SMALLTOWN SUPERSOUND Новости

Un-easy listening from »anti-singer« and improviser Sofia Jernberg, a celebration of the voice in its rawest, most malleable form. Jernberg was born in Ethiopia and grew up in Vietnam and Sweden, so one can only imagine these diverse languages opened up a wealth of phonetic possibilities before she entered academia to study jazz and composition. If you dive into her catalogue you’ll clock her startling range – working as a jazz soprano and as an improviser, collaborating with everyone from Stefan Schneider to Mats Gustafsson, as well as appearances on the stage and screen, most notably in Matthew Barney, Erna Ómarsdóttir, and Valdimar Jóhannsson’s »Union of the North«.

On »Voice«, Jernberg provides a ground-level entry point to her work, meticulously running through a litany of unconventional techniques (non-verbal vocalisation, split tones, toneless singing, and distortion) without any effects, just pure batshit sonics designed to show off the voice’s scope as an experimental instrument. On »Mouth Synthesizer« she purses her lips to make ratcheting pops like some analog oscillator, hoarsely mimicking the sort of blustery, Merzbow-coded distortions you might get if you patched a RAT pedal into a broken guitar amp. It isn’t an act of caricature, it’s Jernberg’s way of demonstrating that expensive modular rigs aren’t an essential tool for experimental music, before throwing a side-eye to the field recording industrial complex on »Birds«, transforming her vocal chords into a nightmare aviary. But it’s Jernberg’s startling »multiphonic« experiments that hit hardest. The album opens on »Multiphonic I«, and it’s difficult to tell that you’re listening to a human voice at first – you could just as well be on Colin Stetson’s overblown sax airstreams. Jernberg creates a captivating spiral of crooked, phased tones and hoarse, guttural croaks that she develops over three movements. On »Multiphonic II«, her voice is turned into a storm of pained shrieks, and on the third and final segment, it almost resembles Arve Henriksen or Jon Hassell’s muted brass curlicues. Each track pulls a different musical muscle, whether it’s »One Pitch« with its unsettling yodel-like quivering drones or »Gurgle«, sounding like a close mic-ed recording of a small pot gently simmering.

Changes In Air ist ein wunderschönes, langsam fließendes Stück in fünf Teilen für elektronische Orgel, Klavier und modulare Synthese. Es ist das dritte und letzte Album der kanadischen Komponistin Kara-Lis Coverdale aus dem Jahr 2025, nach From Where You Came (Frühling) und A Series of Actions in a Sphere of Forever (Sommer), und vervollständigt eine exquisite Trilogie von Werken, die ihre lang erwartete Rückkehr zur Musikaufzeichnung feiern.

Changes In Air ist ein wunderschönes, langsam fließendes Stück in fünf Teilen für elektronische Orgel, Klavier und modulare Synthese. Es ist das dritte und letzte Album der kanadischen Komponistin Kara-Lis Coverdale aus dem Jahr 2025, nach From Where You Came (Frühling) und A Series of Actions in a Sphere of Forever (Sommer), und vervollständigt eine exquisite Trilogie von Werken, die ihre lang erwartete Rückkehr zur Musikaufzeichnung feiern.

Clear Vinyl. ,A Series of Actions in a Sphere of Forever" ist eine Sammlung von neun Soloklavierwerken, die sich mit Widerstand, Resonanz und Raum mit einer ausgeprägten spektralen Sensibilität auseinandersetzen. Diese Stücke sind Nocturnes, die tief in der Stille des Winters in einem kleinen ländlichen Studio in Valens, Kanada, geschrieben wurden. A Series of Actions in a Sphere of Forever ist der Nachfolger von From Where You Came, das im Mai veröffentlicht wurde und eine RA-Empfehlung sowie die Auszeichnung ,Experimentelles Album des Monats" von The Guardian erhielt, das es als ,stille Ekstase eines Komponisten ohne Grenzen" bezeichnete.

,A Series of Actions in a Sphere of Forever" ist eine Sammlung von neun Soloklavierwerken, die sich mit Widerstand, Resonanz und Raum mit einer ausgeprägten spektralen Sensibilität auseinandersetzen. Diese Stücke sind Nocturnes, die tief in der Stille des Winters in einem kleinen ländlichen Studio in Valens, Kanada, geschrieben wurden. A Series of Actions in a Sphere of Forever ist der Nachfolger von From Where You Came, das im Mai veröffentlicht wurde und eine RA-Empfehlung sowie die Auszeichnung ,Experimentelles Album des Monats" von The Guardian erhielt, das es als ,stille Ekstase eines Komponisten ohne Grenzen" bezeichnete.

Der norwegische Saxophonist Bendik Giske steht an der Schwelle zu seinem dritten Soloalbum und kennt sich selbst gut. Mit seinem neuen, selbstbetitelten Album befindet er sich in seiner Blütezeit als Künstler: selbstbewusst in Bezug auf seine Stimme und seine Fähigkeiten, beflügelt von Kritikerlob aus allen Ecken - einschließlich zweier norwegischer Grammy-Nominierungen - und einer Welle von Zuhörern überall. Mit der Wahl von Beatrice Dillon als Produzentin des Albums - die britische Elektronikmusikerin ist eindeutig eine Weggefährtin in der Praxis des originellen ästhetischen Ausdrucks - ist ihr Einfluss unmittelbar und deutlich spürbar. Gemeinsam entfernen sie eine Schicht des Melodismus und konzentrieren sich auf Muster und Rhythmus, um eine andere Dimension seines faszinierenden Sounds hervorzuheben. Da er wieder mit Einzelaufnahmen arbeitet, ohne Overdubs, nur mit Saxophon und seinem Körper, sind der hallige Raum und der liebliche Glamour verschwunden. Für Giske kommt das Ergebnis einer musikalischen Nacktheit von ganz vorne gleich - jedes Detail, jedes Röcheln und Schnaufen ist hörbar, nichts wird verdeckt, nichts ästhetisiert. Die Leute schauen vielleicht weg, wenn es nicht so schön ist, aber was übrig bleibt, fühlt sich präsenter und stärker an. Es ist konfrontativ, verlangt mehr Aufmerksamkeit, aber durch seine Körperlichkeit - man kann seinen Körper in der Musik hören und fühlen - versetzt es einen in einen Flow-Zustand, irgendwo zwischen Ekstase, Hochgefühl und spirituellem Erwachen. Es ist sehr menschlich, aber es gibt auch eine starke Spannung - die es immer geben wird, wenn man um Existenz und Gültigkeit kämpft - elegant illustriert durch Florian Hetz' eindrucksvolle Fotografien des Künstlers zu der Veröffentlichung. Zum Teil ist Giske von Judith Halberstams The Queer Art of Failure inspiriert. So sehr er auch von seiner Ausbildung und Teilnahme am Umfeld des Jazz-Konservatoriums profitiert hat, führte ihn sein Weg doch weit über dessen Grenzen hinaus. Die Arbeit an diesen neuen Erkundungen mit seinem Instrument war ein zehnjähriger Prozess, in dem er das, von dem er wusste, dass es letztlich nicht passte, abstreifte und das klangliche Territorium seiner gelebten Erfahrung fand. Daraus entstanden Systeme, die Studien von Tempo und Proportionen ermöglichten, ein Ausgangspunkt für einen immersiven improvisatorischen Ansatz, der jahrelange musikalische Erkundungen abbildet. Es ist der Klang von sozialer Emanzipation durch den meditativen Puls und die Geschwindigkeit der Zirkularatmung und den Tanz des Körpers, insbesondere der Finger, der Zunge und der Lippen. Giske weiß, dass Musik ein mächtiges Werkzeug sein kann, um Menschen zusammenzubringen und Ideen zu finden, und die Langlebigkeit seines Projekts ist vor allem ein Aufruf zu Fürsorge, Zusammengehörigkeit, Geschichtenerzählen und der Fähigkeit, sich für eine gemeinsame Sache zu versammeln. In aller Ernsthaftigkeit ist BendikGiske ein Vorschlag für Wahrhaftigkeit und Existenz, ein Raum für jemanden, der sein tiefstes Selbst ausdrücken kann.

