Suche:drone

Irish drone-doom-folk act One Leg One Eye, the project of founding Lankum member Ian Lynch and veteran noise monger George Brennan, announce their new album, CRONE, out on 1 May on AD 93.

Today the group share the first track on the album, ‘Many are my Names Besides’, on which they are joined by the elemental force that is legendary actor, performer, writer and director Olwen Fouéré (Operating Theatre) contributing vocals.

Olwen Fouéré comments:

“When Ian and George first approached me to work with them, they were already creating the Crone album as a sonic invocation of the ‘sovereignty goddess’, who personifies the land and the legitimacy to rule it, in her darkest and most terrifying form. As we spoke, the triple goddess figure of the Morrigan entered my mind, reinforced by a marked presence of crows every time we met. The Morrigan is essentially a war goddess, frequently appearing as a crow in a battlefield, a death prophet, a guardian of sovereignty, and a very powerful figure in Irish Mythology.

So I invoked her energy as a starting point, using text extracts that Ian sent me from the Ulster Cycle and other sources. The voice recording was done in one day, improvising the source material while the already composed music occupied my psyche through headphones.

Listening back, at this time in our world, I can only wonder at how much blood and war the Crone/ Crow of sovereignty is preparing to unleash now. Watch out.”

CRONE is the second album from Lynch and Brennan, following on from 2022’s slowburn slab of ambient grit, …And Take The Black Worm With Me. Bewildering, psychedelic and ultimately transcendental, the four tracks of One Leg One Eye’s CRONE shapeshift and morph endlessly in a coarse miasma. Traditional song structures and vocal melody are eschewed, instead the trio directly channel energies from the rich seams of mythological significance submerged below the Irish psyche. The anger, rage and beauty of the sovereignty goddess burn a consistent and deliberate line through the album in the form of obscure incantations and dire pronouncements, the gnarled sinews that bind it all together.

Just as the subject matter of the tracks delve deeper into Irish myth and the remote past, the temporal reality of the album reaches back into the bands prehistory, with the majority of it the material being recorded by Lynch and Brennan in 2021 before One Leg One Eye was conceived of as an entity with Brennan working on the CRONE project while Lynch worked on …And Take The Black Worm With Me.

When they were there they saw a lone woman coming to the door of the Hostel, after sunset, and seeking to be let in. As long as a weaver’s beam was each of her two shins, and they were as dark as the back of a stag-beetle. A greyish, wooly mantle she wore. Her lower hair used to reach as far as her knee. Her lips were on one side of her head.

She came and put one of her shoulders against the door-post of the house, casting the evil eye on the king and the youths who surrounded him in the Hostel. He himself addressed her from within.

"Well, O woman," says Conaire, "if thou art a wizard, what seest thou for us?"

"Truly I see for thee," she answers, "that neither fell nor flesh of thine shall escape from the place into which thou hast come, save what birds will bear away in their claws."

"It was not an evil omen we foreboded, O woman," saith he: "it is not thou that always augurs for us. What is thy name, O woman?"

"Calib," she answers.

"That is not much of a name," says Conaire.

"Lo, many are my names besides."

"Which be they?" asks Conaire.

"Easy to say," quoth she. "Samon, Sinand, Seisclend, Sodb, Caill, Coll, Díchóem, Dichiúil, Díthím, Díchuimne, Dichruidne, Dairne, Dáríne, Déruaine, Egem, Agam, Ethamne, Gním, Cluiche, Cethardam, Níth, Némain, Nóennen, Badb, Blosc, Bloár, Huae, óe Aife la Sruth, Mache, Médé, Mod."

On one foot, and holding up one hand, and breathing one breath she sang all that to them from the door of the house.

The concept for this one is as wonderfully odd as we have ever heard: Argentinian Federico Durand draws on his collection of Cinderella stamps and looks to translate their modest scale into sparse arrangements and carefully spaced notes. Small motifs drift across analogue synth tones, all shaped with tape hiss and soft saturation. Pieces move slowly, often built from repeating figures that shift in pitch and melody, feel tentative, sometimes dissolving into low drones or faint harmonic clouds. There is little percussion, with rhythm implied through looping patterns and subtle timing changes. Tracks favour brevity and minimalism and the result leans into a darker mood than his earlier work, with a muted, slightly worn character that makes it all the more real.

zake has long mastered the art of go-slow pacing with gradual changes in the density and timbre of his synths. Here, four extended ambient pieces unfold through slow-moving synth layers and sustained tonal clusters shaped by hospital room stillness on this new one from the ever present ambient don, zake. 'Hh I' opens with low-frequency drones and faint harmonic shifts that hover without a rhythmic anchor. 'Hh II' introduces higher tones with subtle detuning, creating tension. 'Hh III' darkens through thicker layering and reduced harmonic movement while 'Hh IV' thins the texture with long decay tails. Another immersive gem.

