Buscar:even drones

The debut album from CEM, 'FORMA' was developed as a soundtrack to Mauro Ventura’s series of "action painting performances" and uses various bell sounds (cowbells, doorbells, Shinto bells, singing bowls) to pick out anxious giallo sequences and heaving Dadaist formations.

CEM's best known for pneumatic DJ sets that have propped up Berlin's queer underground for a decade at this point, but don't expect to find any vaped darkroom tek on 'FORMA'. Each of the six compositions were commissioned for Ventura’s performative installation at Volksbühne in 2022, and CEM opted to represent the piece's themes of labor and repetition by sampling an arsenal of bells and metal objects that anchor his varying widescreen vignettes. 'The Calling' is a relatively subtle introduction, establishing the space with double bass drones and ratcheting digitally altered chimes - it's 'Bells Corrupt' that cements CEM's concept more righteously, harking back to Goblin's iconic 'Suspiria' score without pastiching any of its Italo-prog themes. Cycling ritualistic bell loops with squashed, industrial-strength thuds and granulised laptop belches, CEM silhouettes the tension and the vivid color of Argento's film, chrome plating the result.

'An Industrial Satire' is even more convincing; this one takes its cues from legendary German sound artist Limpe Fuchs, and the first part integrates scraped, alien resonances with CEM's loping industrial rhythms and squelchy EBM bassline. The real shift occurs in the second part, when CEM's choppy electroacoustic minimalism falls away to unlock his rolling hand drum performance, that he matches with a ghaita sample lifted from the Master Musicians of Joujouka's 1971 album with Brian Jones. With the future-facing deconstructions a memory, 'Statue Garden' beds reedy organ drones in eerie gallery ambiance, and closer 'The New Sincerity Test' finds Lithuanian performance artist Gertrūda Gilytė skewering the wellness industrial complex over nauseous subsonic oscillations and scratchy noise.

Night Keeper is a collaborative album by New York City-based artist Aaron Landsman and former Swans guitarist Norman Westberg that is based on the former's eponymous play. Westberg recorded it together with performer Jehan O. Young for the Swiss Hallow Ground label, with Landsman serving as the record’s producer. The original piece was first performed in the Spring of 2023 at The Chocolate Factory Theater in Queens and filled the stark industrial space with spoken text, choreography, projections, and music in dim light and, occasionally, complete darkness. Westberg and Young afterwards brought it to the studio to record it as a two-part
album in whose course his textural sounds, based on loops and samples, set the stage for her soothing, sonorous vocal performance. »Night Keeper« is a performance inspired by sleeplessness and the wanderings of the human mind at night—about time and memory.
Westberg and Young elegantly capture its essence in these roughly 44 minutes with a somnambulic album, letting sound and meaning flow into each other. The initial spark for Night Keeper was a run of almost sleepless nights in different neighbourhoods of a city that is perpetually insomniac. Instead of trying to force himself to go back to sleep by any means necessary, Landsman started writing down his thoughts. As he explains in the liner notes—accompanying the music along with drawings made by audience members during the performances—he started listening to the particular way in which the voice in his head navigates time and language. Accordingly, the texts that Young reads on the record form a diverse collection of specific moments, imagining different speakers and evoking different
situations. Westberg complements, accentuates, and juxtaposes these with different means. Ominous drones, soaring melodies, rhythmic bass sounds: the guitarist, whose latest release for Hallow Ground was 2021’s First Man In The Moon with Polish double bassist Jacek Mazurkiewicz, conjures up distinct sound worlds in which Young can let Landsman’s scenes unfold to gripping effect.
Landsman makes it clear that »Night Keeper« was intended as an invitation to »stay up, look out the window, let what’s happening outside spark reveries or predictions« or even take it on a stroll through the neighbourhood—at night, of course. Much like the original piece, this album is then one dedicated to wandering around, both mentally and physically.

Every so often an album of such deceptive genius, of such aesthetic clarity, comes across our desk and transfixes us. Thought Leadership's III Of Pentacles is one such work of art. It's an instant classic and glides into the pantheon of timeless guitar-soul totems. Originally out on cassette only, we present the first ever vinyl issue. It's a hideously limited pressing of 300 for the world, so don't sleep on this.

Thought Leadership has already garnered big support from such tastemakers as Ruf Dug, Jason Boardman, Nathan Gregory Wilkins, J Walk, Evan Woodward, Justin Robertson and Heavenly's Jeff Barrett. The first time we heard III Of Pentacles, we nearly wept at the thought that something so beautiful, so bursting with real hope, could even exist in this brutal world. To quote the Quietus, "imagine if Stockport was situated somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway rather than the M60, and you’ll have some idea of the coordinates to the post-industrial, sunburnt dream space opened up here."

So, who is Thought Leadership? What do we know about them? They reside in Stockport and are obsessed with ethereal guitar records. That’s about it. That and these X ideas shared with you, the listener.

Captured on a multitrack recorder in a terraced house in Stockport, this is as DIY as it gets. Glaringly obvious is a love for classic Factory and early 4AD. Perhaps it is the proximity to the River Mersey where the ideas arrived, and there being but three miles between where this and the Durutti Column’s classic “LC” was recorded, as the two operate across a familiar aural plain. Be it geographic or otherwise, limited by a true economy of means, namely guitar, pedals and drum machine, the fruit borne from these humble tools has been indelibly shaped by the perma-gloom that hangs low over the Manchester and Stockport environs.

Ushered in on 808 kicks, “I” opens the record as a beautiful Sketch for Stockport; a chiming maj7 chord dripping in chorus and delay sets us on our way. The Vini Reilly comparisons are unavoidable. “II” is all John McGeoch, with its trippy goth-psyche arpeggiated pattern cascading across the stereo image. Do those drums swing? But goths don’t swing?! They do here. We’re treated to a bit of crunch on the lead guitar part and some really lush reverb. We even step forth into shoegaze territory, albeit briefly, for the middle eight. “III”, a firm Be With favourite, continues the dreamy psyche leanings of the previous track, with an even bigger melody this time. We’re hearing The Teardrop Explodes on quaaludes here. A proto-dream pop cut soaked in melancholy. But watch out! The coda finds Johnny Marr has gotten into the ‘ludes and gatecrashed the final bars with some incredibly ignorant B minor pentatonic noodling.

“IV” ditches the drum machine for the first in a suite of three beatless electric guitar duets. The first of these semi-improvised rubato ideas is a striking departure from the earlier playful pieces, coming over emo and moody. Greyscale sulking for Stratocaster. Sign us up. “V” contains some really lyrical phrasing; a gorgeous conversation between two guitars. Real Stopfordian Primitive; meditative, crude, rain-soaked. We cycle through the same feels, then end on an alluring chord that breaks the pattern. Sometimes thoughts are like this. “VI” creeps in all plaintive, then a huge reverberating descending guitar line comes tumbling in like something off those classic Dif Juz 12”s. There’s some Maurice Deebank in there too, for sure, and the coda nods to early Meat Puppets.

“VII” rounds out the A Side, and succinctly presents a summary of all ideas explored thus far on our journey. The drum machine is back, this time with some wispy delay, before both guitars enter together playing interlocking lines. As we start, we end, with the delayed 808 guiding us out.

Opening Side B, “VIII” sees us embark on the other side of our journey as we slow down and space out. The drum machine is here, but the guitars are different now. Think Sensations Fix or Göttsching at his most peeled out. Drones, ambient drifts of broken chords and distorted lead lines all swirl round the mix. Side B is one for headphones for sure. “IX” is almost too exquisite for words. A New Age Mixolydian voyage through the cosmos. If you’re unmoved by the end you’ve probably got no pulse. We were left blunted ineffable by this one, such is the smudged elegance radiating from this idea. All hail the Thought Leader.

“X” is a full circle moment, and a fitting end. If you’ve not already elsewhere across the platter, you will be getting heavy Robin Guthrie vibes from this piece. Like the rest of Side B, this improvised jam sticks within a framework of related chords but the celestial energies channelled might invite us to wander “outside”, especially when the Tubescreamer is engaged.

RIYL Durutti Coulmn, Cocteau Twins, Dif Juz, Sensations Fix, Spike and adjacent guitar musicks – but, ultimately, this is just its own thing; such is the strength of ideas presented. "It’s good music to chill out to." (??)

Be With is honoured to present the first ever vinyl release of III Of Pentacles, carefully remastered by Be With's engineer Simon Francisco to ensure it sounds better than ever after its initial tape release. Cicely Balston's expert skills have made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the records have been pressed to the highest possible standard at Record Industry, in Holland. The original tape cover artwork, so crucial to Thought Leadership's striking visual aesthetic, has been rejigged for vinyl issue here at Be With. Its stark presentation befits the music contained within. They inform us that they shuffled their tarot deck to ask what the album should be called and the card you see on the cover popped out. The III Of Pentacles tarot card represents teamwork, shared vision and the ability to achieve goals through collaboration. We like to think Thought Leadership and Be With have nailed this one.

j.o.y.s. is both the moniker of and the debut self-titled LP by the Los Angeles based artist Ramon Narvaez. j.o.y.s. is an acronym for “jump out of your skin”. While the phrase can conjure moments of shock and surprise, Narvaez, however uses the phrase as a foot lamp illuminating a path towards momentary transcendence through creating beautifully conjured ambient music that recalls work by Daniel Lanois, suss, Dean Hurley and Tim Hecker. While the pedal steel is prominent, j.o.y.s., as a project, is more in conversation with shoegaze and noise than what has recently been deemed ambient country. Heavy brutalist slabs of noise, swirling feedback create the sound bed of these songs. Collaborator Justin Gaynor’s pedal steel on this album operates as important connective tissue as both the road and the traveler between the light and shadow zones. Drones are wrapped in distortion, processed just below the threshold where we’d throw the word “harsh” around. Rather, there is a delicate dance between Gaynor’s top-rope pedal steel lines - always sweet and always just a bit mournful - with Narvaez’s ringing bass notes and noise chatter. j.o.y.s. revels in intransigence. Nothing can last. As Matt Colquhoun puts in the introduction to Mark Fisher’s heartbreaking Ghosts of My Life - our identity and relationship to the past are “portals in perpetual collapse”. Depression, friendship, longing are all briefly satiated while in the peak experience of creating something as a response to them. But even that is impermanent. These sounds - improvised, exploratory, ecstatic - are eventually edited, whittled down and pressed to wax - not tombs but portals to the past.

