Suche:post 23 whispers

Sailing beyond the boundaries of electronic music, Purelink embrace liquidity on their second album, washing live instrumentation and exposed vocals over their patented cascade of dubbed ambience and ebbing rhythmic experimentation. Since 2020, Tommy Paslaski (aka Concave Reflection), Ben Paulson (aka kindtree) and Akeem Asani (aka Millia) have channeled their most euphoric musical whims into the Purelink project. Drifting between brittle '90s drum 'n bass and dub techno on their cult debut 12" 'Bliss / Swivel' and vaporizing Windy City jazz and post-rock motifs with muggy soundscapes on 2023's critically revered first full-length 'Signs', the trio have managed to define a painterly signature sound that's reflective but not reverent. Sure, Purelink's music can be graceful and bucolic, but it's powered by their innate devotion to the dancefloor's soundsystem.

'Faith' illustrates a period of upheaval for the three friends; relocating from Chicago to New York City, they found themselves surrounded by new scenery and fresh inspirations that permeated their compositions as they adapted to the change. On their previous records, the production process was relatively simple, just three laptops jacked into an interface in Paslaski's living room. Here, they augment the intermixed electronics with acoustic and electric timbres, opening up space for vocal contributions from Hyperdub luminary Loraine James and poet Angelina Nonaj. "Always time for rest," James ponders candidly on 'Rookie', "we settle." Her voice floats like smoke over the trio's familiar pattering rhythms and light-headed synths, now enhanced by capsized guitar motifs and subtle bass plucks.

On 'First Iota' meanwhile, Nonaj's deadpan narration grounds Purelink's dissociated echoes, sub swells and delicate improvisations. "Not everything beautiful has to be real," Nonaj repeats as organic and digital sounds sublime into a lysergic haze. And the softly propulsive 4/4 thuds that steered 'Signs' haven't disappeared entirely, either. On 'Kite Scene' a heartbeat-like pulse underpins Purelink's balmy pads and acidic synths, tactfully disrupted by hollow live percussion, and 'Yoke' muffles its chugging, broken beat sequences with swaddled trance hallucinations, gesturing cautiously towards euphoria. Each element falls into place on the album's final track, 'Circle of Dust', when Paslaski, Paulson and Asani find a fertile middle ground, ornamenting the kinetic, reverberating beats with evaporating whispers, evocative instrumental scrapes and hopeful, ecstatic harmonies.

At the tender age of twenty-five, while he was working part-time at an Italian restaurant in Tokyo's Kamata district, Kazuki Tomokawa released his debut record, fittingly titled Finally, His First Album. While he had already penned hundreds of songs, including his first single "Try Saying You're Alive!," written on a long train ride past fields and rice paddies, it was this recording that introduced Japan to one of its most unique musicians of the postwar era. Each track, as record label exec Kiichi Takahara writes in the LP's liner notes (here translated for the first time), is not a song but a "flesh-and-blood human being," birthed by the singer-songwriter and the raw, guttural cries that would become a hallmark of his incomparable sound. 1970s Japan was a time and place marked by a profound desire for authenticity amidst the onset of television and media saturation. Tomokawa arrived on the scene as a musician with "the personality of a hydrogen bomb," to borrow a phrase from his frequent collaborator Toshi Ishizuka. In an unwieldy interview included here, members of the notorious leftist band Zun? Keisatsu (Brain Police) put it bluntly: here was a man surrounded by the "disingenuous," the "wishy-washy," and the "superficial," who was delivering "real life, unvarnished." These songs are lullabies for the lost, staring not into the void but-as the fourth track declares-from inside it. Finally, His First Album is the first of three Tomokawa records to be reissued by Blank Forms Editions in conjunction with the US release of Tomokawa's memoir, Try Saying You're Alive!, the first-ever English translation of his writing. This debut captures the self-assured trademarks that Tomokawa would hone over the course of decades. Multiple tracks are performed in his native Akita dialect, a distinct and highly regional vernacular of northern Japan seldom heard outside the prefecture-and even more rarely heard in music. Tomokawa's lyrics locate profound interiority in the rituals of everyday life, and are sung against sparse folk arrangements of tender, lilting chords-a prelude to the rock and electronic stylings to come in later years. A self-proclaimed "living corpse," Tomokawa wallows, whispers, shouts, and cries, yet still, through his existential doubt, asks to be heard.