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Rauelsson's third solo album for Sonic Pieces focuses on simplicity and minimalism. It recalibrates his love for ambient with an austere approach that conjures an atmosphere of silence and solitude. On Niu, the artist has traded his craft for shimmering layers of sound clusters and electronic editing in favor of a predominantly raw and acoustic recording.

Recorded primarily in Sofia and Berlin and mixed at Saal 3 of Funkhaus Berlin, Niu presents a 9-song journey that includes orchestral compositions, delicate synth miniatures, and sparse brass and woodwind drones with room for spoken word and a hint of psychedelic noir fable. The result is an album that, despite the eclectic choice of instrumentation, paints a landscape of spiritual clarity; an album that without being typically classical, still feels like a classical album. Three themes vary across the 9 pieces, starting with the purely orchestral "Prelude No. 7" before moving on to airy synth bass arpeggio and pedal steel. With more changing instruments, Raúl next takes us into a fairytale flute composition with guest flutist Heather Woods Broderick and brass vibrations by the trio Zinc & Copper. Finally, Katrine Grarup Elbo recites a poem by Raúl, ending the piece on a somber but beautiful note. The rest of the album continues in this vein, creating a unique sound that surprises the listener at every turn. Niu is a real departure from the artist's previous works in both scope and musicality. Everything was recorded without overdubs and with only minimal editing, trying to preserve the feeling of music coming from a room where musicians play live. Overall, this is music that finds comfort in movement as much as in pause and silence; music in which tenderness and tension exist in the same gesture.

The album also follows a certain mysticism with its poetic interludes, alternate track lists and titles like "Podium Of Riddles", "A Keyhole-Shaped Island" and "Ceramic Swallows, Set Of 3". Perhaps, given enough time, a hidden meaning or a new perception will be revealed. Niu is also set to be expanded into an art book, containing poems and photographs by Raúl, as well as an exhibition. Perhaps the key lies somewhere in there.

Dark Entries celebrates its 15th anniversary with legendary synth-punk deviants Crash Course in Science. Dale Feliciello, Mallory Yago, and Michael Zodorozny formed CCIS in 1979 after meeting at art school in Philadelphia. As a gesture born of equal parts punk irreverence and brute necessity, the band incorporated toy instruments and kitchen appliances into their aggressive, angular sound. Their anthems “Cardboard Lamb” and “Flying Turns” from 1981’s Signals From Pier Thirteen EP have been staples in adventurous DJ sets for over 40 years - yet some of their finest work is to be found on Near Marineland, a full-length LP recorded in 1981 but remained unreleased in its time. Near Marineland shows the band moving into more diverse and polished territory (although it’s still as abrasive as sandpaper). Tracks like “No More Hollow Doors” and “Jump Over Barrels” highlight CCIS’s singular knack for embedding infectiously monotone hooks in their stiff-yet-funky grooves. Elsewhere we see CCIS going fully unhinged, like on the searing “Someone Reads” or the demented “Pompeii Spared”, where a spray of honks is barely glued together by a frantic synthetic pulse. While this masterwork of malfunctioning analog electronics has surfaced on a few occasions - this first time stand alone remaster includes four never-before-released bonus tracks and includes a lyric sheet. Near Marineland is crucial listening for all devotees of synth-punk and minimal electronics.

Pedro The Lion Covers “B” By Lync. Lync “B” Original Version On The Flip Side. One-Time Retail Pressing Limited To 450 Copies. Pressed On Opaque Purple Vinyl, Includes Download Coupon. The early ‘90s Olympia trio Lync harnessed the same raw energy and passionate discord of the era’s San Diego and DC chapters of post-hardcore while building their songs on the foundation of the Pacific Northwest indie rock scene’s clever hooks and sophisticated melodies. In celebration of the recent reissue of Lync’s sole LP, These Are Not Fall Colors, singer-songwriter David Bazan has re-envisioned the album opener “B” under his Pedro the Lion moniker, stripping away the celebratory distortion and riotous clamor of the original for a hushed acoustic rendition in line with Bazan’s most austere slow-core moments. Paired together as a 7” single on Suicide Squeeze Records, these two versions of “B” highlight the multifaceted power of the original song, with Pedro the Lion’s version elevating its fundamental melodic weight, idiosyncratic chord structure, and poetic power, and the original Lync version reminding us how their distinctive brand of expressive dissonance and adrenalized execution transformed their cerebral pop songs into jagged masterpieces of the post-Nevermind punk underground

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.

Clothilde’s new album sounds like a constant departure from almost everything. Up until now, her music pieces seemed uncontrolled, a total commitment to the machines. She was, somehow, in between us - listener, audience - and the idea of a machine producing sounds she doesn’t seem to control. Of course, none of this was entirely true, she was mostly in control, but the fantasy, the orchestration of it was beautiful. It was sci-fi-ish, Metropolis-magnificent.

In “Cross Sections” everything is purposely under control. We feel, without being told, that Clothilde is directing the narrative, inviting us to partake of this raw and austere electronic sound, forcing us to learn to enjoy it. This is new. Whereas before she would expect you to stay put and listen, eventually you would understand and give in. Or your body would. Now she is telling you to be there, she doesn’t want to be alone, she wants us to feel this subterranean urgency at all costs.

The real eureka moment comes with “Medullary Rays”, when we start cohabiting with the sounds, when they feel familiar. The darkness becomes real; it is palpable how she is stretching each sound and making them come to life at every moment. It is violent, brutal. Like every track, it's a relief when it ends, it's like coming out of a car crash alive. Much of the A side of is Clothilde pushing the boundaries of her sound. She is not testing but finding new ground and sharing it with us. She is exorcising, demolishing and building over and over again, she is crying and screaming, dozing off with the demential levels of bass, making us constantly listen to alarm bells. She is scaring the shit out of us.

The B side keeps the levels of anxiety high up, especially on the 13-minute “Ring”. Surrealistic drones come and go, every second sounds like the end of something, the accumulation of tension is torrential and it never, never stops. We hope there is a conclusion to this. But there is not. “Cross Sections” builds and feeds on this darkness but, in a way, it is self-contained. Never explodes, never releases itself from itself. It is a continuous process of catharsis that it is never over. It never aims to be. Like, you know, life itself.

We've all been there. It feels familiar. Now it has a sound, or sounds. It can be heard and it is outer dimensional. “Cross Sections” is a tremendous effort from an artist trying to survive something. You never know what is. You don’t need to know what it is. It is just there. Cliché but it has to be said: highest possible volume on this one.

The 2015 edition of Winnipeg’s send + receive festival, focussed on rhythm, turned out to be a generative meeting of minds. There, Mark Fell encountered the music of Will Guthrie, a meeting that was eventually to result in the frenetic acoustic drumkit and digital synthesis pairing heard on Infoldings and Diffractions (2020). At the same festival, Limpe Fuchs first heard and appreciated the music of Mark Fell, planting the seed of a collaboration that came to fruition when Fell (along with his son Rian Treanor) visited Fuchs at her home in Peterskirchen, Germany in September 2022. Black Truffle is pleased to announce the release of the results of this extensive session in the audacious form of a triple LP, housing over two hours of music across its six sides. The collaboration might appear unlikely: what common ground could exist between Fuchs, classically trained pianist, legend of improvised music, instrument builder and sound sculptor active since the 1960s, whose group Anima Sound connected the dots between free jazz, krautrock and ritual, and Fell, proponent of radical computer music, known for his bracingly austere productions that twist remnants of club music into algorithmic stutters? For all their seeming disparity in technology, approach and background, the music on Dessogia/Queetch/Fauch makes it immediately evident the pair share a great deal in their essentially percussive approach and ability to, in Fuch’s phrase, ‘establish silence’. Recording at her home studio, Fuchs had the use of her entire array of instruments, found, invented, and traditional, and treats the listener to some that don’t often make their way to concerts, including extensive passages performed (with Gundis Stalleicher) on pieces of wooden parquetry. Alongside metallic, wooden and skin percussion of all kinds, sounded and struck in every conceivable way, we also hear bamboo flute, viola, and Fuchs’ distinctive free-form vocalisations. Fell also stretched himself, with his contributions ranging from characteristically fizzing pitched percussive pops to swarms of sliding tones and abstract digital noise. Showing both remarkable restraint and improvisational freedom, much of the music consists of duets between a single percussion instrument and a distinctive mode of digital sound, often lingering in one timbral-rhythmic space for minutes at a time. Improvisational forward momentum coexists with a free-floating, wandering quality. On opener ‘Dessogia I’, the shimmering almost-gilssandi tones of Fuchs’ enormous set of microtonally tuned metal tubes ripples across Fell’s rubbery pulse, which moves up the frequency spectrum as Fuchs becomes more animated and switches to horn. At some points, as on the metallic chiming tones that open ‘Fauch I’, only the unexpected dynamic behaviour of Fell’s sounds distinguish them from Fuchs’ acoustic instruments. At others, like on ‘Queetch III’, the waves of sliding tones and noise textures are bracingly synthetic, joined by piercing squeaks and scrapes from Fuchs’ metal objects. Epic in scope, immersing the listener in an entirely distinctive world of sounds, and thrillingly bold in its melding of the most ancient musical procedures with cutting edge technologies, Dessogia/Queetch/Fauch is an unexpected major statement from two of the great mavericks of contemporary music.