**RED VINYL**Bookending “This Is My Blood “ are two cinematic hypnotist slide lute pieces that evoke contemporary deserted landscapes. They were improvised and made for “ Maquina”, a film shot in the Colorado desert during a psychedelic trip by film maker Joaquim Pujol. The works on here, like the ecstatic second piece invite a return to long form listening. They explore contemporary darkness and contemplate personal loss. There is solely one vocal piece, “ Remission”. A worldwide concert tour of this material is slated for 2026/2027. Since studying the lute in New York with Patrick O'Brien in the 1990s, Van Wissem has gone on to create works equally as rooted in classical Renaissance and Baroque forms of lute music, as contemporary sounds spanning drones, electronics and field recordings. Throw in some of his formative influences from the no wave and industrial scenes, alongside a dedicated approach to minimalism and this has resulted in Van Wissem producing distinct and singular work whose sound is often a marriage of opposites; meditative and intense, forward thinking but with a sense of the arcane. The Quietus has called him "probably the most famous lutenist in the world”. Jozef Van Wissem is an avant-garde composer and lutenist who plays a unique all-black baroque lute. His timeless music is often described as hypnotic, minimal, and hauntingly atmospheric, merging beauty with a dark, meditative edge. His lyrics have a mythical Christian appeal, incorporating themes of love, faith, and the afterlife, often with a repetitive, mantra-like quality. Bridging classical traditions with modern sounds like drones, electronics, field recordings and voice. He collaborates with filmmaker and musician Jim Jarmusch, including the award-winning soundtrack for Only Lovers Left Alive, for which Van Wissem won the Cannes Soundtrack Award in 2013. He also scored the Sims Medieval Video game ( 2011), Uncle Howard ( 2016) Land (2018), Irma Vep (2022), Queens (2023) and Un Prince (2024). He did a world tour in duo with Jarmusch in 2025 and their 5th record “ The Day The Angels Cried” was released. Van Wissem tours extensively, performing in diverse venues from rock festivals to churches, and has worked with artists like Tilda Swinton and Zola Jesus. In 2019 he was commissioned by Cinematheque Francaise to score the silent horror film Nosferatu (1922). He released the soundtrack in 2022 on his own Incunabulum label. The New York Times wrote: Beginning with a solo played on the lute, his performance will incorporate electric guitar and distorted recordings of extinct birds, graduating from subtlety to gothic horror. “My soundtrack goes from silence to noise over the course of 90 minutes,” he said, culminating in “dense, slow death metal.” In 2024 Van Wissem did a sold out nationwide American tour with the film. A worldwide tour is slated for 2026/2027

Mysticisms’ Dubplate series reaches number 10 with the first in a series of specials, taking the genre blurring music of Persian and presenting updated remixes and versions by up-and-coming producers, as well as friends and family of the label.

Started as a sporadic offshoot of Mysticisms’ main releases, with the idea to highlight the wonderful sounds of dub influenced dance music, Dubplate has now become an integral part of the mission.

To start, South London’s Picasso joins the label, showcasing his declared abstract grooves and an EP of Dub and Tech House movers. While his productions aim for the dance floor, they are often characterized by complex rhythms and unconventional structures, prioritizing atmosphere and texture over traditional melodies.

Drawing inspiration from ambient, jazz, experimental influences and the heavy hand of dub, Sam “Andrews” McKay has crafted an EP of immersive “soundscapes”. Joining the legendary Persian (Peter Reilly) as co-selector, his retakes are all warped grooves, wide bass and dubby atmospherics.

Opening with Space Within Art, the street soul meets reggae rhythms are jettisoned, and a Dub House swing drives the track. The love, homage and vibration for Sound System culture remains, enchanting trippy reggae sampledelic vocals weaving in the brain.

Dunya 2 sees a shift, minds expanding. A jazz influenced breakbeat, harp, strings, building to a psychedelic swirl, driven by a dub bass in a clash, morph and glow.

The deep Digi Dub of D Dub Twist grows, warping the ‘JA riddim meets English hedonism’ in true Soundclash style. Touches of drone underlay, highlighting Sam’s experimental leaning, utilising Persian’s love of Eastern mystical samples to marry perfectly for a deep dub excursion.

The self-prescribed “odd-fellow” completes his versions, exploring his love of depth and abstract sound in closer, Jacob’s Dub. The warm roots vibrations in original form develop into a scatter gun House bumper. Dubwise, Lovers, Stepper, all merge around shuffling, trippy beats and skippy hats, Picasso’s groove is laid bare, driving the EP to finale.

Abstract the Mystery.