Bendik Giske’s Beatrice Dillon-produced 2023 album gets an addendum with reworks from Carmen Villain, aya, Hanne Lippard, Hieroglyphic Being, Wacław Zimpel and Dillon herself.

Giske’s clearly got his ear to the ground; his last remix record was an invitation for Laurel Halo to put her stamp on »Cruising«, while 2018’s »Adjust EP« roped in Deathprod, Total Freedom, Lotic, and Rezzett. Now comes this new LP of remixes and it’s one of the best we’ve heard in aeons. Carmen Villain boots things off with a remix of »Slipping«, following her excellent (and way, way too underrated) »Nutrition EP« with a giddy, subtle roller that sounds as if it’s been constructed using only Giske’s raw stems. His breaths and leathery key presses – already amped up by Dillon’s detailed recording – are magicked into a dubby concrète groove that’s enhanced with the sparest melodic elements: echoing rainforest-at-night horn blasts, and lopped off decay trails that help fuel the momentum.

aya’s revision of the same track takes a different approach, forming forceful overlapping polyrhythms from Giske’s clanks, using the gamelan-like arpeggios for melodic weight and repetition. The result is a constantly shifting, hypnotic trancer that’s achingly organic – more Raja Kirik than Paul Van Dyke. Polish clarinetist and producer Wacław Zimpel, meanwhile, supplements his trippy recent collaboration with James Holden on a similarly levitational wrinkle of »Slipping« that twists Giske’s quivering sequences with microtonal synth prangs, and gusty echoes. But it’s Jamal Moss who plays fastest and loosest with Giske’s source material, calling back to April’s psy-house stunner »Dance Music 4 Bad People« with a powdery, sexualised banger that buries the breathy »Start« stems underneath neon synths, and brittle drum loops.

»I’m a digital nomad,« Lippard deadpans over Giske’s »Not Yet«. »I’m addicted you know that.« It’s a typically dry treatment from the conceptual artist that unexpectedly amps up the hypnotic qualities of Giske’s original, adding her circuitous charm to his concertina-ing sax sequences. And to tie things up perfectly, Beatrice Dillon returns with her diaphanous remix of »Rise and Fall«, built to emphasise the radically different approaches of each artist.

"Sun" ist das erste Album der aus Tennessee stammenden Baritonsaxophonistin Zoh Amba für das in Oslo ansässige Label Smalltown Supersound - und ihr zweites Album nach "Oh Sun", das 2022 auf dem Label Tzadik erschienen ist. Auf "Sun" stellt Amba eine neu zusammengestellte Gruppe mit einer Reihe von Kompositionen vor, die die Grenze zwischen Performance und Prozess verwischen - wobei sich sowohl die Musik als auch der Akt ihrer Aufnahme in Echtzeit entfalten, teilweise geleitet von improvisatorischen Aufnahmetechniken. Als Bandleaderin bewegt sich Amba an den Rändern eines improvisatorischen Deltas, in dem spiritueller Jazz und Free Folk nicht als getrennte Genres auftreten, sondern als Nebenflüsse derselben Strömung, die beide aus einem gemeinsamen Glauben an die Musik als heilige Kraft entspringen. Die Entscheidung, "Sun" auf Smalltown Supersound zu veröffentlichen, entstand aus einer gemeinsamen Verbindung zum verstorbenen deutschen Saxophonisten Peter Brötzmann, der sowohl ein spiritueller Mentor für Amba war als auch mehrere Platten auf dem Label veröffentlicht hat. Und während das Album in amerikanischen Folk-Traditionen verwurzelt ist, ist es Brötzmanns furchtloser Geist - selbst ein immenser historischer Katalysator für den europäischen Free Jazz -, der wie ein roter Faden durch die musikalische Zusammenarbeit des Ensembles und seine experimentellen Aufnahmetechniken verläuft. Für Amba war es jedoch wichtig, dass das Ensemble - bestehend aus Caroline Morton (Bass), Lex Korton (Piano) und Miguel Marcel Russel (Percussion) - vor den Aufnahmen eine tiefere musikalische Verbindung aufbauen konnte: ,Wir haben tagelang einfach nur zusammen gespielt, und ich habe versucht, mir mental Notizen zu machen, was in dieser Band ganz natürlich vorhanden war - bevor ich Anweisungen gab oder Noten austeilte. Ich wollte sehen, wo wir alle in diesem Moment in unserem Leben standen. Von dort aus begann ich, mit ihnen den Prozess zu gestalten. So entstanden die Struktur der Band und der Ansatz für das Album."

Ein dynamisches und erhabenes Werk voller Emotionen und Sensibilität, "From Where You Came" als eine Reihe nächtlicher Übertragungen, altertümlicher Verfeinerungen und lebendiger Geschichten, die reich an erhellenden Qualitäten sind. Die Kombination von programmatischer Musik des 19. Jahrhunderts mit Jazz aus der Mitte der 70er Jahre und ihrem unverwechselbar farbenfrohen und mehrdimensionalen Kompositionsansatz, der die Improvisation einschließt, ermöglicht Coverdale die Synthese mit Live-Instrumenten in einer genrefreien, aber deutlich erkennbaren Geste der Wiederverbindung mit Land und Körper durch Klang zu verbinden. Sie betrachtet Komposition als diagnostische Methodik zu spirituellen Zwecken, leitet emotionale Resonanz wie Ladungsströme und verdrahtet das rein Gefühlte in elektronische Signale. Obwohl sie auf mehreren Kontinenten komponiert und aufgenommen hat, unter anderem im GRM Studio in Paris und dem Elektronmusikstudion EMS in Stockholm, wurde "From Where You Came" im ländlichen Ontario, Kanada, fertiggestellt. Mit Beiträgen der multidisziplinären Klangkünstlerin und Cellistin Anne Bourne und dem mit einem Grammy ausgezeichneten Posaunen-Wunderkind Kalia Vandever, enthalten die 11 ausgedehnten und doch verdichteten Kompositionen des Albums Streicher, Holzbläser, Blechbläser, Tasten, Software und modulare Synthese, die eine musikalische Sprache einschreiben, die Animationen mit ungefilterter, beeindruckender Klarheit wiedergibt. ,Alles kann eine Stimme haben", sagt sagt Coverdale. ,Für mich ist die Stimme mehr als nur menschlich." Passenderweise ist es die eigene Stimme der Künstlerin die sich im einhüllenden Schwellwerk des Albumauftakts in Luft auflöst: ,Everything you know is real", singt sie in ,Eternity`, "I'm sorry, life is beautiful." Als zwischen Animismus und Animalismus oszilliert, ist das folgende Album absolut voll von Leben in all seiner atemberaubenden Komplexität. Coverdale rechnet mit der Erfahrung von Trauer, Entwurzelung und dem Druck der totalen Freiheit und Unabhängigkeit ab, und beweist eine übernatürliche Fähigkeit, die Trübsal in höchst fantasievolle und inspirierende Fantasy-Epen aus Klang zu verwandeln.

