Cerca:glacial

The Sex featuring members of Mercenary God and No Suicide. A mixture of different elements with a rock substrate for an uncategorized result. Another Post-Punk gem from the 80's Italian North-Eastern scene.

My adventure buddies? The silent, enigmatic Patti, former singer of the mysterious No Suicide, and the young, faithful Chris, a passionate Police fan, we met on the battlefield and he immediately became my brother. For him, learning to play the bass was a way to get close to Sting, in other words, just one step below Paradise. Patti instead played keyboards as an extension of her mysterious and glacial presence, so still and distant that the audience sometimes wondered if she was real. And then there was my fixation for the drum machine, a futuristic device which could transform the drumming sweat into an invisible, yet physical, dreamlike pulsation. A particular combination of characters and a special astral conjunction, that’s what you need to get a nucleus source of sonic emotions, and in some ways this is what we were. You could clearly feel it during the concerts. When at the end of ‘81 My Mercenary God lost their drummer and had to disband, I felt clearly that the music had already changed.

Our old 70’s rock ‘n’ roll sound was no longer representative of the day. We were like some sort of yesterday’s newspaper. Thus I Sex was born (later The Sex). According to Freudian thought that sees sexual instinct as the driving force behind every (creative or destructive) human act. And in fact we immediately started creating, destroying, assembling and deconstructing our sound. Suddenly “tomorrow became now”. It was an outburst of creative independence in the form of homemade cassettes put together with makeshift tools, at least until the arrival of the legendary 4 track recorder. I was 19 years old, Chris was only 17. Nothing more than kids after all. Yet we were already veterans, veterans of a lost war. Wise, naive, disillusioned dreamers, everything and the opposite of everything. But, above all, we were totally devoted to our creative delirium up to the point of losing touch with reality, crossing limits, breaking down barriers and almost bordering on madness. Perhaps we were just too involved, especially if in relationship with what we could receive in return. We always spread our energies as if there was no future. We unconsciously felt that we had to live in the moment, now or never, and in retrospect it really was like that, and this is why these songs exist now. Songs created with the intent to tell an inner universe that is, now as then, far from any convention.

»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.

-Side Project of Jordan Chini aka the artist "Boy Dude".
-Recorded and Mixed in a traditional analog 4-track tape dub style.
-Available on black vinyl and on limited edition glacial clear blue vinyl.
Under the name Count Dubula, LA based multi-instrumentalist, music producer and composer Jordan Chini performs, records, and mixes old-school style dub/reggae in the various traditional styles of his inspirations (like Scientist, King Tubby, and Lee Scratch Perry). With a love for recording live instruments and analog synths, Count Dubula’s rhythms and melodies are recorded to tape, then married to an analog mixer and improvisation-ally mixed, accompanied by a space echo, spring reverb, and hi-pass filter.

-Side Project of Jordan Chini aka the artist "Boy Dude".
-Recorded and Mixed in a traditional analog 4-track tape dub style.
-Available on black vinyl and on limited edition glacial clear blue vinyl.
Under the name Count Dubula, LA based multi-instrumentalist, music producer and composer Jordan Chini performs, records, and mixes old-school style dub/reggae in the various traditional styles of his inspirations (like Scientist, King Tubby, and Lee Scratch Perry). With a love for recording live instruments and analog synths, Count Dubula’s rhythms and melodies are recorded to tape, then married to an analog mixer and improvisation-ally mixed, accompanied by a space echo, spring reverb, and hi-pass filter.

Mount Maxwell returns with another full-length journey into memory, melody, and geography - this time roaming beyond the BC environs of his previous records into a stranger, less knowable country. While still woozily nostalgic in the vein of Only Children and The People’s Forest, this outing feels more exploratory and wide ranging in scope, with a denser mixture of influences at play. The somnambulistic drift of Sea of Milk sets the stage with a series of wavering synth pulses that push us languidly toward land, eventually setting us down on the sands of Maze Crete, where a shadowy latticework of hand drums, flutes and synths await. From there we ascend to the aptly named Sky Eye, a rolling mixture of acoustic beats and analog string machines that gives us our first bird’s eye view of the album’s landscape. A Long Road pushes the acoustic instrumentation further, with shimmering tambourine marking time for a collection of hand drums and shakers, while Ages summons up an occult-like dream of glacial arpeggios and whispering synths. Slow Moves and Tree Motion float effortlessly along on beds of lazy congas and woodblocks before finally giving way to the title track - a heady juggernaut of distorted synths and trundling rhythms that propels us through the album’s second half like a locomotive through darkening hills. Drawing the record to a close, the gently repeating keyboard phrase of Mist blooms unexpectedly into a rainbow of human voices before evaporating into the oceanic swells of Hi Traveller. And there Littlefolk leaves us as it found us; adrift in a rolling sea.

Cylene II is the new materialization of the collaboration between François J. Bonnet & Stephen O"Malley, initiated in 2018 and continued without interruption since then, taking form in a myriad of contexts ranging from common practice to recording sessions, concerts and tours. Cylene II bears witness to these different contexts, offering a multifaceted sound signature developed on different occasions (artist residencies in La Becque, Switzerland and Modena, Italy, live performance excerpts, a studio session at INA-GRM Studios in Paris). The epic opening track "Four Rays (Anti Divide)" welcomes, for the first time, other musicians - in this case a wind quintet - expanding the duo"s sonic palette without betraying the fundamental component of their music, namely the driving of sonic energy. Elsewhere, Bonnet and O"Malley propel the energy between themselves, extending the singular climate that has characterized their musical development over the past five years. Among their minimal presentation of tones and resonances, as glacial harmonic intersections slowly elevate with massive physicality to an orchestral degree, new refinements become evident: the music"s relationship to silence, and a brightening of the fine metallic edge glowing at its core. For the listener, Cylene II is a sound that reaches from the deep and scales up to the far firmament in its careful motion, drawing emotions viscerally from the chest, giving rise to the suggestibility of the soul. A séance of sorts for all who witness it, whether playing or listening.

The inaugural release on KMRU's own fledgling OFNOT imprint, 'Dissolution Grip' is an ambitious project that emerged from his studies at Berlin's prestigious UDK. The Kenyan composer and sound artist is best known for his field recording work, and as he traveled across Europe and the wider world for regular live performances, he made a point to snapshot each city. But the more he studied and the more he examined his practice, the more KMRU began to wonder what the purpose of these recordings were, and what bearing they might actually have on his self-expression. Simultaneously, he'd begun to dive more wholeheartedly into the world of synthesis. In a way, synthesis is the most basic form of sound, and KMRU started to wonder not just how he could harness these sounds but how he might be able to more dynamically combine them with field recordings.

Guided by Jasmine Guffond at Berlin's Universität der Künste (better known as UDK), KMRU looked at waveforms - the visual representation of sound itself - and embarked on a process where he would write scores from the shapes, gradually turning the scores into raw synth sounds. Considering the spaces he was inspired by and shuttled through, KMRU decided that instead of using environmental recordings as an aesthetic marker, he would use these captured moments to guide the waveforms. So each sound is birthed from a field recording, but none of those recordings are audible in their original form. For example, on the digital bonus track 'Along A Wall', KMRU recorded in an old shack on his family's compound in Nairobi, where wind was shaking the building to its foundations. Listening to the finished piece, we can hear subtle electronic tones that rub and vibrate against each other, slowly saturating and mimicking the erratic motion of the wind. The original recording has been removed, but the feeling remains.