Amulets is the solo project of Portland-based audio and visual artist Randall Taylor. Amulets employs handmade cassette tape loops and live processed guitar loops to create live, lush soundscapes and immersive drones. Through the recontextualisation of cassettes, sampling, field recording, and looping, these long-form compositions blur the genres of ambient, drone, noise, and electronic music. Amulets has steadily built a catalog defined by tactile intimacy and patient exploration. Deeply immersive, the album navigates the dreamy boundaries between the tangible and the ethereal, where sound behaves as memory itself: unstable, layered, and quietly transformative. Known for his ability to weave soundscapes that evoke powerful emotions with minimalistic instrumentation, Taylor's newest project is a masterful exploration of mood, atmosphere, and texture.Throughout the ambient soundscapes is introspection, melancholy, and an almost hypnotic calm. The album resists forward motion, instead inviting the listener to linger inside its evolving textures, to sit with what's left behind rather than rush toward resolution. Central to Amulets' identity is Taylor's insistence on working, quite literally, outside the box. While many contemporary experimental artists rely heavily on software, Taylor's process remains rooted in physical interaction with sound. "This album differs from previous albums because it's a lot of found sounds, song fragments, and other samples that I have that I wanted to fuse together. I also heavily relied on a lot of ambient guitar and live guitar recording to marry all the sounds together." (Randall Taylor) FOR FANS OF Tim Hecker * Ben Frost * Lawrence English * Alessandro Cortini * This Will Destroy You * Mono * Windy & Carl The single colour edition comes as Lavender vinyl!

Laurel Halo returns with an album of original soundtrack music, composed for the film Midnight Zone by visual artist Julian Charrière. Following the path of a drifting Fresnel lighthouse lens as it descends through the Clarion-Clipperton Fracture Zone — a remote abyssal plain in the Pacific Ocean, rich in rare metals and increasingly targeted for deep-sea mining — the film traces a descent into one of Earth’s last untouched ecosystems.


Charrière’s film reveals the deep not as void, but as a luminous biome teeming with fragile life: bioluminescent creatures, swirling schools of fish, and elusive predators. The suspended lens becomes an abyssal campfire, attracting species caught in the tides of uncertainty, their futures hanging in the balance.


Echoing this tension, Halo’s compositions evoke a sensory freefall, where gravity falters and light and sound flicker in uncertain rhythms. Midnight Zone is a sonic drift through the space between what we seek to extract, fail to understand, and must protect.


Halo’s score evokes the life that exists beyond our physical airbound capacity. The material features long, subtle passages of electro-acoustic ambient, drone and sound design, slowly flowing and unfolding with rich detail. The music, composed largely on a Montage 8 synthesizer and Yamaha TransAcoustic piano at the Yamaha studios in New York City, possesses an uncanny quality: that of synthetic waveforms being amplified and sung through the stringboard of the physical body of the TransAcoustic piano. Combined with stacks of violin and viol da gamba, the music on Midnight Zone possesses trace elements of a human hand in an otherwise sunken landscape. Patient, submerged, and alive. The album will be the third on Halo’s imprint, Awe.


The film is central to Charrière’s current solo exhibition Midnight Zone. The exhibition engages with underwater ecologies, exploring the complexity of water as an elemental medium affected by anthropogenic degradation. Reflecting upon its flow and materiality, profundity and politics, its mundane and sacral dimensions, the solo show acts as a kaleidoscope, inviting us to dive deep.

This is a highly limited pressing, please order your desired quantity and we’ll see what we can supply.

We are pleased to be back with the talented Groof, the experienced producer from Madrid’s legendary electronic music scene, who is responsible for our eighth release and his debut on Kontralamakina.

We welcome you to “Simulation.” This EP/LP consists of a collection of 5 tracks that explore repetition and dynamism, with structures generated by various noise sources and algorithmic sequencing with a raw and forceful sound. It consists of excellently stomping techno rawness exercises.

Plus 1 remix by the techno legend Oscar Mulero Remix; Outstanding mind bending tools, Expertly careful Drone treatments, Stunning, deep, atmospheric but energetic Techno voyage.

Deaf Center travel through quiet pathways and grand boulevards in their fourth studio album “Through Time”.

Since their last full-length LP, “Low Distance” (2019), the duo has gradually shifted towards a more long-form electroacoustic sound which perhaps makes for their most immersive listening experience so far. Otto A Totland’s piano travels in less frequent rhythms than before, yet is felt even more as a relief in the quieter moments that contrast with Erik K Skodvin’s deep atmospheric worlds. There’s a searching quality within the record which feels like slow movements on the way towards something meaningful, capturing a sense of both peace and awe.

The latter part of the album takes a different turn: fluctuating electronic rhythms over deep strings create an ecstatic yet haunting duality. It is the first time a guest musician appears on a Deaf Center record: British composer and musician Simon Goff joins with violin and viola in the finale, “Further”, a hypnotising piece submerged in layers of strings and drones.

The subject of time is an ambitious one, yet Deaf Center manage to balance the humble with the grand in great warmth as seconds become minutes, hours become days and time seemingly freezes as a still-life moment.