Ein dynamisches und erhabenes Werk voller Emotionen und Sensibilität, "From Where You Came" als eine Reihe nächtlicher Übertragungen, altertümlicher Verfeinerungen und lebendiger Geschichten, die reich an erhellenden Qualitäten sind. Die Kombination von programmatischer Musik des 19. Jahrhunderts mit Jazz aus der Mitte der 70er Jahre und ihrem unverwechselbar farbenfrohen und mehrdimensionalen Kompositionsansatz, der die Improvisation einschließt, ermöglicht Coverdale die Synthese mit Live-Instrumenten in einer genrefreien, aber deutlich erkennbaren Geste der Wiederverbindung mit Land und Körper durch Klang zu verbinden. Sie betrachtet Komposition als diagnostische Methodik zu spirituellen Zwecken, leitet emotionale Resonanz wie Ladungsströme und verdrahtet das rein Gefühlte in elektronische Signale. Obwohl sie auf mehreren Kontinenten komponiert und aufgenommen hat, unter anderem im GRM Studio in Paris und dem Elektronmusikstudion EMS in Stockholm, wurde "From Where You Came" im ländlichen Ontario, Kanada, fertiggestellt. Mit Beiträgen der multidisziplinären Klangkünstlerin und Cellistin Anne Bourne und dem mit einem Grammy ausgezeichneten Posaunen-Wunderkind Kalia Vandever, enthalten die 11 ausgedehnten und doch verdichteten Kompositionen des Albums Streicher, Holzbläser, Blechbläser, Tasten, Software und modulare Synthese, die eine musikalische Sprache einschreiben, die Animationen mit ungefilterter, beeindruckender Klarheit wiedergibt. ,Alles kann eine Stimme haben", sagt sagt Coverdale. ,Für mich ist die Stimme mehr als nur menschlich." Passenderweise ist es die eigene Stimme der Künstlerin die sich im einhüllenden Schwellwerk des Albumauftakts in Luft auflöst: ,Everything you know is real", singt sie in ,Eternity`, "I'm sorry, life is beautiful." Als zwischen Animismus und Animalismus oszilliert, ist das folgende Album absolut voll von Leben in all seiner atemberaubenden Komplexität. Coverdale rechnet mit der Erfahrung von Trauer, Entwurzelung und dem Druck der totalen Freiheit und Unabhängigkeit ab, und beweist eine übernatürliche Fähigkeit, die Trübsal in höchst fantasievolle und inspirierende Fantasy-Epen aus Klang zu verwandeln.

On ‘Animal’, Ash Fure appeals to “animal intelligence” by using sounds that are inherently physical and driven by perception, athleticism and interaction. Placing polycarbonate sheeting over an inverted subwoofer she built alongside her partner Xavi Aguirre and brother Adam, Fure isolates the physical impact of sound by focusing on psychoacoustic sub-bass pulses, semi-perceptible micro-rhythms and discomfiting white noise bursts, linking the process to her experiences in Berlin and Detroit’s techno dungeons where the sound has to adapt to the space it’s performed in. When she performed ‘Animal’ for the first time, Fure fabricated a “listening gym”, allowing the audience to interact in real-time by circuit training in response to the sound. The sweat is almost audible across the record, a run-on selection of rhythms, resonances and abstractions that sound like interlocking heartbeats on a series of treadmills. Her fascination with techno’s cavernous cathedrals is clear from the beginning, but Fure doesn’t worship at the altar: we’re hit with the feeling, not the aesthetic. The beats themselves, made from unstable vibrations and waterlogged, reverberating clicks, echo the brain’s unconscious reaction to repetition in a vast concrete box, the feeling you get when each percussive snag ricochets from every surface in the building. Coddling these whirring, criss-crossing polyrhythms with harsh, distorted low-end retches, Fure accurately recreates the energy and fatigue of the endless weekend sesh. We never once encounter techno in its expected shell, just its residue - the outline of humans figuring out their relationship with technology, architecture and each other. Fure’s use of dynamics is also deviously smart, marking out an overall rhythm that’s not tied to the strength of the sounds themselves, but just volume and physical impact. Often her most brutal sounds - ear-splitting squeals and overdriven mechanical whirrs - are reduced to an almost inaudible level, a bit like the bandy legged trip to the bathroom, or the escape to some dimly lit nook, the part of the night where you can still detect the sound on your skin without being battered by it. When the undulating rhythm returns in earnest, Fure masks acidic sequences in jet engine expulsions, still refusing to objectify anything that an AI model might be able to pick up on.

Barker's debutalbum Utility (on Berghain's Ostgut Ton label) was something of a sensation in the world of electronic music when it was released. Utility made numerous Best of 2019 year's end lists, including Pitchfork (8,2 review), The Quietus, DJ Mag, Resident Advisor (Recommends) and others. It also earned title of Mixmag's Album of The Year 2019. Now its finally time for the follow-up Stochastic Drift on Smalltown Supersound. And where Barker on Utility was "using ambient materials to remake techno" as Pitchfork's Philip Sherburne wrote, he takes this approach even further here creating - as the title suggests - a dreamy stochastic drift and beautiful freeform float.

Barker's debutalbum Utility (on Berghain's Ostgut Ton label) was something of a sensation in the world of electronic music when it was released. Utility made numerous Best of 2019 year's end lists, including Pitchfork (8,2 review), The Quietus, DJ Mag, Resident Advisor (Recommends) and others. It also earned title of Mixmag's Album of The Year 2019. Now its finally time for the follow-up Stochastic Drift on Smalltown Supersound. And where Barker on Utility was "using ambient materials to remake techno" as Pitchfork's Philip Sherburne wrote, he takes this approach even further here creating - as the title suggests - a dreamy stochastic drift and beautiful freeform float.

An imperial phase Actress commits a lushly amorphous installation piece made for the Berliner Festspiele to vinyl, rendering a post-industrial symphony full of iridescent shifts in gyring, OOBE-like spatial coordinates landing somewhere between nutopian ambient, kankyō ongaku and sawn-off bass science.

‘Grey Interiors’ was made in collaboration with Actual Objects and is an absorbing animation and navigation of those post-human ideals that have prompted Darren J. Cunningham to his best work across the preceding two decades. In its hypnagogic symphony of the elements, he short-circuits distinctions of classical music’s metric freedoms and the hyperspatial sensuality of concrète/electro-acoustic and ambient musics with an artistic license that has come to distinguish his work in the contemporary field, and arguably identified him as this generation’s most vital electronic abstractionist.

The first half of the album is bewitchingly airless, materialised in a twinkling vacuum. Naturalistic environmental recordings and a half-heard piano swirl around nauseous airlock whooshes and eerie bass drones. It's all pulverised to a powdery, shimmering residue; if Actress's music is defined by its character and texture - that sweet spot between the bedroom and the soundsystem - then this one advances the narrative without losing its backbone. And like a lot of his best work, it comes into its own on the back of zonked eyelids, conjuring a play of shifting geometric patterns within its imaginary physics and nuanced narration of ephemeral melodic phrasing and vaporous textures.

At about the halfway point, that dissociated piano finds its groove, coalescing into a jerky drum machine rhythm popping like bubbles in the stifling atmosphere. We can draw some intersecting lines here thru electronic music lore - traces of vintage AE, Push Button Objects, UR - but Actress always leaves an indelible fingerprint on anything he touches. Even when he's rubbing against the gallery-industrial complex, he manages to fill a stagnant space with electricity and wit; look at the title itself: is it a reference to the "landscape beyond man" as the installation's press release might have us believe, or the institutions themselves?

Prolific Norwegian trumpeter and ECM veteran Arve Henriksen returns with Estonian guitarist/composer Robert Jürjendal in tow, matching his idiosyncratic shakuhachi-style melodic condensations with Jürjendal's glassy electro-acoustic soundscapes and sonorous percussion.

Henriksen releases a lot but is remarkably reliable; his playing is so versatile that hearing it dematerialise into different ensembles and individual methodologies is always a treat. Jürjendal is a veteran guitarist, but doesn't approach his instrument from a purely classical standpoint, taking a Fripp-inspired path towards texture, processing and looping his sounds until they're barely recognisable. The duo share a similar love for Hassell's Fourth World ambience, and here inject new life into that mood.

Jürjendal's percussion is impressive: he offsets cascades of oddly-tuned electronics on 'Tuonela' with booming, ritualistic tom hits that punctuate Henriksen's melancholy phrases; and on the brilliant 'Ancient Bells', plays a set of gongs and gamelan-style instruments, creating swirling hammered tonal clusters that quiver beneath Henriksen's echoed-out, spirited improvisations. It's not always that corporeal, either; on 'A Remarkable Flow', he loops guitar phrases, creating gentle vibrations that rumble in the background while he mirrors Henriksen's pitchy zig-zags with high-pitched oscillator vamps.