The album's opening side 'Till Hurricane Bisect' is a 15-minute epic that evolves at its own glacial pace, carefully transforming blustering wind sounds into gasping drones, glassy oscillations and choked distortion. Cosmic and meditative, it's a testament to KMRU's skill as a sound engineer and patience as a composer, combining the gentle world building of his acclaimed Editions Mego album 'Peel' with the rumbling energy of 'Limen', last year's collaboration with Aho Ssan. On the title track, KMRU takes the opportunity to flex his orchestral muscle, conducting a cast of warbling synth tones into a durational symphony. Starting as quietly as a whisper, 'Dissolution Grip' expands at its own pace until it's a dense wall of harmony, powerful but never completely overwhelming. It's music embedded with a rich sense of place that informs us of KMRU's past and present, and signals where his musical philosophy might take us in the future.

Following nearly 20 years of working together as a trio, and numerous cross-collaborations in different configuration between them, Ideologic Organ presents Placelessness, the debut full-length by Chris Abrahams, Oren Ambarchi, and Robbie Avenaim, comprising two long-form works at juncture of ambient music, minimalism, rigorous experimentalism and improvisation, and machine music. Having carved distinct pathways across a diverse number of musical idioms for decades, Chris Abrahams, Oren Ambarchi, and Robbie Avenaim are each, respectively, among the most noteworthy and groundbreaking figures to have emerged from Australia's thriving experimental music scene. Ambarchi and Avenaim first encountered Abrahams when seeing the Necks - the project that has served as the primary vehicle for his singular approach to the piano since its founding in 1987 - together during the late 1980s, not long after having met in Sydney's underground music community. The pair's collaborations date back more than 35 years, criss-crossing Ambarchi's pioneering solo and ensemble work for guitar and Avenaim's visionary efforts for SARPS (Semi Automated Robotic Percussion System), robotic and kinetic extensions to his drum kit. In 2004, fate brought the three together in a trio performance at the What Is Music? Festival, the annual touring showcase of experimental music founded and run by Ambarchi and Avenaim between 1994-2012. For the nearly two decades since, Abrahams, Ambarchi, and Avenaim have intermittently reformed in exclusively live contexts, in Australia and abroad, cultivating and refining the fertile ground first tilled in that early meeting. Placelessness is the first album to present this remarkable trio's efforts in recorded form. Placelessness is the joining of three highly individualised streams, working in perfect harmony; the point at which friendship, mutual respect, and decades of creative exploration produce a singular spectrum of sound. Featuring Abrahams on piano, Ambarchi on guitar, and Avenaim on drums, the album's two sides draw on each artist's enduring dedication to long-form composition. Its two pieces, Placelessness I and Placelessness II, initially began as a single, 40 minute work, before being divided and reworked into distinct, complimentary gestures for the corresponding sides of the LP. Beginning with restrained clusters of reverberant piano tones, Placelessness I progresses at an almost glacial pace, with Abrahams' interventions increasing met by sparse responses, darting within vast ambiences, on guitar and percussion by Ambarchi and Avenaim. Remarkably conversational within its convergences of tonal, rhythmic, and textural abstraction, over the work's duration a progressive sense of tension unfurls and contracts, refusing release, as each of the ensemble's members contribute to an increasingly tangled sense of density at its resolve. While an entirely autonomous work, Placelessness II rapidly realises a distillation of the energy hinted at across the length of its predecessor. Following a luring passage of harmonious calm, Abrahams' launches into shimmering lines of repeating arpeggios, complimented at each escalation of tempo by Avenaim's machine gun fire percussion work and Ambarchi's masterful delivery of tonality and texture, as the trio collectively generate dense sheets of pointillistic ambience within which individual identity is almost lost, before slowly unspooling into unexpected abstractions and dissonances that deftly intervene with the work's inner logic and calm. What could easily be termed a maximalist take on Minimalism, Placelessness is a masterstroke of contemporary, real time composition, that blurs the boundaries between ambient music, experimentalism, free improvisation, and machine music. Drawing on Chris Abrahams, Oren Ambarchi, and Robbie Avenaim's decades of respective solo and collaborative practice, and the culmination of nearly twenty years of working together as a trio, it's two durational pieces - Placelessness I and Placelessness II - take form with a startling sense of effortlessness and grace, neither shying away from explicit beauty or rigorously tension within their forms.

Matching expansive ambience with environmental sound, Chihei Hatakeyama’s new album continues Field Records’ exploration of Japan and the Netherland’s shared approach to water management. As with Sugai Ken’s 2020 album Tone River, a specific project becomes Hatakeyama’s area of focus - in this case the Hachirōgata Lake in Akita Prefecture.

Previously the second largest body of water in Japan, the government ordered extensive drainage work of Hachirōgata Lake after the second world war with the help of Dutch engineers Pieter Jansen and Adriaan Volker. After the project was completed in 1977, reclaimed land took up eighty percent of Hachirōgata Lake’s total size. As a result, a new ecosystem was established as plants spread from surrounding areas, bringing with them a wider variety of birds and other wildlife.

Hatakeyama’s approach to this unique subject matter took in field recordings from particular locations around the lake - the drainage channels, the Ogata bridge, grassland conservation reserves and other key areas. The aquatic subject matter and sonic material is a natural fit for Hatakeyama’s accomplished sound, which has featured on numerous solo works for labels including Kranky, Room40 and his self-run White Paddy Mountain.

From the intimate intricacies of the sampled material to the glacial expanses of droning synthesis and languid guitar, Hatakeyama creates a tangible environment which at once reflects the settings around Hachirōgata Lake, while offering the listener any number of imagined scenes to observe in their mind’s eye.

Santilli returns to Mad Habitat after a European sojourn on Growing Bin! The Eora-based multi-instrumentalist is one half of Angophora, but his solo work exists in the lineage of electro-acoustic visionaries like Steve Tibbetts. With each subsequent release, Santilli strikes the balance between mining his well-defined personal aesthetic and expanding his vision.

The instrumental palette of this record is centered around guitar and synthesizer, bolstered by an incredible array of idiophones and membranophones. There is no shortage of spellbinding moments, like the glacial synths that pan across “Mirrors”, the cascading beauty of “Colours” or the woodland symphony of “Hollow” - the latter even recalls the environmentally-focused work of Waak Waak Djungi’s Peter Mumme.

There’s a common thread across this album in the way it evokes the expanse of nature that Santilli spends much of his time in. All 9 tracks feel like a glimpse into an exquisitely realized scene and across all of them, Santilli's music is suffused with an unhurried sense of ease. The music here feels immersive and panoramic as a result, and we’re grateful to share a glimpse into the worlds Santilli captures.

The Remainder comprise of Blancmange’s Neil Arthur (vocals, guitar and synthesisers), solo artist Finlay Shakespeare (synthesisers and vocals) and Liam Hutton (drums, guitar and synthesisers). The latter - best known for his work with Boxed In, Neneh Cherry and more recently, Young Fathers - initiated the writing process back in 2015. ‘There was never a clear brief or definition of the project that we were working towards collectively’, he explains. ‘It was always a completely open statement.’ The trio’s crisp, glacial rhythms, cascading synths, shadowy psychedelia, absurd humour and lyrical x-rays of everyday life all feature strongly on their forward-looking debut album. The hypnotic, beat-driven songs are a way of venting; facing up and expressing a strange new positivity in spite of all the darkness. Each song is also linked by interludes created by Liam’s mother Jo Hutton, a recording engineer and composer/sound designer of experimental music and sound art.

Richie Culver had been waiting his whole life to record I was born by the sea. His debut album immediately and messily inscribed the artist into the canon of outsider music and experimental electronics, serving both as an arresting statement of intent and a painful reckoning with the difficult path that lead up to it, stealing one last glance back at a place he always knew he had to escape. Between grim lamentations, faded memories and anxiety attacks, all told with searing honesty and disarming openness, I was born by the sea excavates a space for hope, finding Culver digging through Humberside silt to find a world weary optimism, the raw material from which his visual and sound art is shaped. For this collection of expansions and inversions, Culver invites a collection of kindred spirits, contemporary inspirations and old heroes to wade into the salt water of his formative years spent living for impromptu raves and afterparties, connecting vivid memories of his birth place of Withernsea to artists hailing from as nearby as Preston and Bridlington, further afield, from Manchester and London, Berlin and Paris, before returning back to Hull, to where it all began.