Clan Caimán, led by composer Emilio Haro, is a group from Argentina, but their timeless, organic music transcends nationality. “Pica-Pau” (woodpecker), their third album, is their most abstract and minimal to date, but this is not a cold abstraction nor an austere minimalism; the music here, with its focus on rhythm and texture, is warm and hypnotic, seeming to have existed forever despite the fact that it was recorded in 2023-24. As on their previous albums, all with EM Records, the music is driven by the kalimabafon, Haro’s self-made tuned percussion instrument. The kalimbafon’s patterns weave through waves of reverb-drenched lap steel and guitar, as bass undertow and sans-cymbal percussion allow the music to flow music inexorably forward, like a broad, timeless river. The compositions here have a feeling of being immersed in deep night, surrounded by life, away from the enclosed isolation of the urban environment. As with previous albums, the compositions are instrumental, the exception being the final song, a vocal version of the opening track, sung in a language invented by Haro.

Marissa Marcel was a film star. She made three movies. But none of the movies were ever released. And Marissa Marcel disappeared. An interactive trilogy from Sam Barlow, creator of Her Story.The soundtrack to this interactive film video game is composed by the inimitable and Emmy Award-winning Nainita Desai, IMMORTALITY's haunting and complex soundtrack has captured the attentionand imagination of players the world over. Both rich and austere, the soundtrack contains deep emotional complexity and stands as a soaring achievement that brings the player in closer conversation with Marissa Marcel and The One.

Black Truffle is thrilled to present the first vinyl reissue of David Rosenboom’s unique Future Travel, originally released on the short-lived Detroit label Street Records in 1981 and here presented in an expanded edition with an additional LP of wild, previously unheard live and studio material from the same period.

Future Travel emerged from the confluence of two important streams in Rosenboom’s work at this time. First, his exploration of ‘propositional music’, defined as ‘complete cognitive models of music’ that start from the radical question, ‘What is music?’ In this case, the music belongs to the universe of Rosenboom’s In the Beginning (1978-1981), in which proportional relationships determine the material available to the composer in all musical parameters (harmonic relationships, melodic shapes, rhythmic subdivisions, dynamics, and so on). Second, the work documents a key moment in Rosenboom’s long collaboration with synthesizer pioneer Don Buchla. Having played a role in developing concepts for some of the modules of the Buchla 300 Series Electric Music Box (an innovative analogue modular system controlled by micro-processors), Rosenboom went on to write the software for Buchla’s hybrid analogue-digital keyboard synthesiser, the Touché, the instrument heard most prominently here.

In a way that no purely analogue synthesizer could, the 300 Series and Touché allowed Rosenboom to work with the In the Beginning algorithms in real time, the synthesizers becoming ‘intelligent instruments’ that actively collaborate with the performer. Developing the open structures of the electronic pieces from In the Beginning, Future Travel explored the possibilities of simply ‘playing the system’, recording live at Francis Ford Coppola’s Zoetrope studio in San Francisco. Working from loose sketches, Rosenboom added acoustic instruments to the electronic sounds and, on some pieces, the processed voice of Jacqueline Humbert. Like Rosenboom’s collaboration with Humbert on the abstracted synth-chanson of Daytime Viewing, this music set out deliberately to challenge the ‘stratified and illusorily coagulated identities in the musical culture of the time,’ refusing distinctions between ‘serious’ and popular music. But where Daytime Viewing achieves this in part through genre references, Future Travel is bracingly sui generis, existing in a unique universe where radical formalisation à la Xenakis spontaneously gives rise to expressive jazz harmonies and old-timey folk melodies.

The crystalline quality of many of the Touché sounds gives Future Travel a sparkling, immediately enticing surface, its layers of shifting ostinato patterns pulsating outside conventional meter, rippling like waves on the surface of water. On opener ‘Station Oaxaca’, ping-ponging synth arpeggios and hand percussion accompany a sentimental violin melody, abruptly overtaken by layered keyboard runs, before the entry of tinkling marimba-like sounds reframe the scene as sci-fi Martin Denny exotica. ‘Time Arroyo’ begins as an austere study in staccato synth sounds in multiple overlapping tempi, reminiscent of Ligeti’s famous ‘clock’ rhythmic effects. Before long, it opens up into a melodic passage with the gentle heroism of classic Roedelius, which proves to be only a brief interlude before the layers of rhythmically distinct synthesiser patterns begin to build and accelerate into an increasingly dense cacophony. The wildest twists and turns are saved for the epic closer ‘Nova Wind’, where the arrangement focuses on Rosenboom’s virtuoso piano playing, perfectly embodying the project’s radical disregard of stylistic orthodoxies as he moves from hyperactive pointillistic flurries to a kind of space-age gospel.

At several points throughout the record, the distinctive voice of Jacqueline Humbert is heard reading passages from the text component of In the Beginning, a dialogue between The Double (an embodiment of humanity’s timeless desire to replicate itself in spiritual and technological copies) and two Spirit Characters. Fittingly, as all are conceived as embodiments of a future form of techno-human collective consciousness, distinctions between the three characters are not immediately evident in Humbert’s delivery, just as the music blurs the boundaries between intelligent computing and human spontaneity. Adorned with a striking retro-futurist cover (and here accompanied by extensive new liner notes and archival images), Future Travel is a time capsule of radical imaginings at the birth of our digital age, reminding us of utopian possibilities of which our own present seems so often to fall short.

Black Truffle is pleased to announce Resonant Trees, the first vinyl release from French composer-performer Léo Dupleix. An active member of the international community of younger musicians working with just intonation, Dupleix has composed works for solo instrumentalists and ensembles in Europe and Japan, as well as performing extensively on harpsichord, piano and electronics. His music is distinguished by a formal clarity and elegance of surface, gently shaping pure intervals into delicate melodic patterns and shimmering harmonic planes.

Resonant Trees presents two side-long pieces for harpsichord and ensemble, both setting slowly repeating patterns played on harpsichord and guitar within an environment of sustained tones. Dupleix performs on a French double manual harpsichord (tuned to a just intonation scheme of his own devising) and Prophet synthesizer, joined by Juliette Adam (bass clarinet), Johanna Bartz (traverso flute), Cyprien Busolini (viola), Fredrik Rasten (6- and 12-string guitars), and Mara Winter (traverso flute). The harpsichord begins Resonant Tree I alone, slowly sounding out a series of arpeggiated chords that emphasise the unique (and for unaccustomed listeners, sometimes unsettling) harmonic and timbral qualities of justly tuned intervals. Long tones from synthesiser, bass clarinet, viola and Baroque traverso flutes slowly creep into the spaces between the arpeggiated chords, joined after several minutes by delicate patterns of harmonics played by Rasten on acoustic guitars.