Saxophonist, producer and composer Brian Allen Simon explores darker hues, transposing waking and altered states under his studio veil Anenon. On the deeply evocative new album 'Dream Temperature', he shifts electronic processing to the foreground, introducing digitized wind instruments and unworldly atmospherics, not heard since his innovating mid-late 2010s output.

A longtime Los Angeles resident, born and raised, Brian Allen Simon has expressively operated under the moniker Anenon, releasing the highly revered 'Petrol' (2016), 'Tongue' (2018) and the viscerally beautiful 'Moons Melt Milk Light' (2023), in a line of unwavering musical dialogues. While the penultimate album was a deliberate, reductive, entirely acoustic detour that was born out of a want to unplug, 'Dream Temperature' sees Brian primed with a newly discovered wind synthesizer as his central compositional tool, alongside acoustic piano and tenor saxophone. The entirety of the album's electronics are triggered by Brian's lungs, generating otherworldly synths modulated by expressive breath control, channelled through the laptop as the core processing chamber for added textural components and field recordings.

A free floating and heavy emotional resonance marks 'Dream Temperature' from beginning to end, invoking the feeling of waking up, still heavy from a night of half-remembered dreams, and continuing one's day in this state. Simon maps out the album's spatial voice early on the statement title track, a deep, yet compact cut, generated from digital saxophone rasps that whistle by in close proximity, along with haze filled textures and sub bass. There is a sonic oscillation of urban grit and pastoral drift throughout as tracks pass by like introspective thoughts, fueling both a tense and ethereal quality that underpins the album. Interluding solo and part-solo piano improvisations 'Last Sun 1' and '2' are positioned adjacent to the buffering digital soundscapes. Their softer, still processed timbres pierce the melancholic exterior, offering a contrasting tenderness that could echo the grace of Ry?ichi Sakamoto, the spiritualist rigor of ECM's Keith Jarrett and a touch akin to Aphex Twin's piano miniatures. 'Nulle Part 1+2' signals the first appearance of an acoustic wind instrument, as tenor saxophone flourishes are juxtaposed against noisy drones, all shouting at the void, with notes resurfacing like lost digital data.

The album was recorded at home during either sunset or nocturnal hours between September of 2024 and October of 2025, a period in which Brian found himself craving more lengthy and intimate studio time as he searched for more pronounced textural qualities amidst his new sonic ambitions. 'When The Light Appears, Boy' shows further evidence of this deeper universe, revealing a grittier edge as the album's essential blueprint is sonically inked. A sprawling expanse of wind synths rhythmically encircle the listener before a dreamy, ghostly ambience blankets 'Toyama'. The sound is evocative of the productions of post dubstep era luminaries such as Burial or the productions of HTRK's Nigel Yang. More isolating and enveloping than the previous all acoustic record, this is music both disorienting and yet warmly inviting all at once. A sonic diarist at heart, personal field recordings were also taken from Sardinia, Japan, Big Sur and LA which intersect at unexpected moments throughout the album's 31-minute play time.

'Dream Temperature' is a vital coalescence of both Simon's electronic and acoustic practices with repositioned electronics akin to earlier works, both haunting and elegant, yet still profoundly personal. Simon continuously resonates as an experimental outlier treading an enthralling, non-linear musical path. This music resolutely glows with an unknowing aura, like an untapped energy source waiting to be discharged.

Yearly compilation series RADAR KEROXEN return with its sixth volume of theme-driven releases, continuing to chart the fractured sonic terrain of the Canary Islands’ undergrowth.

After digging through indie, psychedelia, shoegaze, and site-specific drone, Vol. 6 dives headfirst into the after-hours circuitry of the islas afortunadas, assembling a hand-picked selection of underground club mutations from five long-standing operators within the local electronic ecosystem.

If Vol. 5 was shaped by the cavernous resonance of Santa Cruz’s obsolete gasoline tank, Vol. 6 is fuelled by late-night club aesthetics and mid-90s hardware obsession. Opening the record, Dancelwerk — one of the archipelago’s early modular practitioners — delivers tightly wound structures nodding to Warp-era golden agefuturism and southern Tenerife’s rave boom. Cmos34 follow with their first-ever published material, injecting instability into the system through improvised techno rituals built on friction and feedback.

Jorganes drags the narrative deeper into hypnotic territory, stripping club music down to its skeletal pulse and channeling disciplined repetition and late-90s minimalism into austere, trance-inducing momentum. From Gran Canaria, Sunday German Flowers bends the mood toward cinematic dub: heavy low-end pressure, spoken word, and nocturnal atmospheres stitched into slow-burning club noir.

Closing the circle, Nico Hernández pulls the compilation back to volcanic ground with ambient compositions shaped by Lanzarote’s raw geological landscape — basalt echoes, tectonic silence, and island isolation rendered in sound.

As always, the release is housed in a post-tropical collage artwork by Pura Márquez.