For some, responding to I was born by the sea means diving even deeper into the record’s furthest reaches. Space Afrika clear away the pummelling loops of noise from ‘It’s hard to get to know you,’ revealing a cool and cavernous expanse in its wake. Distant chatter, previously heard as though through thin, plasterboard walls, now echoes from outside the maddening claustrophobia of the original’s Sisyphean sonics, illuminated as a dense storm cloud suspended amidst a more open scene, washed clean by a lighter rain, allowing the tender heart of the track to beat clear. London producer MOBBS stretches out ‘Pigeon Flesh’ into an epic, 10-minute, cold-sweat spiral, strung-out tension wrung from disconnected phone tones twisted in unexpected directions, snatches of Culver’s voice turned inside-out and deep fried bass threatening to tip the track over into oblivion, the build-and-release of a nervous breakdown experienced in real time. In an act of subversive self-reflection, Morgane Polanski switches one kind of ennui for another in her adaption of ‘I was born by the sea,’ swapping the sea for the city, English seaside towns in January for summer evenings in Paris and flashing lighthouses and sparkling oil rigs for the Eiffel Tower and the traffic around L’Arc de Triomphe. Even Culver finds time to revisit ‘Dream About Yourself,’ a track taken from his EP Post Traumatic Fantasy, breathing new words into its glacial drift, the half-remembered testimony of a shut-in: Woke up in the evening / Pray for me / Don’t trust anyone / Pray for algorithm. Reframed in a more melancholy light, the track’s reverberant keys even more clearly evoke a mournful nostalgia, fresh pain felt in old wounds.

Others find a parallel universe in Culver’s visceral world building. Rainy Miller flips the script with a scorched, avant-drill rework of ‘Daytime TV’, threading puncturing hi-hats and queasy low-end surge through the track’s steady ambient cascade, invoking the irresistible Preston beat magic of Miller’s own essential debut album, Desquamation. Aho Ssan melts away the crystalline textures of ‘Love Like an Abscess’ with the ominous crackle of a nascent fire, building through swathes of organic Max/MSP squelch and brittle, nails-down-chalkboard scrape, swelling and metastasising the original to spill over Culver’s desperate hymn to corporeal desire, at once flesh and not. Teresa Winter transports us an hour up the coast from Withernsea to her native Bridlington, replacing the sea wall of synthesis on ‘Nervous Energy’ with muffled ASMR murk and fever dream whispers, transforming Culver’s unflinching observations into a haunting call-and-response, filling in the blanks with her own eerie utterances, a fleeting conversation with a ghost. In a touching victory lap, Fila Brazillia, eccentric stalwarts of beloved ‘90s trip hop imprint Pork Recordings, whose performances at Hull institution The Lamp convinced a young Culver of the necessity to make his mark on club culture, resurface for their first remix in 20 years. Steve Cobby and David McSherry lead a low-slung, heartfelt stroll back through a suite of tracks from I was born by the sea, tracing a full circle saunter from Culver’s origins to his current musical practice, the sounds of his present repurposed by the sound of his youth. In a gesture that reflects the emotional complexity of the project, Fila Brazillia find joy at the end of Culver’s troubled reflection, picking out an undeniable groove in the stasis of feeling trapped in your hometown. Underlining Hull’s vital musical legacy, from Baby Mammoth to Throbbing Gristle, Cobby and McSherry demonstrate that, though there are certainly storms, by the sea there is also sun and through the fog, if you listen, you can hear a singular sound, a sound now carried by Richie Culver.

Participant is a record label and creative studio run by William Markarian-Martin and Richie Culver

When I first heard Natalie Rose LeBrecht's time-suspending, air-ionizing music, more than twenty years ago, I thought "this kid is on to something." She's been proving that thought right ever since. Her recordings, from the teenage 4-track tapes she made as Greenpot Bluepot to the recent albums under her own name, have been fascinating dispatches from her progressively deeper dives into her gorgeous, weird, wildly idiomatic aesthetic. Holy Prana Open Game is a jewel of intensely personal cosmic music, created through a remarkable process of openness, craftiness, addition and subtraction. It belongs to a tradition of albums that document a rich, meditative sound as it rises up to join the world outside its creators' minds: Alice Coltrane's Universal Consciousness, Harmonia's Musik von Harmonia, Philip Glass's North Star, Talk Talk's Laughing Stock.

"Meditative" is specifically the idea here: Holy Prana Open Game had its origins in the fourteen days LeBrecht spent silently meditating in her home's small music room in the summer of 2019. "I came out of that bursting with the will to create new music," she says, and she created it sound-first. LeBrecht taught herself to program an analog synthesizer's timbres from scratch, and built a new set of glacial, heady compositions out of them, eventually singing to accompany the keyboard parts she was playing.

Then she closed her eyes at her computer, "let my mind be clear and open, imagined light pouring down through me, and began auto-writing to my memory of the music playing through my mind. Most of the lyrics emerged this way, and then I used my conscious mind to refine them a bit at the end." One other song came along with LeBrecht's new pieces, a cover that seems wildly unlikely from the outside and makes total sense in its context: it's a version of Atoms for Peace's "Amok" (which had been created by improvisation and editing, too), mutated into her own idiolect.

In early March of 2020, LeBrecht recorded Holy Prana Open Game's analog synth parts with Martin Bisi at his studio in Brooklyn--and then the world shut down. As you may have gathered, LeBrecht is very much a spiritual, head-in-the-stars type. She is also extremely hardcore, and if making the art she wants to make means doing things the hard way, she cracks her knuckles and gets down to it. Within weeks, she had taught herself how to record, mix and edit with a digital audio workstation. She recorded her vocal parts (sometimes multi-tracked into a radiant choir) at home, assembled a rough mix of the album, and sent it off to her collaborators.

LeBrecht spent some years studying with and assisting La Monte Young and Marian Zazeela at their legendary sound-and-light installation, the Dream House. As with their work, her singular, precisely focused vision is shored up by its openness to artistic voices beyond her own. For Holy Prana Open Game, she worked with the Australian guitarist Mick Turner and drummer Jim White (both of Dirty Three, the Tren Brothers and innumerable other projects), as well as woodwind player David Lackner, a longtime presence on her recordings.

Turner and White have been playing together in one context or another since 1985; in the summer of 2020, they were only blocks from each other in Melbourne, Australia, whose strict lockdown meant they couldn't meet up to record together. So both of them, as well as Lackner, recorded their improvisational additions to LeBrecht's rough mixes individually, often without hearing each other's contributions. "I had asked them to play as much as they could on each track," she says, "and told them that I would edit it all down in post, so I had a lot of source material of theirs to work with."

LeBrecht arranged and edited the recordings from all four of their homes to flow together like breath across the duration of her suite. Prana, one of the album's central conceits, is in fact the Sanskrit word for breath, with the connotation of the breath of life. Like LeBrecht's music, prana flows at its own pace, and demands stillness to take in fully--but it's also subtly playful and surprising, a force that can be as light as air or as immersive as the atmosphere itself.

