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There is a pivotal scene in “August in the Water” (dir. Sōgo Ishii, 1995) where the surface of a pool turns into a stone wall. The water that gave the protagonist's life its meaning becomes a threat. As you fall through this stone wall, you appear in a set of underwater coral-reef corridors, and one of the most beautiful musical themes begins to play: Aquatic Ambience, composed by David Wise for Donkey Kong Country (1994). It's a theme that represents the weightless vibe of your new deep-sea life, where you go about your mundane errands, collecting bananas while driving on a swordfish, or, as HerzMayhem put it: "Poor monkey... always swimming, never going anywhere..."

Synthetic Water Music is the second of three compilations, following Synthetic Bird Music and timed to mappa's 10th anniversary. As with the birds, it gathers friends of the label, artists who have released with mappa or played our shows. Most of the music is new, made to measure for this compilation, much of it from Central and Eastern European hands. Birds and water mix well, so please feel invited to play them together, creating your own environments.

Where the birds were in one flock, water is dispersed across four chapters. You live your life as a droppity drop: vapour in the heavens, condensing in clouds, falling into a swamp, trickling into the deepest sea.

Tlālōcān (Cassette 1, Side A)
A place of eternal spring, of aquatic energy that nourishes everything and allows all things to bloom. Bubbly and splishy-sploshy, it is full of dripping sounds and moist caverns (“Emerald Pool” by Pauline Anna Strom), a landscape filled with living fountains (“Oh, to be a Fountain” by Eva Sajanová) and winding streams that flow through the area, forming part of its organic architecture. It is also a paradise reserved for those whose deaths were water-related, where the aquatic and terrestrial beings live in symbiosis and perspectives shift rapidly, from observing a single droplet (Shakali, Lau Nau) to dew (Feronia Wennborg & Lucy Duncombe) and on to flowing currents (Visible Cloaks) that gradually transform into river music (Ursula K. Le Guin & Todd Barton).

Nephelora (Cassette 1, Side B)
A celestial anti-gravity sound world made of evaporation, steam and the formation of clouds, as if looking at “The Sky At The Bottom of the Well” (by Natalia Beylis) or at “The Cloud That Never Rains” (by Henrique Vaz).

If a cloud never rains,
it is not a cloud at all, but a veil that parches the earth with its gaze.
It generates only its own shadow —
a looming mass of suspended longing,
a sky that hoards but never yields,
a reservoir that swallows every river and returns nothing but echoes.

The water in this world is often invisible but sometimes all the more present, as Bint Mbareh describes it: “Recently been obsessed with invisible waters because I come from a place where you have to imagine the water is there even though you cannot see a river, a sea, usually no rain, so water is in the air, the voice and the imaginal realm, drought is imagined to be negotiable.”

Žaboglach Zha-bo-glahch (Cassette 2, Side A)
A fusion of Scottish lochs and Slovak ponds: a misty, foul-smelling, swampy realm, the kind of place that swallowed Artax from The NeverEnding Story. Stagnant waters full of decay become a blooming habitat for sirens (“thereby losing the weightless delight of being swept along with it” by Adam Badí Donoval) and beings straddling the line between fauna and flora, inventing their own communication systems (“Water-lily phase” by Action Pyramid).

R'lyeh (Cassette 2, Side B)
A brooding sunken city at the bottom of the ocean. It’s a journey to get there. Let this chapter guide you, from the shore down to the depths, to the gates of an unexplored world that is inherently dark, unfathomable, and beyond the limits of human perception: starting with seasickness ("Seasick" by Nikolaienko), passing through a classic Poe-esque maelstrom ("Flurry at the Whirl-pull" by Atte Elias Kantonen), a gateway into the darkness and emptiness of the ocean floor, and finally traversing the city itself (“last waves of 2025” by Jules Reidy).
But what is pulling you to a place like this that only a few explore and even fewer leave? Maybe “the darkness that water can contain, the expanse of things we don't know and that can trigger fear instincts even as we try to rationalise them and think we are in control of the rest of nature” (“supercritical fluids” by Diane Barbé).

Dive in and surface wherever you like. Always swimming, never going anywhere. Just don’t forget to take water breaks.

P.S. Birds, then water, can you guess what comes next? Synthetic Soil Music, an elegy for insects and worms? Synthetic Glaciers, or maybe Pollinators? Which sounds would you miss the most if they disappeared? Or what if the third one never comes at all, and somebody, or something, makes Synthetic mappa Music instead. Don't you worry, with the right training data, it can all be replicated, better than the real thing.

You can never really pin down what the excellent Emotional Repose label does and that is exactly the sinking behind the title of its superb All Trades show on NTS. The sheer eclecticism of that show is now reflected in this new two-part compilation, also called All Trades, which offers up little morsels of what they do, something like a sonic tasting menu at a fancy restaurant. There is chugging electronic dub from Apiento & Tepper, industrial clatter from Black Bones, cosmic ambient breakbeat from Paperclip Minimiser and blissed out dub from Yamila & SoFa Elsewhere amongst many more highlights.

The fresh-faced folk pop band Stornoway seem promising: They play with guileless vigor, have a light-stepping chemistry as a unit, harmonize well. Their lead singer Brian Briggs has a lovely, pure high tenor, the kind of voice that effortlessly conveys simple longing. And yet, on their second album, Tales from Terra Firma, they continue to be almost crushingly dull, making well-appointed and cheerfully empty music that successfully communicates next to nothing.

