Suche:architecture

Repress of DVS1's highly anticipated album that came out on Axis digital during the pandemic. From the perceiving body to the liminal space of the dream-state, audible frequencies send a neurofeedback message. A paradigm-shift is activated in the mind. A movement from the present hour toward the realm beyond measure. The pulse of a synthesized kick. The distance between evolving rhythms of time & place left behind. Sensations created in forgotten corners of the consciousness are distant, yet familiar. A low-penetrating drum beat pulsates. Hypnotic hallucinations reveal detailed layers, oscillating from the back to the forefront of the dream. Synth programming yields abstract ideas into concrete images. Lucid percussion arranged to paint a deeper shade of architecture in this future-memory-system. Be aware that sensations resonate into imagination without warning. The observer extends from rational thought to a deeper state of understanding. The mind-body experience gives way to a transient response from a shock wave to the steady state. The senses reach entrainment.

Ben Lukas Boysen’s new album, Alta Ripa, signifies a seismic shift in his artistic journey. It revisits the foundational impulses of his youth, shaped amidst the serene beauty of rural Germany—a bucolic backdrop where his creative palette flourished. However, it was his move to Berlin in the early 2000s that electrified his sound, infusing it with the city’s pulsating energy and diverse cultural influences. Alta Ripa captures this transformative experience, blending the introspective melodies of his rural beginnings with the bold, experimental tones born from Berlin’s vibrant electronic music scene. This album is a testament to Boysen’s evolution, showcasing how geographical shifts can profoundly shape artistic expression.

Boysen’s fourth studio album under his own name, Alta Ripa is a nod to his beginnings as much as a hint to his future, and as a work, it’s almost contradictory in its boldness and humility. He invites the listener on a journey of self-discovery; both for himself and for them, describing the music as “something the 15-year-old in me would have liked to hear but only the grown-up version of myself can write.”

His last two albums involved working closely with other musicians, including cellist Anne Müller, flugelhorn player Steffen Zimmer, and drummer Achim Färber. However, inspired in part by a recent return to live performance, Alta Ripa sees Boysen circling back to his passion for pure computer music.

For Boysen, the return to his youthful musical language marks a major turning point in his career. It represents a departure from his roots in classical music – his mother was an opera singer and his father an actor with an appreciation for Wagner, Arvo Pärt, Keith Jarrett, and Stockhausen. Although these are still important influences, Alta Ripa encapsulates a new, exploratory interplay between Boysen’s careful craft and his ability to let go of some of the process.

The album’s title comes from the original Roman name of the town that Boysen grew up in, Altrip, where he lived until his early twenties. This formative period is central to the ideas behind this album, from Boysen’s parental ‘schooling’ in classical music through to his sonic journeys through drum and bass, Aphex Twin, and Autechre — all of which changed his idea of what music could be. The extreme energy of tracks like ‘Acperience 1’ by Hardfloor, ‘Tracks & Fragment’ by Cari Lekebusch, ‘Focus2 Implan’ by Jiri.Ceiver, and ‘Low On Ice’ by Alec Empire are also pivotal influences.

For Boysen, this time of his musical development also involved knocking down the pillars that he previously thought had carried his world. A key moment for Boysen was being given a precious (pre-internet) club cassette at school that featured artists like Source Direct, Photek and Goldie. Excited by this new discovery, he introduced his father to the song ‘Dred Bass’ by Dead Dred. After the song finished, Boysen Sr. turned off the tape and proclaimed it was “the end of all music”. This heated exchange sparked a new, and more mature dialogue between the two that involved them sharing and discussing music on a regular basis.

Boysen’s classical and jazz music upbringing might not be easily noticeable from the electronic palette that he uses. But it can be found in its bones; the structure of the tracks and their dynamic shifts. On Alta Ripa, he intentionally embraces a spirit of controlled chaos, churning out sonic ideas to see what sticks.