»Re:Polyism« is a track-by-track reinterpretation of Friedrich »Fritz« Brückner’s 2022 debut solo album as Modus Pitch, »Polyism,« through artists affiliated with Altin Village & Mine and/or former collaborators of the prolific Leipzig-based musician and producer. Each track from »Polyism« has been remixed or reworked by different artists such as Modeselektor, Angel Bat Dawid, Maya Shenfield or Mouse on Mars member and HJirok producer Andi Toma, but the album—mastered by Tim Roth a.k.a. Sin Maldita and released as a strictly limited vinyl LP with reimagined artwork by Carmen Orschinski—follows the original record’s tracklist. This makes »Re:Polyism« a veritable musical prism, refracting the creativity inherent to Brückner’s genre-transcending original works through other people’s artistic lenses to create an even more colourful end result.

First off are the Gebrüder Teichmann with their take on opener »Drive,« carefully adding more depth and uncanny sounds to the jazzy, drum-focused piece. Unsurprisingly, Modeselektor go a lot further with their remix »Rainbow,« turning the two-minute track into a dubstep-adjacent banger with infectious synth work that is twice as long and comes with a mind-melting breakdown. With their take on »Hilltop Jacuzzi,« Peaking Lights turn the blissful original into a piece that calls to mind experiments at the intersection of dub, ambient, and industrial music in the mid-1990s. Cloud Management radically transform the eerie »Compound Eye Dialogue« into a rhythmically charged mid-tempo post-krautrock epic, while the Seekers International’s »Jelly Roll Dub« of »Gelée Royale« uses the original’s lush textures to turn up the intensity even further.

On the flipside, Andi Thoma gives the intricate synth pop/breakcore fusion of »Suspender« a similarly dubwise treatment before venturing into gqom territory, pulling it out of the leftfield and straight onto the dancefloor—peak-time use only. Maya Shenfeld then brings her trademark modular synth work to »Outer Veil,« accentuating the focus on Hendrik Otremba’s uncanny spoken word performance even further. This sets the mood perfectly for vocal experimentalist Agnese Menguzzato working her singular magic. Under her hands and with her voice, the multi-layered ambient soundscapes of »Lava Fans« become even larger-than-life-like than before. When Angel Bat Dawid takes the menacing drones of »Iridescent Path« as a template for a trap-inspired beat over which she lets loose on the clarinet, that serves as both the ultimate counterpoint and perfect coda to »Re:Polyism.«

These nine reinterpretations of the highly diverse source material underline Brückner’s singular approach to music-making while also emphasising their makers’ idiosyncratic talents. This makes »Re:Polyism« more than simply a remix album—it’s a polylogue between visionary minds.

Capturing phantom drones behind dusty beats and haunted twangs, Ellis Swan and James Schimpl return for their third album as Dead Bandit. Locked into a musical language unique to their collaboration, the duo once again put us out to pasture across broad sonic plains, drums flapping like loose fence panels in the prairie breeze and bass rumbling like distant thunder. True to their previous two records, Swan and Schimpl keep the strung out guitars at the front of what they do, whether playing a naked, desolate strum or running six strings through disruptive effects processing until they're barely recognisable.
But while there are details of disturbance when listening to Dead Bandit's self-titled record up close, the wider impression is a smoother, more direct affair that toys with post-rock complexity and matches it with the emotional weight of melodic simplicity, gentle grooves and conscious arrangements. 'Weeds' offsets its languid fuzz guitar with shimmering sustained notes before settling into a patient, heavy-hearted composition charged with heartbreak leads pealing out in the middle distance.
By comparison, 'Glass' has a smoky, half-hidden backroom quality. Its brushed whisper of a beat, lingering guitar drones and subtle sub bass come on like a dub wise flip of a sad-eyed country ballad. The mood maintains on 'Half Smoked Cigarette', which captures the grey sky sullenness of post-punk and reframes it in the seductive isolation of rural America. While there's a thickness to the sound on these most direct of tracks on the album, there's also fragility inherent to the sound world Dead Bandit have been shaping out over these past few years.
'Buttercup' swaps sadness for sinister undercurrents, once more drawing on fulsome low end to fill out the sparse threads of instrumentation up top. 'Pink' finds a steady momentum for its own brand of brooding mystery, the sharp end of the beat bringing focus to the many-layered approaches to the guitar which roundly define the Dead Bandit sound. There's an even clearer direction mapped out in the vintage drum machine pulse of 'Koyo', all the better to carry swirling effects treatments and moody melodic figures. Even in these ominous climes there's space for plaintive, endearing hooks which land as the most direct phrases in Dead Bandit's musical lexicon to date.
The fundamental sound across this album holds true, but Dead Bandit are never bound to a singular practice. 'Lucien's Bitters' strikes up a pronounced drum machine beat which comes on like 90s downtempo, and it feels like a natural vessel for the heavy, shoegaze tinted lament of the guitars. At every turn, Swan and Schimpl prove their affinity for all kinds of approaches, and yet the end product is a deeply cohesive, immediate listen that shows just how clear their creative vision really is.

Valuable vinyl reissue for this historic four-handed work by Gigi Masin and Giuseppe Caprioli. The concept of multitude combined with the figure/symbol of the labyrinth suggests orders of thought relating to the multiple states of being that inhabit the dark labyrinths of the soul, the hidden regions of the human psyche. All in Multitude In Labyrinth leads us to look for keys to understanding the ultimate meaning of a test as enigmatic as it is powerful. A congeries of paramusical phenomena in continuous evolution, expression of an internal feeling strongly concentrated on itself, disguised in the plastic flow of sound events that evolve on the gravitational maps of low-frequency drones, of the changing waveforms and of the elliptical-circular loops warped with scientific skill in the electronic workshop used for this purpose. A cinematic symphony in nine movements that direct the listening towards the frontiers of unexplored parallel worlds, ready to recreate the infinite maze of aural multitudes that materialize, dissolve and regenerate impulse after impulse for the duration of the work. Music whose remote echo makes us think of the harmony of the spheres that governs the mechanics of the cosmos and of being.

Emergent polymath Brother Aten makes his first outing on Bruk with an icy slice of system-ready
minimalism, guided by the cooly detached voice of Ze R.
Taking cues from cult sci-fi and early 80s no wave, Fragmented Dystopia is a crystal clear
statement trimmed of all unnecessary baggage. The title spells out the mood — Aten's
soundscapes are stark and synthetic machine mantras punched out on outboard instruments
navigating gritty, futuristic zones.
On 'Unavailable' steadily humming drones shape the space in which Ze R. hovers, initially
delivering a deadpan denial before their humanity sneaks in as the track snakes through an
intricate lattice of crisp digital percussion. Short and razor-sharp two-parter 'Fragmented Dystopia'
finds an even sparser corner to occupy within Aten's subtly cyberpunk vision, where Ze R.'s
scattered words cut a measured figure delivered at acute angles before breaking into wilder forms
at the end of Part 2.

Originally from Brooklyn and now based in Berlin, Brother Aten has been weaving a fascinating
tapestry of audio and visual work as MAF. His artwork examines the fraught relationship between
technology and society. Ze R. explores dimensions of sexuality, subjectivity and individualism
through writing, performance and community organisation.

Second VHF solo LP from the Pelt/Black Twigs mainstay, following 2022’s acclaimed “Evening Measures.” “April is Passing” builds on the striking solo Hardanger-style fiddle performances on the previous LP to take the music even further out, with deep drones and extended techniques defining a vocabulary that is Americana-adjacent, but a unique and special sound that Mike is pursuing almost alone. Joined on selected tracks by Cara Gangloff’s Sruti and Kaily Shenker’s sonorous Cello, the all-original, all-live performances are resonant with both overt melody and a cloud of thick string overtones, whether on the more upbeat tunes like “Ironto Dancer” or the epic 11+ minute LP closer “Helen’s Song.” “September Air” is a mournful slow build, the fiddle embroidering a minor-key melody over the drone of the Surti box and a low cello counter point. “A Fallen Palace of Snowville” is a solo performance where the additional sympathetic strings of the hardanger fiddle are strongly heard as a ghostly accompaniment, as Mike’s elegant melody switches back and forth from minor to major. “Helen’s Song” closes side 2 with a complex, ever-changing swirl of melodic and harmonic invention, with Mike’s keening, languorous bowing leading the way through multiple moods and sounds.

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.

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

Who is Isabelle Lewis, anyway?

What kind of music does she make? Is she an opera singer? Does she write pop songs? Does she compose ethereal ambient soundscapes? Does she play chamber music on the violin? Is she producing dark, electronic beats?

Well… yes. But Isabelle Lewis is not so much a person as a project. Isabelle’s debut album, Greetings, credits a trio of composer–performers at its heart: producer Valgeir Sigurðsson, vocalist Benjamin Abel Meirhaeghe, and violinist Elisabeth Klinck. The sound of the elusive Isabelle Lewis is heard most clearly in the push and pull between them, the three-way tension that gives the album its musical and emotional drive.

Each of the three brings more to the collaboration than those epithets might imply. Elisabeth’s solo performance practice incorporates composition, improvisation, live electronics, and a close command of bowing and fingering techniques that make her fiddle sing, whisper or whistle as required. Benjamin is a self-taught countertenor - keening, crooning, and swelling to a voluptuous sensuality—but also an interdisciplinary stage director and performer. Well known for his work as a producer and studio collaborator, and as a composer of scores for film and stage, Valgeir’s solo discography interweaves meticulously crafted electronics, drones, noise, and other digital elements with acoustic instruments and vocals recorded with naked, unflinching clarity.

But the extravagant theatricality Benjamin brings to the aptly titled “Drama”—also featuring a heroic violin solo from Elisabeth—grapples against the thudding bass of the implacable digital backdrop. On “Mother, Shelter Me” Valgeir’s austere and detailed production throws the hushed violin and vocals into stark relief. The result is an exquisitely uncanny juxtaposition of past and present, human and mechanical, like a Rococo treasure viewed under cold fluorescent lights, or an 18th-century automaton slowly opening its clockwork eyes.