On Resonant Tree II, a similar structure and ensemble (without the flutes) are used with quite different results. We again hear only the harpsichord at first, but this time playing a series of flowing melodic lines, each of which is repeated several times. Joined again by long tones from the ensemble, here the viola is particularly prominent and its interplay with the harpsichord creates fascinating acoustic effects. In both pieces, repetition gives the music a static, stable quality while, at the same time, the exact shape of the repeating patterns remains difficult to grasp. As Dupleix writes, these pieces dream of music as ‘space and a sound that one could grasp in one’s hand.’ As the near-static quality of the repetitions and long tones with little incident make these two stretches of musical time feel like spaces for the listener to inhabit, the small variations on a narrow range of related material act like a three-dimensional object whose each facet is examined in turn. At once austere and seductive, Resonant Trees takes its place beside the work of contemporaries like Catherine Lamb, while also calling up the languorous melodic world of Mamoru Fujieda, the dignified melancholy of Satoshi Ashikawa’s classic Still Way and the espaliered chamber atmospherics of the Obscure catalogue.

Lock on for a legit excursion into 140 realness as Sneaker Social Club welcomes Silas into the fold. The breakthrough Oxford beatsmith has been on the bubble-up for a minute, facing off with the likes of Trends and Boylan on Mean Streets, remixing PRAGA and throwing down for repeat appearances on Rinse and elsewhere.

The sound Silas pushes on the ‘Wot’ EP - his debut solo 12” no less - is steeped in the original dank pressure of OG grime and dubstep, where moodiness and minimalism create the perfect storm for all-consuming soundsystem immersion. There’s a wavey swing to ‘Know Yourself’ which contrasts with the strict, claustrophobic drive of ‘Wot’. ‘Ubuntu’ on the flip teases an evocative sound world just past the edge of the mix, but manages to hold down the stripped back approach on a skippy 4/4 rhythm which nudges garage into a kind of tech-house-funky amalgamation. ‘Make It Happen’ offers yet another subtle slant on Silas’ style, crooked and gritty but still executed with
an unrelenting, austere focus.

Consider this an essential pin dropped on forward-leaning bassweight sounds which carry the torch for grime and dubstep’s ice-cold origins, maintaining maximum presence without even a whiff of derivative wobble.

Suffering can be a borderline experience, opening doors to the divine. Canadian black-metal-outfit GIVRE has dedicated its fourth album to this concept, well known throughout Christian history: On "Le Cloitre" (engl. "The Cloister") the band continues its exploration of the atoning side of pain and the austere aspects of faith through music that goes all the way from elegiac elegance to disturbing outbursts. Even the band deals with Christianity, through a historic lense, they should not be understood as religious band in any way!

The group was founded back in 2010 in Rouyn-Noranda by David Caron-Proulx (Composition, guitars, keys), Jean-Lou David (research, vocals), and Mathieu Garon (bass) when they were just 16 years old. They self-produced a demo album, then moved away from their hometowns. David is now a composer for film and mixed media and Jean-Lou is a writer and historian. In October 2020, ten years after their first collaborative endeavors, they reunited and recorded two more albums: "Le Pressoir mystique" and "Destin Messianique".

The creation of "Le Cloitre" was a lengthy process. While most recordings were made right after "Destin Messianique" in 2021, extensive work was done over an extended period of time to add layers and perfect the album's concept. Each of the six songs corresponds to a holy woman from Christian history. The lyrics are taken directly from their writings or hagiography (an idealized biography), delving into their connection to the divine through suffering. The words are sometimes rearranged, but they are all direct citations without anything new added to them, from the symbolic poetry of Hildegard Von Bingen (1098-1179) to the disturbing and factual depictions of Marthe Robin (1902-1981).

The compositions vary to reflect these different perspectives: sometimes dark and eerie, other times blissful or sorrowful. Therefore, a crucial addition to the album's atmosphere was the inclusion of female vocal performances. Additionally, samples from the French film "Le dialogue des Carmelites" from 1959 are incorporated. Excerpts of a piece by Hildegard von Bingen are used in the song dedicated to her. The album was recorded in the band members'home studios. Mixing and mastering were done by long-time-collaborator Gael Poisson-Lemay (Gris, Sombre Forets, Miserere Luminis), who also contributed guitars to the song about Marthe Robin. Vinyl mastering was done by Greg Chandler (Esoteric) at Priory Recording Studios.

An anthology of the intensely arresting work of Robert Fesler (1936-2023), revealing many of his compositions (1975-1987) created with his self-built synthesizers, with as pinnacle the μP RPF78. All music composed and recorded by Robert Fesler at his home on rue Cour Boisacq in Bierges, Belgium. Except one, all tracks are previously unreleased.

With profound simplicity and devotion, Fesler paints a hermetic inner world with strong emotions of confronting solitude, sensual alienation and traumatic angst. His music was as much a therapeutic treatment as an artistic expression. Fesler quotes, »Building my synthesizers and working with them enabled me to sublimate my anxieties.« Most tracks were played and recorded real time, often with two synthesizers (the Synthese 756 and the μP RPF78), capturing the heat of the moment in one take, without multitracking. The austere and reductionist approach reinforces the overall spirit of his work, resulting in an engaging, mysterious solitary journey. It’s quite incredible how one person can put so much technical cerebral content in the development of a machine and use it in such an emotional way.

The music of Robert Fesler might be considered as very Belgian. To situate it within a close entourage, one can say it has: The endurance of Baudouin Oosterlynck The purity of Dominique Lawalree The mysticism of Arsène Souffriau

Chelsea Wolfe has always been a conduit for a powerful energy, and while she has demonstrated a capacity to channel that somber beauty into a variety of forms, her gift as a songwriter is never more apparent than when she strips her songs down to a few key components. As a result, her solemn majesty and ominous elegance are more potent than ever on Birth of Violence.

There is a core element to Chelsea Wolfe’s music—a kind of urgent spin on America’s desolation blues—that’s existed throughout the entirety of her career. At the center, there has always been Wolfe’s woeful longing and beguiling gravity, though the framework for compositions has continuously evolved based on whatever resources were available. Her austere beginnings were gradually bolstered by electronics and filled out with full-band arrangements. The music became increasingly dense and more centered around live performances. Her latest album, Birth of Violence, is a return to the reclusive nature of her earlier recordings

“I’ve been in a state of constant motion for the past eight years or so; touring, moving, playing new stages, exploring new places and meeting new people—an incredible time of learning and growing as a musician and performer,” Wolfe says of the era leading up to Birth of Violence. “But after awhile, I was beginning to lose a part of myself. I needed to take some time away from the road to get my head straight, to learn to take better care of myself, and to write and record as much as I can while I have ‘Mercury in my hands,’ as a wise friend put it.“ Birth of Violence is the result of this step out of the limelight. The songs stem from humble beginnings—little more than Wolfe’s voice and her Taylor acoustic guitar. Her longtime musical collaborator Ben Chisholm recorded the songs on a makeshift studio and helped fill them out with his modern production treatments and the occasional auxiliary flourish from ongoing contributors Jess Gowrie (drums) and Ezra Buchla (viola).

The album opens with “The Mother Road,” a harrowing ode to Route 66 that immediately addresses Wolfe’s metaphoric white line fever. It explains the nature of the record—the impact of countless miles and perpetual exhaustion—and the desire to find the road back home, back to one’s roots. Songs like “Deranged for Rock & Roll” and “Highway” offers parallel examinations on the trials and tribulations of her journeys while the ghostly “When Anger Turns to Honey” serves as a rebuttal to self-appointed judges.

While the record touches upon tradition, it also exists in the present, addressing modern tragedies such as school shootings in the minor-key lullaby “Little Grave” and the poisoning of the planet on the dark wind-swept ballad “Erde.” But the record is at its most poignant when Wolfe withdraws into her own world of enigmatic and elusive autobiography. Much like Alan Ginsberg’s hallucinatory long-form poem Howl, the tracks “Dirt Universe” and “Birth of Violence” weave together specific references from her past into an esoteric overview of the state of mankind. Though the lyrical minutiae remain secret, the overall power of the language and delivery is bound to haunt the listener with both its grace and tension.