Even on the peaceable 'Miraculous Lake', discreet kalimba loops set a celestial tempo that anchors the duo's gaseous soundscapes. And although they veer towards end-credits loveliness on the Göttsching-influenced 'Reunion Hymn', it’s balanced by the album's darker passages, like 'Rebirth' and 'Another Me'. On the latter, Henriksen's trumpet is transformed into a voice-like warble, while Jürjendal replies with glacial E-bowed drones that resonate creepily alongside his lysergic FM pads.

Free jazz poetry by a spry, 85 year old Joe McPhee, adapting his renowned improvised practice to words - juxtaposed with Mats Gustafson’s sparing brass and electric gestures. It’s an utterly timeless and transfixing salvo, another shiny notch for Smalltown Supersound’s Le Jazz Non Series.

As a common ligature to the OG free jazz scene of ‘60s NYC, with formative binds to its European offshoots and the experimental avant garde, Joe McPhee is a true force of nature who has represented jazz at its freest over a remarkable lifetime. In duo with Swedish free jazz and noise standard bearer Mats Gustafson, he upends expectations with an astonishingly vivid and upfront example of his enduring contribution to freely improvised music. In 11 parts he variously reflects on everything from the neon sleaze and scuzz of NYC to contemporary US politicians and laugh out loud imitations of his previous sparring partners such as Peter Brötzmann, with a head-slapping immediacy that leaves you reeling, spellbound.

McPhee’s flow of rare, organic cadence, ranging from urgent to contemplative and dreamlike, is blessed with a unique turn-of-phrase that surely mirrors his decades of instrumental work. Gustafsson, meanwhile, dextrously takes up the mantle with a multi-instrumental spectrum of sounds, leaving McPhee unbound and able to float and sting on the mic. There’s obvious wisdom in his perceptively penetrative observations, as derived from a rich cultural life well spent, but also a playful naivety and levity in his ability to veer from almost melodic speech to explosive aggression and a knowing, bathetic wit. It’s perhaps hard to believe that McPhee only started incorporating and performing spoken word in his work in the past ten years, a half century since his declaration of “What Time Is It‽” announced his arrival on a legendary debut ‘Nation Time’ (1971), ushering in one of free jazz’s most singular characters in the process.

Oscillating between discordant reflections on life as a touring musician, set to Gustafsson’s skronk and culminating in a snort-worthy imitation of Peter Brötzmann’s gruff German accent, on ‘Short Pieces’ or the glowering growl and noise exhortations of ‘Guitar’, he evokes a more sweetly consonant calm in ‘When I Grow Up’ and eerie threat of ‘The Dreams Book’, and viscerality of ‘Disco Death’, where Gustafson’s tonal versatility comes into hugely mutable play, whilst McPhee’s extraordinary, unaffected voice is a constant. It’s perhaps McPhee’s balance of cool measuredness and wellspring of barbed energies that allows us, at least, to get the most out of this one; not stifling with mannered or manicured enunciation that can trigger certain icks; keeping close to the nature of spoken word in a way that avoids cliche and becomes inherently critical of it within his purposeful, non-hesitant clarity and unflinching approach.

DJ Plead and rRoxymore with a debut collab of rhythmelodically restless productions, infusing limber, freewheeling styles with subtly psychedelic balearic melodics.

After meeting for the first time in 2019, Hermione Frank and Jarred Beeler got together at Frank's Berlin studio, slowly sculpting fractal geometries before finally adding the finishing spit and polish at Beeler's parents’ house in Sydney. Marking some of the first original material from either in a minute, the EP knits the duo’s rhythmic fascinations in three ways.

‘Celestial’ splices a rolling 4/4 with quicksilver polyrhythms and zippy melodic motifs swept into hand-clap trills, imagining something like Olof Dreijer re-shaping Joe’s angular syncopations. ‘Read Wrong’ follows to foreground a thumb piano on a more pendulous, sub-weighted flex, inflected with DJ Plead’s signature palette of drum sounds and canny orchestral flashes at the right moments, dipping like D1’s more melodic works or that forthcoming Nídia & Valentina Magaletti pearl.

The duo save their most hard-hitting for last, sliding speedy, dembow-inspired geometries through green-tinted clouds of electronics on a UKF-compatible offbeat threaded with swooping subs and flighty flutes. The momentum never lets up, but the two producers manage to evoke a mood that's as suited to a late-nite solo thing as it is to peak time wreckage. In other words; deceptively effortless gear that hits harder the louder it gets.

Producer, designer, publisher, filmmaker, all-round scene phenom - Lasse Marhaug returns with his first album since relocating from Oslo to the Arctic Circle, surveying his 35-year career for a set of grizzled, doom-pocked rhythms and foghorn drones pulled from the aether. Expansive and hard to categorise, it's a precision-tooled set of ice-cold tonal productions that heavily lean into Mika Vainio’s rhythm experiments, with extra levels of growling bass and curious noises to send us deep into the uncanny.

Lasse Marhaug has put his mark on literally hundreds of albums - working with artists like Jenny Hval, Merzbow, Jim O'Rourke, Kevin Drumm, Hilary Woods - so many others - yet he still regards himself as a primarily visual artist who got diverted into an occasionally different path. If his last album 'Context' was a kiss goodbye to decades of life in Oslo, 'Provoke' turns a new page, but one that draws heavily from memories of the distant past, reflecting on the way the topographies of Norway's frozen north helped shape his creative worldview. Weaving electronics into environmental recordings captured in the bleak Arctic winter, the album was mixed during the Polar night season, when, for two straight months, the sun never rose past the horizon. Somehow, even at its bleakest, Marhaug avoids the usual aesthetic signifiers for this kinda thing, finding elements of queered beauty in all the severity, juxtaposing elements that shine a bright light on all the odd spaces in-between.

A consideration of noise music's place in 2024, and whether it can still be a tool for subversion when its aesthetics have been so commodified, ‘Provoke’ also refernces an experimental '70s Japanese art magazine that attempted to define a new language for photography. Operating somewhere between these two guiding poles, Lasse feels his way through a subtly altered mode of expression, a new approach to familiar concepts. Album opener ‘Plates’, for example, gives it the full Ø treatment, like some exceptional ‘Oleva’-outtake, but , eventually, shards of interference start to exhale like horses blowing, creating uncanny sensations that hit through ambiguous feeling rather than sheer noise terror. Ritualistic, corporeal - hard to know what you’re listening to and why it makes you feel that certain way - so much more than just machine cycles optimised for their ultimately hollow brutalist aesthetic.

Marhaug paints vivid pictures from a carefully chosen palette, drawing us into a soundworld that's rich with contradictions and contrasts. Even the relatively deafening 'New Topographics' offsets its wall of distortion with a muffled, perforating kick drum, cutting into the noise like a knife through butter. And all of this preparation makes the album's lengthy centrepiece 'Monochrome Head' even more impactful; hinging on a Pan Sonic-like alloy of bass and drums, the track snowballs through tempered feedback and improv scrapes and whistles that pick up into an orchestral din. Marhaug accents the bluster with rhythmic hums that gather in momentum until they're almost oppressively heavy, as if everything's about to collapse.

A masterclass in quietly subversive world-building, 'Provoke' invites us to peer at an expansive sonic landscape and marvel at its intricacies, but this time around there's a Lovecraftian behemoth lurking somewhere beneath its icy surface.

Actress released a mix for Resident Advisor in June and to everyone's surprise, it was filled entirely with new, unreleased music.