Even the lyrics seem somehow out of time. On “O Solitude,” Benjamin goes so far as to quote an entire song by the first great English opera composer, Henry Purcell, verbatim. No stranger to Purcell’s music, which has made its way into Benjamin’s theatrical productions as well, here Isabelle Lewis removes Purcell’s melodies and harmonies and sets the text, Katherine Phillips’s 17th century translation of a poem by Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant, to new music whose heightened, archaic character nevertheless seems haunted by Baroque ghosts.

Throughout the album, the outsized emotions and timeless archetypes of Benjamin’s lyrics feel like relics from some half-forgotten past—from the neatly rhymed couplets of “Fisherman,” a seemingly straightforward (but still somewhat askew) character study, to the abstraction of “Moonshell,” whose words seem like the fragments of some ancient, lost lament. It is just another of many ways in which Isabelle Lewis carefully distorts the listener’s notions of time. On a more micro level, time can stop for a moment of weightless, drifting ambience, and then plunge forward as the cloud of harmonies suddenly lock into tempo with the drop of the bass or the change of a chord. Or else that weightless moment is allowed to be, as in the aptly named prologue and epilogue to these Greetings (“Voicemail”/“…and farewell”), or in the interstitial tracks that bind the album together, connecting its dramatic peaks with expanses of meditative stasis.

The album as a whole is elegantly shaped, swelling from an intimate, interpersonal statement into something deeper and more spacious. The first half of the album leans slightly towards self-contained pop songcraft and ticking beats, while side B jumps off from “O Solitude” into the almost symphonic grandeur of songs like “Moonshell” or the instrumental “Not the water, air, or the dirt.”

But as it progresses, the contrasts only grow more sublime: antique and postmodern, human and machinelike. The ominous weight of the droning sub-bass and trombone (guest player Helgi Hrafn Jónsson) only makes the interplay between vocals and violins (guest player Daniel Pioro joining Elisabeth) seem more delicate and vulnerable. The ethereal string tremolos of “Moonshell” seem to pull against the heavy, shuddering electronics and layers of crooning vocals.

And that, in short, is where you will find Isabelle Lewis. Like an ancient stone archway, or a delicate house of cards, the architecture of Greetings is held together by the tension between opposing forces. Not just in Elisabeth’s playing, Benjamin’s singing, or Valgeir’s arrangements and production but in the conflict and contrast that generates the synergy between them.

Oh—Isabelle says hi, by the way. She’s looking forward to meeting you.

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.

Clothilde’s new album sounds like a constant departure from almost everything. Up until now, her music pieces seemed uncontrolled, a total commitment to the machines. She was, somehow, in between us - listener, audience - and the idea of a machine producing sounds she doesn’t seem to control. Of course, none of this was entirely true, she was mostly in control, but the fantasy, the orchestration of it was beautiful. It was sci-fi-ish, Metropolis-magnificent.

In “Cross Sections” everything is purposely under control. We feel, without being told, that Clothilde is directing the narrative, inviting us to partake of this raw and austere electronic sound, forcing us to learn to enjoy it. This is new. Whereas before she would expect you to stay put and listen, eventually you would understand and give in. Or your body would. Now she is telling you to be there, she doesn’t want to be alone, she wants us to feel this subterranean urgency at all costs.

The real eureka moment comes with “Medullary Rays”, when we start cohabiting with the sounds, when they feel familiar. The darkness becomes real; it is palpable how she is stretching each sound and making them come to life at every moment. It is violent, brutal. Like every track, it's a relief when it ends, it's like coming out of a car crash alive. Much of the A side of is Clothilde pushing the boundaries of her sound. She is not testing but finding new ground and sharing it with us. She is exorcising, demolishing and building over and over again, she is crying and screaming, dozing off with the demential levels of bass, making us constantly listen to alarm bells. She is scaring the shit out of us.

The B side keeps the levels of anxiety high up, especially on the 13-minute “Ring”. Surrealistic drones come and go, every second sounds like the end of something, the accumulation of tension is torrential and it never, never stops. We hope there is a conclusion to this. But there is not. “Cross Sections” builds and feeds on this darkness but, in a way, it is self-contained. Never explodes, never releases itself from itself. It is a continuous process of catharsis that it is never over. It never aims to be. Like, you know, life itself.

We've all been there. It feels familiar. Now it has a sound, or sounds. It can be heard and it is outer dimensional. “Cross Sections” is a tremendous effort from an artist trying to survive something. You never know what is. You don’t need to know what it is. It is just there. Cliché but it has to be said: highest possible volume on this one.

Philip Clemo’s seventh studio album, Through the Wave of Blue, is a journey through a father’s response to profound adversity. His narratives traverse through fear, darkness and disorientation as his youngest daughter becomes seriously ill, culminating in the eventual light of joy as she recovers.

From the haunting depths of “Stalker” and intensity of “Maze” to the serene “Rest” and celebratory “Dawn, Through the Wave of Blue offers an immersive experience that engages both viscerally and emotionally.

Each composition has its own sonic identity, inviting listeners to delve deep into the intricate dialogues and textures that unfold. Clemo blends complex drones & atmospherics with brass, woodwind, strings, guitar, piano, electronics and hypnotic rhythms to create mesmerising soundscapes that captivate the senses.

Nigerian electronic musician and violist Ibukun Sunday debuts on Phantom Limb with Harmony / Balance, a brooding, introspective take on Afro-ambient music that follows two acclaimed digital-only albums for Phantom Limb imprint Spirituals.


Based in Lagos, Ibukun Sunday has expertly positioned himself between the rarely-married cultures of ambient and West African musics. He entwines his compositions with field recordings from his native Nigeria and deeply considered philosophies of existence, humanity, and society. The themes of Harmony / Balance derive from Swami and Hare Krishna founder A. C. Bhaktivedanta and his work Bhagavad-Gita Eng: “As It Is”, a script on the duality of human nature. In Bhaktivedanta’s text, two cousins - warriors from the sacred Hindu text the Mahābhārata - and their armies are pitted against each other. The humility, self control, and devotion of one cousin against the arrogance, envy, and pursuit of power of the other. Bhaktivedanta writes that from this battle we see the necessity to cultivate and nurture our love and faith, but to simultaneously understand our selfishness and hubris. Appropriately, in Ibukun Sunday’s music, a heavy, apocalyptic dread contrasts fascinatingly with passages of light. The static-spiked, corrosive sound design of Harmony / Balance conjures darkness, but its skipping rhythmic patterns and melodic contours are made of beautifully vibrant colours.



Though Sunday excels in the kind of drawn-out elegance also found in the work of Kali Malone, William Basinski or Fennesz, and also in a magisterial repetition akin to Terry Riley or Manuel Göttsching, his unique practice, classical training, and core culture shine through in a pure and singular way. Scattered throughout Harmony / Balance are unexpected melodic antiphonies closely aligned with African music, interspersed between huge, spacious drones and field recordings.



Lead track “Arrayed On The Battlefield” evokes mythical and deific wars with hissing, buzzing synthesis that could be dystopian if not for a levitational, sunlit harmonic structure. It rolls and shimmers, transcendent frequencies alive with rhythm. Later, “Enemy Of My Enemy” employs shimmering, meditative chord pads and blissful negative space, while towards the end of the record, “To Fight With” could have been taken from a Denis Villeneuve sci-fi - the fizzing, fiery distortion at its peak gradually, carefully yields a rumbling, distant thunder as it closes. Throughout the record, Sunday’s education as a classical viola player is also evident. A honed musicality and developed ear for harmonic resonances lend the work a measured eloquence, even amidst deep, spiritual intuitiveness. This intensely personal and powerfully expressive creativity is key to the grace with which he crosses divides.


Ibukun Sunday is a solo electronic musician and violist based in Lagos, Nigeria. He has released two albums with Phantom Limb’s digital-only imprint Spirituals, which enjoyed rightful acclaim as unique and powerful works of experimental ambient music. He also performed at Phantom Limb’s 5th anniversary celebrations in 2023, playing alongside Richard Skelton at St. John’s on Bethnal Green in London, UK.

The learning process is just as much an act of healing as betterment. The enabling of solutions through sheer willpower and openness to discovery, or a noble mission, never completed. In that spirit, the latest album by Berlin-based Slovak duo Päfgens – comprising Jana Drábeková Kočišová and Filip Drábek – represents a pensive development for the project.

Drifting from their lo-fi shoegaze beginnings, Päfgens drone-infused soundscapes have become increasingly immersive and expressive “framed improvisations,” where spontaneous passages are captured, then revisited with fresh layers upon layers over the course of months, breathing and evolving naturally, mirroring the unpredictability of nature. Songforms have all but melted away, with ethereal guitars and bass nestling up against field-recorded sounds, synth beds, percussion, and singing bowl tones.

The framed improvisation on ‘Aspect of What’ explores love and loss, relishing both the joy and melancholy of paying tribute to Filip’s late ethnologist grandmother, Božena Filová (1926-2020). Her voice opens track 2, ‘Particles’, speaking of the humble desire to “help the people in the rural environment”, and the goal of “uplifting people to better living through education”. The album’s emotionally charged approach to improvisation is suitably uplifting and seemingly made without ego, the couple melting away into the flitting wall of rustling drones and heavenly fuzz. Even at their most serrated (the groaning guitar amp squall underpinning ‘Journey’) or when surrounded by chiming bells, clocks and bowls (‘Around the Clock’), Päfgens is ready to listen, rest, learn, and improve, extracting and nurturing hidden abstract emotion in every piece, plundering something universal and teachable from very personal depths.

Waxwork Records is thrilled to release THE EXORCIST III Original Motion Picture Score by Barry DeVorzon. THE EXORCIST III is a 1990 American supernatural horror film written and directed by William Peter Blatty based on his 1983 novel Legion. The film is set fifteen years after the events of The Exorcist (1973) and follows a character from the original film, Lieutenant William F. Kinderman who investigates a series of demonic murders in Georgetown that have the hallmarks fo the Gemini, a deceased serial killer.

