Search:fires in the distance

Repress on Galaxy Blue Vinyl. Limited to 500 copies. On their second long player, FIRES IN THE DISTANCE further expand on their musical foundations of wistful melodicism, crushingly heavy guitar work and intricate atmospherics. Across Air Not Meant For Us' six tracks, FIRES IN THE DISTANCE tie together intensely personal ruminations on mental health and themes of existentialism in the form of mortality salience, without losing sight of the importance of perseverance. Teaming up with Salt Lake City producer Randy Slaugh (Devin Townsend, Tesseract, White Moth Black Butterfly), FIRES IN THE DISTANCE's chief songwriter Yegor Savonin (composition, guitars, programming, lyrics) sought to reach even greater dynamics within the band's core sound of melodic death and doom metal. With live orchestration in the form of violas, violins, cellos, as well as piano work, proving to be an incredibly fruitful collaborative process for both band and producer.

French artist Trypheme debuts on Impatience with “Odd Balade”, a darkly-hued collection of songs drawn from human delicacy and dreamworld mythology.

“Odd Balade” is Trypheme’s most ambitious and boldest record to date - both lyrically and musically. The album’s thirteen tracks resist rigid genre boundaries and flutter from medieval folk realms, sprawling synths, gothic 80s wave, leftfield pop, haunted vocals, mutant electronica to reverbed guitars - all reflected through her own shadowy prism. Especially album closer “A Walk In The Vercors” evokes a soothing serenity that echoes the sonic balm of Julee Cruise.

Trypheme’s musical repertoire trends heavily electronic and somewhat abstracted, but on “Odd Balade”, the artist slips into the role of the modern troubadour with a shift to a more poetically and personal songwriting that is infused with symbolism and dreamlike fantasies. The connective tissue of the album is the audacity to love and the vulnerability that ensues. As intimate and introspective as the lyrics are, the themes remain universal and human to the core: the fear of losing a loved one, the melancholia of leaving places and t“the fear of losing a loved one, the melancholia of leaving places and the cycles of life. The record was largely composed in Chars, stirred by the French village’s eerie atmosphere and frequent trips to the seaside in Brittany, where Trypheme resides. Drawing inspiration from the rugged terrain of the seaside landscapes, the writings of Allen Ginsberg and Mark Fisher and the hyperrealist art of Scott Prior, Trypheme uses her songs to depict life with broad strokes of rhythm.

On “Odd Balade” Trypheme consolidates herself as a gifted, nimble songwriter, masterly producer and subtly powerful vocalist. The record combines her skill for crafting lush, alien sound worlds and efficient, alluring arrangements with stealthily devastating songs. Belin’s voice becomes a key ingredient, appearing on eleven of Odd Balade’s thirteen tracks, by turns heavily manipulated, sampled and replayed as a form of percussion, or basically bare.

“Odd Balade” is the manifestation of Trypheme’s roving artistic practice, a ceremonial-grade sacrament cast in a rich nocturnal glow. Pairing the mundane with the mythic, the album stays true to its core: odd and strangely familiar.

RIYL - Riding off into the sunset to an unknown destination, hauntology, present, tales told by the fireside, hot summer rain, adventures, to feel a warm presence when you are walking in the forest or in the mountain, coastal landscapes, sailor’s stories, slow motion, vitesse, heavy blossoms, colors, the warmth of the sun, the tenderness of the moon, getting lost in unfamiliar streets, city’s lights, motorway rest area by night, magic numbers, rendez-vous, picnic, serendipity, poetry, the smell of old records and old books.

Tiphaine Belin has been releasing music as Trypheme since 2016. Odd Balade was written and produced by Belin, and mixed by Belin and Abel Roux. It was mastered by Amir Shoat. Cover art photography is by Ariane Kiks, with art direction by Ariane Kiks in collaboration with Mathilde Chaize.

An endling is the final member of a species. When an endling dies, the species is extinct. Pakistani-American composer Qasim Naqvi returns with Endling. Written as a modular synth prequel to his 2023 BBC Concert Orchestral work, God Docks at Death Harbor, Endling takes the listener on a 43-minute odyssey through an intense and beautiful landscape, set hundreds of years into the future. On the album"s centrepiece "Power Down the Heart," featuring Moor Mother, our character stumbles upon an A.I. being that is in the final moments of its life. As a kind of last rites, this ancient artificial consciousness describes the beauty, sadness and horror it has observed for hundreds of years. Qasim Naqvi is a percussionist, composer and synthesist. Along with being the drummer of lauded cult minimalist trio, Dawn of Midi, Naqvi is an accomplished solo artist and his passion for multidisciplinary work has brought him into the world of film, dance, installation art, and the stage of orchestral and chamber music. His concert music has been commissioned and performed by The London Contemporary Orchestra, The BBC Concert Orchestra, Crash Ensemble, Bang on a Can All Stars, Jennifer Koh, Stargaze, The Cello Octet of Amsterdam, The Helsinki Chamber Choir and others.