When asked if this was a new album, Darren S. Cunningham, aka Actress, responded simply, "It's a collage - Braque." Call it what you likeia mix, a mixtape, a collage, or even an albumiit's unmistakably another bold statement from Actress. Cunningham's approach defies labels and formats, creating music that exists in its own space, evolving without concern for conventional definitions or boundaries. It's just pure, unfiltered Actress, doing what he does best.

Music taken from the Carte Blanche performance »Monument 0.10 : The Living Monument« by Eszter Salamon. This album contains selections from Carmen Villain's score for the two-and-a-half hour performance, most of them edited down from the long-form versions that accompanied the ultra-slow scenes of the performance. These are Carmen Villain's first compositions for dance.

Acclaimed Choreographer Eszter Salamon’s dance performance The Living Monument is built on still life, slowness and the presence of the body. In the performance, the theatrical elements are equal and interdependent, and it develops into an installation of sound, movement and figures. Each tableau is bound together by Carmen Villain’s hypnotic score in which the audience is taken on a meditative journey through vibrant tableaus in a dreamlike universe. Carmen Villain's score is a suspension of time where her music is seeking a new form of slow-moving minimalism. credits

Actress' zehntes Studioalbum, das himmlische und meditative „Statik“, wird am 07.06.24 von Smalltown Supersound veröffentlicht. Die Zusammenarbeit zwischen Darren Cunningham und dem geschätzten Osloer Label entwickelte sich organisch nach dem Actress Remix für eine 12“-Auskopplung eines Carmen Villain-Songs aus ihrem Album „Only Love From Now“. In diesem Sinne war das gesamte "Statik"-Projekt, von der Konzeption über die Entstehung bis zur Veröffentlichung, mit einer fast unnatürlichen Leichtigkeit gesegnet. Für Actress, der den Großteil seines subtil majestätischen neuen Albums in einem ausgedehnten Deep-Flow-Zustand schrieb, dient das Projekt als zusammenhängendes Zeugnis künstlerischer Befreiung. Das Ergebnis ist ein kontemplatives Album, das von einem Gefühl der Freiheit durchdrungen ist, während es gleichzeitig die Expertise seines Schöpfers durch forensische Aufmerksamkeit für texturale Details und die für Actress typischen Resonanzen unterstreicht. Bei genauem Hinhören können sich einflussreiche Visionen von Wasserwelten, wie dem mythischen Atlantis, und Beschwörungen von fliegenden Vögeln (und vielleicht auch Menschen) offenbaren. Egal, ob Statik dazu inspiriert, über oder unter dem Horizont zu schweben, Actress und Smalltown Supersound versprechen eine sichere und transzendente Reise.

Composed by Jim O’Rourke and pieced together by Jim together with longtime collaborator and trumpeter Eivind Lønning at Jim and Eiko Ishibashi’s home in the Japanese mountains, this engrossing new album blows brass wails and tense fanfares across O'Rourke's manipulated Kyma tapestries for a deep, captivating trip into the aether.

Eivind Lønning has been sharing ideas with O'Rourke for several years: the duo collaborated on music for the Whitney's 'Calder: Hypermobility' exhibition, and Lønning played trumpet on O'Rourke's brilliant 2020 album 'Shutting Down Here'. For this new work, Lønning headed to O'Rourke and EIko Ishibashi's home studio in the Japanese mountains, where he teased unfamiliar, alien textures from his trumpet to open the labyrinthine three-part composition. O'Rourke took the material and subsequently funnelled it through his Kyma system, transforming it into a swirl of sound that hums alongside Lønning's original takes. The album was composed, mixed and mastered by O'Rourke, with everything's based on Lønning's virtuosic performance.

The album begins by cautiously introducing us to its sonic palette: wavering, bird-like horn wails that O'Rourke contorts around quiet synth oscillations and computerised swarms. Lønning's spittle-drenched blasts are given the spotlight, but O'Rourke's manipulations - often gentle and illusory, and sometimes utterly lacerating - lift the sounds into completely new territory. When Lønning begins to turn rhythmic cycles using the trumpet keys, popping with his mouth to compliment its leathery timbre, O'Rourke replies with dense, hallucinatory drones, juxtaposing unstable electronics with Lønning's breathy, sustained notes. All these sounds coalesce into a dizzy vortex, but O'Rourke is careful not to overwhelm the senses, dropping to near silence as the first act transitions into the second. O'Rourke pelts Lønning's vertiginous wails, steadily mutating them into Xenakis-like stabs until they sound like cybernetic strings and icy tones that extract the tension from Lønning's brassy harmonics.

The third act is more screwed, with O'Rourke allowing Lønning's improvisations wail into cathedral-strength reverb, accompanying the sound with glassy penetrations and throbbing subs. Here, Lønning sounds as if he's heralding the arrival of a celestial being, piercing the atmosphere with bright, sustained tones and muted, jazzy flourishes. O'Rourke hangs back, carefully spinning the notes into naturalistic fibres and orchestral drapery, before he allows the electronics to subside completely and the trumpet to echo into the imposing negative space.

'Most, but Potentially All' is a dumbfounding piece that shifts the dial on contemporary experimental music; dizzyingly complex but never showy, it's the kind of record you can spin repeatedly and hear something different each time. As an exploration of the trumpet, it's a unique expression, and as a progression of electro-acoustic compositional techniques, it draws a deep trench in the sand, setting a new standard.

Smalltown Supersound’s Le Jazz Non Series returns with a collection of pure, emotional club bangers, on a tip somewhere between Aphex Twin’s first Analogue Bubblebath and Drexciya’s most direct The Other People Place romancers.

’Slay Tracks’ is Bratten’s 6th album and perhaps the closest to Smalltown’s heart, personally selected from his swelling hard drive by label bossman Joakim Haugland. You can see the tip he’s on too, opting for a sort of refracted view of ‘90s electronics, propulsive but always emotionally driven.

‘Res’ hits most closely to classic Richard D James with its doe-eyed, single note bassline, while screwed acid vignette ‘Tunnel’, reminds us of Sockethead and Michael J. Blood with its slow, square bass grind. ‘Repair’ gives it all gossebump-inducing melodies in a mode not far from classic Titonton Duvanté or even The Black Dog’s earliest, many-monikered excursions, while ‘A Fog’ craftily dices with a vibe redolent of Phoenicia or the Miami lot, and the closing couplet of ‘The Returner’ and ’Strayed’ smartly extend that analogue on a low- down, offbeat bent like some classic Push Button Objects.

Best known for his work for legendary Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul (he even designed the enigmatic “bang” in 2021’s labyrinthine ‘Memoria’), Japan’s Koichi Shimizu has been honing a unique musical language since the early ‘90s, where some of his earliest material can be found on a split LP with Yoshiteru Himuro via once-iconic imprint Worm Interface (itself home to music from Autechre side-line Gescom). ‘Imprint’, was initially released quietly back in 2021 and has been remastered for this new edition, removing one track and bumping it up with four more, making it all available on vinyl for the first time.

The album offers a perfect overview of Shimizu’s broad palette, ranging from fine-wrought keys to electronic brutalism and guttural rhythmic pulses, plotted with an underlying narrative cadence that evinces his ability to heighten the impact of moving image, whilst also colouring the imagination with ephemeral sound imagery. His tekkerz are in bracing, anticipatory effect on a retooled, expanded version of his music from ‘Memoria’ within the convulsive, swarming silhouette of ‘Imprint’, and ‘The Path’ finds his aural accompaniment to ‘Uncle Boonmee...’ given room to breathe and develop into an unexpected, OOBE-like experience. In ‘Moth’ he magnifies and anthropomorphises a winged insect with finely chiselled technical nous, and his exquisite arrangement to ‘Faded Sign’ is somehow comparable to the ephemeral emotional register of cinematic collaborations between Ryuichi Sakamoto and Carsten Nicolai.

Trym Søvdsnes is a relative newcomer to the scene, but he’s been putting in work in and around Bergen for years, scoring a residency at the infamous Café Opera, where he snagged the attention of local house legend Bjørn Torske. Soon, the duo were DJing, producing and performing together, eventually running the monthly radio show Pigs in Space where they would go head-to-head for six hours at a time, plumbing the depths of their immense record collections.