THE EXORCIST III features a dark ambient score by Barry DeVorzon (The Warriors, Night of the Creeps). It was the last film score he ever created and features synth drones, sampled chanting, synthesized voices and real voices, and experimental sound design. Of the score, DeVorzon provided exclusively to Waxwork for this album's liner notes: "I was exploring a lot of synthesized sounds and textures and trying to do something that would make the scenes more chilling. Anything that was different, eerie, and had nothing to do with an orchestra. This was new territory for me - it wasn't orchestral, it wasn't rhythm oriented. It was just a really different animal."

Waxwork Records is proud to present THE EXORCIST Original Motion Picture Score for the first time in any format. Sourced from the original masters and then mixed, mastered, and constructed into a cohesive double LP soundtrack experience. The album features 150 gram purple smoke colored vinyl, exclusive liner notes by composer Barry DeVorzon, heavyweight gatefold packaging with matte satin coating, a 12"x12" four page booklet, and new artwork by Suspiria Vilchez."

'Quintela', the debut album by Carme López, a performer, teacher and researcher of traditional oral music from Galicia, is a new experimental work for Galician bagpipe. Influenced by the approach of composers like Éliane Radigue or Pauline Oliveros, the Spanish composer creates slowly modulating sound environments, and stretches the sonic the possibilities of the bagpipe to its absolute limit. 'Quintela' is structured in four movements, plus a prologue and an epilogue, which serve as a link to the contemporary language of the instrument.

The bagpipe is strongly tied to traditional musics; its use in different genres and musical contexts is extremely limited and unimaginative. 'Quintela' brings it to a wholly unknown field, decontextualising the bagpipe in order to elevate a personal approach, and leaving behind its male-dominated past (in which it relates to ideas of prestige, dominance or carries even sexual connotations). López expertly demonstrates its grandeur and breadth; the music on 'Quintela' ranges from barely audible sounds of air passing through the hide bag through rhythmical use of its reeds to all-encompassing drones with complex harmonic structures and vibrant overtones.

The narrative arc focuses on the composer's past, its people and places, and could be conceived as a journey in and of itself. A homage to those in our memories, but also a step into the unknown, 'Quintela' is an ambitious, graceful and captivating debut.

"Espontaneamente se Tenta: Aventuras Sonoras de Djalma Corrêa is an album of deeply exploratory pieces by legendary percussionist and composer Djalma Corrêa. This double-LP set features previously unreleased recordings that cover a wide range of sonic experiments, revealing an unknown side of the prolific and groundbreaking Brazilian artist. Most of the tracks on this album were digitized for the first time – directly from the original tapes – and were compiled in collaboration with Corrêa just before he passed.

The result is a wild and unsettling collage that shows us just how original and intense Corrêa could be: from the unorthodox electroacoustic piece Evolução (Para Fita e Filme), which channels ancestral African inspirations to create a sonic cosmogonical narrative, to the proto-mixtape Exemplo de Sintetizadores, in which he transitions from transcendental drones to astral cha-cha-chas.

While the compilation might seem disjointed at first listen, it is in fact the most accurate translation or representation of his central concept: spontaneous music. Djalma's relationship with sound was always guided by his fearless approach to listening, and by his audacious and dynamic interaction with both musicians and equipment, which enabled him to work across a wide array of genres: from jazz to completely abstract music, always through a personal DIY ethic.

Corrêa developed a strong bond with experimentalist and inventor Walter Smetak, with whom he shared a studio during his formative years at Universidade Federal da Bahia. Suite Contagotas, featured in this collection, is no less than a sonic materialization of that bond: an experiment revolving around dripping water and its randomness – a tentative exploration of the ideas and possibilities envisioned by Smetak for his audacious, albeit unrealized, Estúdio OVO.

Djalma, however, is best known for his studio work in historical albums, including many by Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil and Jorge Ben, and for his own polyrhythmic opus Baiafro. The last track is an early recording called Bossa 2000 dC, first performed by Djalma at the 1964 Nós, Por Exemplo concert, an event which is often cited as marking the beginning of the Tropicalia movement. At the time, he was the only artist in the lineup using electronic devices to create sounds, e.g. medical oscillators and contact mics to augment his percussive palette.

The artwork is an amalgamation of material found in the Djalma Corrêa Archive (currently managed by his son Caetano Corrêa) and other material created during the period in which the record was being put together. The intention is to guide the listeners through this possibly tempestuous soundscape, giving them additional resources so that they may draw their own meanings and make their own sense of this extremely immersive and original experience – which is like nothing we've ever heard before."

Bank NYC is very excited to present the definitive statement of Collector, "No Prospects". Collector is the solo guise of Jason Campbell, resident of Newcastle, Australia. Since 2014, Campbell has been channelling the industrial malaise of his hometown through his unique take on heavy electronics. After a series of releases on global-spanning labels such Steel City Dance Discs (UK), Nice Music (AUS), Clan Destine (SCO) & Night People (US), the debut long-player for Bank NYC finds Collector embracing true album form for the first time in his discography. Across eight pieces, Collector delivers a bleak sonic narrative via a hardware-only approach to production: Analog drum machine patterns are intricately intertwined with menacing synth lines, and driving bass is met with the unrelenting clatter of tightly-sequenced field recordings taken straight from the heart of local industry.

Thematically, "No Prospects" navigates the downfall of Newcastle's BHP Steelworks at the end of the 20th century. Acknowledged widely as the largest de-industrialisation event in Australian history, the closure of the Steelworks in 1999 marked a dramatic cultural shift where blue-collar vocations were vanquished due to an economic slump, and were consumed by the trending cosmopolitanism seen in adjacent cities. "No Prospects" draws on Campbell's family lineage in the Newcastle's steelworks, providing a rich, personal context to an industry that both gives and takes away. The sharp intensity of the album is sustained by dramatic shifts in pace: the devestating slow burners of 'Two From Five' and 'Ricochet' are instinctually offset by the frenetic 'CFT' and 'Workers Club Collapse', which showcase Campbell's no-nonsense approach to shaping an almost club-ready breed of modern industrial techno. Although diverse across both sides, cohesion is found in Campbell's toolkit of samples that are unmistakably Collector. The album's eponymous track, 'No Prospects', serves as an introspective centrepoint - a largely arrhythmic excursion shrouded in familiar brooding, textural drones, and underpinned by the chug of machinery on the brink of collapse.

Although forever indebted to the spirit of local electronic outcasts, Bloody Fist Records, Collector's "No Prospects" is a remarkably distinct statement straight from the heart of Australia's Steel City. The complexity of arrangements speak to Campbell's long association in experimental music communities, whilst the persistent feeling of dread conveys a uniquely regional story of decay and futility. Pure Novocastrian industrial electronics.

Svart Records are proud to release the long-awaited full length album "SÁLA" by Kati Rán in May 2024

If the most profound treasures are often the most deeply buried, the journey to uncover them is vital process of discovery. Five years after the 15-minute single “Blodbylgje” signaled the birth of a new, more primordial, and immersive vision after the dissolution of her band L.E.A.F., Nordic dark folk artist Kati Rán has expanded on its oceanic theme for her long-awaited full-length album, “SÁLA”. Embarking on a far-reaching musical and personal travelogue, it’s a reawakening of both the feminine narratives submerged and fragmented within Norse mythology, and the enduring, healing powers held within.

Named after the Old Norse word for ‘soul’ and ‘sea’, “SÁLA” is an act of ‘soul retrieval’, the shamanic art of trauma recovery, be it illness, death, heartbreak or loss, and the reintegration of a splintered self. Across its 13, wide-ranging, elegantly unfolding tracks, the album is an embodiment of different feminine voices and perspectives – from the Norse nine daughters of the sea, or ‘billow maidens’, through various historical and fictional figures to the late-night voices we hear in our most liminal states – all with tales to tell, riddles to solve, challenges to be accepted and guidance to offer. It’s a multiplicity that, like the ocean itself, belongs to a vast, restless dynamic: a matrix of mysteries, unfathomable depths and ever-shifting currents, accumulating into an elemental, regenerative source of power.

Recorded in a barn in Húsafell, Iceland – home to glacier ice caves and a rare lava stone marimba rediscovered for the track “Stone Pillars” – as well as Finland, Norway and at home in Kati’s native Netherlands, “SÁLA” is as much chronicle of Kati’s own perspective-shifting recording process as it as a pilgrimage through different viewpoints and internal states. That itinerate urge is also reflected in the use of different languages, ranging across Norwegian, Old Norse, Icelandic, and, for the first time, English, her combination of ancient texts, historical reimagining’s and unguarded personal reflection backed up by deep research into the most resonant recesses of Nordic lore.

Spun throughout every thread of “SÁLA” is a sense of communion - with the power of stories to offer moral guidance and the thrill of the unknown; with the element of water, recreated across the album both in field recordings and the agelessly organic nature of the music itself; with the archetypes whose qualities we are called upon to embody at our most critical moments; and with the internal hidden realms forever whispering at us from the far edges of our consciousness.

Appropriately, it’s a collaborative venture too. As well as working closely together with Finnish producer Jaani Peuhu, there are contributions from across the musical spectrum, including extreme metal vocalist extraordinaire Gaahl, the Icelandic female choir Umbra Ensemble, renowned Norwegian jazz musician Karl Seglem, Björk and Brian Eno contrabassist Borgar Magnason, members of pagan folk acts Völuspá, Gealdýr, Heilung and Theodor Bastard and even Napalm Death’s Mitch Harris on vocals.

For all the many sources “SÁLA” draws from, the result is a singular, intimately transformative rite of passage, and a retuning of the heart to the reverent continuity of the sacred. It will take you from the opening title track’s chest-pounding rhythmic pulse emerging from a traditional Norwegian bukkehorn (recorded by Karl Seglem), a galloping horse-rider and Kati’s glacial, velveteen chant, through “Kólga’s” recounting of female persecution through the ages borne on the most gossamer-light yet unbreakable of timbres and “Stone Pillar’s” gently percolating, deep wells of abandonment and incantations to recovery. “SÁLA” closes with the track “Sátta” - Old Norse for ‘peace’ and ‘reconciliation’ – ending the album as it began with the bukkehorn, as it weaves rich drones and experience-stamped poems and prayers, Kati’s vocals the most sensitively tuned of emotional barometers. An album made in dedication, and in thrall to, its own sense of destiny, “SÁLA” is, as all quests must ultimately be, a homecoming.

Album introduction written by Jonathan Selzer.