One of Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategy cards contains the phrase “gardening, not architecture”, and the trajectory of Boysen’s creative path reflects this metaphor. In much of his previous work he followed a sort of Brutalist architect’s approach; here, he was fully responsible for the tracks’ austere structures and planned them with deliberate care. But by sacrificing some of that control on Alta Ripa, he sets the right conditions for a dark and unpredictable, organic growth. It’s a push forward into a new world.

Ben Lukas Boysen’s new album, Alta Ripa, signifies a seismic shift in his artistic journey. It revisits the foundational impulses of his youth, shaped amidst the serene beauty of rural Germany—a bucolic backdrop where his creative palette flourished. However, it was his move to Berlin in the early 2000s that electrified his sound, infusing it with the city’s pulsating energy and diverse cultural influences. Alta Ripa captures this transformative experience, blending the introspective melodies of his rural beginnings with the bold, experimental tones born from Berlin’s vibrant electronic music scene. This album is a testament to Boysen’s evolution, showcasing how geographical shifts can profoundly shape artistic expression.

Boysen’s fourth studio album under his own name, Alta Ripa is a nod to his beginnings as much as a hint to his future, and as a work, it’s almost contradictory in its boldness and humility. He invites the listener on a journey of self-discovery; both for himself and for them, describing the music as “something the 15-year-old in me would have liked to hear but only the grown-up version of myself can write.”

His last two albums involved working closely with other musicians, including cellist Anne Müller, flugelhorn player Steffen Zimmer, and drummer Achim Färber. However, inspired in part by a recent return to live performance, Alta Ripa sees Boysen circling back to his passion for pure computer music.

For Boysen, the return to his youthful musical language marks a major turning point in his career. It represents a departure from his roots in classical music – his mother was an opera singer and his father an actor with an appreciation for Wagner, Arvo Pärt, Keith Jarrett, and Stockhausen. Although these are still important influences, Alta Ripa encapsulates a new, exploratory interplay between Boysen’s careful craft and his ability to let go of some of the process.

The album’s title comes from the original Roman name of the town that Boysen grew up in, Altrip, where he lived until his early twenties. This formative period is central to the ideas behind this album, from Boysen’s parental ‘schooling’ in classical music through to his sonic journeys through drum and bass, Aphex Twin, and Autechre — all of which changed his idea of what music could be. The extreme energy of tracks like ‘Acperience 1’ by Hardfloor, ‘Tracks & Fragment’ by Cari Lekebusch, ‘Focus2 Implan’ by Jiri.Ceiver, and ‘Low On Ice’ by Alec Empire are also pivotal influences.

For Boysen, this time of his musical development also involved knocking down the pillars that he previously thought had carried his world. A key moment for Boysen was being given a precious (pre-internet) club cassette at school that featured artists like Source Direct, Photek and Goldie. Excited by this new discovery, he introduced his father to the song ‘Dred Bass’ by Dead Dred. After the song finished, Boysen Sr. turned off the tape and proclaimed it was “the end of all music”. This heated exchange sparked a new, and more mature dialogue between the two that involved them sharing and discussing music on a regular basis.

Boysen’s classical and jazz music upbringing might not be easily noticeable from the electronic palette that he uses. But it can be found in its bones; the structure of the tracks and their dynamic shifts. On Alta Ripa, he intentionally embraces a spirit of controlled chaos, churning out sonic ideas to see what sticks.

One of Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategy cards contains the phrase “gardening, not architecture”, and the trajectory of Boysen’s creative path reflects this metaphor. In much of his previous work he followed a sort of Brutalist architect’s approach; here, he was fully responsible for the tracks’ austere structures and planned them with deliberate care. But by sacrificing some of that control on Alta Ripa, he sets the right conditions for a dark and unpredictable, organic growth. It’s a push forward into a new world.

Who is Isabelle Lewis, anyway?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

Tina Edwards "absolutely loving Ensoul and Locked! Big fan of what this band are doing. One of the most original outfits in London Jazz atm."