It’s this lust for bottom-of-the-crate oddities that guides Søvdsnes’ self-titled debut album, a concoction of dub techno, hard-swung house and percussive club music that positions itself a few paces away from any conventional modes. Basically, a perfect fit for Le Jazz Non.

‘Gølles Dans’ opens with a filtered acid bassline and bone dry kick that’s like some psychedelic, slower variant of Basic Channel’s ‘Enforcement’, slicing into the groove with gristly acoustic percussion that drags it up from the basement. The producer leans into asymmetry on ‘Døgnrytmen’, wrangling 303 squelches with booming Berghain kicks and tight snares, enhancing the psychedelic potential by layering ticking percussion into loopy spirals. If you’ve ever caught an extended Dozzy set, this is the kind of ruff-edged gear he would likely play an hour before sunrise. ‘Ordnings Mix’ is weirder still, slopping chirpy bleep/rave stabs into a jazzy hybrid that sounds like a bossa meltdown.

Søvdsnes saves his most cosmic mettle for last, on ‘Cowboy Acid (Solstikk Dub)’ he strips the kickdrum to a faint knock, before building up into a sort of screwed Metro Area mirrorball that sounds brilliantly out of time.

After collaborating together for more than a decade, Jenny Hval and Håvard Volden released their first album under the Lost Girls moniker in 2021: Menneskekollektivet. The record received rave reviews, including a Best New Music mark at Pitchfork. On October 20th, 2023, the duo will release their second album Selvutsletter.


Like its predecessor, the album title is a made up Norwegian word, a word that almost exists. The band’s own translation of Selvutsletter is «self-effacer»: Someone who tries to erase themselves. Someone who is cleaning out themselves. Performing exorcism. Or perhaps just getting older, less interested in their own present self.


In 2022, Lost Girls were booked to perform a concert at Les Subsistances in Lyon, together with a few Norwegian performing arts groups performing their pieces. The band decided to use the opportunity to create all new material, and think of it as a coherent piece. Working in tandem, with Volden creating beats and wild sets of guitar chords and Hval restructuring the parts, creating melodies, words and adding more sounds, they started spiraling into unchartered territory of shorter, more concise and melodic songs than their debut LP Menneskekollektivet.


As the material developed, words already embedded in the chords, guitar sounds and rhythms began to dance around. Lyrics about cities after dark, music rituals and band practices of the 90s, and the early days of the internet began to take shape. These were Hval's own memories of her hometown and her obsession with creating music as a way of leaving it behind or even setting it on fire. Selvutsletter is, in that sense, about retracing Hval and Volden's steps back to how it felt to discover music, the intensely physical and communal experience of creating something. Certain tracks even go back further, to discover possible happenings in Norwegian towns and cities before any of us were born, using elements of faux folk singing.


Where Menneskekollektivet was about exploring club beats, and expanding and trying out structures, Selvutsletter is about disappearing in experiences. It combines the intuitive, late night feel of Lost Girls’ previous work with experimental rock music as its object. The result is more adventurous than nostalgic: A fiery, bilingual whirl of colors, words, vegetation and electricity.

Sam Barker returns with his first solo EP since 2020's BARKER002, this time on Oslo's Smalltown Supersound. While Barker's previous releases (2018's Debiasing EP, 2019's Utility LP) explored the possibilities of kickless dancefloor tracks, Unfixed sees him inverting the musical equation and exploring both the variability and sonic possibilities of a kick-drum - though the final result is not a concept EP. The four tracks emerged from a session that started out as both a technical study in bass drum design and cognition, specifically problem of "functional fixedness", which describes a mental block that restricts the use of an object to its traditional application. Exploring the so-called "generic parts technique", whereby an object is broken down into its component parts to help reveal novel solutions, the typical bass drum elements of waveform, transient, and noise were re-combined through modular synthesis to become fluid, expressive and dynamic. However, what began as a rule-based experiment was overtaken by a more organic music making process without specific conceptual constraints, which allowed the music to live and breathe. Tracks were started and then left unfinished, only to be approached again and again over lengthy intervals. Stylistically the result a mix of raw, stuttering, psychedelic growl, kosmische techno, and infinite iterations and of a single groove. In this regard, Unfixed sees Barker not only deeply invested in musical experimentation but also exploring his own biases in both composition and sound design. The result is, once again, a sound and musical framework all of his own.

'Farewell to Faraway Friends' finds Lauvdal at her Wurlitzer, captured by two mics in the room, with no additional overdubs or edits. Her set of hushed, jazzy flourishes and pregnant pauses is so well realised that it’s hard to believe they were improvised, while the “kitchen feel” of the room recording (as Marhaug describes it) enhances a sense of brittle intimacy. Much in the same way that Dominique Lawalrée imbued his ostensibly naive music with glimpses into a multifaceted inner life, Lauvdal explores an ocean of feeling through the most humble components, transporting us through some alchemical act of emotional teleportation.

Lauvdal avoids meandering flights of fancy, instead exposing a filigree level of detail and beauty through the cracks of her spartan recordings. There are no arbitrary found sounds, no sound design or overdubs, just Lauvdal and her Wurlitzer, occasionally singing at a barely perceptible volume in the background. If there's melancholy, it's not self absorbed or effacing, but trapped behind sunny rays and poetic, romantic phrases.

One of those effortlessly impactful records we’ve not been able to stop listening to for a while now, ‘Farewell to Faraway Friends’ is apparently the first in an ongoing series. Here’s hoping.

‘Lindstrøm returns with his sixth studio album Everyone Else is a Stranger, and the first since 2019’s On a Clear Day I Can See You Forever. The title of the album was inspired by John Cassavetes’ original title for his 1984 film Love Streams, and contains four tracks of his signature chord-stacking disco epics and freeform cosmic voyages, stretching across nearly 40 minutes. An album that in many ways sums up his career, and gathers his different musical paths into one sound and one album.

Where his previous album had a slower and more mellow feel, 2023’s Everyone Else is a Stranger sees Lindstrøm take on a much more rhythm-oriented and uptempo approach, containing tracks that fit perfect with the artist’s revered live sets. That said, this album also contains the unexpected twists and turns that has become the Norwegian producer’s trademark, including recordings of him playing a cheap Chinese cello and violin for the first time alongside the old Solina String-Ensemble he has used on essentially every track since his debut.

Named «the king of space disco» by The New Yorker, Lindstrøm has always made a virtue of his obsessive work ethic, turning his city center studio into a factory floor for churning out monster tracks. He has collaborated with the likes of Todd Terje, Prins Thomas and Todd Rundgren, has remixed a slew of acts including LCD Soundsystem, Lana del Rey, Haim, Grizzly Bear, Flume, RAC, London Grammar and more.’

Lindstrom returns with his sixth studio album Everyone Else is a Stranger, and the first since 2019's On a Clear Day I Can See You Forever. The title of the album was inspired by John Cassavetes' original title for his 1984 film Love Streams, and contains four tracks of his signature chord-stacking disco epics and freeform cosmic voyages, stretching across nearly 40 minutes. An album that in many ways sums up his career, and gathers his different musical paths into one sound and one album. Where his previous album had a slower and more mellow feel, 2023's Everyone Else is a Stranger sees Lindstrom take on a much more rhythm-oriented and uptempo approach, containing tracks that fit perfect with the artist's revered live sets. That said, this album also contains the unexpected twists and turns that has become the Norwegian producer's trademark, including recordings of him playing a cheap Chinese cello and violin for the first time alongside the old Solina String-Ensemble he has used on essentially every track since his debut. Named "the king of space disco" by The New Yorker, Lindstrom has always made a virtue of his obsessive work ethic, turning his city center studio into a factory floor for churning out monster tracks. He has collaborated with the likes of Todd Terje, Prins Thomas and Todd Rundgren, has remixed a slew of acts including LCD Soundsystem, Lana del Rey, Haim, Grizzly Bear, Flume, RAC, London Grammar and more.

