Buscar:dancing plague

Portland based act Dancing Plague has been a steady presence in the dark/cold electronic music scene for quite a few years now.

Since 2016 Conor Knowles’ solo project has been putting out one constant flow of independent releases on multiple formats such as vinyl LPs, EPs, tapes and CDs, creating one sonic palette rich with Ebm, goth, industrial and synth influences.

On their 5th studio album, Dancing Plague continues to flesh out and perfect their unique brand of crushing darkwave.

Elogium explores themes of loss, regret, rebirth and growth coupled with throbbing basslines, rave synths, and pounding drums. Knowles balances aggressive waves of electronics with enough pop sensibilities and catchy hooks to be inviting to those new to the genre.

His skills can be clearly appreciated on tracks like the first single Fading Forms which explores the somber feeling of the years passing you by. Knowles’ emotive baritone crooning paints a melancholic picture of the slow fading of time as you feel like you’re fading with it. The words fall like snow onto cold fields of pulsing 80s synths and pounding drum machine rhythms that bring forth nostalgic familiarity but feel fresh at the same time.

Fans of classic icons such as Depeche Mode, Ministry, Nine Inch Nails as well as contemporary torchbearers Cold Cave and Kontravoid do not sleep on this.
Plenty of disturbing beauty to be found in the depths of the underground

Portland based act Dancing Plague has been a steady presence in the dark/cold electronic music scene for quite a few years now.

Since 2016 Conor Knowles’ solo project has been putting out one constant flow of independent releases on multiple formats such as vinyl LPs, EPs, tapes and CDs, creating one sonic palette rich with Ebm, goth, industrial and synth influences.

On their 5th studio album, Dancing Plague continues to flesh out and perfect their unique brand of crushing darkwave.

Elogium explores themes of loss, regret, rebirth and growth coupled with throbbing basslines, rave synths, and pounding drums. Knowles balances aggressive waves of electronics with enough pop sensibilities and catchy hooks to be inviting to those new to the genre.

His skills can be clearly appreciated on tracks like the first single Fading Forms which explores the somber feeling of the years passing you by. Knowles’ emotive baritone crooning paints a melancholic picture of the slow fading of time as you feel like you’re fading with it. The words fall like snow onto cold fields of pulsing 80s synths and pounding drum machine rhythms that bring forth nostalgic familiarity but feel fresh at the same time.

Fans of classic icons such as Depeche Mode, Ministry, Nine Inch Nails as well as contemporary torchbearers Cold Cave and Kontravoid do not sleep on this.
Plenty of disturbing beauty to be found in the depths of the underground

A new chapter of the very well received MINIMAL SIGNALS V.A. compilation series is here. Again, MINIMAL SIGNALS aims to capture what's hot on the international minimal dark and post-pyunk scene. On this occasion, the american solo project DANCING PLAGUE, the Berlin based MARTA RAYA, the german HOLYGRAM remixed by the french chevalier of synths COLD COLORS and the french SYDNEY VALETTE remixed by his compatriots THEREMYNTH makes of MINIMAL SIGNALS VOLUME 4 a must have for the autumn 2018. It the It arrives on 12 Maxi-Single EP format and produced in a ONE-OFF truly limited edition of 300 copies lacquered pressed on 180 gr. high quality solid WHITE vinyl. All tracks have been specially remastered for LONG CUT vinyl by Eric Van Wonterghem

What would electronic music be without remixes This is a question Andrew Claristidge had to answer last year after releasing his first solo album « danser ou mourir ».Reworking the song of an other musician is a common thing nowadays. What is the purpose of it What if we would do the same in literature Imagine asking Philip Roth to rewrite Houellebecq... This is pure fantasy and this came to Andrew´s head.He started asking fellow musicians such as The Hacker, Cosmo Vitelli, David Carretta...to remix his songs. Blown away by the quality of what he received he couldn't stop himself to make its entire album « remixed » and to share it with the world in form of « danser ou mourir, relecture »
Bonus tracks with digital:

08. Automated Motion (Relecture by Baroque)
09. Mechanical Love (Relecture by Mike Theis)
10. Règlement de compte à la Cigale (Relecture by Beaumanoir.)
11. Discovering The Source (Relecture by 99LETTERS)
12. The coasts of French Cornwall (Relecture by The Third Half Time)

29 Speedway is a record label and performance series based in Brooklyn, NY featuring forward-thinking improvisational music and live multimedia. Founded in 2020 by Ben Shirken a.k.a. Ex Wiish (‘Shards Of Axel’, Incienso 2023), 29S serves as a platform for artists exploring the fringes of interdisciplinary art and music. Hosting D.I.Y-guerrilla style sound and performance art concerts at Pioneer Works (NYC), Public Records, and in Europe in partnership with Index Records, they have worked with artists such as James Hoff, J. Albert, Yolabmi, Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe, AceMo, Flora Yin Wong, Nexcyia, Young Boy Dancing Group, UMFANG, Color Plus, Poncili Creación, Special Guest DJ, Arushi Jain, Drumloop, Isabella Koen, Ben Bondy, Kamran Sadeghi, Yawning Portal, James K., Syndey Spann, Debit, Pent and many others.

Resident Advisor called their most recent compilation record ‘Channel Plus’ “one of the most stunning documents of the ‘modern ambient-techno movement pioneered by labels such as Motion Ward and West Mineral’, with a focus on New York as well as a global outreach that encompasses chilled-out trap, electro, downtempo and even early '00s electroacoustic music”. Their debut solo artist release from J. Albert and Will August Park, entitled “Flat Earth” (2023), was based on free improvisation and ambient jazz, receiving praise from Philip Sherburne, Shawn Reynaldo, and was included in RYMs top EPs of the year. 29S has been written about on ID, Bandcamp Daily: Best Ambient, Boomkat, Paper Mag, Artnet, Dazed, Clot Mag, Nina Protocol, and Document Journal.

The newest release from 29 Speedway, UltraBody, is a compilation record featuring the music of Jake Muir, Pent & Dylan Kerr, Nexcyia & Mu Tate, James K, Flora Yin-Wong, Ex Wiish & Dorothy Carlos, Kamran Sadeghi, Tati au Miel, James Hoff, Eric Frye, Muein and Maxwell Sterling. The record is emblematic of the artists who have performed at 29 Speedway shows in New York and Europe during the past two years, and is the third in a series released by the label.

The record was born out of a desire to investiage how the self, spirituality, and language are intertwined with the intervention of subjectivity by new technologies. With increasingly sophisticated tech, and the supposed ability to remake the world and ourselves, what differentiates our individual discretion from the will imposed upon us by software? Quoting Walter Chaw from his piece on David Cronenberg’s Videodrome, “Decades of rampant, unregulated and ill-considered technological leaps have begun to evolve, to mutate, humans at a biological level”. This haphazard acceleration towards a techno-utopic transformation of humanity has faulted, and as William Gibson put it, is leading us to live in a “half assed singularity”. In this reality, artistic processes are influenced by excessive access to computational tools and assistance, but not utterly controlled.

This in-between state of dominion is explored in 29 Speedway: UltraBody. “Incoherences” samples the utterances of Dylan Kerr’s voice processed between Pent’s percolated glazes, muddying the gulf between vaporous ambient and reflexive sound design. The voice on James Hoff’s “A... ...Cha.... A... I feel l” was created by trying to get voice cloning technology to sing a gps data stream, the music an extrapolation from an earworm he got stuck in his head while shopping in Kyoto. On “Plogue Chain”, Eric Frye’s most speculative sci-fi observations spiral into a glazed pool of digital cacophony, while Kamran Sadeghi’s “Formula Fiction” is an experiment in (un)controlled generativity. Incorporating minimal pings from a 3D simulation scene based on gravitational interaction, cello bits evolve on “Assimilation”, a collaboration between Ex Wiish & Dorothy Carlos.

On UltraBody, sound has no separate existence from space.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary