from extended compositions prepared and performed across 2022 in Chicago, Kansas City, New York, and Los Angeles, Signs captures their chemistry at its most liquid and immaterial, mapped in mutating systems of glitch, glass, rhythm, and space. It’s music alternately subdued and subterranean, elevated and remote, attuned to the flickering sentience of outer spheres.

Sailing beyond the boundaries of electronic music, Purelink embrace liquidity on their second album, washing live instrumentation and exposed vocals over their patented cascade of dubbed ambience and ebbing rhythmic experimentation. Since 2020, Tommy Paslaski (aka Concave Reflection), Ben Paulson (aka kindtree) and Akeem Asani (aka Millia) have channeled their most euphoric musical whims into the Purelink project. Drifting between brittle '90s drum 'n bass and dub techno on their cult debut 12" 'Bliss / Swivel' and vaporizing Windy City jazz and post-rock motifs with muggy soundscapes on 2023's critically revered first full-length 'Signs', the trio have managed to define a painterly signature sound that's reflective but not reverent. Sure, Purelink's music can be graceful and bucolic, but it's powered by their innate devotion to the dancefloor's soundsystem.

'Faith' illustrates a period of upheaval for the three friends; relocating from Chicago to New York City, they found themselves surrounded by new scenery and fresh inspirations that permeated their compositions as they adapted to the change. On their previous records, the production process was relatively simple, just three laptops jacked into an interface in Paslaski's living room. Here, they augment the intermixed electronics with acoustic and electric timbres, opening up space for vocal contributions from Hyperdub luminary Loraine James and poet Angelina Nonaj. "Always time for rest," James ponders candidly on 'Rookie', "we settle." Her voice floats like smoke over the trio's familiar pattering rhythms and light-headed synths, now enhanced by capsized guitar motifs and subtle bass plucks.

On 'First Iota' meanwhile, Nonaj's deadpan narration grounds Purelink's dissociated echoes, sub swells and delicate improvisations. "Not everything beautiful has to be real," Nonaj repeats as organic and digital sounds sublime into a lysergic haze. And the softly propulsive 4/4 thuds that steered 'Signs' haven't disappeared entirely, either. On 'Kite Scene' a heartbeat-like pulse underpins Purelink's balmy pads and acidic synths, tactfully disrupted by hollow live percussion, and 'Yoke' muffles its chugging, broken beat sequences with swaddled trance hallucinations, gesturing cautiously towards euphoria. Each element falls into place on the album's final track, 'Circle of Dust', when Paslaski, Paulson and Asani find a fertile middle ground, ornamenting the kinetic, reverberating beats with evaporating whispers, evocative instrumental scrapes and hopeful, ecstatic harmonies.

Adam Winchester and Laurie Osborne (probably still best known as Appleblim) are Wrecked Lightship and they have an inventive approach to dub, breaks and bass. Their work creates an immersive world full of rich, atmospheric textures and the latest example of that is Drained Strands, a new album for Peak Oil full of fragmented, genre-blurring sounds. The six-tracker is full of experimentation and new ideas from the off. 'Delinquent Spirits' for example is a jumble of jungle breaks and vast basslines with minimal percussion, 'Reeling Mist' is warm, blissed out dub and 'Somnium Sands' is an eerie and evocative world of synth designs and industrial decay.

UK duo Wrecked Lightship debut on Peak Oil with a six-track slate of cyber aquatic alien bass music as placeless as it is precise: Antiposition. Comprised of Laurie Osborne (Appleblim) and Adam Winchester (Dot Product), the pair share a fascination with destabilized rhythm and retro-futurist dreaming, smudging dub, drum n bass, synthetic tribalism, and kinetic sound design into fresh electronic frontiers.

Antiposition both refines and refracts the project’s vision. From wobbly interstellar ascension (“Hex”) and cavernous industrial dub (“Bizarre Servants”) to junglist murk (“Sunken Skies”) and fractal shuffle (“Diminished Ark”), Wrecked Lightship move between haze and hyperspace, mythos and mystery. It’s less deconstructed than reconstructed, fashioned from galactic debris and congealed by the gravity of outer spheres.

The latest by New York-based producer Lamin Fofana further refines his cinematic dialect of fractured soundscapes, displaced rhythms, and tectonic unease. Unsettling scores aptly describes itself: grainy, bristling, and bruised, rippling with dread disguised as grandeur. The collection emerged from an extended reworking of his 2016 composition, “A Symbol of the Withdrawn God,” mining deeper into the piece’s “unvoiced fragments, shards, and utterances.” Other tracks were inspired by recent readings on climate emergency and its “specific implications for Black life, from hurricanes in the Caribbean to mudslides in West Africa.”