Selected by Jim O’Rourke for his Tone Glow list of 25 albums that “never got their due”, Org was founded in the early 90’s by Espen Jensen and Kjetil D Brandsdal who would later go on to variously record as Elektrodiesel, Noxagt and Ultralyd in the swirl of the highly active Norwegian underground. “Org" was the only album the pair recorded as a duo, pressed in a meagre edition of just over 100 copies which disappeared almost as soon as they were made, lodged in the memory of the select few who have managed to hear it in the years since.

Made up of three long tracks, the near 20-minute ‘001’ opens the album with an extended organ zone-out matched with scraping factory machinery saturated into a dense cloud of harmonic fuzz. There's something transcendental about the sound that intersects with microtonal Alice Coltrane (particularly the unfairly maligned organ-only edition of "Turiya Sings"), as well as Pauline Oliveros and Ramleh. It’s music that pulls you in subconsciously; before you know it, you're fixating on the uncomfortable grind of metal on metal, buried mechanical rhythms and liturgical organ vamps that wind between industrial cacophony and sacred ritual music. For its last few seconds, we go into a full death metal tearout that fades out before it takes full flight, a glorious wtf.

‘002’ connects between minimalist drone styles and shoegaze, distorting fuzzed organ into pliable, dreamlike warbles that end up sounding like Kevin Shields' ‘Loveless’-era glides, or even Sunn O))) at their most devotional. Never losing the numbing overdriven mettle, its a piece that sounds spiritually entwined with Matthew Bower's Skullflower - a minimalist re-reading of high-contrast guitar music that takes all the psychoacoustic power and none of the annoying posturing.

For ‘003’, subaqueous organ is joined by synth and drum machine, sounding like the inspirational spark for Religious Knives' screwed 'n chopped cosmic psychedelia. The choice of sounds links it to Antena's foundational electro samba recordings too, but the overwhelming drone - a constant on all three compositions - connects the music to minimalist spirituals that have simmered beneath the DIY/avant garde for decades.

‘Org’ sits heavy on the nerves with overproof levels of mulched amp worship and ungodly, palms-down organ chords and wheezing, bezonked lines of melodic thought. 25 years out of sight and marinading in the archives, with the benefit of hindsight we can better understand the role these sounds played in the development of music in the contemporary sphere. It’s an important piece of the puzzle, one that makes valuable connections that, over time, have looked progressively more faint.

Kelly Lee Owens returns with LP8.2 - a compendium to her LP.8 album from earlier this year, produced by Kelly herself along with Lasse Marhaug (Jenny Hval).

This mini album contains four tracks and 18 minutes of new Kelly Lee Owens music following the abstract industrial beauty of LP.8.

This 40 year anniversary collection traces Brother Culture's career and includes some of his biggest hits, with remastered versions of these classics. The album includes his hits Jump Up Pon It (25 million streams), Supanova (15 million streams), My Selecta (2 million streams), and some of his most listened-to tracks ever released on vinyl.

A composition simply means things being put together. In music, we usually think of composition as a classical idea. But in recent years, the possibilities of what ‘composing’ can be, have dramatically increased. Based in Oslo, Norway, Deathprod (aka Helge Sten) has been making his own forms of music with no compromise since the early 90s. His specialty is a deeply atmospheric, grainy minimalism that slows time down and explores the very particles of sound itself. This music can sound forbidding and alien at first, but compared to his more brutal output, it’s an extraordinarily close and intimate experience. The first new Deathprod studio project since 2019’s OCCULTING DISK, Compositions is the result of an intense period at his legendary Audio Virus Lab studio in central Oslo. All tracks are released in chronological order – in other words, the order in which they were recorded. Helge used a personal, unique combination of obsolete digital audio processors and sound generators, combined with his own secret-sauce tuning system. Like gazing at the wonders revealed by an electron microscope with Helge compositional control directs your attention to a succession of ever more spellbinding details and textures. Helge adopted the Deathprod alias in 1991. A complex array of homemade electronics, samplers, sound processing and analogue effects – cumulatively known as the ‘Audio Virus’ – combined with obsolete samplers and playback devices, to distort and transform sounds into unrecognizable relatives of their former selves. On the new album Compositions, the virus has evolved into even more fascinating and kaleidoscopic new strains. Electronically generated sounds vibrate and tremble like undiscovered metals ringing and resonating together. Sonic forms attract or repel each other as if under the influence of a strange magnetism. None of the tracks are over four minutes, but no way are these ‘miniatures’. Each one contains its own fully-formed galaxy of tones and clusters, while all tracks audibly belong in the same universe. These are 17 compositions in search of a sonic ideal. His off-grid audio control centre created a parallel acoustic universe which he filled with mutated samples and electronic textures. Even the gaps between the tracks are part of that universe. Helge left the almost silent, twitching crackles of his snoozing analogue gear intact, ensuring a smoother transition between them. Helge is continually striving to find new parameters and possibilities for what music can be – what you can affect with the medium of sound. From the intricate homemade miniatures of Treetop Drive to the bonecrushing electronic barrage of Morals and Dogma and OCCULTING DISK, the different sides of Deathprod are all products of the same obsessive focus and self-discipline in pursuit of sonic exploration. His Compositions are private rather than public music: like introspective chamber or solo compositions instead of the more strident, outward-looking tones of a symphony. Helge is a founder of Norwegian improvising group Supersilent and has produced records by Motorpsycho, Susanna, Jenny Hval, Arve Henriksen and others. He recently composed music for Harry Partch’s legendary instruments, which can be heard on Sow Your Gold in the White Foliated Earth, released in 2022 on Smalltown Supersound.

Produced by Laurel Halo and released via Norway’s respected Smalltown Supersound label, Anja Lauvdal’s first solo release, From a Story Now Lost, is a gorgeous musical essay reflecting on time, its perception, and lost histories rediscovered. Finally exploring her own voice after more than a decade of collaborative improvisational playing – starting at her time in jazz conservatory in Trondheim – the album is a jewel of subtle beauty and innovative detail.

A freeform musician on piano, synthesizers, and electronics, Lauvdal’s discography stretches back to 2013 and includes her participation in a myriad of ensembles and collaborations exploring the limits of sound and music in many forms, including noise, jazz, and more. Following her move to Oslo after graduation, she became deeply embedded in the music community there, touring with Jenny Hval as well as playing on her records. When pandemic hit and isolation was the norm, Lauvdal began working on her own, recording her improvisations in an attempt to capture something new for herself

Armed with a disdain for pastiche and a penchant for experimentalism, rRoxymore has spent the last decade pushing the boundaries of what constitutes club music. Across a steady stream of releases, the Berlin-based artist has continually reinvented her sound, shifting from hypnotic leftfield techno to UK bass mutations, genre-eschewing dub oddities and so much more. On Perpetual Now, her sophomore album, she again displays this propensity for pushing the sonic envelope. It's a slow-burning record, and one that blurs the lines between the electronic and the organic. Subverting the traditional album format, Perpetual Now is made up of four extended soundscapes - each taking the listener on a journey through tempo, texture and emotional state. Downtempo opener `At The Crest' gently sets things into motion, allowing the sparse percussion to tentatively find its feet. `Sun In C' is a peculiarly meditative excursion, crafting a rich, intoxicating atmosphere across its nine minutes. `Fragmented Dreams', with its pulsating rhythms and fractured melodies, sees the album fleetingly burst into life, before `Water Stain' winds things down in the most effortless of manners. A daring, unconventional album, Perpetual Now is everything we've come to expect and more from one of electronic music's most unique producers. French-born, Berlin-based DJ, sound artist and producer rRoxymore first emerged on the scene with `Wheel of Fortune', a ten-minute epic released on Planningtorock's Human Level back in 2012. She has since put out music regularly, dropping her debut album Face To Phase in 2019, and more recently "I Wanted More", a four-track EP that veered from downtempo ambience to lush deep house.