Much anticipated debut album from this Leeds-based electronic duo, following high-profile UK festival slots, and shows alongside luminaries The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Warmduscher, Sea Power, Moonlandingz, The KVB, with multiple plays across BBC6/BBC Introducing and Amazing Radio, jellyskin are finally ready to unleash ‘In Brine’, their first full length release. The result of four years spent writing, recording, and refining the album between Leeds, Liverpool, Bristol, Palamos, and Berlin, ‘In Brine’ showcases the many talents of Will Ainsley and Zia Larty-Healy in a work straddling iridescent electronica, tungsten-tipped techno, art pop, and queasy, brown acid folk. The songs are pieced together with themes of longing, misadventure by the sea, desire and aquatic apparitions that showcase Larty-Healy’s warm but urgent vocal range, as at home around the campfire as it is in the club. The pair’s meticulous arrangement and rearrangement, sculpting, recording, and mixing was a glacially slow process of adaptation, mutation, cooperation, growth, and, yes, natural selection. First single ‘Bringer of Brine’ thumps from the speaker anthemically and forcefully, pitched somewhere beautiful and uncanny; Larty-Healy’s vocals soar and skim off the production like a smooth stone across choppy waves. The radio-ready pop electronica of ‘I Was The First Tetrapod’ bursts into the world with an urgency in line with the lyrics. An aquatic tale of crawling onto land for the first time, desperate to make new life forms, it’s also a positive, joyful rebuke to the despair of the world around us. “Growing my legs...”. The fuzzed-out psychedelic keys and forward-moving, Knife-like structure echo throughout while beautiful lyrics detail visions of where this would all lead life as we know it-“I can run freely, white horse behind me. Flexing my bones and artery twine, find human tone and reach for the vine.” ‘Fox Again’ opens with chopped alarm clocks segueing into a lurching rhythm, before exploding into skittering beats and a soaring chorus. The effect is like waking up drowsily, going over to the window in your room and yanking open the curtains to be blasted by searing sunshine. The pair brought in Berlin based co-producer, mixer and masterer Lewis D-t to help finesse the tracks into fat-free hunks of ecstasy and sonic exploration, their rich depths marking ‘In Brine’ as an album everyone should be talking about this summer and beyond-all nine tracks will have feet moving and hearts swelling in equal measure. As opening track ‘Lift (Come In)’ positively opines “Going up!/Just want to keep going up!”. It’s time to get in on the ground floor

Ygrok brings a long-awaited fourth release to its catalog. René Audiard's Sakhalin' takes things a step away from traditional club music.
The A side, Vox Out' opens with the skeleton of a rhythm. Scattered tom drums and barely detectable whirs, fading and reeling in the background. When the distorted voices begin their story behind a hissing, grinding off-shaker, you know this will not be your traditional club track. A story develops. The barest hint of a shuffling beat, a subtle reminder of Soren's previous work, pins down the journey into the darkest psychic territory. The title track Sakhalin steps even further into darkness. Crackling electrics and disjointed atmospheres change at a glacial pace over a submerged hydraulic beat. Sakhalin Audiard experimental territory.

THE SOUNDTRACK OF THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL FILM EVER.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FULL IN A SPECIAL DOUBLE VINYL EDITION!!! (NON-RETURNABLE)

This Legacy Edition of “Cannibal Holocaust” includes the film score remastered and released in its entirety for the first time ever on double LP; graphically speaking, it includes a gatefold cover with glossy title letters printed on a special soft touch paper, OBI and an 8-page booklet complete with reproductions of posters, lobby cards and photographs from the set, plus presentation essays written by Fabio Capuzzo (one of today’s best soundtrack experts), Stefan Dimle (Landberk, Anekdoten, Paatos, Morte Macabre) and Mikael Åkerfeldt.

AMS Records is proud to present a special edition of the “Cannibal Holocaust” soundtrack, exclusively released on the occasion of Record Store Day 2023. It is, of course, one of the many 'cannibalistic' movies, but perhaps it’s also the only one of its a genre that even today generates mixed feelings and strong controversy.

The excellent soundtrack, composed by Riz Ortolani, makes extensive use of string instruments, masterfully arranged and directed to match the strong contrast between the more relaxed scenes - the incipit of the film is memorable, with the main theme accompanying the spectator in a flight over the Amazon forest - and those full of rhythm and tension; in the first case, the strings go along with guitar arpeggios, while in the second they vibrate alone or together with glacial electronic beats. There are also funk-rock episodes such as in “Cameramen’s Recreation”, “Relaxing In The Savana” and “Drinking Coco”, while “Cannibal Holocaust (Terror)” is pure noise mixed with haunting percussion.

Circassian-Turkish Producer Sine Buyuka debuts new solo project Sinemis with lush, graceful album ‘Dua’, gently combining the ancestral Sufi music of her homeland with sophisticated techno-inflected ambient. Dua’s life began with a life-threatening illness. “I started feeling unwell last year and no one could figure out the reason,” Sine writes. “It was a scary time, not knowing and trying to manage symptoms while they slowly worsened. In late 2021, while I was visiting my family in Turkey during the Christmas break, I was taken into A&E. After more tests, I had a diagnosis and had surgery in January.” Following this, within the healing process - highly emotional as well as physical - Sine was drawn to the traditional Sufi music of Turkey and the Middle East. Ritualistic music to accompany ancient sema ceremonies, in which whirling dervishes enter a transcendental consciousness through ecstatic movement and repetition. With this influence at heart, Sine began work on ‘Dua’, with a newly-formed artist name to signify new, unfamiliar music from a celebrated electronic producer. For her, the album marks a significant step in her recovery. But it is also a potent marriage of contemporary and ancestral trancestates, interweaving sci-fi synthesis and floor shaking bass tones with mystic imagery, textures and timbres. A meditative, spiritual balm that melds field recordings, found sounds, ambient soundscapes, electronics and acoustic instrumentation to celebrate life and survival in challenging circumstances. The breathy, cinematic tones of album opener ‘Dua’ hover and shiver in preparatory stasis as broken-machine punctuation begins to dot rhythmically through the space. A yearning, repeated vocal sample - a living, beating heart inside the machine - characterises a crucial theme for the album: the marriage of digital instrumentation with the analogue, the human and the organic. Later, ‘Elegy’ reflects its title with heartbreaking chordal shifts and glitching birdsong, conjuring a sound world somewhere between KMRU and Max Richter. Key track ‘Gazel’ moves in glacial slo-mo, like whirling dervishes frozen in time at the peak of their trance. Euphoric ceremony made haunting and poignant without losing a mote of power…Across the album, the timbres of Sufi ritual are often captured by the otherworldly presence of the historic ney flute, said to be as old as the Holy Books. “Sufi music can be created using several different instruments but the ney flute is at the heart of it. The sounds emanating from this fascinating instrument kept capturing my imagination,” Sine tells us. Working both with samples and with Turkish musician Omar Faruk Tekbilek, Sine achieves a rare balance of reverence and recontextualisation for such a time-honoured instrument, here performed by a lifelong student of its intricacies and mysteries. In Sinemis’ hands, the processing and sonic treatment of the ney even sometimes renders it indistinguishable from Dua’s synthesis and sound-design

Less of Everything was released on April 3rd 2020 on Upset The Rhythm and sold out quickly. This limited repress on sun-yellow vinyl sees the album finally available on vinyl again, around the release of the group's new EP and upcoming tour plans.


Less of Everything. The title of Es’ first full length LP could be interpreted as a manifesto pledge, an outright demand or a purely literal sonic descriptor of the London quartet’s glacial form of punk rock music. This tension between intent and interpretation has been a fundamental element of the group’s output from their formation.