Master by Daniel García
Artwork by Pura Marquéz

A live document of the Melvins' performance of the experimental piece `Colossus of Destiny,' this release captures the band's avant-garde side at its most uncompromising. Consisting largely of feedback, drones, and noise improvisations with only a brief appearance of traditional rock structure, it highlights their willingness to blur the lines between rock concert and sound-art installation.

»Music for Shared Rooms« is B. Fleischmann’s eleventh solo album and his first since 2018. It is also not an album, or at least not in the conventional sense of the word. These 16 instrumental pieces provide a kaleidoscopic glimpse of a forward-thinking musician at home in many different musical worlds, including experimental and abstract music, pop and more classically-minded compositional forms. These pieces were culled from an archive of roughly 600 compositions for theatre pieces and films written throughout the past twelve years. The Österreichischer Filmpreis-awarded composer, however, aimed for more than simply documenting his extensive work in and with different media. To do so, he edited and re-mixed the individual recordings for this release, taking them out of their contexts and reworking them for an audience who can experience them in a different setting. »Music for Shared Rooms« makes it possible for its listeners to engage with the sounds and to fill the spaces they open up with their own imagination.

Roughly speaking, music for theatre or film can serve two functions: it either takes the lead, or underscores what is happening on stage or screen. The marvelous thing about these pieces is that they manage to do both. Fleischmann’s work as a prolific producer has always drawn on contrasts, at times combining pop sentiment with rigid experimentation, the seemingly naive with the intricate and complex. This approach also marks the tracks collected here: bringing together acoustic elements and electronic sounds, at times working with conventional structures but always de- and re-contextualising them, Fleischmann constructs a vivid dramaturgy out of discrete singular compositions, letting them interact across the record.

Take, for example, the opener »Träumerei« and the following »Brenne«: after the soothing acoustic sounds of the former, the latter quickly picks up speed with hard-hitting drum machine rhythms. It’s a stark contrast sonically and stylistically, however both tracks are tied together by a certain harmonic sensibility. This sort of dramaturgical interconnectedness of varied musical materials is the thread that runs through »Music for Shared Rooms«. A droney piece for string instruments like »Sehnsucht« is followed by a trip-hop beat, before »Schock« lives up to its title with skittering beats and piercing high frequencies. The differences between the pieces may be striking, but the progression from one to the other is subtle. It goes on like this through different moods and tempos. There’s soothing-yet-eerie piano pieces like the »Für Elise«-inspired »Der Lärmkrieg«, gentle house grooves, joyful synthesizer excursions and, finally, »Die Erde ist mir fremd geworden«, a collage of abstract textures and concrete sounds.

All these pieces create distinct situations through the juxtaposition of diverse musical elements, but are also bound together by a single vision. Writing music for theatre pieces or film requires a composer and his pieces to engage with people and their movements in space, which is exactly what Fleischmann offers on this record. He breaks down the fourth wall and invites his listeners into his world, a wide-ranging musical panorama. »Music for Shared Rooms« is indeed not an album in the conventional sense of the word, but more like a photo album in which each page opens up a new space to get lost in; recreates different scenes in which you can immerse yourself. These are shared rooms indeed.

Analogue electronics of crispy drum-driven madness on the A-side and an organic dark ambient drone on the B, live-jammed & recorded directly to cassette tape. Cover is DIY-printed with purple flock. Caution is advised!

Alex Zhang Hungtai steht auf ,Dras" still da, aber es ist eine Stille, die jede Menge Möglichkeiten hat. Diese neun Stücke wurden 2019 in der Saint Joseph Oratory in Montreal aufgenommen (kurz bevor ein Klavier kaputtgemacht wurde) und lagen während der Pandemiejahre auf seiner Festplatte, bis endlich der Funke übersprang. Was jetzt entsteht, fühlt sich an, als würde man jemandem dabei zusehen, wie er die Konturen seiner eigenen inneren Landschaft nachzeichnet, wobei jede Melodielinie eine sorgfältige Auseinandersetzung mit dem Unbewussten ist. Dies ist nur im weitesten Sinne ein Saxophon-Album. Das Terrain hier ist taktil und unerbittlich. Im Titeltrack werden schwierige Melodien auseinandergerissen und zu emotionalen Drones geformt, wobei Dissonanzen ineinandergreifen, während Töne mit metallischem Glanz ihren Weg durch die Sinne bahnen. ,El Khela" bricht sich in spektrale Schichten, die mit ewiger Schwerkraft ziehen, während ,Estado" Trost in seiner eigenen Dunstglocke findet, mit Rhythmen, die kaum hörbar sind, aber mit ihrer Kadenz, die sich an grauen Wänden abzeichnet, vorwärts führen. Es sind kleine Momente, die zu kathartischen Klangatmen werden und jeweils neue Passagen durch die psychische Geografie offenbaren. Es liegt Schönheit in den subtilen Wiederholungen des Openers ,Erg" und in den leuchtenden Progressionen von ,White Dwarf". Zhangs Saxophon wird zu einer Wünschelrute für das Unbekannte, während Elektrizität durch die Adern des Albums fließt und sein Atem alles an etwas wortlos Menschlichem verankert. Die digitale Bearbeitung dieser Kirchenaufnahmen verdeckt nicht das menschliche Element von ,Dras". Sie verwandelt das Rohmaterial in etwas, das zwischen äußerem Raum und innerer Landschaft navigiert. Als der Schlusssong ,Mazil" kommt, lässt Alex Zhang Hungtai sein Saxophon seine volle Resonanz entfalten. Tiefe, kehlige Klänge öffnen sich wie Abgründe unter melodischen Konstellationen, die in dichter Schwerkraft schweben. Hier herrscht Endgültigkeit, auch wenn sich etwas in diesen Passagen schwerelos anfühlt. Diese Musik ist durchdrungen von innerem Dialog, einem wortlosen Zauber, der über dem psychischen Abgrund tanzt. Tonale Sequenzen zerfallen in betäubende Klänge, eine scharfe, elegante Kante, die schneidet, ohne Blut zu vergießen. Dieses einsame Werk der Erforschung wird zu etwas Gemeinschaftlichem. ,Dras" ist eine Karte, um den Raum zwischen dem, wo wir sind, und dem, wo wir hingehen könnten, zu durchqueren.