“These songs came to me in a whirlwind and I knew I needed to record them soon, and also really needed a break from the road,” Wolfe says. “I’ve spent the past few years looking for the feeling of home; looking for places that felt like home. The result of that humble approach yields Wolfe’s most devastating work to date.

European Headline tour confirming now for 2020. UK/EU Publicity handled by Lauren Barley at Rarely Unable. Immense support from Press, including coverage with NPR, Pitchfork, FADER, Vice, Revolver, Decibel, Under The Radar.

Québec's own CANTIQUE LÉPREUX are back with their third full-length album "Le bannissement". It is a tale of self-initiation, a rejection of society, and a glorification of nature - manifested in their signature style of swirling tremolo-guitar-riffs, tortured screams, and elaborate melodicism. Over the recent years they have established themselves as an essential act of the Métal Noir Québécois scene. They channel the evocative power of Black Metal, carrying vast forests, desolate landscapes, impassable mountains, and cosmic torment. The band members are also associated with Mêlée des Aurores, Chasse-Galerie, Acédia, Manière Noire, Chaos Catharsis, Forteresse, Délétère and Au-delà des ruines.

"Le bannissement" tells the abduction of a young girl and the sickness that is forced into her. Tainted, and rejected by those who should have protected her, she flees to wild and unexplored land, where she shatters and mends herself continuously. In these countless battles, she severs her bond to reality, subverts the sickness, and overthrows those who had seized her innermost Dream. Through banishment, liberation.

The album presents a raging and hypnotic narrative. Fast-paced songs drag the listener in a wild hunt, rushing towards self-annihilation. It was interpreted with the band's live line-up and equipment to preserve the fierceness of the mindset it was composed. This raging maelstrom, built on alluring melodies, shows guitarists Blanc Feu and Ascèse's fascination for music history and musicology. The album's emotional power stems not only from black metal's common genre tropes but also from the austere grandeur of early music.

As a composer Martijn Comes has a special interest in timbral music and various musical traditions, with an emphasis on the electro-acoustic history. His works for the carillon were performed live at festivals like Le Guess Who and Rewire. He also released several solo-albums and collaborated with a wide range of contemporary artists like Frans de Waard, Lukas Simonis, Nicoleta Chatzopoulou and Hessel Veldman, with whom he co-produced the album EPoX, published by Bedouin Records in 2020.

Veldman is a veteran of the Dutch musical avant-garde and published several legendary cassettes on his label EXART in the early 80’s. His experimental soundscapes are laced with industrial elements, creating a hypnotic, dark undercurrent of sounds. Besides operating under his moniker Y Create, he was a member of the improvisation group Gorgonzola Legs and kept working intensively with Fluxus artist and Dutch underground cult-figure Willem de Ridder. The home-taping era shaped his free approach to music. His diverse musical practices have been traversing several decades by now and he continues to play music according to his own insights and intuitions.

Because of the emotional and poetic weight of the pieces, reverend Tom de Haan was consulted for this collaborative album. It was the start of a musical exploration and a search for peace, balance and above all freedom. Reaching out to a distant world, a place to come to terms with ourselves. A journey full of obstacles and setbacks. Sometimes persistently moving forward, sometimes doubtful. 'Are there Gods among us or inside us?' The music as a manifest, the expression of an inner struggle.

Throughout the chapters of this album layers of sound and distant voices arise and seem to float on the surface before they disappear again. Swaying on the gentle waves, running ashore, we find ourselves in unknown places. Manifest Exodus is an album for deep listening in the vein of Lustmord, Lawrence English or Rafael Anton Irisarri. It contains 4 rich, immersive pieces with austere drones, ambience, intense sonic textures and an incredible sense of detail to create a multi-layered escape to a better world.

Inimitable post-rock outsiders A Burial At Sea return with `Close To Home', a soaring sonic love letter to the places and people that shaped them, the collective's first new music since the eponymous debut full-length in 2020, `Close To Home' is a breathtaking evolution of their unique, brass-led blend of shoegaze, math-metal and blissed out afro-jazz that draws inspiration, influence and insight from the rich Gaelic cultural heritage of their Irish homeland. First making waves in 2018 with unbridled bombastic creativity of `_And The Sum Of Its Parts' EP, A Burial At Sea turned the traditionally austere post-rock frown upside down. Quickly catching the attention of like-minded, international genre-benders And So I Watch You From Afar (ASIWYFA), This Will Destroy You ,Caspian and Some Become Hollow Tubes (Godspeed You! Black Emperor), the band subsequently spent months on tour in support, honing their incendiary craft and gaining a loyal fan base across Europe in the process. Despite being landlocked by forces outside of their control, A Burial At Sea continued their adventure by looking inwards to produce `Close To Home': a staggering refinement of the band's already singular instrumental sound. The confidence, experience and sheer musical assuredness behind this album renders any generic labels of post rock immediately obsolete. `Close To Home' proves without a doubt that A Burial At Sea are indeed more than the sum of their parts; positioning the band on the crest of a truly progressive wave of uplifting, anthemic post-rock. Everything you are NOT edition (single coloured vinyl)!

Inimitable post-rock outsiders A Burial At Sea return with `Close To Home', a soaring sonic love letter to the places and people that shaped them, the collective's first new music since the eponymous debut full-length in 2020, `Close To Home' is a breathtaking evolution of their unique, brass-led blend of shoegaze, math-metal and blissed out afro-jazz that draws inspiration, influence and insight from the rich Gaelic cultural heritage of their Irish homeland. First making waves in 2018 with unbridled bombastic creativity of `_And The Sum Of Its Parts' EP, A Burial At Sea turned the traditionally austere post-rock frown upside down. Quickly catching the attention of like-minded, international genre-benders And So I Watch You From Afar (ASIWYFA), This Will Destroy You ,Caspian and Some Become Hollow Tubes (Godspeed You! Black Emperor), the band subsequently spent months on tour in support, honing their incendiary craft and gaining a loyal fan base across Europe in the process. Despite being landlocked by forces outside of their control, A Burial At Sea continued their adventure by looking inwards to produce `Close To Home': a staggering refinement of the band's already singular instrumental sound. The confidence, experience and sheer musical assuredness behind this album renders any generic labels of post rock immediately obsolete. `Close To Home' proves without a doubt that A Burial At Sea are indeed more than the sum of their parts; positioning the band on the crest of a truly progressive wave of uplifting, anthemic post-rock. Everything you are NOT edition (single coloured vinyl)!

What I can say about TORRES is I think the music comes from a convicted place. Not convicted meaning a person is narrowly and foolishly committed to an ideal, or unshakably convinced of themselves, or a zealot, or stubborn. I mean dedicated, I mean: If TORRES' music gets weird, gets brainy, gets funny, gets defiant, provokes, deliberately scandalizes, employs the crass to undermine the austere, courts lofty philosophical truth-it's all done with the conviction of an artist with the (essential) belief in the worth of their task. I think you can hear it in the songs, someone reaching, leaning over the boundary between known and not, probing the almighty. After a decade and six studio albums and however many one-offs and tours and articles read and conversations had, the parts of this pursuit I've been able to observe are all marked by a dedication to creation that treats the act-ongoing-with as much preciousness as the evidence of the act that is left in a record. The modes of being are different: heartbroken, broke, furious (right- and unrighteously), awestruck by love, compelled by desire. sometimes resigned to death, sometimes fascinated by and reverent of the future. Sometimes viscerally present, other times suspended in heady awareness, poised on a fulcrum of observation and participation in the phenomenon that aliveness is. The tools are the same: instruments that growl and shriek and moan, a lyrical voice shouting, swooning, chuckling, snarling as the moment commands. TORRES' music-making is conducted in a melodic vocabulary unique to itself-methods, equipment, circumstances shifting around the impulse to affirm the self within the world, to make art that bears all these little artifacts of the divine and of the real and show it to people and know it is valuable. I think that's what Mackenzie's music does. And I think it's just incredibly good music to listen to. -Julien Baker TORRES is the pseudonym of Mackenzie Scott. She was born January 23, 1991, and lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her wife Jenna, stepson Silas, and puppy Sylvia. She has been releasing albums and performing as TORRES since 2013. What an enormous room is TORRES' sixth studio album (her third with Merge). It was recorded in September and October 2022 at Stadium Heights Sound in Durham, North Carolina. It was engineered by Ryan Pickett, produced by Mackenzie Scott and Sarah Jaffe, mixed by TJ Allen in Bristol, UK, and mastered by Heba Kadry in NYC. The album contains 10 songs. Mackenzie wrote all of them. Sarah played bass guitar, synths, drums, organ, and piano. Mackenzie sang vocals, played guitar, bass, synths, organ, piano, and programmed drums. Additional synth bass, tambourine, and shakers were played by TJ Allen.