Jamie Cullum "beautiful music from Ambient Jazz Ensemble"

Presenting the genre defining and much hip hop sampled Ambient Jazz Ensemble. AJE’s Colin Baldry has a highly accomplished career in music writing and producing for iconic labels Motown, RCA, Geffen, Virgin and Capitol Records

London Fields describes London energy, vibe, anticipation; ‘fields' of electricity. The phrase conjours something of my own relationship with London. Having moved away after living & working there for 20 years I’ve recently fallen in love with the city again. I've been walking the streets, rediscovering it’s parks, canals, the architecture, the river; … & experiencing new music in London is always a joy. The 'London Fields’ have recaptured my imagination

Ensoul delivers sparse felt piano before Lynsey Ward releases her inner Kate Bush. Locked inspired initially by Tony Robert-Fleury’s 1891 painting ‘Alix Appearing in Mask’. And then the collaboration with singer songwriter Lynsey Ward an inspiration and a joy which comes across in the music

Since first bonding over Slowdive at a Texas karaoke bar six years ago, musicians Uriel Avila and Jonathan Perez have grown trauma ray into Fort Worth's foremost flag bearer of crushing shoegaze. A five-piece rounded out by bassist Darren Baun, drummer Nicholas Bobotas, and guitarist Coleman Pruitt, the band's debut album, Chameleon, captures their evolving sound at an apex of majestic devastation. A fusion of downer hooks, gauzy melancholia, and bulldozer riffs, the album heaves and crashes across 50 minutes of stacked amplifier alchemy. Lyrically the songs trace similarly lofty and brooding terrain; Avila says "The theme is death. And a chameleon, like death, can shape-shift in and out our lives in different forms." Chameleon opens with "Ember," dreamy and distant, alternately anthemic and apocalyptic, defeated and deafening. Lead single "Bishop" perfectly encapsulates trauma ray's depth and dimension, ripping out of the gate with "the biggest, baddest, saddest wall of sound." Lyrics about being burnt at the stake and "tossed in the flame" float above a stop-start assault of precision distortion, eventually expanding into a lush, heavy, sorrowful end coda. "Spectre" is a mysterious, introspective dirge, envisioned as a "mellow, slowcore, Duster-thing," all feeling and heavy fuzz chords (with no lead guitar). Avila wrote it, "to be a hymnal" from the perspective of someone who won't let go - a ghost, an ex, a shadow self. Although the album is rich with subtleties, graceful lulls, and "breaths of air," the band's three guitar attack is its defining force, a power flexed to its peak on "Bardo." Perez's intentions were blunt: "I wanted to write a riff that was hard as fuck." The result is alternately mean and eerie, veering between noisy one string bends and surging headbang, mapping a middle ground between Unwound and early-Deftones. One of trauma ray's greatest gifts is their ability to make doomy, sledgehammer heaviness sound like an earworm, without production tricks or gimmicks: "Riff, verse, chorus, three guitar parts - that's all you need." This quality is particularly apparent on the title track, a churning slab of amplifier worship, swirling chords, and heavenly, defeated vocals about not belonging, shape-shifting, and death ("A twisted face / Void of attention / An empty space / In your reflection"). "U.S.D.D.O.S" closes the album, swaying across seven minutes of grey skied guitar and haunted voice, subtly thickening as it deepens. Feedback and shrapnel gradually begin raining down, like a satellite disintegrating in the atmosphere. Titled as an acronym after a poem by Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño that loosely translates to "a dream within a dream," the melody softens, smears, and then disappears, slowly swallowed by the gravity of eternal descent. Chameleon is a masterpiece of craft, balance, melody, lyricism, and gravity, flexing a fresh vision of loud-quiet-loud architectures and the vertigo depths of blasted harmonics. From Slowdive to Nothing, to Hum and beyond, the band absorb and expand on their influences into a rare and dedicated alchemy. trauma ray's cinematic tempest is a gathering storm only just taking flight.