Fofana has spoken of his music as part of a “legacy of resistance,” spanning the roots of Detroit techno to the outer reaches of contemporary sound art as championed by his labels, Sci-Fi & Fantasy and Black Studies. His work here vividly embodies that spirit, seven hyper-textural transmissions of rumbling lament, shifting sands, and restless innovation, tracing jagged silhouettes of indeterminate futures: “The instability is worldwide.”

The debut from new splinter alias of Manchester producer, sequencer designer, and Cong Burn label boss John Howes was made entirely on a Nord Modular G2, Elektron Machinedrum, and Monomachine – a rig he characterizes as “an authentic 2006 studio, best listened to on Windows XP Media Player or Winamp.” Paperclip Minimiser’s self-titled full-length collects eight elusively multi-dimensional constructs of stereo panned synthetics and slithering ambient techno, born of a web of generative patches subjected to improvisational alterations. Taking things further, Howes’ process involves “planting ghosts in the machines,” instilling each element with “some self-correcting behavior in a cybernetic / lo-fi AI / semi-autonomous agent kinda way.” The result is an ambiguous and dynamic hybrid of accident and intention, chaos and control, shuffling through an innerspace wilderness of psychic circuitry.

The title alludes to a 2003 thought experiment about the existential risk of artificial intelligence; how even a mundane objective, algorithmically extrapolated, could culminate in catastrophe. Here the notion is inverted, demonstrating the sonic infinities to be mined by “pushing and pulling at the strings” of musical systems. Howes aptly samples a vintage interview with electronic music pioneer Bebe Barron – co-composer of the Forbidden Planet soundtrack – discussing the anthropomorphic potential of randomized audio generation: “We thought of our circuits as actors in a script.” Paperclip Minimiser descends from a similar family tree, coaxed as much as crafted, flickering rhythmic synchronicities glimpsed in a mirage of wires and glass.

Continuing his refraction of the rave continuum into pointedly dislocated, delicately bruising sound system meditations, Low End Activist returns to Peak Oil with a second instalment in his Airdrop series. This time around, he channels the ghosts of foundational tech-step and the quantum leaps of late-90s D&B to provide the inspirational fuel for his skeletal, astral constructions. A strong stylistic thread continues to weave through the LEA output from his earlier self-released EPs and Sneaker Social Club albums, where haunted atmospherics, blown out subs and snatches of breaks dart around each other in empty dancehalls, but the finer point of the sound design and synthesis makes very specific references to landmark moments in hardcore's evolution.

By weaving his own autobiography into the music, the Activist maintains a fundamental theme of his work to date. 'Colin's Golf', 'Smithy's Porsche,' 'Merv's Lazy Eye' and 'Brillo's Teeth' are all personal codes harking back to the formative Oxford rave scene. With the framework in place, he uses textures, timbres and studio tricks from scene-leading pioneers and local heroes of the era as ingredients in thoroughly modernist concoctions. None of the reference points are deployed as literal callbacks — they're waymarkers for the creative process and faint triggers bedded deep into Airdrop II's strange formations. Fleeting sonics might trigger latent memories for those who were there. For everyone else, Airdrop II is another step further along rave's eternally unspooling odyssey, guided by decades of precedents on a path into the future.

The latest by UK rave reanimator Low End Activist is a nine-track suite of skeletal hardcore, pointillist drum n bass, and deprivation chamber dub, chopped and brewed in homage to the countryside sites of golden age dance gatherings: Airdrop. From Waterstock to Yarnton Road to White Horse Hill, England’s early 90’s dance summits loomed large in LEA's familial and artistic landscape as a youth, trading tapes and pumping tunes across long weekend afternoons: “Fast music to soundtrack slow days.”

An atomized stew of stabby samples, bubbling bass, airhorns, echo, and blitzed BPMs, the cuts take cues from key heroes of the “where were you in ‘92” set – Tango & DJ Ratty, Top Buzz, DJ SS, DJ Seduction, Dr. S Gachet – then fling them to the four corners. Skittery, stripped, and elevated, this is mad scientist music of voltage, vision, and rewired brains, scraped to its raw genetic essence and deployed for peak kinetic liberation.