What I can say about TORRES is I think the music comes from a convicted place. Not convicted meaning a person is narrowly and foolishly committed to an ideal, or unshakably convinced of themselves, or a zealot, or stubborn. I mean dedicated, I mean: If TORRES' music gets weird, gets brainy, gets funny, gets defiant, provokes, deliberately scandalizes, employs the crass to undermine the austere, courts lofty philosophical truth-it's all done with the conviction of an artist with the (essential) belief in the worth of their task. I think you can hear it in the songs, someone reaching, leaning over the boundary between known and not, probing the almighty. After a decade and six studio albums and however many one-offs and tours and articles read and conversations had, the parts of this pursuit I've been able to observe are all marked by a dedication to creation that treats the act-ongoing-with as much preciousness as the evidence of the act that is left in a record. The modes of being are different: heartbroken, broke, furious (right- and unrighteously), awestruck by love, compelled by desire. sometimes resigned to death, sometimes fascinated by and reverent of the future. Sometimes viscerally present, other times suspended in heady awareness, poised on a fulcrum of observation and participation in the phenomenon that aliveness is. The tools are the same: instruments that growl and shriek and moan, a lyrical voice shouting, swooning, chuckling, snarling as the moment commands. TORRES' music-making is conducted in a melodic vocabulary unique to itself-methods, equipment, circumstances shifting around the impulse to affirm the self within the world, to make art that bears all these little artifacts of the divine and of the real and show it to people and know it is valuable. I think that's what Mackenzie's music does. And I think it's just incredibly good music to listen to. -Julien Baker TORRES is the pseudonym of Mackenzie Scott. She was born January 23, 1991, and lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her wife Jenna, stepson Silas, and puppy Sylvia. She has been releasing albums and performing as TORRES since 2013. What an enormous room is TORRES' sixth studio album (her third with Merge). It was recorded in September and October 2022 at Stadium Heights Sound in Durham, North Carolina. It was engineered by Ryan Pickett, produced by Mackenzie Scott and Sarah Jaffe, mixed by TJ Allen in Bristol, UK, and mastered by Heba Kadry in NYC. The album contains 10 songs. Mackenzie wrote all of them. Sarah played bass guitar, synths, drums, organ, and piano. Mackenzie sang vocals, played guitar, bass, synths, organ, piano, and programmed drums. Additional synth bass, tambourine, and shakers were played by TJ Allen.

Repress!

10 years since the consumerist musings of Tesco, Matthew Herbert reanimates his Wishmountain project and heads deep underground to find the source material for Stonework: 1000 metres down.

Like many of Herbert’s projects, Wishmountain releases revolve around specific, material sound palettes, and for this latest album he’s drawn from a sample library created as a commission for the Stone Techno festival, which took place at the UNESCO World Heritage Zollverein mine in Essen, Germany. Working with sound recordist Lorenzo Dal Ri, Herbert and Dan Pollard captured a varied and wide variety of hits, tones, textures and one-shots from the frozen-in-time remnants of the Ruhr region’s coal-mining industry and from specific materials in the nearby Ruhr Museum and Mineralien-Museum. A sample library created by Matthew and Dan of the recordings was also used for the Stone Techno series, from which tracks have been commissioned by the likes of Luke Slater, Megan Leber, Ben Sims and KiNK drawing from the same sounds heard on this album.

These stone-cast sounds lend themselves to the Wishmountain framework – skeletal, quasi-industrial techno with an angular impulse and a subtle swing. Much like the breakthrough hit, 1996’s ‘Radio’ (made using samples of a broken radio), the limitations on the source material sharpen the focus of the music. What started out as a practical hardware restriction in the early 90s became a purposeful way of working for Herbert – one which carried through the 1999 album Wishmountainisdead to 2012’s Tesco with its sampling of the British supermarket chain’s 10 most popular products.

Musically, Stonework is consistent terrain for Wishmountain – austere and forbidding in one sense, playful and irreverent in another. But from a club music perspective, which Wishmountain absolutely is, it offers DJs a variety of rhythmic formations within the tool-like minimalism of the arrangements, opening up intriguing possibilities for mixing into, out of, or somewhere in between. For every 4/4 thrust and jerk there is a fractured, snaking meditation pivoting around other time signatures.

Crystal clear in its creative intention and simultaneously successful as surface-level club music, Stonework: 1000 Metres Down is a natural continuation for one of Herbert’s most celebrated, albeit intermittent, aliases.

Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of 2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall 's hushed songcraft at its most ghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter. Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with the working title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded, incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signature spectral vocals. A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formative to his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey light shimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away, eventually sinking into silence and stillness." The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience, of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells, between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells; percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a low-lidded plod - it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listener into its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's language skews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey light falls / dark clouds gather / in my soul" ), with each song like a gauzy glimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust - colored leaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons. Lundvall has long considered Last Light a "personal favorite" in his discography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, it vividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in his iconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, of fleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all that disappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years / slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / haunts me through the dark roads of my life."

About Tonder:
Match made! Between poet Alex Deforce and Azertyklavierwerke more specifically. Over a runaway beat, they seem intent on taming the search for love, or anything that smells like it from far or near. "Swiped right, match made" dictates Deforce as rhythmically and unflappably as if he were a Chat GPT controlled computer: more mechanical and cold love has never sounded. What follows would not have been out of place on the soundtrack of Fritz Lang's Metropolis: an industrial drum computer gasping for breath in an attempt to ward off an epileptic fit.
Contemporary yet headstrong, cryptic yet unapologetic: Tonder is an intriguing song full of contradictions that leaves you orphaned but also addicted.

About Soort Van Nerd:
A hearty dash of tristesse rubbing up against the best work of such masters of Weltschmerz like Sufjan Stevens or Spinvis: "Soort Van Nerd" translates as "Kind of nerd" and is a kind of genius underground pop song.
Melancholy and sincere emotion, it is still allowed. Melancholy but above all thoughtful: Azertyklavierwerke handles words and sound extremely sparingly but cuts deeper into his or anyone else's skin as a result. On a nostalgic but austere bed of a drum machine, a naive piano line he pokes Eternal-sunshine-of-the-spotless-mind-wise where it hurts: "I wish you could melt, like an ice cube in the sun."

Skemer is a brand new cooperation between singer Kim Peers, who’s also a model for Vogue, Steven Meisel, Prada and guitarist Mathieu Vandekerckhove of post-metal band Amenra and his personal project Syndrome. Two very different worlds collide and lead to minimalist dark wave deconstructions that are equal parts brutal and erotic. This duality is reflected in the name Skemer, which next to its obvious English meaning of ‘intriguer’ also stands for ‘dusk’ in Mathieu’s native tongue West-Flemish, as well as in their debut album. Recorded just a few months after meeting, a sense of urgency shines through in the tracks that build Benevolence. The winding sensuality of Sunseeker juxtaposed with the pounding harshness of Best, the faint twirl of Call Me versus the solemn gait of Heartbreak. Just like with their effervescent live performances where Peers seductive vocals coalesce with Vandekerckhove’s austere beats to meld into a transcendent fury. Everything has a double nature in the hands of Skemer. Vinyl LP limited to 500. Comes in UV Glossy Varnish picture sleeve.

Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of 2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall 's hushed songcraft at its most ghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter. Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with the working title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded, incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signature spectral vocals. A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formative to his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey light shimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away, eventually sinking into silence and stillness." The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience, of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells, between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells; percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a low-lidded plod - it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listener into its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's language skews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey light falls / dark clouds gather / in my soul" ), with each song like a gauzy glimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust - colored leaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons. Lundvall has long considered Last Light a "personal favorite" in his discography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, it vividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in his iconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, of fleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all that disappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years / slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / haunts me through the dark roads of my life."

‘Life And Death - The Five Chandeliers Of The Funereal Exorcisms’ pulls back the veil unto a nocturnal scene populated by shadows, embers burning coldly in the underworld. Marina Zispin is your guide, siren and protector both. Marina Zispin is the negative space between musicians Bianca Scout and Martyn Reid. Love And Death is the duo’s debut release, five chandeliers of melancholic, vibrant synth pop twinkling in the inky blackness. Both originally hailing from the North East of England and forming a musical partnership before lockdown, Bianca Scout and Martyn Reid initially worked remotely. Having relocated to South London and Newcastle respectively, Marina Zispin was born in earnest after the duo could begin writing and practising in the same space. Bianca Scout is a celebrated musician and dancer with a number of solo and collaborative works in her discographywhile Martyn Reid is a mainstay of the UK noise and power electronics scene, most recently with solo project Depletion. Marina Zispin largely eschews both Scout’s deconstructed approach to song and Reid’s focus on visceral, noise- based productions; the result is a new entity, the underground pop star that exists only in darkened dreams. Marina Zispin, then, is an avatar cajoled, nurtured and directed by Scout and Reid. Analogue electronics redolent of the early 80s Cold Wave and Synth Pop era form the base of the Zispin worldview, with Bianca Scout donning the Marina disguise, embodying the character over five songs of swooning drama, playful melodic interplays and tear-stained, doe-eyed sentiment. Flowers In The Sea opens with an austere 4/4 beat and hypnotic synth parts before Scout/Zispin floats in across the lagoon. Scout’s vocal tone is an instant winner, sweet like honey pouring down over the cold, robotic productions and stereo-panned synth work. We can almost see the petals drift into the horizon before being pulled under by the artist’s sadness. Ski Resort bursts out with a Jacno-inspired bassline and backing that could have been buried in a French disco in 1982 (think Stereo or Linear Movement) before Scout’s narrative details frivolousness and regret before a magical shift for the final coda into major key. Backworth Gold Club closes Side A, a mysterious rigid beat and minor chord synth arpeggios swimming in space, floating and obscure. On Side B, Hymn carries the tone on, church-like synths holding down the pattern for Zispin/Scout to float above in a flowing gown of reverb. The marriage of Reid’s cold musical backbone and Scout’s effortless vocal and co- production is in full flow here, the vocals at times rising to the rafters of this nocturnal place of worship, at other points they’re fuzzy samples cutting in and drifting out or sung with an extreme autotune, abstract and perfect in the moment. Surprise Party is the most straightforward pop bullet, Scout/Zispin’s vocal peering out more from the fog, perhaps revealing more than usual: vulnerability, maybe, the wandering muse of the artists behind the veil or just another layer of mystery behind the enigma? Marina Zispin’s Life & Death - The Five Chandeliers Of The Funereal Exorcisms ends as it began, scintillating in obscurity, leaving everything unanswered but open.

Works for the Ever Present Orchestra Vol. II continues Black Truffle’s documentation of the late work of legendary American experimental composer Alvin Lucier, who sadly passed away in 2021 at the age of 90. Like the first volume of the series, the two works recorded here were written for The Ever Present Orchestra, an ensemble founded in Zürich in 2016 to perform Lucier’s work exclusively. At the core of the music Lucier wrote for the ensemble is the electric guitar, an instrument he began to explore in 2013. Played with e-bows, in these works electric lap steel guitars take on roles akin to the slow sweep pure wave oscillators heard in many of Lucier’s works since the early 1980s. This strikingly elegant pair of compositions would serve as an ideal introduction to Lucier’s late music for a listener as yet unfamiliar with its graceful exploration of beating patterns and other acoustic phenomenon.

The two pieces have quite different characters, exemplifying Lucier’s ability to harvest a remarkable range of musical results from closely related compositional procedures and concerns. In Arrigoni Bridge (2019), Lucier uses a technique familiar from earlier works such as Still Lives (1995), where sine waves traced the shapes of household objects. Here, three lap steel electric guitars (played by Oren Ambarchi, Bernhard Rietbrock, and Jan Thoben) follow the form of the Arrigoni Bridge that connects Middletown and Portland, Connecticut. The bridge’s two enormous steel arcs become slowly sweeping pitches, alongside which alto saxophone (Joan Jordi Oliver Arcos), violin (Rebecca Thies) and cello (Lucy Railton) sustain long tones, creating a variety of audible beating patterns depending on their distance from or proximity to the guitars. With its stately pacing, warm middle register tones, and rich timbral variety in the sustaining instruments, Arrigoni Bridge is a beautiful example of compositional reduction producing immersive results. Flips (2020), on the other hand, is more austere. Scored for two lap steel electric guitars (Rietbock and Thoben), double bass (Ross Wightman) and glockenspiel (Trevor Saint), the two acoustic instruments played with bows, the piece zooms in on the range of a major second (two semitones). The two guitars sweep in opposite directions within the range, crossing every four minutes; the double bass and glockenspiel sustain long tones, producing beats of different speeds determined by their distance from the guitar tones. This limitation of the tonal range means the music is often dissonant and forces the phenomenon of audible beating to the surface, resulting in a paradoxical music composed entirely of long tones yet alive with pulsating rhythm. Exemplifying Lucier’s ability to uncover near-infinite complexity within seemingly simple materials, Works for the Ever Present Orchestra Vol. II is a fitting tribute to one of the major figures of the experimental music tradition and a testament to the continuing power of his work.

"Destroyer" sees the core trio fostering their sound by continuing to migrate towards the sonic realms that capture the fine equilibrium allying the somber, austere, the vigorous, and vibrant. A striking singular vision of abyssal maritime desolation expressed by carving sonic territory that seamlessly blends elements of French coldwave, European post-punk, and first wave shoegaze.

Ever since their debut EP "A Life Of None" (2017), followed by their widely celebrated "Black Sand" EP (2018), FEARING have been procuring a constant flow of commendable releases.Through vigorous touring and live endeavors (having toured alongside the likes of Gatecreeper, She Wants Revenge, Soft Kill, 200 Stab Wounds, Choir Boy, Narrow Head, and Death Bells, along with playing notable festivals as Substance, Home Sick, and Out From The Shadows), ever since the release of "Shadow", FEARING have fastened themselves as one of the apex artists in today's post-punk current.

Anticipated follow- up to the band's debut LP "Shadow" which was one of the most acclaimed post-punk/darkwave albums of 2020. "Destroyer" likewise will be recognized as one of the most important albums within said genre of this year.

Prior to the release of "Destroyer", FEARING's touring/ live experiences include tours with bands such as Gatecreeper, She Wants Revenge, Soft Kill, 200 Stab Wounds, Choir Boy, Narrow Head and Death Bells. They have also played such festivals as Substance, Home Sick, and Out From The Shadows. Expect more notable touring in support of "Destroyer".

"Destroyer" sees the core trio fostering their sound by continuing to migrate towards the sonic realms that capture the fine equilibrium allying the somber, austere, the vigorous, and vibrant. A striking singular vision of abyssal maritime desolation expressed by carving sonic territory that seamlessly blends elements of French coldwave, European post-punk, and first wave shoegaze.

