Suche:replicants

Japan's long running masters of psych/kosmische jamming return to Important Records for a vinyl outing featuring beloved original member Cotton Casino.

Trust Masked Replicants finds AMT in fine form, creating experimental psych-rock improvised around skeletal compositions. The group's leader, Kawabata Makoto, holds the group together while they navigate chaos infused, drone based jamming at the outer edges of human consciousness.

Side B, featuring the 20 minute track Asoko Ananda, is a classic side-long fast paced AMT burner combining sped up kosmische rhythms, filter sweeps, free-jazz piano, tabla drumming and vocal experiments. Asoko Ananda utilizes many of the group's skills, ascending to the height of their collective, mountainous ability.

Channeling prog, krautrock, modern composition and noise, Kawabata Makoto formed the Acid Mothers Temple in the early 90's. The group has gone on to release countless albums while touring the globe.

The superb Philoxenia Records, which is spearheaded by Luigi Di Venere and Neu Verboten, here unveils a coveted addition to its collection with the the super limited Last Place On Earth EP from Vilnius-based Dovydas Platakis aka Jokios Kulturos. It's a cinematic work that immerses listeners in a dystopian realm that blends avant-garde tones with manga-inspired cyberpunk vibes. Each track serves as a gateway to a world where technological progress intertwines with societal decline, which is of course often the focus of classic cyberpunk literature. Di Venere and Verboten also combine under their Affekt Unit alias to deliver captivating remixes and bring trance and tribal techno elements to the party.

Dago Sondervan uploads his code-driven debut to the Censor mainframe. Known for live-coding using Sonic-Pi and TidalCycles, Dago transports you straight into front-left of the Algorave. The EP includes a dimension changing remix from Annie Hall, and a further set of twisted electro remixes from CYRK and F.R.B. (an alias of Alex Jann). This is one for the replicants, bots and cyborgs.

Hot on the heels of our tentacular project "The Most Famous Unknown", Planet Phuture is proud to welcome rising French talent Cuften to the fold. A most fitting match for PP's phuture-facing vision, Damien Peltier has been pushing some of the finest techno around over the last couple of years, landing a handful memorable cuts via the likes of Parisian label Tripalium and his own imprint, Purusu. Cloaked in dim-lit atmospheres and open-ended post-apocalyptic narratives, his debut solo 12" blends in all of the elements that made his sound stand out from the crowd of releases coming up these days - traversed by dogged primitive rhythms and reassessed 303-infused Detroit'isms, but also stamped with his signature no-frills rave elegance.

Speeding up the cosmic highway like Deckard roams San Fran's neon-splattered alleys on the hunt for replicants, Cuften takes us on a full-immersion journey into dystopian electronic soundscapes. Full-beam on, "Solar Ashes" has us drifting amidst ruins of a devastated city - its lysergic bass languidly threading its way across brutalist concrete facades and cold ember set for reignition. A more martial affair, "The Black Rain Order" pulls out the rattling drums, slo-boiling arpeggios and moebius-strips of wistful acid to score a supremely tense crescendo, both optimally tasted on and off the dance floor.

Moving up closer to the free-spirited vibe of the '90s open-air raves, "Rise Of The Neo-Humans" unleashes a baroque firestorm of sucker-punchy toms and hyperventilating shuffle, woven against an endlessly expanding corolla of hallucinogenic shapes and fluttering harmonics. Sinking further deep into all-dark dubby grounds, "Lasttt Batttle" extrudes its obsessive melody out a thick gangue of squelchy chords and bleepin' engineering to form the kind of brain-washing hybrid pumper that'll roast your last remaining neurones. Trouble-brewing isn't over though and the droney "Kjhfskjoize" shall take you to places unknown through eleven minutes of envelope-shifting shamanism, thinking noise bake-off and gravity-defying arrangements. Bend your mind.

Black Rain returns with Computer Soul: the final part of a sequence of Blackest Ever Black releases that began with 2011's Now I'm Just A Number: Soundtracks 1994-95, and a first glimpse of the project's richly imagined future. For this outing Stuart Argabright (Ike Yard, Dominatrix, Death Comet Crew) is joined by BR founder member Shinichi Shimokawa as well as more recent recruit Soren Roi and Zanias (vocalist on 2015's Dark Pool) - making for the most most group-oriented iteration of Black Rain since its earliest days. Sonically too, there is a sense of evolution but also of coming full circle: the cyberpunk techno of Argabright's celebrated William Gibson soundtracks (compiled on Now I'm Just A Number) and extrapolations of Dark Pool's neuromantic yearning cut with glimpses of the thrash and industrial rock energies that animated Black Rain's incendiary live shows - and sought-after tapes for Kombinat and TPOS - in the early 90s. More than ever, Black Rain is propelled by a powerful science fiction impulse, whether responding to the themes and characters of Gibson's Sprawl or the Blade Runner universe (particularly K.W. Jeter's spin-off/continuation novels which extended its mythology, and timeline, further). It's not news that many of these works' most powerful predictions and prophesies have come to pass - the replicants are already living among us - so Computer Soul projects further into several possible unforeseen futures, its events 'set' in the second half of the current century, fifty or so years after those of Dark Pool. The hyperpopulated metropolises of Dark Pool are no more; the apartments are empty, haunted by ghosts of AC current, devices and machines running lonely without their owners...a melancholy internet of things. Where has everyone got to Gone but perhaps not gone. Oblivion beckons - always does - but on the other side of that, something else... another time, another place, a river....and a new way of living.