Es is Maria Cecilia Tedemalm (vocals), Katy Cotterell (bass), Tamsin M. Leach (drums) and Flora Watters (keyboards). Their 2016 debut EP, Object Relations, released on influential London punk label La Vida Es Un Mus, was described as “mutant synth-punk for our dystopian present” (Jess Skolnik, Bandcamp, Pitchfork). The band has since become a vital presence in London’s underground DIY music scene, as well as having toured the UK with the Thurston Moore Group in 2017.
After a period with members split between Glasgow and London, Es recorded Less of Everything with Lindsay Corstorphine (Sauna Youth, Primitive Parts) in Tottenham in 2019. As in Object Relations, the dynamic between Cotterell’s bass and Watters’ keyboard is at the heart of Less of Everything’s sound: intertwining sub-zero melodies, gothic anarcho-punk influences (think KUKL, MALARIA, X-MAL DEUTSCHLAND) and some kind of entirely unlocatable aquatic component. When combined with Murray Leach’s precise drumming, the outcome is original and immediately recognisable. Es are a group who know how to leave space, how to strive for minimalism without sacrificing aggression or dynamism. This dynamic provides the perfect backdrop for Tedemalm’s relentless, pointed vocal style. While comparable ‘cold’ sounding groups might affect an impersonal, safer mode of lyrical or vocal detachment, Tedemalm’s strategy is to “push the lyrics as far as I can thematically until they become absurd … overly dramatic ... while still being sincere in the feeling they’re trying to invoke. I try to apply as much emotion as I can.” The result is something intense but nuanced, confrontational but complex. Owen Williams, 2020

Ground Groove, the third full-length release from the LA-based, Iranian-American producer and DJ, Maral, begins with an invocation: the sprawling, achingly heavy Feedback Jam opens the floodgates of history. Conventional (linear) spacetime collapses, crushed beneath the track’s lumbering 4/4 heartbeat and successive waves of distortion. As each wave recedes, samples trickle forward in the mix — seeking, perhaps, to fill the void. Voices and instruments rise and fall in uncanny reverse. Overlapping, implied melodies flicker into focus, then flit away. Feedback Jam is at once an initiation ritual, and a thesis statement for the record that follows.

Drawing upon a vast personal archive of Iranian folk, classical, and pop recordings (some sourced from mixtapes made by her parents in the eighties/nineties), Maral presents, on Ground Groove, a further refinement of the signature “folk club” sound she developed as a live DJ— a sound she would later codify on Mahur Club (2019) and Push (2020). By collecting, dissecting, and re/presenting sonic fragments from Iran, Maral practices a kind of dance-floor ethnomusicology. The subject of her inquiry: Iranian


culture and contexts, throughout history and in the present. But, crucially, this inquiry is instantiated within and throughout the body of the listener, whether this listener is dancing in the club, or riding the train, nodding along with headphones on.

Maral speaks of being in collaboration with her samples, treating each as a distinct bandmate, often consulting with an artist’s catalog (or even a single recording) as one would a trusted creative partner. In so-doing, Maral claims to seek to transcend the self. In this regard, her output neatly triangulates contemporary dance and heavy music with much of the traditional religious music that she samples. Broadly speaking, each of these idioms addresses a desire —shared by audience and performer alike—to transcend the self through volume, repetition, and movement.

Having, in her youth, studied the Setar under Nader Majd (the founder of Virginia’s Center for Persian Classical Music), Maral cycled through various genres (ex: punk, emo, dub) in her adolescence and early twenties, all the while expanding her knowledge of, and appreciation for, Iran’s diverse musical traditions during regular summer trips to Tehran. In college, Maral taught herself to make beats with a ripped copy of Ableton (which remains her DAW of choice), eventually transitioning to playing and hosting various club nights. Forever abiding by an autodidactic, DIY impulse to create art and foster community, Maral relocated to Los Angeles in 2013, where she quickly immersed herself in the city’s numerous overlapping music scenes.

Collaboration (beyond sampling) has proven an important component of her process, with notable spoken word contributions from the likes of Lee Scratch Perry and Penny Rimbaud, as well as a 2021 Panda Bear collab track (On Your Way), which the Animal Collective founder co-produced. Maral is equally attentive to the visual components of her records (album art, music videos, etc.), drawing upon the work of peers and friends for inspiration.

Indeed, the genesis of Ground Groove can be traced back to an audio-visual collaboration between Maral and the artist Brenna Murphy, originally commissioned for the 2021 Rewire Festival — a project that would eventually serve as the album’s foundation. Tracks eight through eleven on Ground Groove comprise Maral’s half of this installation, with tracks one through seven composed afterwards, inspired by the fruits of Maral and Murphy’s collaboration. Murphy’s visuals will be released alongside Ground Groove as a visual accompaniment. Additionally, Murphy designed the album’s art, directed the video for the lead single (the aforementioned Feedback Jam), and is featured on track six, Shy Night.

Composed largely on Ableton, Ground Groove features more frequent and more prominent live recordings from Maral (guitar, bass, and vocals) than either Push or Mahar Club. The cult favorite Roland MC-909 groovebox rears its head on Mari’s Groove. Mixed by Trayer Tryon (Hundred Waters) and mastered by Daddy Kev, the attention to sonic quality on Ground Groove constitutes another significant step in Maral’s development as a studio artist.

Ground Groove’s eleven tracks are “grooves” in the obvious sense, in that they are each driven by a persistent, propulsive rhythm, but the album’s title may just as well suggest the glacial passage of time—the scope of human history, in which individual voices, like streams, carve paths (impossibly) through earth and stone, winding their way to the vast sea of the present.

The Earth is burning, covering all environments in ashes. Smoke comes to us from computers-from social networks accelerating the spread of burnt affects, damaging our ability to feel and respond to what the planet strives to express. We need to cool down. Thomas Köner's music can help change the pace of our perceptions: 1) In DAIKAN (2002) - a Japanese term meaning "the coldest" or "the coldest part of the year"-the ear stretches until touching the depth of time that persists in the ice; a sonic drama offers the slowness thanks to which the skin of perceptions can reconstitute themselves; icequakes awaken listeners to the frozen life without scaring them. 2) Banlieue du Vide, considered by many to be Thomas Köner's most iconic audiovisual work and best kept secret, has not been released previously. It is in the collection of a couple of art museums, e.g. the Centre Pompidou in Paris, and has been awarded the Golden Nica at Prix Ars Electronica in 2004, in the category Digital Musics. Banlieue du Vide is the result of months of time-lapse observations of empty streets in the Finnish Arctic Circle, shown in glacially slow slow-motion. Phase cancellation, on which all noise cancelling technology is based, here affects the perception of time, the sense of the flow of time extinguishing itself. At this stage the void is not yet empty, traces of past noise fill the listeners mind with their haunting presence. A remastered stereo version of the soundtrack is released as a special premiere as Bonus Track of the DAIKAN album. Listening to this album, an excess of heat turns into an empowering coldness-like the transient feeling of our terrestrial embodiment in the midst of entropy.