Svart Records are proud to release the long-awaited full length album "SÁLA" by Kati Rán in May 2024

If the most profound treasures are often the most deeply buried, the journey to uncover them is vital process of discovery. Five years after the 15-minute single “Blodbylgje” signaled the birth of a new, more primordial, and immersive vision after the dissolution of her band L.E.A.F., Nordic dark folk artist Kati Rán has expanded on its oceanic theme for her long-awaited full-length album, “SÁLA”. Embarking on a far-reaching musical and personal travelogue, it’s a reawakening of both the feminine narratives submerged and fragmented within Norse mythology, and the enduring, healing powers held within.

Named after the Old Norse word for ‘soul’ and ‘sea’, “SÁLA” is an act of ‘soul retrieval’, the shamanic art of trauma recovery, be it illness, death, heartbreak or loss, and the reintegration of a splintered self. Across its 13, wide-ranging, elegantly unfolding tracks, the album is an embodiment of different feminine voices and perspectives – from the Norse nine daughters of the sea, or ‘billow maidens’, through various historical and fictional figures to the late-night voices we hear in our most liminal states – all with tales to tell, riddles to solve, challenges to be accepted and guidance to offer. It’s a multiplicity that, like the ocean itself, belongs to a vast, restless dynamic: a matrix of mysteries, unfathomable depths and ever-shifting currents, accumulating into an elemental, regenerative source of power.

Recorded in a barn in Húsafell, Iceland – home to glacier ice caves and a rare lava stone marimba rediscovered for the track “Stone Pillars” – as well as Finland, Norway and at home in Kati’s native Netherlands, “SÁLA” is as much chronicle of Kati’s own perspective-shifting recording process as it as a pilgrimage through different viewpoints and internal states. That itinerate urge is also reflected in the use of different languages, ranging across Norwegian, Old Norse, Icelandic, and, for the first time, English, her combination of ancient texts, historical reimagining’s and unguarded personal reflection backed up by deep research into the most resonant recesses of Nordic lore.

Spun throughout every thread of “SÁLA” is a sense of communion - with the power of stories to offer moral guidance and the thrill of the unknown; with the element of water, recreated across the album both in field recordings and the agelessly organic nature of the music itself; with the archetypes whose qualities we are called upon to embody at our most critical moments; and with the internal hidden realms forever whispering at us from the far edges of our consciousness.

Appropriately, it’s a collaborative venture too. As well as working closely together with Finnish producer Jaani Peuhu, there are contributions from across the musical spectrum, including extreme metal vocalist extraordinaire Gaahl, the Icelandic female choir Umbra Ensemble, renowned Norwegian jazz musician Karl Seglem, Björk and Brian Eno contrabassist Borgar Magnason, members of pagan folk acts Völuspá, Gealdýr, Heilung and Theodor Bastard and even Napalm Death’s Mitch Harris on vocals.

For all the many sources “SÁLA” draws from, the result is a singular, intimately transformative rite of passage, and a retuning of the heart to the reverent continuity of the sacred. It will take you from the opening title track’s chest-pounding rhythmic pulse emerging from a traditional Norwegian bukkehorn (recorded by Karl Seglem), a galloping horse-rider and Kati’s glacial, velveteen chant, through “Kólga’s” recounting of female persecution through the ages borne on the most gossamer-light yet unbreakable of timbres and “Stone Pillar’s” gently percolating, deep wells of abandonment and incantations to recovery. “SÁLA” closes with the track “Sátta” - Old Norse for ‘peace’ and ‘reconciliation’ – ending the album as it began with the bukkehorn, as it weaves rich drones and experience-stamped poems and prayers, Kati’s vocals the most sensitively tuned of emotional barometers. An album made in dedication, and in thrall to, its own sense of destiny, “SÁLA” is, as all quests must ultimately be, a homecoming.

Album introduction written by Jonathan Selzer.

Clean Hands Go Foul (2009) generously offers more of everything: voluminous drones, clashing dissonance, mysterious subharmonic swells, escalating terror, and environments drenched in heavy anticipatory dread. The final hour of the band's first decade sees Khanate, as always, making "music that, even in the realm of extreme music, is dark and distorted" (Pitchfork). Clean Hands Go Foul would be followed by the ultimate minimalism, as the Khanate entity sat shrouded in silence until the release of 2023's To Be Cruel.

Clean Hands Go Foul (2009) generously offers more of everything: voluminous drones, clashing dissonance, mysterious subharmonic swells, escalating terror, and environments drenched in heavy anticipatory dread. The final hour of the band's first decade sees Khanate, as always, making "music that, even in the realm of extreme music, is dark and distorted" (Pitchfork). Clean Hands Go Foul would be followed by the ultimate minimalism, as the Khanate entity sat shrouded in silence until the release of 2023's To Be Cruel.

NAKID presents the first album in years from Max Loderbauer (Sun Electric) and Tobias Freund’s cult Non Standard Institute. Delving deep into the aether with a double LP - almost an hour and a half in length - featuring ruined, vaporous and engrossing ambient variations on a theme.

Planing axes between iridescent new age ambient, sublime folk and avant-classical, to miasmic drone and plangent shoegaze; ‘A Day or Two’ charts the Non Standard Institute’s first actions in 6 years and serves as a compelling reminder of their intuitive work in abundance. Expanding and contracting their sound across 18 parts, they arc from heaving, oddly-tuned drones to smoggy, surreal soundscapes, bringing a wealth of fine-tuned instincts to the table. With Max Loderbauer’s 35+ years as Berlin ambient pioneer with Sun Electric, jams with Villalobos, and roles in Vladislav Delay Quintet and the Moritz von Oswald Trio, he’s matched by Freund’s 40 years of deep engineering expertise embedded in the experimental industrial and techno trenches.

The melancholy, Satie-laced piano meditations that grounded 2018's '5863' are gone, and the human touch that's been present since their very first collaborations is placed under the microscope, enhanced by their use of the Haken Continuum Fingerboard, a gestural synth that was developed to open up new modes of playing. Loderbauer's experience with the piano helps him make the most of the instrument's touch-sensitive 3D surface, while Freund uses two multi-channel loopers, piping the sounds through his arsenal of pedals.

The 18 tracks are billed as "unplanned atmospheres" that arc from sombre, drone-heavy material to humid, tape-saturated imaginary-island jams such as 'Listening To Cells' and 'Are You One Of Them'. On the latter, the duo work patiently, letting dusted string plucks tumble across each other while warbling pads hum below, bending like flutes. On 'Unlikely Events', anxious didgeridoo-like wails are ruptured by environmental rattles, before ominous voices lead us into a pocket of industrialised resonance. In time, the skies open up and the sounds morph into pastoral song, the drone blurring into hopeful pads almost as lucid and eloquent as AFX's 'SAW Vol. II', with sonorous synths that float over formless strings. Reflective, cinematic arrangements for flute and silvery ambient give way to diffusions of denser, resonant polychromatics and pucker up in outernational, alien ambient impulses recalling Connor Camburn jamming with dirashe folk pipes.

Glasgow’s Somewhere Press return with their inaugural vinyl release, a new album from Madelyn Byrd aka Slowfoam. Mining the seam between ecology and technology, Byrd offsets syrupy, dissociated electronics with sparse acoustic instrumentation and expressive field recordings.

The polyrhythmic pulse of the natural world surges through Byrd’s productions, and though the sounds are mostly electronic and strictly metered, a landscape teeming with insects, birds, and wildlife fills the horizon. We’re languidly ushered through the gates on the opening 'Enlightened Smudge on the Machine', juxtaposing glassy tones with flute (from Berlin-based sound artist Diane Barbé) and skittering percussion that could have been lifted straight off Björk’s 'Vespertine'. "No traffic, under the stem," a stoic voice muses while sounds dissolve into waterlogged ambience. There are hints of vintage West Coast new age music, but Byrds' over-arching theme is one of a contemporary digital reality slowly harmonising with its distant, bucolic past.

Field recordist Pablo Diserens provides some of the album's most arcane material, handing over environmental recordings of sulphur pools, Arctic terns and glacial streams. The lengthy 'Divine Morpho, Shimmering' deploys a swarm of insects, forming a looped, uneven rhythm that counters Byrd's pulsing electronics. Choral stems mesh with uncanny strings, blurring the line that separates artificial from organic sound sources. Byrd uses mutation and reconstruction as a form of "speculative melting" to bring us closer to utopia. On 'Like Phantom Memories In The Slinking Storm’, one of the album's most levitational moments, they tease twangy harp-lyre plucks into dubbed-out smudges, eventually given a reprise on 'Grief Rituals' where the same riffs are stretched into slower phrases, queered against giddy, xenharmonic drones.

Bird calls and tremulous exotica mark the brilliant 'Fragrant Dusking', and ‘Soft Body Virisdescence' takes us to a gurgling, kaleidoscopic climax, with electronic processes thrust into the foreground. 'Of Data & Delight' distills all the album’s sonic elements into a sort of delirious fever dream, using pitched animal calls to signal sensuality. It's not ambient, exactly, even if it shares space with the 3XL crew's sludgy eroticism, and it's not wholeheartedly electro-acoustic either. The record exists at a place of convergence, as one era wrestles with a new dawn, and real life glimpses high fantasy.

London-based four-piece Adult Jazz announce their first full-length album in a decade, So Sorry So Slow, out 26 April 2024 via Spare Thought. Alongside the announcement comes lovesick new single ‘Suffer One’ featuring Owen Pallett, a cautious excavation of self and sexuality, clambering across a gorgeously shapeshifting, filmic five-minutes.

Containing some of the band’s most abrasive but gentle, beautiful and melismatic work to date, So Sorry So Slow has many defining characteristics: romance, panic, devotion and remorse, threaded together by an intentionally laser-focused love. It’s deeply personal, bruised and candid in its expressions of tenderness, and deeply pained in its concurrent reflections of ecological regret. Across its hour-long runtime, a delicate, frenetic energy and glacial heaviness coexist, the band pitting those paces against one another. In their richly experimental timbre, dancing strings and fluttering falsettos prang against a bed of brass drones like a wounded bird.