Amulets is the solo project of Portland-based audio and visual artist Randall Taylor. Amulets employs handmade cassette tape loops and live processed guitar loops to create live, lush soundscapes and immersive drones. Through the recontextualisation of cassettes, sampling, field recording, and looping, these long-form compositions blur the genres of ambient, drone, noise, and electronic music. Amulets has steadily built a catalog defined by tactile intimacy and patient exploration. Deeply immersive, the album navigates the dreamy boundaries between the tangible and the ethereal, where sound behaves as memory itself: unstable, layered, and quietly transformative. Known for his ability to weave soundscapes that evoke powerful emotions with minimalistic instrumentation, Taylor's newest project is a masterful exploration of mood, atmosphere, and texture.Throughout the ambient soundscapes is introspection, melancholy, and an almost hypnotic calm. The album resists forward motion, instead inviting the listener to linger inside its evolving textures, to sit with what's left behind rather than rush toward resolution. Central to Amulets' identity is Taylor's insistence on working, quite literally, outside the box. While many contemporary experimental artists rely heavily on software, Taylor's process remains rooted in physical interaction with sound. "This album differs from previous albums because it's a lot of found sounds, song fragments, and other samples that I have that I wanted to fuse together. I also heavily relied on a lot of ambient guitar and live guitar recording to marry all the sounds together." (Randall Taylor) FOR FANS OF Tim Hecker * Ben Frost * Lawrence English * Alessandro Cortini * This Will Destroy You * Mono * Windy & Carl

Carlos Giffoni reconnects with Thurston Moore for two sides of loose-limbed axe noise, oscillator worship and hard-phased, Spacemen 3-style feedback.

Giffoni’s been on a roll recently. Since the No Fun founder returned to the scene with »Vain¡, a genius set of synth mutations that appeared in iDEAL back in 2018, he’s been slowly ramping up the activity, dropping the celestial »Dream Walker« on Stephen O’Malley’s Ideologic Organ in 2024 and following it with »Pendulum«, a bumper compendium of collaborations, just a few weeks back. For those who remember Giffoni’s first trip round the block, he was always able to hold his own chopping it up in person, not just by mail.

Just scrub through his early catalog and you’ll see collabs with Nels Cline and Chris Corsano, Merzbow, Jim O’Rourke and Lasse Marhaug, and of course, Thurston Moore. The two rekindle their thing on »IGUANA’« picking up where 2001’s fabled »4 Guitars Live« performance left off. Here, Giffoni straddles a tabletop synth and FX while Moore attacks his signature Jazzmaster with a drumstick and a screwdriver – vibes fully intact.

Moore is on blistering form, sounding as if he’s taken a step back to refresh his approach since the early ‘00s when he could be spotted moonlighting on any number of basement-adjacent noise sides. Sawing at his strings and turning the guitar into a shrieking resonator, he leaves only faint vapours of the classic Sonic Youth sound as opiating accents on his animalistic wails and rumbles. On the opening half, his whammy – assisted shreds are balanced out by Giffoni’s off-world whirrs and airlocked vibrations, building a dense wall of noise towards an unexpectedly elegiac conclusion. At some point, Giffoni’s rasping churr transforms into a simmering shudder and Moore’s into hymnal drones – squint a bit and you could almost call it pretty.