Their Achilles Heel is a simple and unfortunate one, the same on Tales as it was on 2010's Beachcombers Windowsill. Stornoway are clearly in love with Celtic and British folk, and yet they can't write a memorable melody to save their lives. Try to sing along to the verse melody of "Zorbing", their most well-known tune, and pay attention to what your face muscles are doing; most likely furrowing with the effort of recall. Each of Tales' painstakingly arranged nine songs sinks underneath the weight of this insurmountable problem, which is a shame.

If you're making folk-pop, an inability to write a catchy melody is a difficult deficiency to overcome. Stornoway try valiantly with their complex arrangements, which quickly grow exhausting. “You Take Me as I Am” is cluttered with horn charts and pointlessly banging piano. “(A Belated) Invite to Eternity” builds to a full Explosions in the Sky crescendo, with glimmering tremolo guitar and a “Tonight, Tonight”-style sweeping string section, but having built zero momentum and generated zero heat until that point, their planned fireworks display fizzles.

“Farewell Appalachia” follows the same pattern, with celesta, finger-picked acoustic and electric guitar all tracing an emptily pretty circle with nothing in the center. The melody of "The Great Procrastinator" is almost cleanly written enough to be memorable-- and then the ersatz Dixieland jazz interlude crashes in. Stornoway are deft players, and the transitions are tightly managed, but this is praise on the same order as praising the brushwork in a hotel-room painting.

Briggs’ lyrics are filled with uncomplicated images of the good old British countryside, but his lyrics trample over all these dew-covered fields with wordy, awkward phrasing: "And in the gathering dew, I was lucid as a floodlight,” goes a line from “(A Belated) Invitation to Eternity”. “There's a hunger in the air/ A lemon swollen in the trees" he bleats on “Knock Me on the Head”. On “The Great Procrastinator”, he sings that he is “a scientist with far too many metaphors and far too little data to conclude in time.” They don’t read particularly well, and they don’t sound much more natural when sung.

Tales From Terra Firma is a peculiar record-- carefree music that feels leaden; tuneful-sounding songs that offer no tunes to hold onto. They seem an odd fit for 4AD, a label mostly home to singular voices. They may be a mercenary signing, an attempt to ride the coattails of Mumford and Sons' success. But Mumford and Sons, as head-smack simple and pandering as they are, have a pretty crucial ingredient in their arsenal: they write anthems. In that regard, they have Stornoway pretty thoroughly beat.

In the centre of deep space we tune in to the radio broadcasts from an old Class T interstellar spaceship. The emissions endlessly resonate the frequencies of the seventeenth release on the label HC Records by one of the titans of the Valencian scene, The Lost Boys, new pseudonym of the DJ and producer Raszia.

With releases on labels such as Bass Agenda, Subsist or Hxagrm Records, the artist mesmerises our senses with the Exiles of Mars Ep, available in both double vinyl and digital.

Syncopated rhythms are the protagonists across four original tracks together
with remixes by four electro legends: Boris Divider, Estrato Aurora, Dark Vektor, and Filmmaker.

The EP’s first cut is a remix of "Wall Of Bricks" by the legendary Boris Divider, which gives the track an air of crystalline, synthetic and cosmic sound, very much in line with his latest works on the Generative Operations series. Next, we find the original version, where the kick drums are heavier, the synths and basses more colourful and the acid sequences take centre stage in an odyssey of sidereal intensity.

On the record’s flip side, a feeling of overwhelming melancholy takes root in our soul. Valencian Estrato Aurora mentally transports us to the mysterious red sand of Mars in a precise exercise in symphonic minimalism with his remix of "Exiles of Mars", which mutates the original idea with velvety pads, synths and a slow and rapturous hypnotism that sinks us to unfathomable depths.
The Lost Boys' original concept on B2 is a combination of Miami Bass-style breaks and a demonic mantra-like main synth line, backed by what seems like an infinity of pearly effects and secondary melodies, pushing the track towards a crescendo punctuated by a dry and sharp snare.

The second disc’s opener "Bust My Moves" is a masterclass in deconstruction and reconstruction by Dark Vektor with his "Electro Escuadrón Remix”. The genius from Terrassa provides powerful lyrics loaded with a message about the modern rise of the 808 movement. We return to the original Lost Boys version on C2, a futuristic martial discourse takes shape with combating breaks combined with rave chords and brief episodes of respite, almost dreamlike, in the middle and end of the track’s exciting development.

On the D side, rough frequencies verging on distortion materialise through our ship's speakers as we pick up the Colombian Filmmaker’s remix of "Data Recovery For Brains". A psychotronic final appetiser that combines harshness and elegance in the use of the rolling kick drums and saturation of the sound, it is without a doubt the ideal soundtrack to narrate the collision of two galaxies. The closing of the EP features the original track, in which The Lost Boys show us his most mental and lysergic side as the track progresses along a slow and comforting broken rhythm, made dynamic by clever use of diverse acid sequences and clairvoyant stellar melodies.

The complete artistic experience is enhanced in all dimensions with accompanying artwork by
Daniel Requeni and videos elaborated by Frank-F.

Mastering as usual by Steve Voidloss at Black Monolith Studios in London (UK).