“We started writing in 2017 and began recording in 2018,” says vocalist Harry Burgess. “We genuinely thought it might be finished in 2018! But things kept developing and, having resolutely not struck while the iron was hot, there was no real external push to rush things after that, so we just kept letting things shift and unfold until it felt right. Listening back to my voice notes it’s nice to notice that there are fragments of ideas from the whole period 2017-2023 which have shaped the record.”

Recorded in bursts at studios across London and in the band members’ flats, at Konk, on the Isle of Wight and in Sussex, So Sorry is unambiguous in its evolution. Sonically, there are sparks of the arrhythmic brightness that afforded the band’s critically acclaimed debut album Gist Is its cult adoration, for fans of Arthur Russell and Meredith Monk, but with a blossoming, melancholic darkness often overhead. Piano sprees and luscious string sections appear like low-hanging stars on a night-time drive, whilst plunging vocal distortions and humming brass loops resurrect heavy limbs in a bad dream.

“I usually have objects as kind of totems for ideas,” explains Burgess. “The album initially started out to do with performance… the totem was a head mic, one of the subtle skin-tone ones, discreet on the forehead of a West End star. A number of the first songs in their original forms were almost musical theatre piano ballads. I think that was really a device to write about my life as the ‘main character’ (pre internet-speak reframing): regrets about romance, relationships - unsustainable relationships with the self and others.”

“However, once we started writing, the ideas about unsustainable personal relationships, loving unevenly and heartbreak conflated with a more expressly ecological regret. Like contending with big feelings of loss, endings, beauty, desolation, and with how much joy the earth contains in it. Feeling so much gratitude bound up in waves of sadness. Maybe witnessing a slow-motion goodbye to all that, or its last gasps. I love the earth and the life it supports so much. I love how ecosystems fit together - even the brutal stuff. It may be basic to say, but now is the time to be laser focused on that love. I was thinking about human centrality on earth, us as the ‘main character’, the way that is served by faith and romanticism, and the subsequent disingenuous understandings of our position in the ecosystem, as only stewards somehow, rather than subjects. The totems at this point: a herald’s horn, lorry inner tubes, archaeological tools. I guess from doom, industry, history respectively.”

“Now I would say the record is about gripping. Totems being: crampons, rope, drips, desalination equipment, accruing various survival tech. I think gripping sums up both of the threads. There’s the emotionally correct clinging to the earth that is the substrate of everything we value, or the delusional clinging to our imagined dominant position. But also the practical, technological aspects of creating a sustainable relationship, of remaining here. Then I think of romance again.”

So Sorry So Slow comes out 26th April 2024 on Spare Thought, mixed by Fabian Prynn at 4AD Studios and mastered by Alex Wharton at Abbey Road.

Adult Jazz is Harry Burgess, Tim Slater, Steven Wells and Tom Howe.

Earth, Our Planet?”: A call for environmental awareness. This time, Pedro Vian - the founder of Modern Obscure Music - presents his fourth solo album (following his 2020 release, "Ibillorca"). Due for release in spring 2024, "Earth, Our Planet?" promises to immerse us in a moving odyssey, crossing the boundaries of musical genres to provoke an urgent meditation on the protection of our planet. On this occasion Vian has composed the album influenced by the myth of the eternal return, the compositions are long and repetitive, generating states of pure trance.
Pedro Vian, singular for his fusion of genres and styles, ventures into even more complex territories in "Earth, Our Planet?". From the first listen, it is evident that this work treads the line of convention and breaks the boundaries of electronic and experimental music with artistic dexterity. The album weaves together texture, hypnotic rhythms and melody. Each track reveals his distinctive ability to create immersive landscapes, guiding the listener into deep emotional introspection. This is not just music; it is a transformative experience.
The beauty of this album lies not only in the musical vision. The album features high-calibre collaborations that add layers of creativity and elegance. Trumpeter Pierre Bastien, whose early productions left an indelible mark on Aphex Twin's Reflex label, infuses "A Day in Rotterdam" with a unique emotional resonance. Violinist, Asia, renowned for her avant-garde approach and ability to conjure unique landscapes, elevates the album's opening tracks "Urobóros" and "Les Tambours Subterraniens". Their skill and sensitivity intertwine perfectly with Vian's artistic vision. In addition, Italian producer Daniele Mana, with whom Pedro Vian collaborated closely on his previous album "Cascades", known for his experimental approach and talent for creating extraterrestrial atmospheres also contributes to "Les Tambours Subterraniens". His artistic perspective adds more complexity and texture to the piece, pushing the boundaries of contemporary electronic music. There is also a collaboration with Raül Refree, an artist with whom Vian worked with last year, presenting “Font De la Vera Pau”, an album that The Guardian defined as "a wonderful piece of electroacoustic music, a captivating mix of strings and analogue synth drones which sometimes flirts with Alice Coltrane-ish spiritual jazz". With "Earth, Our Planet?", Pedro Vian not only offers up some of his best work to date, but it is also a call to reflect on our relationship with the natural world. As a part of a planet where environmental awareness is more crucial than ever, he urges us to protect and preserve our world as an extension of ourselves. This extensive work is a statement, Vian addresses the notion that too often we prioritise immediate needs over the well-being of the planet. It highlights the fact that we often consider the Earth as a possession when, in reality, we are but a part of it.

As part of Subtext's 20th anniversary, Subtext presents the debut album from bela as a co-release with Unsound.

bela was based in Seoul when they began to develop the framework for 'Noise and Cries (굉음과울음)'.Chewed up by a society that's slow to embrace those who exist on the margins, they and their close friends became fixated on the concept of death. "I wanted to cry, I Wanted to die," they recall. "The precariousness of living in South Korea hits different. I thought, let's share what is killing us." bela refused to lose hope, so they inventoried the sounds, experiences and emotions that had formulated their identity and wondered how this might form a different sort of South Korean musical expression. They considered the guttural death metal growls and industrial music they heard when they began to interface with Western culture as a teenager, the idiosyncratic folk rhythms that rattled away in the background of state events, the evocative, euphoric drones that had offered them solace, and the heady, cybernetic maximalism that's come to define contemporary queer club music.If this was going to be an album about death, bela knew wouldn't it be preoccupied with loss, but rooted in a deep desire to regain the will to live.

'Noise and Cries (굉음과울음)' is the first time bela has recorded their voice, and they metamorphose it from moment to moment, embracing a precarious vulnerability. Opener 'The Sage' references Jungtaryeong, two well-known arias from the Korean Pansori tradition - a folk form that is usually performed by a drummer and a singer. Screaming, whispering and rasping, bela twists borrowed words from the original arias, repurposing them to highlight the hypocrisy and brutality of patriarchal wisdom.

These bellowed phrases contrast with an abrasive rhythm that bela based on the eatmore jangdan, an irregular, traditional beat that's been remoulded into a jerky, electro-acoustic call to action. Even if the gargled Korean wordplay can't be fully understood, the mood translate flawlessly. On 'Death Will I', they reassemble the damaged relationship between a queer child and their

First vinyl issue for this 2023 release with bonus track not available on CD.
Nine majestic electro-acoustic threshold devotionals.
**ELECTRONIC SOUND - review (issue 98) “While there are shades and texture in the journey from glowing opener “Cyan” to the glowering conclusion of “Magenta”, they’re so subtle that they make ‘Colours of Air’ the musical equivalent of Rothko’s paintings - monotone at first glance, but with intriguing depths if you’re prepared to search for them.”

MOJO - ★★★★ review in the Underground column (March issue) “Loscil and English’s manipulations drift closer to the ambient techno of Gas.”

UNCUT - 8/10 review (March issue) “Subtle complex, and not always pacifying…’Magenta’s extraplanetary grace is tempered by unresolved tension for distinctly uneasy listening.”
The union of composers Lawrence English and loscil aka Scott Morgan is seamless, sublime, and long overdue.
Born of a conversation centered on the notion of “rich sources” as a forge for electronic music, Colours Of Air is a collection of recordings of a century old pipe organ housed at the historic Old Museum in Brisbane, Australia, which were then processed, transformed, and elevated into eight majestic electro-acoustic threshold devotionals. The timbre of the instrument and spatial fluctuations of room tone infuse the music with a subdued, sacred feel, like vaulted light in a nave of stained glass. They describe the album as “an iterative project, a reduction and eventual expansion,” sifting the swells and drones of the organ for every shivering shade of radiance.
The tracks are named for the hue each piece suggests – from the gauzy levitational miasma of “Yellow” to the pulsing melancholic mirage of “Violet” to the seething twilit sandstorm of “Magenta.” Morgan and English are both adept at conjuring moods of muted grandeur, like landscapes veiled in dusk, still looming and luminous.

Out of print as a stand-alone release for decades since its original 1974 issue. Produced by George Harrison, Shankar Family & Friends is an almost-forgotten masterwork – an emotional and sonic pact between two like-minded souls to both advance their spiritually minded bond and unite musical styles, cultures, and sounds in wondrous fashion Contributions from Ringo Starr, David Bromberg, Billy Preston, Nicky Hopkins, Jim Keltner, Klaus Voorman, and a host of virtuosic Indian musicians add to a diverse album that melds Eastern and Western traditions; encompasses jazz, funk, bhajan, Indian, and pop; and represents the spirit and breadth of Harrison's Dark Horse Records imprint.

Memorable contributions from an A-list of American and English musicians — Ringo Starr (drums), David Bromberg (electric guitar), Billy Preston (organ), Nicky Hopkins (piano), Jim Keltner (drums), Klaus Voorman (bass), Robert Margouleff (Moog), Malcolm Cecil (Moog), Tom Scott (saxophone) included — add to the richness of a set that melds Eastern and Western traditions. These “names” mesh with a host of Indian virtuosos — Alla Rakha, Ashish Khan, Kamala Chakravarty, Hariprasad Chaurasia included — who turn Shankar Family & Friends into a journey laced with percussive, string, and vocal components that aren’t soon forgotten.

Throughout, Shankar Family & Friends remains true to its title — a mesmerizing record named to reflect the group participation approach of its creators. The idea started when Shankar told Harrison about a ballet he wrote. The Beatle, who first met Shankar in June 1966 — roughly a year after Harrison became interested in Indian music after overhearing it in a restaurant while filming Help! — immediately was convinced they needed to record it. Harrison’s staunch admiration of Shankar and serious approach to Eastern styles are reflected throughout the album.