On Origins Chris Bartels takes on the role of singer-songwriter for the first time under his Elskavon moniker, unveiling a voice that wouldn't sound out of place next to vocal-forward artists like Justin Vernon, Jónsi, or Baths, who master the balance between conventional songcraft and bold, idiosyncratic experimentation. Origins is vast yet intimate, fluttering yet cohesive, tattered yet clean, a little like rainfall during sunlight. Shedding the ambient-classical confines of his previous output, the album's opener and title track, offers a swirling mosaic of acoustic textures that recall the beloved duo The Books, laced with warped vocal utterances flitting in and out of a club-friendly beat. "Origins" is followed by the equally danceable "Coastline," which drives home the smiling melodies and intricate sound-design that form the spine of Origins, keeping Bartels' voice in a largely decorative and impressionistic role up to this point. "Blossom and the Void" dissolves the introductory tension as Bartels comes out lyrically swinging, his digitized voice chanting widely over the mutated New Wave-esque anthem. Here, Bartels shows his instinct for dynamics by rising to bombast and quickly dispelling it, making steep yet grace- ful descents into skillfully delicate sound-design. Throughout Origins, the patient glacial aesthetic of his previous work is still discernible-- there are wordless, expansive panoramas that stretch out patiently for minutes at a time and smartly resist the impulse to pack each moment with a persona made even more impactful when Bartels chooses to wield it. At other times, his spokesmanship is woven discreetly into a larger tapestry, like on "See Out Loud" (and its ambient reprise) where Bartels' voice shimmers from a distance, covering the scene in diffuse splendor. "There is so much warping, mangling, re-sampling, reversing and pitching," Bartels says of his intricate vocal manipulations. "I printed a lot of the vocal recordings onto a tape machine from the `60s, first at one speed, and then I'd halve, or double the speed going back into my comput- er," he elaborates, illustrating how this kind of analog processing freed him from his habits. "Sometimes I'd do this multiple times on one recording or layer-- it gave me such a unique and unexpected sound. At this point, I threw away any inhibition on what type of vocals to have, or not have, on the album." This newfound freedom is palpable in the peaks of soaring grandeur that dot the emotional landscape of Origins. "All These Years" cathartically reaches one such summit in its second half after laying a path of gently plodding indie-IDM in its first. The cinematic vignette "Dreymur Aftur" provides pause for reflection amid its brisk procession of string plucks and rhythmic synthesizer while marching wordlessly into album-closer "This Won't Last Forever." Here at the end, Bartels' guitar playing is laid bare in the mix, skeletally framing a single ribbon of his voice as it unfurls into the atmosphere. Though the track isn't expressly lyrical, its starkness still exemplifies the new leaf of vulnerability Bartels has turned over on Origins, an album that documents his hard-won evolution from musician, to producer, to composer_ and finally_ his confident arrival in the role of songwriter.

15 years after the album’s release, ‘City Of Echoes’ is now
available in a deluxe 2LP edition, newly remastered by
Josh Bonati and featuring a full LP’s-worth of bonus
material, including original album demos, alternate takes,
and pieces originally only available on the rare ‘Pink
Mammoth’ EP.
‘City Of Echoes’, originally released in 2007 by Hydra
Head Records, marked a paradigm shift for Pelican.
Coming off the heels of the glacial ‘Australasia’ and their
even more expansive and acclaimed follow-up, ‘The Fire
In Our Throats Will Beckon The Thaw’, their third album is
a study in precision.
Inspired by their non-stop tour schedule following ‘The Fire
In Our Throats Will Beckon The Thaw’’s release, the
quartet composed ‘City Of Echoes’ to be a lean
powerhouse of non-stop melodic hooks and lurching
rhythms that reflected the energy of live performance.
Guitarists Trevor Shelley de Brauw and Laurent
Schroeder-Lebec trade crisp riffs that twirl in opposition
before thundering together in monoliths. The sheer
amount of potent interplay between the two, often
borrowing from disparate edges of rock and metal at a
whim before completely transforming, is mind-boggling.
Bassist Bryan Herweg and rhythm section compatriot /
drummer / brother Larry Herweg lock into a wider array of
grooves than ever before. Their considered bedrock
guides the band’s dynamics into some of the ensemble’s
most tender moments as well as their most ferocious.
Recorded by Andrew Schneider at Electrical Audio Cover.
Art designed by ISIS and SUMAC founder Aaron Turner,
with photography by Robin Laananen.
Also available to independent retailers on Translucent Blue
vinyl.

15 years after the album’s release, ‘City Of Echoes’ is now
available in a deluxe 2LP edition, newly remastered by
Josh Bonati and featuring a full LP’s-worth of bonus
material, including original album demos, alternate takes,
and pieces originally only available on the rare ‘Pink
Mammoth’ EP.
‘City Of Echoes’, originally released in 2007 by Hydra
Head Records, marked a paradigm shift for Pelican.
Coming off the heels of the glacial ‘Australasia’ and their
even more expansive and acclaimed follow-up, ‘The Fire
In Our Throats Will Beckon The Thaw’, their third album is
a study in precision.
Inspired by their non-stop tour schedule following ‘The Fire
In Our Throats Will Beckon The Thaw’’s release, the
quartet composed ‘City Of Echoes’ to be a lean
powerhouse of non-stop melodic hooks and lurching
rhythms that reflected the energy of live performance.
Guitarists Trevor Shelley de Brauw and Laurent
Schroeder-Lebec trade crisp riffs that twirl in opposition
before thundering together in monoliths. The sheer
amount of potent interplay between the two, often
borrowing from disparate edges of rock and metal at a
whim before completely transforming, is mind-boggling.
Bassist Bryan Herweg and rhythm section compatriot /
drummer / brother Larry Herweg lock into a wider array of
grooves than ever before. Their considered bedrock
guides the band’s dynamics into some of the ensemble’s
most tender moments as well as their most ferocious.
Recorded by Andrew Schneider at Electrical Audio Cover.
Art designed by ISIS and SUMAC founder Aaron Turner,
with photography by Robin Laananen.
Also available to independent retailers on Translucent Blue
vinyl.

Iowa’s blackened punk 4-piece outfit, DRYAD, are the latest band to join Prosthetic Records roster. Featuring crusty dual vocals and relentless buzzsaw riffs, DRYAD is an anomalous combination that eludes easy classification, using elements of d-beat punk, old school death and atmospheric black metal, along with their own touch of bizarre, blackened forest filth. Since the debut of The Black Pullet EP in early 2017, DRYAD has emerged from the basements of Iowa’s DIY scene to perform regularly with a wide variety of acts like Dawn Ray’d, Street Sects, and Drugcharge. Their second offering, The Silurian Age, was released to cassette in June of 2018, and has since been quietly gaining momentum in the underground metal scene across the globe. Inspired by the earth’s ancient glacial lakes that once covered Iowa and fossil-covered cliffs that now remain, the album deals mostly with themes of ecological and political disaster and is a timely reminder of the earth’s inevitable revolt against its most destructive creatures. Since being named one of Astral Noize’s Artists To Watch in 2019, DRYAD has released a crushing split with Acid Leather on cassette, and recently completes a three-week stint across the country with THEORIES and Neckbeard Deathcamp, as part of the Free Speech In America tour.

Stockholm's Havenaire follows up a series of head-turning ambient releases on the likes of Shimmering Moods, Polar Seas and Glacial Movements with a limited new long player on Past Inside The Present. Across six slowly shifting soundscapes he layers up his misty-eyed chords into music that is designed to empty your mind but that also gently sweeps you heart. There is subtle hope and optimism amongst the ambient fog here that leaves you feeling cleansed and soothed. All six pieces have their own character but are very much united by a sense of calm and serenity that is utterly captivating.

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

As Far As Death is the cross-generational debut of fire music evangelist and saxophonist Paul Flaherty with double bassist and composer Zach Rowden. The Connecticut natives forge an album of dynamic free jazz interplay that also draws on imporous textures of contemporary music - an ecstatic reflection. After a half century of blowing the alto and tenor saxes, Flaherty's playing continues to molt and electrify. Whether solo, or with collaborators (Joe McPhee, Chris Corsano, Bill Nace, Daniel Carter, etc.), his blues-based, lyrical melodies anchor lung-bursting gallops. Rowden - whether as Tongue Depressor (a string duo with Henry Birdsey), in performance with cellist Leila Bordreuil, or his own musique concrète constructions - balances harshness and elegiac drones. His past releases resemble resolute exploration into acoustics and noise. Together, Flaherty's monstrous howl is perfectly matched by Rowden's subterranean pitched drone and glacial pace. Each offers weeping lurches of tune, gasps of balladry and microtonal fields of interplay on five pieces. The side-long "Thrown Shadows" is an epic passage of avant jazz vs minimalism, as Rowden's low-register bowing offers a blackened landscape for Flaherty's most mournful notes. Artwork by Chris Corsano.