R&B duo THEY. — songwriter Drew Love and producer Dante Jones — have developed a smooth, future-facing sound for nearly a decade. In the early days, it was simple; two artists aligning on an appreciation for '90s R&B, new jack swing, and the height of soul-sampling hip-hop. Jones making beats and Love on the lines, a basic, balanced, and open-ended setup, free from major label expectations (which they'd feel on their 2017 breakout Nü Religion: Hyena) and high-profile collaborations (explored on 2018's Fireside, 2020's The Amanda Tape, and 2023's Nü Moon). They're proud of every stop along their story, while hindsight and a fresh perspective after signing to Secretly-affiliate label drink sum wtr have afforded them some distance to reflect on where THEY. goes next. The answer is LOVE.JONES. Here the duo exudes a whole new energy by reasserting their artistry in its most potent and pure form, just Love and Jones, making straight-fire, love-making music indebted to the golden neo-soul era that gave us the namesake 1997 film. “Forget the features, forget bringing in the big producers and writers. It's really just a return to our original dynamic," says Jones. Refined and reinvented, THEY. have arrived at their boldest work, a stacked, high-energy collection celebrating Black art, culture, and "the intense feelings of Black love."

Returnal sees Daniel Lopatin fine tune his craft for creation of deep atmospheres and texture even further.
"Returnal" is the fourth album from Daniel Lopatin's Oneohtrix Point Never project, after "Betrayed In The Octagon" (Deception Island, 2007), "Zones Without People" (Arbor, 2009) and "Russian Mind" (No Fun, 2009). All 3 albums being superbly compiled on the "Rifts" double CD (No Fun, 2009). It sees Lopatin fine tune his craft for creation of deep atmospheres and texture even further. Starting off with the mind blowing triptych of "Nil Admiari / Describing Bodies / Stress Waves", which fires off into a noise / rhythm excess before entering a zone of relative calm building to the melancholy of the final part. This sets the tone perfectly for the albums title track, a stunning out of this world ballad featuring Lopatin's near desperate vocal delivery, ending what could be seen as one of his most chilling and thought provoking sides to date. The atmosphere is slightly lifted as the darkened sun comes up over the ruins on "Pelham Island Road" and "Where Does Time Go", with the album closing with edgy broken beats and fourth world possible landscapes of "Preyouandi", which fades into the distance with echoes of the "Returnal" chorus, closing the loop. What's burnt into memory here is Lopatin's love affair with the long, slow path back home... the cycle... the hypnotic sector... the ghost in the machine... and whether people are making dance music or hip hop or space head music or metal, the ouroboros is present in every sector - as it was in Bach's study, and in the elephant songs of the Ituri forests. Available on CD in digipack and LP in gatefold cover.