Indeed, for Harrison, Shankar Family & Friends marks the culmination of a years-long effort to master the sitar, study Hinduism, and incorporate elements such as drones, unusual chords, and expressive picking into his own songs. The seeds of this unique collaboration can be heard in Beatles works such as “Norwegian Wood,” “Love to You,” and “Within You Without You.” Both musicians were also fresh from performing at the 1971 Concert for Bangladesh shows. Yet Shankar Family & Friends remains entirely unique in each visionary artist’s history — and ultimately, led to a collaborative tour Harrison and Shankar staged across North America.

Encompassing jazz, funk, bhajan, Indian, and pop, Shankar Family & Friends is thematically split into halves. Side One reveals Shankar’s uncanny ear for melody — even when applied to Western forms. The lead-off “I Am Missing You,” the first single ever released by Dark Horse Records and reportedly the first pop composition Shankar completed, underscores his skills as a composer and global ambassador. Beautifully sung across three octaves by his sister-in-law, Lakshmi Shankar, the devotional song features multiple drummers and production that mirrors Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound approach. Harrison plays autoharp and guitar; Starr sits in on drums; Scott handles flute and soprano saxophone. It’s the inviting start of a musical adventure teeming with color, majesty, and mysticism.

A second version of the track — designated with a “(Reprise)” tag — appears minutes later. Unfolding in different ways, it follows a folk ballad structure stitched together with Indian instrumentation. Here, according to Shankar, the musicians “attempted to convey the sounds and atmosphere of Vrindavan, the ancient holy place where Krishna grew up.” Both renditions speak to the cross-continental fusion that came so naturally to Harrison and Shankar, whose oversight on the side’s other vocal tracks ensures listeners familiar with Western methods gain easy access to the hypnotic allure of his native country’s music.

Nowhere is this more evident than on Dream, Nightmare & Dawn (Music for a Ballet), the side-long piece that served as the genesis for Shankar Family & Friends. Launched with an airy overture and unfolding across three movements, the mostly wordless suite features everything from call-and-response interplay and classical lyricism to uptempo dance figures, stacked rhythms, and intoxicating grooves. Blurring the lines between contemporary and traditional, and Western and Eastern, the inspirational work is the exclamation point on a record that defined “world music” well before the term became co-opted as a catch-all genre.

Perc Trax hits 100 releases with Perc returning with his first album in seven years. 'The Cut Off' is Perc's fourth album following 'Wicker & Steel' (2011), 'The Power & The Glory' (2014) and Perc Trax's best ever selling release 'Bitter Music' (2017).

'The Cut Off' see's Perc deliver his most dance floor focused album to date, serving up enough energy to keep contemporary dance floors moving, whilst avoiding both the cliched 90's throwback hard techno formula that is dominant right now and the stuckist 'real techno' blueprints that are still endlessly regurgitated having been established over 30 years ago.

Across the album Perc's well established industrial credentials collide with giant sized synth riffs, driving acid lines (a first for a Perc album) and all manner of drones, choral performances, urban textures and even a dentist's drill (on 'Static'). Gliding arpeggios and slow moving melodic lines feature more on this album than ever before without dulling the sharp edges of Perc's music.

'The Cut Off' more than any previous Perc long player is an album that focuses on the club, the dancer and the dance floor. Yes, there are moments of respite between the classic Perc percussive workouts, but they are far outnumbered by the varied collection of club tracks that come at the listener from every angle.

Collaborations include Sissel Wincent, a regular collaborator with Peder Mannerfelt. Perc remixed Peder & Sissel's 'Sissel &Bass' track to great effect in 2019 and now Sissel returns the favour appearing on 'Static', the album's only full vocal track. Also collaborating with Perc is EAS, one of America's fastest rising techno artists who delivers the raw acid lines that power album highlight 'Cold Snap'. Finally London based metal vocalist Leandro Bastos adds his abrasive vocal tones to 'Imperial Leather', the first single to be taken from 'The Cut Off'.

The 'Cut Off' was recorded in Perc's own studio and mixed by Perc at Map Studios in London. The album was mastered by Matt Colton at Metropolis Studios. Album design was handled by Lucas Grassmay, who previously worked on I Hate Models' debut album on Perc Trax in 2019. The album will be supported a run of dates around the world where Perc will be performing a special live set based around the album as well as his infamous DJ sets.

»Sound of Matter« is the debut album by Romanian sound artist and composer Simina Oprescu. The two pieces draw on research conducted with 15 historical church bells at the Märkisches Museum and the Stadtmuseum Berlin. After the artist had presented the results of her studies of the connection between matter and harmony in the form of a multi-channel installation, she has translated the underlying approach of this site-specific work into an album that unfolds slowly, consistently setting in motion subtle tonal changes that continuously change the mood of the two pieces. »Sound of Matter« is both minimalist and maximalist, creating an infinitely rich and multi-layered dronescape that modestly invites its audience to get lost in the sonic experience.

Oprescu has been fascinated by church bells since her childhood spent in Transilvania since the instruments were shrouded in mystery, as she explains in an in-depth essay that accompanies the album. Having received a Bachelor’s degree at UNArte in Bucharest and after studying at the Royal Conservatory of Mons in Belgium, Oprescu enrolled at Berlin’s Universität der Künste for an M.A. in Sound Studies and Sonic Arts. She started working with the archive of the Märkisches Museum, which included 15 historical church bells that were built between the 15th and the early 19th century.

Since every bell sounds different according to its shape, material, and density, Oprescu abstracted these qualities in the formula f = K1t/d^2√E/s(1-m^2). This enabled her to recreate the harmonic tone of the individual bells with Max/MSP. She then composed a piece with semi-overlayed tones, i.e. overlapping frequencies. Naturally, this resulted in a beating effect that provided the music with a sense of urgency, though the five second-long natural reverb of the Märkisches Museum’s Große Halle turned it into a »warm blanket of sound,« as the artist herself puts it. This is perfectly recreated on »Sound of Matter« due to the music being presented in mono, bringing out the intrinsic movement of the beatings with more nuance than a stereo version would.

»Sound of Matter« feels warm and welcoming even when different frequencies seem to create friction between each other or when the subtle beating effects turn into throbbing rhythms, like at the end of the record. It manages to explore both Oprescu’s personal fascination with church bells and psychological and psychoacoustic questions relating to them as well as philosophical issues connected with them. This music is profoundly physical, but also intellectually stimulating—perfectly at home in the catalog of the Swiss Hallow Ground label between records by Kali Malone, Lawrence English, or Siavash Amini.

The booklet features an in-depth essay on church bells by Simina Oprescu.

In the beginning was a half-truth, the truth was of war and the half-truth was post-war. Fancying the pretensions of its cultural superiority, a continent chose to hide the truth behind ridiculous jargon and the soothing distance of offshored ?????????. Europe wished itself beyond war because it thought the privilege of peace a birthright, just as it refused to understand that post-war was a euphemism for interbellum. Then the truth has set us free.

The delusion was discarded and war was revealed as an inconceivable horror. Almost immediately it turned familiar and virtually comfortable. Novelty songs of drones gutting tanks became a laughing matter and the burning tanks, their crew inside, entertainment. Consequently, a plurality of people started to collectively dream of new stages of the righteous kind of carnage. This happened within weeks.

Our imagination has swollen to the point of loss of consciousness, compounded by the narrative form long in the sways of atrophy. All of this raises the question of to what degree were the years of peace culturally squandered. The art of the previous age prided itself on self-awareness, today we fail to even notice that we no longer recognize ourselves. But we have arrived where we started and our issues were not too complex for expression.

Since no art form generates action, the most appropriate art for a culture on the edge of extinction is one that simulates pain. In these times we shouldn't produce any other music, none but this, intended to prevent our silence from being misinterpreted.

For the last seven years, sound artist, technologist, and electronic musician Moisés Horta Valenzuela (aka Hexorcismos) has been studying artificial intelligence and generative art, wondering how these new technologies might be augmented into his musical process. Born in Tijuana and currently based in Berlin, Hexorcismos has long attempted to break down the permeable borders between musical styles and expressions, using the spaces in between to reinforce his politics and worldview. And on 'MUTALISMX - becoming sonic network', he expands his vision, inviting artists from across the globe to collaborate on work that questions the biases inherent in AI models, offering a collective alternative that could serve as a blueprint for further research.

The majority of AI art at this stage works with "big data", taking ideas from the cultural canon and muddying them with our contemporary reality. But if we accept that mass culture is always politically biased, always swaying towards historical prejudices, then there must be a counter-narrative. Hexorcismos began to develop a bottom-up approach, using "small data" to interrogate his idiosyncratic approach to art; he built a tool called SEMILLA.AI based on neural audio synthesis that could not only mimic his sonic fingerprint but transform it into another. So when he offered the synth to his network of collaborators, he gave them the option of either using only their data or sharing the signatures of each other artist involved in the project, blurring their identities into a mutual voice.

The result is a compilation that unspools with the coherence and fluidity of a single-artist album or adventurous DJ mix, genreless and boundless but unified by a singular message. Hunanese-American artist Kloxii Li for example takes rugged percussion and tense, industrial ambience, smudging her soundscape into a swirling gust of ghostly dissonance. Hexorcismos himself contributes two compositions: the lengthy, hypnotic 'Acaso de veras se vive con raíz en la Tierra', an AI-powered scramble of his pointed tribal guarachero experiments; and 'Interferencias', a collaboration with Mexican club veteran Bryan Dálvez, aka El Irreal Veintiuno that drives intense dancefloor rhythms into a dense haze of frozen drones and radio static. Elsewhere, Berlin-based Lebanese artist and writer Jessika Khazrik dissolves her voice into a mesh of obscured rhythms and dissociated whirrs, blending the organic with the artificial but retaining an overpowering sense of humanity.

Some artists were drawn to the nebulous aspects of the technology, searching for truth in a soup of different sounds, while others, such as KMRU, used Hexorcismos's synthesizer the examine their output. On 'hidden options', the Kenyan sound artist fed his immense catalog into the neural net, bringing out his mannerisms and tendencies in the process. Each track is singular but myriad, prompting both mutual respect and a sonic becoming, a feedback process between the artist and the tool, the individual and the collective. Data sets are made by people, and by engaging directly with musicians, Hexorcismos suggests a new way of utilizing a technology demonized and glorified without careful examination. Each artist owns their AI model, and alongside the album Hexorcismos will release SEMILLA.AI to the public (with custom-made models to start the process), allowing anyone to access this revolutionary technology.