Max Loderbauer’s career in music spans the last 3 decades, yet he’s still managed to keep his listeners hungry by releasing only 3 solo albums to date. Two of those releases (Transparenz, 2013 and Donnerwetter, 2020) were on Tobias Freund’s label Non Standard Productions - his long time collaborator and Templehof studio mate. In between those releases, Loderbauer graced Marionette with Greyland in 2016, revealing a previously unheard youthful and sentimental side. Now in 2022, the seasoned mind voyager is back with Petrichor, making yet another rare and treasurable solo appearance.

Petrichor distills the elements of Loderbauer’s work that are fundamental to the initiation of the label. With his Buchla, modular synth, and Haken fingerboard, Loderbauer’s improvised studio maneuvers dilate into imagined journeys from glacial peaks into the exosphere. This is Maxi at his most exhilarating state, morphing through bittersweet and optimistic soundscapes to bleak moments of throbbing unease - all while maintaining a sense of grace and elegance. Petrichor is a reflection of Loderbauer’s impactful trips to the mountains, and returning from these summits with an electrifying urge to paint this mighty perspective. The harmonies and melodies on the tracks simulate emotional peaks and valleys, with vibration and rhythm rooted in the foundation of the sound, as though it's woven into the fabric of the fauna and flora.

Legendary collaborations like Vilod (with Ricardo Villalobos), the Moritz Von Oswald Trio, Non Standard Institute, Sun Electric in the early nineties, and the newly formed Ambiq ensemble have gained this unique artist the respect of the underground and avant garde scenes alike.

After two utterly essential releases on ae Recordings and Primary Colours in 2021, Altone once more delivers the goods for Lempuyang.

The label's eighth release brings together two of the most respected heads in the business on remix duties. Altone's deep & pulsing title track Vortex gets Yagya's glacial treatment on side A. Customization on the flip gets a Bluetrain rework; Steve's trademark Special Edition Dub giving the track a dancefloor edge.

Riding the razor’s edge between bristling electroacoustic wizardry and the constrained structures and harmonic interplay of musical minimalism, »Immanent in Nervous Activity« is Die Schachtel’s new release from the creative partnership of Giovanni Di Domenico and Jim O’Rourke.

Comprising a single long-form work, divided into two movements that culminate as a second chapter to the duo’s 2015 LP, »Arco« - an album which endeavored, on visionary terms, after the potential of waiting and patience as means toward musical form - their latest adventure - recorded in Japan with further contributions by Eiko Ishibashi on flute and Tatsuhisa Yamamoto on snare - rolls at a glacial pace, deftly weaving tension into restrained sheets of tonality, texture, and harmonic dissonance that ripple with microscopic detail and a stunning sense of structure.

Blue Vinyl
If emptiness is heaviness is Godliness, Birds of Prey’s third full-length LP is an immaculate conception from on high. The record luxuriates in the spaces between. What’s left out says as much as what made it in. Deep, droning, and dub wise, “Vanishing Point” cascades in elegance. Its reference points call towards the sample manipulation of American tape music and the downward gaze of amniotic British bass music. It charts its own path nonetheless, building its own space for drifting off to. Unlike many peers operating in similar realms, Birds of Prey are a proper band, a foursome: Grant Aaron, Clay Wilson, Eric Holmes, and Camille Altay. Each are artists in their own right with a distinct practice. In Birds of Prey, their collaborations in studio take on a greater shape, whittled and edited into cosmic formlessness. Although borne of improvisation, you may never know that in the listening. “Vanishing Point” is a tight, coherent work, the sound of a cadre of talented musicians locked in flow. Rippling tones become glacial melodies. Cavernous drums emerge barely from the ether. Rhythms interlock, interpolate. Patterns repeat and dissolve whence they came. There is untold potency in simplicity, and Birds of Prey make it known.

Anita Clark’s new Motte album, »Cold + Liquid«, builds glacial atmospheres, frozen moods and isolated impressions. Portraying New Zealand through socio-geological sound, breathing in Christchurch cultures and locales, the album embodies an artistic simulation of the Kiwi environment. Motte borrows from an array of sound sources to create an immense entity, with each piece situated precisely along the path. »Cold + Liquid« offers this rich sensory experience, transporting the listener into a world of Clark’s imagination.

As a master violinist, Clark is a favorite of the NZ music scene. She’s been employed by Nadia Reid, Marlon Williams, Lawrence Arabia and Maryrose Crook of The Renderers for her skills. Currently, she plays with The Phoenix Foundation, Luke Buda and Don McGlashan and The Others. Her skillful reach across genres fuels her popularity both with the rock under and overground, and she has also built a rich CV of film soundtracks and contemporary dance compositions.

With such a powerful musical force behind it, Cold + Liquid germinated as a result of a prolonged silence. Clark was suffering from vocal cord paralysis, leaving her with a culminating sense of frustration which could only be released through songwriting . The album’s early life was purely instrumental. But as she prepared for the studio and was searching old voice memos hoping to find vocal tracks, her voice returned. A fervent week followed, where she reimagined the entire album, now with singing. She aimed to make something colossal, and set about finding the right textures to add. A friend who works at Oamaru Freezing Works gave her field recordings of the temperature control room, a vast cold space of isolated machinery, where ice grows and dissolves in ever-evolving sculptures. Getting her hands on shortwave/longwave radios, she incorporated frequency sweeps. Another friend provided her with the mechanical drones underneath the deck of a cement cargo ship, as it lay docked in Lyttelton Harbor. Still more sources came from Sign of the Bellbird, an historic environmental site in South Christchurch, where Clark and Thomas Lambert recorded bellbirds, rolling boulders, snapping sticks, thrown dirt and the papery sound of the native harakeke plant.

While violin dominates the first Motte album, Clark sought to expand instrumentation. She was gifted a handmade Pūrerehua puoro, a traditional Māori instrument that sounds similar to the whirling and hovering of a moth (which is “motte” in German). A reacquaintance to the guitar occurred after developing an alter ego project entitled 'Sex Den,' with sleazy noir-esque guitar riffs in response to a failed rumour from a local drug-addled dive bar. Guitar and synth allowed for a broader songwriting palette along with a sometimes Dadaist approach to lyric writing. These new tools accent the extreme ambiences of »Cold + Liquid«, while additional work was provided by Ben Woods on synth and bowed guitar.

Over the past decade, the mysterious, London-based artist Moiré has perfected a syrupy, addictive brand of dance music via labels like Actress's Werk Discs and illustrious imprints like Ghostly and Rush Hour. For most of this period, Moiré seemed pramarily concerned in creating alternative universe club tracks. The beats were hypnotic, if wonky. The pads were deep before they were refracted through an oblique filter. In a discography bearing a surfeit of leftfield high points, Circuits, Moiré's latest album for the Berlin-based Avenue 66 (Lowtec, John Frusciante, Joey Anderson) is a massive creative leap that fully breaks with the strictures of a "conventional" dance music.

While there are still nods to the low-slung, slow house style Moiré's perfected in the past ("Circuit 1"), as well as the looming shadow of hardcore ("Circuit 8), Moiré's style now billows into a liminal, cinematic zone that recalls the canonical SAW albums, BOC or even Seefeel's enduring, genre-free experiments. Rhythms come and go at all tempos, from Hauntological four-on-the-floor to flickering downtempo and ambient house approximations. But the emphasis lies with the melodies. From the queasy orchestral style of "Circuits 1" to the glacial, "end credits"-style synths that close out the album, these motifs bear an uncanny familiarity, as though they always existed. You recognize them, not from a previous listen, but rather, some half-remembered dream, or, perhaps, a previous lifetime.