Of course, they ramp things up on the flip, dissolving the melancholia with smokey white noise and twangy, post-Derek Bailey chimes that Giffoni accompanies with aggy oscillations. Like every great taped noise set, the recording quality is crucial - »IGUANA« was captured from the pit by Guillermo Hernandez Avendano, the dad of Lia Miranda who provides the cover photo. It’s that kinda show.

Some years ago, Kjell Bjørgeengen and Keith Rowe attempted to convert video signals into sound by setting up Rowe’s pickups next to an old CRT monitor, turning its magnetic field into a sound generator. Rowe further developed the system with David Jones at Alfred University, slimming down the setup using a copper coil, a circuit board, a video input, and a telephone pickup. Jones named it the »Flood Coil«, and it’s that instrument you can see on the album’s front cover and that lies at the core of these recordings, made without any physical live input from the artists themselves. In essence, it’s generative music in its purest form.

Bjørgeengen’s video feed is generated by oscillators, then routed into Marhaug’s pedals and then back into the Flood Coil, so any visual shifts alter the sound, and any modification to the sound changes the video. The duo have played this setup live many times, but for this studio version they left the system to do its thing without any intervention for two minutes at a time before moving onto the next idea. They recorded hours and hours using this process and then selected 18 highlights for this album, extracting harsh noise, power electronics, lulling feedback drone, and peculiar rhythmic snippets to show the scope of their technique.

A wall of growling, hi-octane Pulse Demon-style noise opens the set, gradually exposing us to more asymmetric textures, shifting through unstable repetitions that transform Merzbow’s metal-inspired screams into »Aaltopiiri«-era rhythmic noise. It’s remarkable, actually, how much Marhaug and Bjørgeengen can squeeze from the system, chancing on shivering, lower-case chugs and pops, galloping drums, soundsystem subs, and grinding blast beats that sound like Napalm Death’s »Scum« piped through a broken amp stack. It ain’t pretty, but noise/industrial freaks will revel in the fierce delights inside.

At the turn of the millenium the original „Astral Disaster“ subcription-only vinyl release was somewhat of an Unholy Grail for Coil collectors!



Virtually unobtainable in its original fiercely limited format of only 99 copies, it is the only album apart from the original „Musick to play in the
Dark“ record to combine the genius of Balance and Sleazy with both Drew McDowall and Thighpaulsandra's talents.

Like „Musick“ it is an essentially tidal/lunar record with literal washes of sound enveloping the listener. Intensely engaging tracks like „The Avatars“ and the later concert tour-de-force „I don't want to be the one“ owe equal amounts to drone and kraut, but are quintessentially Coil.

The record was re-imagined and enhanced a short time later, but even this more widely available re-edition on Coil's own Thresholdhouse imprint has been unavailable for too long now.

At the turn of the millenium the original „Astral Disaster“ subcription-only vinyl release was somewhat of an Unholy Grail for Coil collectors!



Virtually unobtainable in its original fiercely limited format of only 99 copies, it is the only album apart from the original „Musick to play in the
Dark“ record to combine the genius of Balance and Sleazy with both Drew McDowall and Thighpaulsandra's talents.

Like „Musick“ it is an essentially tidal/lunar record with literal washes of sound enveloping the listener. Intensely engaging tracks like „The Avatars“ and the later concert tour-de-force „I don't want to be the one“ owe equal amounts to drone and kraut, but are quintessentially Coil.

The record was re-imagined and enhanced a short time later, but even this more widely available re-edition on Coil's own Thresholdhouse imprint has been unavailable for too long now.

Salix is a bold new departure for modular synthesist Loula Yorke, seen here using an antique reed organ to explore the ancient roots of willow trees in magic, myth and medicine, as well as inviting another musician into her recording studio for the first time, clarinettist Charlotte Jolly.

The EP forms a sonic archive of a singular instrument: an antique free reed organ left behind by a previous encumbent of Asylum Studios, (the artists' co-operative in Suffolk where Yorke's Truxalis labelmate and life collaborator, Seiche, has a studio space). The organ is in poor condition and fascinatingly, painfully detuned. Yorke's recordings bring out its host of unusual quirks exacerbated by age and neglect: the powerful rhythmic creaking of the wooden treadles; the bone-shaking resonance emanating from its body at specific pitches; unexpected exclamations of harmonic collision from within the carcass redolent of a human voice; the piercing, shrieking whistles of broken reeds, and the powerful timbres unlocked via Yorke's experiments with various combinations of stops.

The three tracks that form Salix are inspired by a local weeping willow tree, a constant companion photographed over the course of a year. Boughs caught in a gyre. A maiden in mourning. Branches that gesture in the wrong direction. A tree turned upside down. A hand-woven willow basket, an old technology to gather and store. The journey of a lovelorn bard through the underworld, a bundle of willow under one arm for protection.

For the opening track, The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction, Yorke recorded herself playing a simple unaccompanied improvisation on the organ, the only ornamentation being the processed sounds of the keys being struck and returning to their positions.