Ever since their debut EP "A Life Of None" (2017), followed by their widely celebrated "Black Sand" EP (2018), FEARING have been procuring a constant flow of commendable releases.Through vigorous touring and live endeavors (having toured alongside the likes of Gatecreeper, She Wants Revenge, Soft Kill, 200 Stab Wounds, Choir Boy, Narrow Head, and Death Bells, along with playing notable festivals as Substance, Home Sick, and Out From The Shadows), ever since the release of "Shadow", FEARING have fastened themselves as one of the apex artists in today's post-punk current.

Anticipated follow- up to the band's debut LP "Shadow" which was one of the most acclaimed post-punk/darkwave albums of 2020. "Destroyer" likewise will be recognized as one of the most important albums within said genre of this year.

Prior to the release of "Destroyer", FEARING's touring/ live experiences include tours with bands such as Gatecreeper, She Wants Revenge, Soft Kill, 200 Stab Wounds, Choir Boy, Narrow Head and Death Bells. They have also played such festivals as Substance, Home Sick, and Out From The Shadows. Expect more notable touring in support of "Destroyer".

"I imagine myself playing these songs in a small club that is slowly burning," says A. Savage of his second solo record, Several Songs about Fire. After more than a decade in New York, the co-frontman of Parquet Courts has left the city, marking his exit with a masterpiece of maturity and a worthy corollary to his first solo venture, 2017"s Thawing Dawn. "Fire is something you have to escape from. This album is a burning building, and these songs are things I"d leave behind to save myself." Produced by John Parish on a 1" 16-track in just ten days in Bristol and studded by the support of Cate Le Bon and Jack Cooper (Modern Nature, Ultimate Painting) as well as saxophonist Euan Hinshelwood (Cate Le Bon), drummer Dylan Hadley (Kamikaze Palm Tree, White Fence), and violinist Magdalena McLean (Caroline), Savage"s outsize gifts as a lyricist and observer - a quality Parish calls "an emotional openness guarded by a laconic wit" - shine. Worrying questions of wealth and poverty, self and other, Savage displays the poet"s gift of knowing when to narrate and when to vanish, leaving the listener to their own emotional privacy rather than instructing them how to feel. The end result is tantamount to psychic odyssey, with "Elvis in the Army" placing us in a subterranean venue where the livid, ratifying cymbal raises the room"s blood pressure and "Mountain Time", evoking an austere waltz playing in a desolate house, returning those listening to life. Influenced by Sybille Baier and Townes Van Zandt, Savage joins a canon of songwriters constantly dilating aperture and perspective. In rendering the signage of laundromats and threats of debt collectors as glistering and totemic as the scope of mountains, rivers, seas, and skies, Savage finds hopes and curses in equal measure.

"I imagine myself playing these songs in a small club that is slowly burning," says A. Savage of his second solo record, Several Songs about Fire. After more than a decade in New York, the co-frontman of Parquet Courts has left the city, marking his exit with a masterpiece of maturity and a worthy corollary to his first solo venture, 2017"s Thawing Dawn. "Fire is something you have to escape from. This album is a burning building, and these songs are things I"d leave behind to save myself." Produced by John Parish on a 1" 16-track in just ten days in Bristol and studded by the support of Cate Le Bon and Jack Cooper (Modern Nature, Ultimate Painting) as well as saxophonist Euan Hinshelwood (Cate Le Bon), drummer Dylan Hadley (Kamikaze Palm Tree, White Fence), and violinist Magdalena McLean (Caroline), Savage"s outsize gifts as a lyricist and observer - a quality Parish calls "an emotional openness guarded by a laconic wit" - shine. Worrying questions of wealth and poverty, self and other, Savage displays the poet"s gift of knowing when to narrate and when to vanish, leaving the listener to their own emotional privacy rather than instructing them how to feel. The end result is tantamount to psychic odyssey, with "Elvis in the Army" placing us in a subterranean venue where the livid, ratifying cymbal raises the room"s blood pressure and "Mountain Time", evoking an austere waltz playing in a desolate house, returning those listening to life. Influenced by Sybille Baier and Townes Van Zandt, Savage joins a canon of songwriters constantly dilating aperture and perspective. In rendering the signage of laundromats and threats of debt collectors as glistering and totemic as the scope of mountains, rivers, seas, and skies, Savage finds hopes and curses in equal measure.

Under the moniker of Jaye Jayle, Louisville guitarist/vocalist Evan Patterson has spent over a decade exploring the more abstract realms of the American singer-songwriter process. On his latest album, Don't Let Your Love Life Let You Down, Patterson continues to mine his unique strain of the meditative blues while finally breaking the shackles of defeat and passing into a realm residing between Western stoicism and mystic wonder. Like Leonard Cohen fronting some intermediary step between Spacemen 3 and Spiritualized, Don't Let Your Love Life Get You Down, conjures an aura of psychedelic grace and enveloping warmth through its pairing of pensive baritone poetics, druggy studio manipulations, and gospel-infused blues. Abetted by the production and mixing skills of Ben Chisholm (Chelsea Wolfe). Across the eight songs of Don't Let Your Love Life Get You Down takes the old American singer-songwriter template and imbues it with a kaleidoscope of synesthesia delights culled from a half-century's worth of fringe music. This aural grandeur reinforces the life-affirming radiance of Don't Let Your Love Life Get You Down. Though Jaye Jayle retains the hypnotic repetition and austere instrumentation of their past, the added layers and saturation of sound intensifies the immersive hallucinatory spirit only previously hinted at in their work. As with all Jaye Jayle records, it's still best suited for the hours after midnight, but it now holds the promise of dawn. Jaye Jayle is Evan Patterson, with him as always is Todd Cook, Corey Smith, and Neal Argabright. With special guest Chris Maggio, Victoria Fisher, Patrick Shiroishi, and Bonnie `Prince' Billy. RIYL Leonard Cohen fronting Spiritualized, Spacemen 3, JJ Cale, Lungfish, Angels of Light, Young Widows Ltd single colour vinyl LP!

Following on from the Bergisch-Brandenburgisches Quartett’s anarchic Live ’82 (BT095), Black Truffle continues its deep dive into the archives of legendary drummer/accordionist/photographer/composer/conceptual prankster Sven-Åke Johansson with Scheisse ’71. Recorded in November 1971 during the Berliner Jazztage at a heavy-hitting concert that also included the Spontaneous Music Ensemble and groups led by Peter Brötzmann, Manfred Schoof, and Masahiko Sato, Scheisse ’71 is the only document of a wild, otherwise unrecorded quintet featuring Johansson on drums, accordion and oboe d’amore, legendary free jazz vocalist Jeanne Lee, her husband Gunter Hampel on vibes, flute and bass clarinet, live electronics pioneer Michael Waisvisz on modified Putney (VCS 3) synthesizer, and the unknown Freddy Gosseye on electric bass. Part of a festival centred on giants of jazz like Duke Ellignton and Dizzy Gillespie, the radical performance shocked its audience, who can be heard heckling and yelling abuse at points, including the titular exclamation of ‘Scheiße!’ Clocking at just over half an hour and recorded in raw but detailed stereo by Johansson himself, the music burns with intensity while also making room for spacious passages and frequent dynamic movement. Beginning with Lee’s voice, Hampel on flute and Johansson on oboe d’amore in a bird-like game of call and response, the unexpected entry of Waisvisz’s tortured, squelching synth bursts prompts the first of many changes in energy and instrumentation, as Gosseye’s busy, roving bass enters and Johansson moves to the kit, his swinging cymbal work and juddering toms extending the approach of Sunny Murray or early Milford Graves. The presence of synthesizer, electric bass, and Lee’s highly amplified voice moves the quintet away from conventional free jazz textures, at times pushing into zones of abstract free sound reminiscent of what groups like MEV, AMM or Johansson’s MND were exploring in the same years. But the energy and joyful melodicism of the music keep it rooted in the tradition of American fire music and its European inheritors. Capable of changing gears in an instant from ferocious blow outs to fragile tapestries of chiming vibes and fizzing synth, the music finds space for Lee’s post-bop free scat (which integrates shrieks and howls just as a post-Ayler saxophonist might), Gosseye’s virtuosic bass runs (a rare attempt to apply the classic free jazz style of players like Alan Silva or Henry Grimes to the electric instrument), Johansson’s folkish accordion interjections, and even a sustained passage of unison bass clarinet and electric bass riffing in its second half. Special mention should be made of Waisvisz’s Putney performance, one of the earliest documents of this under-recorded instrument inventor and player, here playing a major role in giving the music its wildly exploratory, primordial air, his buzzing glissandi and bubbling filter sweeps at times howling like a distressed monkey. Arriving in an austerely stylish sleeve with beautiful black and white photographs by Johansson, Scheisse ’71 is an essential recording that adds yet another layer to our appreciation of this golden era of radical free music.