Armed with a disdain for pastiche and a penchant for experimentalism, rRoxymore has spent the last decade pushing the boundaries of what constitutes club music. Across a steady stream of releases, the Berlin-based artist has continually reinvented her sound, shifting from hypnotic leftfield techno to UK bass mutations, genre-eschewing dub oddities and so much more.

On Perpetual Now, her sophomore album, she again displays this propensity for pushing the sonic envelope. It’s a slow-burning record, and one that blurs the lines between the electronic and the organic.

Subverting the traditional album format, Perpetual Now is made up of four extended soundscapes - each taking the listener on a journey through tempo, texture and emotional state. Downtempo opener ‘At The Crest’ gently sets things into motion, allowing the sparse percussion to tentatively find its feet. ‘Sun In C’ is a peculiarly meditative excursion, crafting a rich, intoxicating atmosphere across its nine minutes. ‘Fragmented Dreams’, with its pulsating rhythms and fractured melodies, sees the album fleetingly burst into life, before ‘Water Stain’ winds things down in the most effortless of manners.

A daring, unconventional album, Perpetual Now is everything we’ve come to expect and more from one of electronic music’s most unique producers.

Produced by Laurel Halo and released via Norway's respected Smalltown Supersound label, Anja Lauvdal's first solo release, From a Story Now Lost, is a gorgeous musical essay reflecting on time, its perception, and lost histories rediscovered. Finally exploring her own voice after more than a decade of collaborative improvisational playing - starting at her time in jazz conservatory in Trondheim - the album is a jewel of subtle beauty and innovative detail. A freeform musician on piano, synthesizers, and electronics, Lauvdal's discography stretches back to 2013 and includes her participation in a myriad of ensembles and collaborations exploring the limits of sound and music in many forms, including noise, jazz, and more. Following her move to Oslo after graduation, she became deeply embedded in the music community there, touring with Jenny Hval as well as playing on her records. When pandemic hit and isolation was the norm, Lauvdal began working on her own, recording her improvisations in an attempt to capture something new for herself. Connecting to Laurel Halo via Smalltown's founder Joakim Haugland, the acclaimed American artist agreed to work with Lauvdal in shaping her solo record, becoming integral to its creation through all of its stages. Lauvdal credits Halo as a deep listener and gentle "thought-provoker", who contributed ideas as well as helping to shape the finished versions (Halo also worked alongside Rashad Becker on the final mix of the album). Together, they found a method of recording Lauvdal's improvisations, making small loops from those, feeding them back into the synthesizers, and making synthesizers out of the improvisations, which Lauvdal would then re-improvise with. She describes the end result, "like seeing different pieces of time around in the universe." While the record is based on Lauvdal's improvisations, some tracks were inspired Agathe Backer Grondahl, a Norwegian classical pianist and composer from the latter half of the 19th century. Lauvdal notes that Grondahl is not widely known, although her best friend Edvard Grieg is still considered Norway's most famous composer. Yet now, partly through Lauvdal, her story resurfaces and persists. "From a Story Now Lost means the story is still there," Lauvdal explains. "It hasn't gone anywhere even though nobody heard it, or maybe you're hearing it for the first time. And actually it was told a long time ago - maybe you weren't ready to hear that story at the time." This hints at the limitless nature of her music, as well as its new emotional texture. Direct in its vulnerability, immediate in its tenderness, From a Story Now Lost is a sophisticated evocation over restrained artistry spilling over with meaning.

Like a rediscovered Viking burial ship, Electro Nova compiles near-mythical drone recordings produced in 1998 and described by Helge Sten aka Deathprod as some of the most important music to ever come out of Norway. It's the work of Kåre Dehlie Thorstad and compiles two of the earliest releases on Smalltown Supersound, back when it was basically no more than a bedroom operation. It’s taken over two decades, but finally the label have given the material a first ever proper release on vinyl, complete with mixing and mastering by Deathprod. If you’re into the ice cold swells of anyone from Thomas Köner to Harley Gaber, Biosphere, Kali Malone or, of course, Deathprod - this one's as essential as they come.

Kaare Dehlie Thorstad's Elektro Nova produced just two releases during the late ‘90s that have since slipped into drone lore - Trans-Inter-Ference and Elektro Nova/Electro Nova. Admired not only by Deathprod and Joakim Haugland of Smalltown, but also by his contemporaries Lasse Marhaug and Biosphere, his work has evaded pretty much any attention outside of Norway these last two decades. Following a chance meeting with Thorstad at Oslo airport a few years back, Smalltown were prompted to give the recordings a second wind, presenting what is essentially a captivating new release, and crucial addition to the Norsk drone canon.

As the story goes, Thorstad was studying photography in the late 90’s in Scotland, but instead of delivering a photo for his final exam he made a record - a double album (2CDs) and a 10” to be precise. That should provide some idea of the textural synaesthetic and landscaping qualities evoked by his music, which he ended up sending to a then-young Smalltown label, who were mostly issuing tapes at the time. With no proper distribution the records largely bypassed wider attention, and become a personal favourite of Smalltown’s Joakim Haugland, as well as avowed fan Helge Sten (Deathprod), who helped render its diaphanous scale in mix down, and Lasse Marhaug who describes them as "two perfect records that deserved much bigger attention”.

Between its jaw-dropping opener; the post-apocalyptic vision of its untitled part; and the cinematic white-out of the 10” tracks; Thorstad comes as close as we’ve ever heard to evoking the inhospitable nature and stark beauty of the wild far north. We can hear those landscapes palpably internalised and alchemically transmuted into its coarse grained textural swells and a reverberating multi-dimensionality, variously sustained to extents that evoke an abandonment of the senses, or likewise squashed and isolated to imply the relative anxiety relief of atmospheric flux, where a few degrees temperature rise or a drop in the wind speed can make the difference between life and death.

Impressively, Thorstad realised after the release of Elektro Nova and just two live shows that he couldn’t really follow up the work and instead pursued a career as professional cyclist, eventually combining his visual skills to become a pro cycling photographer. In that sense, he’s a bit like composer-turned-tennis coach Harley Gaber, whose almighty ‘The Winds Rise In The North’ (1976) is in some ways richly prescient of this work. Like Gaber, Thorstad can remain safe in the knowledge that his contribution to the drone sphere will endure for the ages, especially with this important, impressive new edition.

“Micro tonal poetry” - Mats Gustafsson

'Its an honor for the AFJ-Series to introduce the self-titled debut album by Danish Oslo resident Signe Emmeluth. Recorded at Flerbruket, in the forest an hour outside of Oslo - Emmeluth alone in a room with her alto and tenor saxophones.

A fantastic session of sax solo ecstasies recorded by Magnus Hemnes Nergård. Much like Joe McPhee’s Tenor and Peter Brötzmann’s 14 Love Songs, this album share the same beautiful intimacy. It is close, sparse, poetic and raw at the same time. Minimalist and soulful free music.

Signe Emmeluth is a Danish saxophonist and composer educated by the Jazz Department in Trondheim and is currently based in Oslo. Emmeluth has recently become a rising star on the international scene for improvised music. She has her own quartet Emmeluth’s Amoeba and has worked with Trondheim Jazzorkester, John Edwards, Tony Buck, Paal Nilssen-Love, Mats Gustafsson and Mette Rasmussen to name a few.'

All music by Signe Emmeluth, except 'I’ll Be Seeing You' by Sammy Fain
Signe Emmeluth: alto saxophone, tenor saxophone, recorder and electronics
Recorded at Flerbruket, Hemnes (December 2020/January 2021)
Sound Engineer: Magnus Skavhaug Nergaard
Mix/Master: Lasse Marhaug
Artwork: Kim Hiorthøy

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