Since first bonding over Slowdive at a Texas karaoke bar six years ago, musicians Uriel Avila and Jonathan Perez have grown trauma ray into Fort Worth's foremost flag bearer of crushing shoegaze. A five-piece rounded out by bassist Darren Baun, drummer Nicholas Bobotas, and guitarist Coleman Pruitt, the band's debut album, Chameleon, captures their evolving sound at an apex of majestic devastation. A fusion of downer hooks, gauzy melancholia, and bulldozer riffs, the album heaves and crashes across 50 minutes of stacked amplifier alchemy. Lyrically the songs trace similarly lofty and brooding terrain; Avila says "The theme is death. And a chameleon, like death, can shape-shift in and out our lives in different forms." Chameleon opens with "Ember," dreamy and distant, alternately anthemic and apocalyptic, defeated and deafening. Lead single "Bishop" perfectly encapsulates trauma ray's depth and dimension, ripping out of the gate with "the biggest, baddest, saddest wall of sound." Lyrics about being burnt at the stake and "tossed in the flame" float above a stop-start assault of precision distortion, eventually expanding into a lush, heavy, sorrowful end coda. "Spectre" is a mysterious, introspective dirge, envisioned as a "mellow, slowcore, Duster-thing," all feeling and heavy fuzz chords (with no lead guitar). Avila wrote it, "to be a hymnal" from the perspective of someone who won't let go - a ghost, an ex, a shadow self. Although the album is rich with subtleties, graceful lulls, and "breaths of air," the band's three guitar attack is its defining force, a power flexed to its peak on "Bardo." Perez's intentions were blunt: "I wanted to write a riff that was hard as fuck." The result is alternately mean and eerie, veering between noisy one string bends and surging headbang, mapping a middle ground between Unwound and early-Deftones. One of trauma ray's greatest gifts is their ability to make doomy, sledgehammer heaviness sound like an earworm, without production tricks or gimmicks: "Riff, verse, chorus, three guitar parts - that's all you need." This quality is particularly apparent on the title track, a churning slab of amplifier worship, swirling chords, and heavenly, defeated vocals about not belonging, shape-shifting, and death ("A twisted face / Void of attention / An empty space / In your reflection"). "U.S.D.D.O.S" closes the album, swaying across seven minutes of grey skied guitar and haunted voice, subtly thickening as it deepens. Feedback and shrapnel gradually begin raining down, like a satellite disintegrating in the atmosphere. Titled as an acronym after a poem by Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño that loosely translates to "a dream within a dream," the melody softens, smears, and then disappears, slowly swallowed by the gravity of eternal descent. Chameleon is a masterpiece of craft, balance, melody, lyricism, and gravity, flexing a fresh vision of loud-quiet-loud architectures and the vertigo depths of blasted harmonics. From Slowdive to Nothing, to Hum and beyond, the band absorb and expand on their influences into a rare and dedicated alchemy. trauma ray's cinematic tempest is a gathering storm only just taking flight.

The Well is the second album by the duo So Sner, composed of Susanna Gartmayer (bass clarinet) and Stefan Schneider (electronics). Recorded over nearly two years in various studios and spaces, the album reflects So Sner's extensive touring across Europe. The final mixing took place in Vienna at the studio of Martin Siewert, who served as both co-producer and mastering engineer. Known for his meticulous attention to sonic detail, Siewert brings his unique techniques and distinctive sound enhancements to the album, resulting in a work that is both stylistically cohesive and daringly uncompromising.

So Sner’s critically acclaimed debut album REIME (TAL26, 2021) was celebrated for its innovative fusion of bass clarinet and electronic sounds in unexpected and surprising ways. With The Well, the duo explores both fluid and dissonant sonic landscapes, embracing different structural and sonic challenges. The result is a quieter, more introspective set of compositions than many might have anticipated. The album is a statement of two confident collaborators crafting complex, spatial musical moments in their own distinct manner.

The music on The Well generates a multiplicity of effects that transcend conventional oppositions such as hand-played versus programmed, composition versus improvisation, or analog versus digital. The album suggests a re-articulation of these categories, allowing the ten tracks to gradually blend one musical idea into another, and one musician into another, in a circular and complementary fashion. The polymetric permutations and exploratory reed components create a soundscape where all elements coexist harmoniously, without compromising or diminishing each other’s presence.

With its sparse sound architecture, The Well invites listeners into a space of effective emptiness, offering room for the mind and body to explore—a sonic island where one can develop sensuality through patient movement.