Eric Emm and Jesse Cohen of Tanlines are indie-rock lifers turned reasonable, happy middle-aged fathers of two, figuring out their place in a chaotic culture and industry that can no longer command their full attention. They are emblematic of a particular time and place that doesn't really exist anymore, yet here they are existing, and thriving, in 2023. The Big Mess came together when Emm and his family moved from Brooklyn to rural Connecticut, while Cohen launched a marketing career and a successful podcast and stayed in the city. Emm continued writing songs_hundreds of them _ through all the weirdness of the past few years, but he wasn't exactly sure who he was writing them for. "I spent years figuring out in my mind, `What is my musical life going to look like?'" he says. "I just kept writing." Cohen gave Emm his blessing to continue Tanlines, even if his own contributions would be limited due to his own non-musical obligations. "I'm like, `Whatever you can do to keep this thing going, do it,'" Cohen says. And with that, Tanlines was reborn. By January 2022 Emm felt he had a body of work that made sense as a Tanlines album. Cohen spent ten days with Emm at his Connecticut studio, along with unofficial third Tanline Patrick Ford (!!!). This was tied together with a sleek final mix from Peter Katis (The National, Interpol) at his famed Tarquin Studios, resulting in a clear vision of what Emm's musical life was going to look like: The Big Mess. The first sounds on The Big Mess are the title track's coiled guitars and thumping drums, building into the kind of outsize, choral rock anthem artists like Tanlines were almost a reaction to. It is warm and nostalgic, and Cohen likens a lot of the prevailing mood to "a sepia filter on a digital photo." He continues, "we were pretty intentional about making this the first song on the album, underlining the way that this is a new phase of the band." Cohen says. The moody, scintillating "Burns Effect" serves as one of the biggest pushes forward for the Tanlines sound, and for Emm as a lyricist. He says that the song is "deep and dark and dangerous, but in a fun way. It's one of the more personal tracks on the album where this ungrounded part of my personality surfaces, but with an over-the-top machismo, almost an ironic character." Other tracks like "New Reality" and closer "The Age of Innocence" are also demonstrably guitar-forward in ways that wouldn't seem obvious for Tanlines (despite Emm's pedigree in austere avant-garde math-rock outfits Storm & Stress and Don Caballero), but Emm is less sure The Big Mess is a total departure. "I'm trying to make these absolutely simple things," he says. "I think of these songs as Rothko paintings: They're big and they're bold and they're seemingly straightforward, but they have a lot of depth and they engage with you and make you feel something."

Eric Emm and Jesse Cohen of Tanlines are indie-rock lifers turned reasonable, happy middle-aged fathers of two, figuring out their place in a chaotic culture and industry that can no longer command their full attention. They are emblematic of a particular time and place that doesn't really exist anymore, yet here they are existing, and thriving, in 2023. The Big Mess came together when Emm and his family moved from Brooklyn to rural Connecticut, while Cohen launched a marketing career and a successful podcast and stayed in the city. Emm continued writing songs_hundreds of them _ through all the weirdness of the past few years, but he wasn't exactly sure who he was writing them for. "I spent years figuring out in my mind, `What is my musical life going to look like?'" he says. "I just kept writing." Cohen gave Emm his blessing to continue Tanlines, even if his own contributions would be limited due to his own non-musical obligations. "I'm like, `Whatever you can do to keep this thing going, do it,'" Cohen says. And with that, Tanlines was reborn. By January 2022 Emm felt he had a body of work that made sense as a Tanlines album. Cohen spent ten days with Emm at his Connecticut studio, along with unofficial third Tanline Patrick Ford (!!!). This was tied together with a sleek final mix from Peter Katis (The National, Interpol) at his famed Tarquin Studios, resulting in a clear vision of what Emm's musical life was going to look like: The Big Mess. The first sounds on The Big Mess are the title track's coiled guitars and thumping drums, building into the kind of outsize, choral rock anthem artists like Tanlines were almost a reaction to. It is warm and nostalgic, and Cohen likens a lot of the prevailing mood to "a sepia filter on a digital photo." He continues, "we were pretty intentional about making this the first song on the album, underlining the way that this is a new phase of the band." Cohen says. The moody, scintillating "Burns Effect" serves as one of the biggest pushes forward for the Tanlines sound, and for Emm as a lyricist. He says that the song is "deep and dark and dangerous, but in a fun way. It's one of the more personal tracks on the album where this ungrounded part of my personality surfaces, but with an over-the-top machismo, almost an ironic character." Other tracks like "New Reality" and closer "The Age of Innocence" are also demonstrably guitar-forward in ways that wouldn't seem obvious for Tanlines (despite Emm's pedigree in austere avant-garde math-rock outfits Storm & Stress and Don Caballero), but Emm is less sure The Big Mess is a total departure. "I'm trying to make these absolutely simple things," he says. "I think of these songs as Rothko paintings: They're big and they're bold and they're seemingly straightforward, but they have a lot of depth and they engage with you and make you feel something."

Essential UK experimental composer Richard Skelton returns to Phantom Limb for new album selenodesy, interweaving his newfound love of electronics and synthesis with mastery of gritty organic texture.

Skelton’s music has always been rooted in landscape, in the loam and grit of the earth: from his 2009 Pennine Moors-inspired modern classic Landings to his more recent Moraine Sequence of geological excavations, his work has been bound inexorably with the stark and untended wilderness of northern landscapes. With this new album, however, Skelton shifts his gaze skyward — in part the result of a move in 2017 to the countryside near the Kielder Observatory, and to a so-called ‘dark sky’ region of the UK. In this remote landscape, light pollution is minimal, allowing the austere majesty of the night sky to be seen with greater clarity.

The resulting album, selenodesy, reveals a new, reverberant spaciousness to Skelton’s use of electronics. It marries the twin worlds of his previous Phantom Limb release - 2020’s These Charms May Be Sung Over A Wound, and its abandoned-factory threnody - with the landscape-revering arcana of his earlier work, which saw him bury instruments in the soil to return months later to recover and record with them, newly imbued with the land they occupied. selenodesy was prefigured by a period of insomnia and the relief found

in stargazing, during which Skelton tried to transcribe his hypnagogic visions: “much of this music came to me in the early hours, in that nowhere state between dreaming and waking. I’d look out the window and the night sky would be swirling with stars. Mars or Venus would be hovering in the corner of the room. I’d lie there and watch the Aurora Borealis dance across the ceiling.”

In selenodesy, we find the lingering, distorted sine waves of album opener “Albedo” that thrum and fizz with an icy, foreboding moonlight, rays of subtle movement that illuminate and darken alternately. Next follows lead single “The Plot of Lunar Phases”, whose passive shrieks echo about a cold, yawning space, reaching an ecstatic crescendo of hissing sonics and swirling celestial drone. Its dynamic range acts like the light of a lunar passage, from utmost darkness to radiant luminosity. Elsewhere, the pulsing, precessional bass of “Faint Ray Systems” gradually opens to reveal mournful, elegiac synthesis that reaches high into the night sky with an unearthly beauty. It is as if, during those long months of lockdown in the Scottish countryside, Skelton tapped into a series of sidereal electromagnetic transmissions, and transposed them into musical form.