The latest release on Livity Sound features an extensive insight into the work of Seb Uncles, aka Eusebeia. Uncles has been releasing his work prolifically over the past six years, from self-released tapes on Rebellion Electronics through to reams of 12”s and LPs for labels like Earthtrax, Western Lore, Rupture London and re:st. While his sound has often tilted towards drum & bass and jungle, he places atmosphere and composition ahead of genre boundaries and tempo restrictions.

Cosmos EP finds Uncles stretching out over eight varied tracks for a broader experience compared to the usual Livity EP. Glacial ambience and richly layered synthesis guides the record overall, at times leaving drums behind altogether, but even at its mellowest you can sense the overbearing bias towards soundsystem music. The melancholic electronica of ‘Becoming’ gets underpinned by dread bass, and ‘Solace’ places a haunting steppas-esque refrain in the midst of heavily dubbed downtempo. When he does turn to full-tilt drumfunk edits on the likes of ‘Hopes & Dreams’ and ‘Love + Light’, he approaches them with subtlety and finesse, matching rhythmic flair with melodic progressions which lend themselves to introspective listening as much as full dancefloor immersion.

Livity Sound is a label set up by Peverelist in 2011 as a vehicle for a raw and exploratory strain of UK techno, rooted in the heritage of UK dance music and sound system culture. It has since become one of the UK's foremost protagonists for cutting edge underground electronic music.

While awaiting the release of Dignity Of Labour, The Ex headed back into the studio in early 1983; this time with a new friend – The Mekons' Jon Langford – helping produce.

Originally released in April 1983 (only a month after Dignity Of Labour), Tumult marks a major evolution in Ex-sound. Opener "Bouquet Of Barbed Wire" emerges snarling out of post-punk atmospherics with Terrie Ex's glacial guitar, Bas Masbeck's loping bass and cascading tom-toms from new recruit Sabien Witteman, while "Fear" and "Survival Of The Fattest" bring to bear the rhythmic core of the band, their signature angular style.

Lyrically, the songs on Tumult cycle through a series of familiar concerns: animal rights, squatters, the working class, punk's penchant for radical chic and the creeping fascism of nationalist sentiments. G.W. Sok's voice is squalling and perfectly wry throughout.

Tumult remains a high-water point of early Ex, serving as both developmental guide and way-station. The next 18 months would see the departure of Bas and Witteman and the arrival of long-serving bassist Luc Klaasen and drummer Kat Bornefeld (whose supple rhythms propel the group to this day). The album stands as one of the most compelling and unique documents of early '80s DIY exploration. If Mark E. Smith had only one favorite Dutch punk band, then it would undoubtedly be The Ex.

This first-time vinyl reissue comes with 28" x 39" full-color poster

The glacial distillation of Pan•American aka Mark Nelson’s “romantic minimalism” achieves unique fruition on his latest Kranky collection, The Patience Fader.

A suite of solo guitar instrumentals accented with lap steel, harmonica, and twilit atmospherics, the strings smear and sparkle in elegant, windswept swells, a guitar mode once described by Brian Eno as “Duane Eddy playing Erik Satie.” These are elegies as much as songs, lulling and lilting in private currents of beauty and bereavement. Nelson speaks of the notion of “lighthouse music,” radiance cast from a stable vantage point, sending “a signal to help others through rocks and dangerous currents.”
Composed during the highly isolated summer of 2020, the pieces took shape as meditations on “roots and mourning, trying to connect with those deep hidden rivers that lead to a greater communality.” There’s something ageless, scarred, and American about this music, both displaced and devotional, the ghost of rust belts and dust bowls looming in a horizon of deepening dusk.

Healing Together is a benefit compilation for mental health recovery featuring 23 ambient-electronic artists from around the world. Recognizing that music is a bridge to normalizing conversations about the challenges people are going through, each artist was prompted to create a song that would help someone with mental health struggles know they're not alone. This sprouted into a collection of ambient music holding space for the many emotional landscapes we experience as humans. Healing Together features new compositions specially prepared for the compilation from the incredible line-up of women artists Nailah Hunter, Penelope Trappes, Clarice Jensen, Drum & Lace, Sofie Birch, Hollie Kenniff, Clariloops, more eaze, Ami Dang, Karen Vogt, Patricia Wolf, Zoe Polanski, Sachi Kobayashi, Christina Giannone, Ai Yamamoto, Cat Tyson Hughes, IKSRE, Inquiri, Belly Full of Stars, Claire Deak, Pechblende, Caminuata and marine eyes. Net profits of the compilation will go to Sounds of Saving, a non-profit fueling hope for mental health both by celebrating the power of human connection to music and directing people towards the resources they need before it's too late.

 James Cullen and Dan Cobb formed TENDER in
2015, as the bedroom project of two flatmates tired
of the design by committee nature of larger
musical groups.
 TENDER’s ‘Modern Addiction’ provides fresh
perspective to the idea of addiction, through the
lens of love. It is unafraid to admit or to accuse,
eager to confide and to provide, in direct,
shimmering confessionals.
 Original pressing sold out - ‘Modern Addiction’ has
been out of print for several years. Now available
again, on black vinyl.
 “Mysterious duo Tender specialise in marrying
polarising elements that could well soundtrack
parties as well as the loss of love” - DIY
 “An enthralling, minimalist pop gem” - CLASH
 “Gliding over guttural electro swoons, it’s the sort
of glacial pop that’d soundtrack late-night
contemplation no matter where you are in the
world” - Dork

Recorded back in 1999, 'Half a Dove in New York, Half a Dove in Buenos Aires' is the recorded debut of a NetCast improv between deep listening pioneer Pauline Oliveros and Argentinian free music trio Reynols >> a fascinating early example of the internet’s capacity to foster remote creativity in-the-moment that deploys the slowest electronics, accordion, voice, trombone and computer sounds on a next level ritual drone incantation recorded in another era, but made for our time.

As the story goes, Oliveros first met Reynols in the mid ‘90s at a Deep Listening workshop she held in their home city, Buenos Aires, where they impressed her with an improvised brass serenade. Years later, in 1999, they met again via NetCast - a series of very early online live improvisations - to explore the Internet’s potential for collaborations between artists thousands of miles apart. Finally mixed down in 2021 and mastered by Helge Sten (aka Deathprod) after marinating in the archive for 22 years, the album resonates with the late, great Oliveros’ legendary work in exploring alternate tunings, spatial dynamics and methods of intuitive performance - a remarkable slab of omnidirectional drone bearing traces of Miguel Tomasin's vox and Oliveros’ just-intoned accordion embedded in its cosmic roil.

Broadcasting from fabled record shop The Thing in NYC, with Oliveros (Accordion) joined by Jennifer McCoy (ICR), Kevin McCoy (Computer processing), and Monique Buzzarté (Trombone), and Reynols revolving Miguel Tomasin (Electronics, subliminal voice & Alclorse drums), Rob Conlazo electronics, leather gloves & e-gtr), and Anla Courtis (electronics, rubber foot & e-gtr) and dialling-in from Florida 943 in Buenos Aires, the results are an incredibly absorbing and consistently surprising testament to vanguard, experimental spirits prizing the internet’s nascent, unprecedented ability to connect minds and art across continents, language barriers, and modalities.

The album's first side, titled 'Micro Macro Wind Dance', puts Oliveros' accordion under a microscope, enhancing it with lower case rumble and noise from Reynolds' arsenal. Shifting glacially over 22-minutes, Oliveros plays subtly and slowly at first, letting the accordion breathe in-and-out like a sleeping mythical beast, before she transitions to fluttering bird-like phrases by the end of the side.

'Astral Netcast Pigeon' expands the dissonant drones to widescreen, submerging Oliveros' trills and drones beneath layers of dirt and grit. It's time-altering music that dissasembles yr head before you've completely worked out what's happening >> basically the perfect mid-point between Oliveros' deep listening practices and Reynols' wildly inspirational free-noise-drone freakouts.