Even the album's artwork reflects the political message, conceptualized by Chilean duo hypereikon, who used AI processes to develop a visual reflection of the technology and its possibilities. Operating outside of academia and capitalist enterprises, MUTUALISMX proposes an alternative future - one without borders that's not beholden to the Western canon, where independent labor can be prioritized and celebrated, and where creativity can truly flourish.

The latest release on An’archives, Suikyō, documents a first-time meeting between three Japanese improvisers: Takashi Masubuchi on guitar and harmonica; Ayami Suzuki on voice and electronics; and Tomo on hurdy-gurdy. Recorded at Permian on the 29th of January, 2023, it’s a stunning, forty-minute long improvisation of rare artistic sympathy. Notably, it was the first time the trio had performed together, though Masubuchi and Suzuki have prior form as a duo; on the evening itself, the trio performance was preceded by solo sets from Suzuki and Tomo, which served as a kind of introduction, of sorts, to the broader aesthetic visions of two of the musicians on Suikyō.

Masubuchi, Suzuki and Tomo make for a fascinating trio, not only due to the shared musical sympathy that’s clear from their performance, but also due to their histories, and the way these dovetail on the music you hear on Suikyō. Masubuchi has recorded a number of stunning solo albums for guitar and has also improvised with a number of musicians: you can hear his responsiveness and thoughtful playing on albums alongside Suzuki, Taku Sugimoto, Straytone, Shizuo Uchida, Takahiro Kawaguchi, and more. Suzuki’s work for voice has been documented on several solo cassette releases, and in consort with Tetuzi Akiyama, Rob Noyes, Leo Okagawa, Aidan Baker and Tobias Humble. And Tomo’s music can be heard on a small clutch of solo CDs, as a member of Tetragrammaton and Archeus, and in collaboration with Junzo Suzuki.

The way their instrumental voices meld together on Suikyō, though, is evidence of a capacity both to draw from these histories, and to take these collective knowledges to new places. And sometimes, unexpectedly old places: Masubuchi notes that his guitar on this set took him back to the rock and blues he used to play, perhaps in earlier groups like Pelktopia, which he suggests contributes to “the psychedelic mood” of Suikyō. Tomo’s hurdy gurdy matches this by pulling drones out of the air or allowing melodies to slowly morph and envelop the listener – their development, at times, reminds me of troubadour music from Occitanie.

Suzuki’s presence is equally compelling and curious. Her voice is an eternally flexible instrument, and whether it sits unadorned within the soundworld magic’d into space by Masubuchi and Tomo, or slips between the cracks thanks to subtle use of electronic effects, it has a quality about it that is both otherworldly – at times, the voice soars and pirouettes – and thoroughly, deeply grounded, of this earth, a most human and intimate encounter. There is a lovely consort between Suzuki and Tomo, the voice and hurdy-gurdy shadowing each other: as Tomo notes, “the hurdy gurdy has been an instrument played to accompany singing since the Middle Ages.” For Suzuki, the performance was “psychedelic and hedonistic in a good way,” but it wasn’t simply given in to that experience: “we were at the same time looking at it from an objective point of view.”

That feels like the right way to approach Suikyō: as a performance that both sets the mind and ears spinning, but with a careful, thoughtful, and considerate objectivity to its moment-by-moment development. It’s also incredibly gorgeous. As a first encounter, it’s surprising in both its comfort and its challenge: and as Masubuchi says, the playing together feels just the way it had to be: “instinctive, unintentional, and inevitable.”

repress, yellow viny

When we established Balmat in 2021, neither of us could have imagined that within two years, we’d be putting out an album by one of our musical heroes: Mike Paradinas, aka µ-Ziq. The British producer has been an inspiration to label co-founders Albert Salinas and Philip Sherburne since the 1990s. In fact, his album-length remix project The Auteurs Vs µ-Ziq was one of the very first pieces of electronic music that Philip bought, way back in 1994. To have the opportunity to release his music now feels like a real full-circle moment.

Paradinas, of course, needs no introduction. Under a slew of aliases, chief among them µ-Ziq, the British artist revolutionized leftfield electronic music in the 1990s—coincidentally, this year marks the 30th anniversary of his debut album, Tango N’ Vectif, for his friend and sometime collaborator Aphex Twin’s Rephlex label—and his label Planet Mu has built up a formidable catalog of visionary, forwardlooking records, mapping virtually every corner of the electronic spectrum. With 1977, he turns the clock backward in a sense, and not just with the album’s title: Rooted in classic ambient and electronic sounds, these 15 tracks evoke the anything-goes spirit of the early ’90s, before the tools and tropes had calcified into cut-and-dried styles.

There’s no shortage of familiar sounds on 1977. There are echoes of raves and chillout rooms and transmissions from the fringes of techno; there are detuned synths and glistening reverb tails and, above all, gauzy vox pads, the eerie glue that holds it all together. The title, he says, is meant to invoke a general sense of nostalgia, bookmarking a year in his boyhood when he became more selfaware. More than anything, 1977 sounds like µ-Ziq distilled: Stripped of his signature breakbeats and customary chaos, Paradinas’ first-ever strictly (well, mostly) ambient album presents the essence of his music in a whole new light.

Along the way Paradinas touches on dark-ambient drones (“Marmite”), horror-film themes (“Belt & Carpet”), jungle breaks (“Mesolithic Jungle”), and even house music (“Houzz 13”), which marks the first bona fide dance-floor moment on Balmat to date). Yet the album never—to our ears, anyway— feels expressly retro. Rather, Paradinas plucks timeless sounds out of the ether and gives them a gentle tap, spinning them into unexpected new orbits. At times, 1977 feels like an experience of extended déjà vu: When we first listened to it, we had the sense that we already knew this music. It was as though we had heard it years ago, perhaps on a battered cassette tape lent to us by a friend, and been searching for it ever since. We hope you feel the same.

finally available again on vinyl, note the new price. The most critically revered and commercially successful Eluvium album finally released on stand-alone vinyl for the first time ever. Originally released on CD and Digital formats only, Copia was eventually available on vinyl exclusively as part of the Life Through Bombardment Vol. 1 box set. With thatset long out of print – and Copia celebrating its 10-year anniversary – we are finally giving this landmark album the vinyl reissue that it unquestionably deserves. Remastered for vinyl by Francesco Donadello at Calyx Mastering in Berlin, this deluxe 2xLP set is packaged in a full-color wide-spine jacket with dual heavyweight full-color inner sleeves. // “The grandest, most sweeping Eluvium record to date.” Pitchfork // “A magnificent set, awash in textures, atmospheres, moods, and emotion.” AllMusic // “Copia is the sound of Cooper surpassing himself, combining his patented minimalist drones with beautifully rendered piano.” – Drowned In Sound // Following a string of increasingly remarkable albums, Eluvium's Matthew Cooper set out to broaden his instrumental palette, while maintaining the uncanny emotional resonance that has become his trademark. The result is Copia, an hour-long epic that applies Eluvium's heartache-inducing ether to a symphony of strings, brass, keyboards and piano. Noticeably absent but hardly missed are the washes of guitars that color most of Eluvium's previous material. The deliberate exclusion of traditional rock instrumentation serves as sufficient proof that the instrument is not Eluvium's driving force. At best it is a catalyst, a vehicle to that netherworld in the back of your head, where your life starts to uncontrollably reevaluate itself. Also Available From Eluvium: False Readings On CD, 2LP, Life Through Bombardment Vol. 2 7LP, Nightmare Ending 2CD, The Motion Makes Me Last CDEP, Leaves Eclipse The Light CDEP, Similes CD, Talk Amongst the Trees CD / 2LP, An Accidental Memory In the Case of Death CD, Lambent Material CD

»In Words« is the first solo album by the Danish musician, composer, and visual artist Alexander Tillegreen. The album represents a series of varied electronic music pieces while also carrying examples of ongoing work with psychoacoustic phenomena. Composed partly of material taken from his artistic practice as an installation artist and his ongoing interdisciplinary artistic research into psychoacoustic phenomena, Tillegreen investigates subjective sonic perception and the negotiation of language. Particularly, these investigations are done through the use of the phantom word illusion, originally discovered by music psychologist Diana Deutsch. Parts of the album were conceived when Tillegreen was the first artist ever in resident at the Max Planck Institute for Empirical Aesthetics. Triggering the brain’s tendency to interpret language-based auditory illusions as meaningful information and as words within the mind of the listener, Tillegreen’s unique sound works unfold like a kaleidoscope of phonetic mirrors which render possibilities to reflect upon the listener’s own psychological and culturally situated linguistic embeddedness. Gender-distorted voice perception, speech and language borders are all challenged and thematized throughout Tillegreen’s work. The listener’s head and bodily movement drastically affect the listening and the word interpretation. Their psychological subconsciousness, recent events, memories, and expectations as well as the listener’s motion in space all become co-creative and co- composing factors in a reactive and choreographic process of listening. The polyrhythmic seriality of spatialized syllabic structures is accompanied by elements of heavy bass drops, high-frequency tensions, undulating synth lines, and hypnotic effects. Some of the many compositional potentials of the phantom word illusions are exercised and unfolded in selected tracks throughout the album. The notion of language borders is approached from an entirely different and even more “anti-logocentric” perspective on the “eponymous” closing track »Assimilate (in Words)«, where the listener experiences the struggle and collapse of interpersonal communication through conversation. Other parts of the album represent more diverse approaches to abstract electronic music. »In Words« morphs soundscapes into glacial, spherical passages of ambient backdrops, while at other times emphasizes raw tectonic blocks of hyper-panning drones that erupt into high-velocity outlets of energetic, granular fields. Tillegreen is alternating between cyclical, minimalist, hypnotic approaches and complex, glitchy polyrhythmic melodic structures that shift and melt into evocative ambiences. The phantom words and the nature of Tillegreen’s musical visions progressively demand more of the listener’s attention and represent the artist’s ongoing artistic work and scientific research into psychoacoustics and language. While »In Words« is a highly conceptual album, the musical bandwidth is extensive.