For So Sner, live performance is a passion of the mind, and since they began working together in 2020, their music has taken them to many different places. The live experience has deeply influenced the recorded music on this album, with the interplay between live performance and studio work informing their creative process. The Well captures the genuine act of exploring new territories, serving as a storage place for the time and space shared by the duo, re-filtering their experiences of performing and traveling together.

The Well is a lucidly playful and ambitious album by two contemporary musicians who are continually learning to create and respond to the subtle and significant changes in their music, maintaining momentum throughout the entire work.

In addition to her work with So Sner, Susanna Gartmayer has recently collaborated with artists such as Joe McPhee and Maria Portugal, and remains a member of her long-running band, the Vegetable Orchestra. Stefan Schneider, founder of the label TAL, has recently performed with Garth Erasmus from Cape Town and fine art luminary Katharina Grosse.

Conscious Pilot was founded by Joe Laycock and Jack Sharp as a successor to theatrical punk group Cheap Teeth, the pair birthed the project from their joint love of immersive, beat-driven soundscapes and an exploration of subtle shifts. After recording the debut EP "Epoxy Plains" in 2024 the band have already recorded a follow-up EP "Wipe Clean". Conscious Pilot offer post-punk with a dollop of sonic melodies, inspiring lyrics and raw vocals.

Belarusian post-punk / synth pop group Molchat Doma have always exuded the kind of brutalist aesthetic of the architecture that adorns their album art. It's cold, gray, imposing, industrial and yet there are human hearts beating within those foundations. In the wake of their breakthrough success in 2020, the trio endured a polarity of experiences, from the nadir of an uprooted life and forced relocation away from their native Minsk to the apex of headlining massive shows across the world. It was in this headspace that the band settled into their new home of Los Angeles to finish writing their fourth album Belaya Polosa, a testament to change in difficult times, a love letter to the digital pulse of the `90s, and a technicolor reinvention of the band's somber dancefloor anthems. From the opening synth swell and drum machine throb of "Ty Zhe Ne Znaesh' Kto Ya," to the goth / post-punk austerity of "Son", to the swirling electronic textures mixed with reverb-drenched guitar flourishes, expansive space, and yearning vocals of title track "Belaya Polosa" - that suggests Depeche Mode at their most reflective or The Cure at their most downtrodden - to the sultry and seductive "Chernye Cvety"_ a track reminiscent of Duran Duran's early `90s output in its fusion of dreamy guitars and authoritative mechanized beats _ and the interwoven layers of instrumentation, soaring chorus, and melodic sophistication of "Ya Tak Ustal", it's clear that Molchat Doma are operating on another level. Molchat Doma gained following with earlier albums that sound like third-generation bootlegs of banned recordings from the Eastern Bloc made after a few key entries in the Factory Records catalog were smuggled in from the West. Belaya Polosa propels them into a new direction while retaining their cold minimalist delivery they're known for. The basement grime and dirty tape-head sound of their previous work are now making space for digital luster and shimmering production values. And while Molchat Doma's broadened aural spectrum adds a synesthetic power to Belaya Polosa, the mood remains rooted in stark and unflinching self-reflection. Molchat Doma retain the duality of being both cold and feverish in their delivery while pushing their music into expanded territories through an armory of new textures. The trio continue to harness the sound of harrowing beauty thriving under harsh realities.