There are records with empathy, records which are your friends and then there's the others... There might be little difference between them, a certain "je ne sais quoi", an "almost nothing but still something" which makes the difference between almost pointless and vital records. Despite, or rather thanks to his cynical despair, Matt Elliott's music never holds up a moralizing mirror to us - on the contrary, it creates a compassionate dialogue with listeners like the rhythm of two steps that synchronize to become as one. In 2016, Matt Elliot brought out his seventh solo album The Calm Before whose obscure title is neither exactly threatening nor comforting... the calm before what? Before the storm for sure but maybe also before the great record, the immediate classic we felt might be coming for a long time in the dual discography of the Bristol-born artist working under his own name and his electronic alias Third Eye Foundation. The elegant details and perspectives of Little Lost Soul (2000) already hinted at the upcoming masterpiece from the English singer-songwriter. The Mess We Made (2003) was Matt Elliott's first solo album and portrayed a universe in a kind of flight towards Balkan horizons made up of visceral despair. With the Songs trilogy, he put aside the electronic side of his work to continue working with a minimalist, stark and lucid style of writing. The Broken Man (2012) was full of tears and long laments sometimes carried by Katia Labèque's piano on a record which painted new shades of grey. On this record Matt began working with the producer, arranger and multi-instrumentalist David Chalmin (La Terre Invisible) who has kept on collaborating with the Bristol-born singer since then. Their partnership continued on Only Myocardial Infection Can Break Your Heart (2013) and The Calm Before (2016). Stéphane Grégoire is the head of the Ici D'Ailleurs label which has accompanied Matt Elliott since 2005 and perhaps he describes this album the best: "This new record by Matt is without a doubt his best album to date, a record that takes him into another dimension where he fully asserts himself as a songwriter and singer of the calibre of artists like Bill Callahan, Leonard Cohen or Johnny Cash." Matt Elliott's other records all seemed like empathic links between each other. Farewell To All We Know is an instant classic based on the sensitive piano and superb arrangements of David Chalmin, the sensitive cello of Gaspar Claus, the subtle bass of Jeff Hallam (who has also played with Dominique A and John Parish). There is a clear form of alchemy in all of this and still we find Matt Elliott's usual atmospheres and scenery, the same Eastern European folk music, long songs that take time to settle over time. Everything is the same but also is transfigured. By making his music stark and purifying and redefining the subject matter, Matt Elliott's work became so much more delicate. However this work is never frail nor really turned in on himself and thus becomes like a vital tune that vibrates and unfolds. The opening song Farewell To All We Know seems torn between the fear of what tomorrow may bring, inevitability and hope for the future in a permanent and progressive dramatic tension expressed by his Spanish guitar, the impressionist style piano and Matt's voice teetering on the edge of whispers. A funereal tribute to endless twilights and the dawns we all dream of seeing. There are touches of Leonard Cohen from Songs from a Room or Thanks For The Dance in The Day After That with Gaspar Claus's counterpoint cello. There is no spirit of resignation in Matt Elliott's work - life's path has to be followed against all odds. We have to follow the river's flow to reach the immense ocean and its infinite freedom. The haunted instrumental Guidance Is Internal harks back to the atmospheres of Howling Songs (2008) with its guitar parts full of scansions and muted threats. The music is transcendental but never seems afraid of the risk of falling. This is also what Bye Now tells us with its quasi-obsolete simplicity and sunburst melancholy reminiscent of the work of Luiz Bonfá, Bill Evans on Peace Piece or laidback crooners of the 50s. In Farewell To All We Know, Matt Elliott incessantly alternates between the dual desires to face up to the world or to protect himself from it. Hating The Player, Hating The Game is a lucid statement about the dullness of our daily lives sometimes, our right to get out of the game and no longer want to be part of it. Matt Elliott is tender but spares no one, particularly himself. Aboulia speaks of the tiredness of living and of looming death while Crisis Apparition says that there is always a time for reconstruction after chaos. This is like initially wearying wandering in the ruins of Aleppo with the slow dilution of the melody into a hallucinated drone. However the smell of great fires always fades and the earth always regenerates. Matt Elliott seems to suggest that the survival instinct is stronger than any cold winds could ever be. Matt Elliott never sings of certainties and prefers possibilities. Possibly the worst is over? Maybe... Maybe the storm has passed and devastated everything, now we just have to rebuild and live again. Farewell To All We Know shows us the distance that still needs to be walked and he walks next to you - right next to you, he is the friend who doesn't spare you the truth like all true friends really do.

Hunt & Gather’s debut vinyl release comes by way of Pezzner’s cryptic moniker “The Native Language”. Written as a quasi-homeless man living off the rich in the San Juan Islands who writes music once per year to suffice his own delusions.

Walking the streets in these damp, anxious days that all run together lately, I was approached by a man who would blend right into the neighborhood, layered in flannel and sweatshirts for sleeping.

Rough, but for his shoes. (Never cheap out on anything that separates you from the ground.) “Pezzner,” he called out, from a safe distance. “What did the mangrove say to the marauding hordes.” My soul left my body for a moment and my voice responded on its own. “Petrichor.”

He caught my eye, nodded, left a padded envelope on the ground and vanished. The envelope had passed through many hands, slipped into the bed of a ferry-bound truck, passed from one fellow traveler to another, stashed under the counters of anarchist bookstores, left tucked between books at Little Free Libraries. The greenish stains suggested that at one point it had been swum across a lake. Another DAT, contents encoded here unabridged, and a letter from someone who called himself The Sentinel.

The Vessel lived out his days on Shaw Island, under a canopy of trees that gets smaller and smaller every season. His condition the same, any electricity lit his brain on fire, could only bring himself to compose one day a year, only at night, out of sight. Until he met The Angel, an eccentric with means, who built for him a device.

A Faraday Cage to block all electromagnetic emissions. Burlap walls, for atmosphere. A system of pulleys and levers, wood and rope, all running into a box that sat outside. An entirely mechanical control surface. No electrons in here. The Vessel lit fires, watched the shadows dance, closed his eyes and disappeared into the motion for hours at a time. The Sentinel came every morning to change the tapes. The Angel watched and pondered, his plans unknown.

The box sat sealed, bare except for another set of ideograms, scratched in day by day over time. Inside, the usual bedroom-producer shit. Outside, the ideograms told a story, passed from the Vessel to the Sentinel and drawn by the Angel, of a man who became another creature. Alert to the lowest frequencies, feeling music deep in the soil below their feet. Music that brings messages, from distant friends, warning of new creatures and the danger they brought. Skin alive to the world, so sensitive it can detect the landing of a single fly. A mind capable of keeping a map of the world inside. A mind that can look in a mirror and see a soul it knows well. A mind that can grieve.

After processing its contents, I filled the envelope with granola bars and walked it down to the market. The clerk gave me a knowing look as I placed it on the counter behind a stack of pork rinds from the previous century. As I walked out, a young man carrying a plastic bag and wearing impeccable shoes walked in.