Belarusian post-punk / synth pop group Molchat Doma have always exuded the kind of brutalist aesthetic of the architecture that adorns their album art. It's cold, gray, imposing, industrial and yet there are human hearts beating within those foundations. In the wake of their breakthrough success in 2020, the trio endured a polarity of experiences, from the nadir of an uprooted life and forced relocation away from their native Minsk to the apex of headlining massive shows across the world. It was in this headspace that the band settled into their new home of Los Angeles to finish writing their fourth album Belaya Polosa, a testament to change in difficult times, a love letter to the digital pulse of the `90s, and a technicolor reinvention of the band's somber dancefloor anthems. From the opening synth swell and drum machine throb of "Ty Zhe Ne Znaesh' Kto Ya," to the goth / post-punk austerity of "Son", to the swirling electronic textures mixed with reverb-drenched guitar flourishes, expansive space, and yearning vocals of title track "Belaya Polosa" - that suggests Depeche Mode at their most reflective or The Cure at their most downtrodden - to the sultry and seductive "Chernye Cvety"_ a track reminiscent of Duran Duran's early `90s output in its fusion of dreamy guitars and authoritative mechanized beats _ and the interwoven layers of instrumentation, soaring chorus, and melodic sophistication of "Ya Tak Ustal", it's clear that Molchat Doma are operating on another level. Molchat Doma gained following with earlier albums that sound like third-generation bootlegs of banned recordings from the Eastern Bloc made after a few key entries in the Factory Records catalog were smuggled in from the West. Belaya Polosa propels them into a new direction while retaining their cold minimalist delivery they're known for. The basement grime and dirty tape-head sound of their previous work are now making space for digital luster and shimmering production values. And while Molchat Doma's broadened aural spectrum adds a synesthetic power to Belaya Polosa, the mood remains rooted in stark and unflinching self-reflection. Molchat Doma retain the duality of being both cold and feverish in their delivery while pushing their music into expanded territories through an armory of new textures. The trio continue to harness the sound of harrowing beauty thriving under harsh realities.

Belarusian post-punk / synth pop group Molchat Doma have always exuded the kind of brutalist aesthetic of the architecture that adorns their album art. It's cold, gray, imposing, industrial and yet there are human hearts beating within those foundations. In the wake of their breakthrough success in 2020, the trio endured a polarity of experiences, from the nadir of an uprooted life and forced relocation away from their native Minsk to the apex of headlining massive shows across the world. It was in this headspace that the band settled into their new home of Los Angeles to finish writing their fourth album Belaya Polosa, a testament to change in difficult times, a love letter to the digital pulse of the `90s, and a technicolor reinvention of the band's somber dancefloor anthems. From the opening synth swell and drum machine throb of "Ty Zhe Ne Znaesh' Kto Ya," to the goth / post-punk austerity of "Son", to the swirling electronic textures mixed with reverb-drenched guitar flourishes, expansive space, and yearning vocals of title track "Belaya Polosa" - that suggests Depeche Mode at their most reflective or The Cure at their most downtrodden - to the sultry and seductive "Chernye Cvety"_ a track reminiscent of Duran Duran's early `90s output in its fusion of dreamy guitars and authoritative mechanized beats _ and the interwoven layers of instrumentation, soaring chorus, and melodic sophistication of "Ya Tak Ustal", it's clear that Molchat Doma are operating on another level. Molchat Doma gained following with earlier albums that sound like third-generation bootlegs of banned recordings from the Eastern Bloc made after a few key entries in the Factory Records catalog were smuggled in from the West. Belaya Polosa propels them into a new direction while retaining their cold minimalist delivery they're known for. The basement grime and dirty tape-head sound of their previous work are now making space for digital luster and shimmering production values. And while Molchat Doma's broadened aural spectrum adds a synesthetic power to Belaya Polosa, the mood remains rooted in stark and unflinching self-reflection. Molchat Doma retain the duality of being both cold and feverish in their delivery while pushing their music into expanded territories through an armory of new textures. The trio continue to harness the sound of harrowing beauty thriving under harsh realities.

Following a ten-part series of unannounced artist records and a spectacular high-concept album on Mask Records, label head ZentaSkai returns to the imprint for his next solo vinyl-only release, ‘Bob’.
The A1 sees the Berlin-based ZentaSkai combine a dusty, taped white noise feel with subtle, swirling dub chords as its high-end propels the track forward. It’s a stunning and evocative piece before the A2 continues with minimal drums and electric acid bleeps, a smooth organ lead completing its gorgeous soundscape.
On the B-side of the ‘Bob’ EP, ZentaSkai joins forces with long-time collaborator Sebastian Klenk. It follows their
‘Apeiron’ track on ZentaSkai’s 2023 ‘Architecture Of The Mind’ LP, among other joint work, and sees them deliver a near-twelve-minute track that is a true masterpiece. The track takes listeners through found-sound texture samples, intricate drum patterns, crunchy breakbeats, and more beautiful dub melodics.
‘Bob’ is another fantastic listening experience on Mask Records, already supported by Satoshi Tomiie, Raresh and Laurent Garnier.

The qualities of that object may be summarized as follows: 1, Formal legibility of plan; 2, clear exhibition of structure, and 3, valuation of materials for their inherent qualities „as found“ “ Reyner Banham „The new Brutalism“ Architectural Review (1966)

Following on from our audio visual experiences in St. Gertruds church in cologne, this album contains eight excerpts from live sets, specially produced for the unique space of the building designed by Gottfried Böhm, in an attempt to capture its architecture and sound. Since 2015, our goal has been to establish a format at the interface between pop and club culture, as well as "academic" electronic music, in which media art, visuals, sound installations and dance performances play a central role in an immersive and architecturally memorable environment alongside the sophisticated musical program.

History Of Modern is the band's first record since 1996's Universal. Andy McCluskey has described it as their "best album since Architecture and Morality - high praise indeed.

All artwork for the release has been designed by OMD's longtime cohort Peter Saville.


This autumn also sees OMD embark on the 'History of Modern' tour, with the classic line up of Andy McCluskey, Paul Humphreys, Martin Cooper and Malcolm Holmes. The dates will see a mix of new songs with classic hits.

Hello! Tim here. My band is called Strand of Oaks. This is my eighth record and it's called Miracle Focus. I spent over three years building Miracle Focus. In the midst of writing, I became a painter and spent two seasons acting on a television show (Mayans MC). The dichotomy of painting for days in my garage and then flying out to LA to play a villainous biker on TV was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. The idea of Miracle Focus was born out of one simple concept: to make people feel good. Throw in a healthy mix of Ram Dass, yoga, Freddie Mercury, Alice Coltrane, and Beastie Boys, plus over a year of writing and building the extremely dense architecture of the songs, and Miracle Focus was born. The result is FUN, wild, rhythmic music filled with synth layering and mantra-like lyrics intended to uplifting and hopefully bring some light to whoever listens. In many ways, this record is a love letter to bliss. Through meditation, I found a way to connect with something greater, a positive force that allowed me to write music as a manual towards a more love-focused life. And the miracles I refer to aren't asking the universe for anything; it's just acknowledging and celebrating this complex beautiful moment that we all get to share. It will be gone, it will re-emerge as something new, that will be gone, repeat....repeat... repeat - this eternal cycle. My most sincere hope is that whoever listens might through sonic osmosis experience a similar joy. Sending peace and love. Thank you for your time. - Tim

Hello! Tim here. My band is called Strand of Oaks. This is my eighth record and it's called Miracle Focus. I spent over three years building Miracle Focus. In the midst of writing, I became a painter and spent two seasons acting on a television show (Mayans MC). The dichotomy of painting for days in my garage and then flying out to LA to play a villainous biker on TV was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. The idea of Miracle Focus was born out of one simple concept: to make people feel good. Throw in a healthy mix of Ram Dass, yoga, Freddie Mercury, Alice Coltrane, and Beastie Boys, plus over a year of writing and building the extremely dense architecture of the songs, and Miracle Focus was born. The result is FUN, wild, rhythmic music filled with synth layering and mantra-like lyrics intended to uplifting and hopefully bring some light to whoever listens. In many ways, this record is a love letter to bliss. Through meditation, I found a way to connect with something greater, a positive force that allowed me to write music as a manual towards a more love-focused life. And the miracles I refer to aren't asking the universe for anything; it's just acknowledging and celebrating this complex beautiful moment that we all get to share. It will be gone, it will re-emerge as something new, that will be gone, repeat....repeat... repeat - this eternal cycle. My most sincere hope is that whoever listens might through sonic osmosis experience a similar joy. Sending peace and love. Thank you for your time. - Tim