For Bundle of Styx, a spell of protection is cast and then broken. Yorke invited virtuoso clarinettist Charlotte Jolly into the studio to test combining the breathy textures of both brass and natural reeds, the instruments uniting and obsuring each other in turn during this one-take improvisation. The organ's unpredictable sharpened tunings take centre stage here, with Jolly using them as a point of departure to conjure a set of peerless harmonic improvisations live in the moment. Throughout the improvisation, Yorke, a self-taught musician, unpracticed on the organ, supports and challenges, freely admitting that she's not always sure what effect her decisions to move up and down the keyboard or pull out certain stops will have. Jolly's genius lies in her ability to meet and build on every uncertain pitch thrown her way, saying of the experience, "I love that Loula isn't classically trained, I can't predict at all what she's about to do."

For the final track, With the Red Dawn, Yorke has come up with another unique combination of textures, this time bringing her own specialism in modular synthesis to the fore. A ten-minute reed organ drone characterised with ever-shifting bass swells and overtones is layered with tuned sines, often shudderingly wave-folded, that ebb and flow both in intensity and harmonic colour according to the duty cycles of eight interrelated LFOs. These recordings are collaged with Yorke's singing voice and a langorous, ascending sequence across two octaves on Jolly's clarinet, all arranged to form a cohesive whole far greater than the sum of its parts. Smatterings of untuned percussion and a fragment of a conversation between the duo left in the final mix cements Yorke's unprecious DIY aesthetic into the release.

At its heart, Salix is like watching the wind in the willows; hundreds of thousands of identical tiny leaves moving in confluence on its branches; at once one thing and many things; moment-to-moment our perception makes out different individuals parts within this expanse of texture, before sinking back into the whole.

Hey Mercedes, formed from members of Chicago's emo band Braid, included Bob Nanna, Todd Bell, Mark Dawursk, and Damon Atkinson. They debuted with a self-titled EP (Polyvinyl Records) in 2000 and followed up with extensive touring and two full-length albums: Everynight Fire Works (Vagrant Records) in 2001 and Loses Control (Vagrant Records) in 2003 along with two more EP's: The Weekend EP (Vagrant Records) in 2002 and Unorchestrated (Grand Theft Autumn) in 2004. Dawursk left at the end of 2001 and was replaced by Mike Shumaker. After 359 shows and several releases, the band disbanded in April 2005.They played a reunion show in 2007 and celebrated the 15th anniversary of Everynight Fire Works in 2016 with a remastered re-release and select live performances. In 2025, the band made their live comeback at Las Vegas's second annual Best Friends Forever Festival and will continue to play more shows in 2026. In March 2026, Polyvinyl Records will reissue the complete Hey Mercedes catalog. With several EPs and albums currently out of print, this release will provide Hey Mercedes fans with the opportunity to obtain every Hey Mercedes title on vinyl.

Formed in Taipei in 2013, Scattered Purgatory (破地獄) has occupied a liminal space between drone, ambient, psychedelic folk and ritualistic kosmiche experimentation. Their early work, including ‘Lost Ethnography of the Miscanthus Ocean’ (2014) and ‘God of Silver Grass’ (2016), blended dense instrumental drones, improvisational guitar, and ambient textures rooted in the heat, humidity, and urban pulse of Taiwan. Over the years, the duo-turned-band has drawn on Krautrock, minimalist electronic music, and heavy drone traditions while remaining firmly grounded in Taiwanese geography and culture.

‘Post Purgatory’ emerges after a three-year hiatus following the pandemic, a period the band describes as pivotal to the album’s conception. “The feeling of loss and uncertainty has later become the inspiration of this record, and ‘time’ is the main theme – it can heal or it can destroy,” they explain. Musically and lyrically, the record traverses Taiwanese, traditional Chinese, and English, reflecting the multilingual fabric of Taipei life. While there isn’t a linear storyline, metaphor and poetry imbue the lyrics with reflections on love, loss, and the human experience, interlaced with influences of Hokkien and Mando pop and traces of trip-hop.

Recorded half in their home and half at the studio where they composed their first album, ‘Post Purgatory' integrates precision, clarity, and digital production techniques. Guest contributions—from White Wu’s dynamic drumming to Minyen Hsieh’s tenor saxophone and dotzio’s sci-fi-infused vocals—expand the band’s sonic palette, creating a doom metal record shaped by electronic sensibilities.

‘Post Purgatory’ is a statement of loss and re-empowerment, a bridge between their past and present. Through it, Scattered Purgatory reclaim their distinctive voice, presenting a sound that is at once rooted in Taiwan, informed by global musical traditions, and unflinchingly forward-looking.
credits

A meteorite and a lost EP from an experimental electronic talent escape their grim fate: remain unknown to human civilization forever.

Around 2015, Gareth Smyth (aka Lumigraph) produced two tracks before uploading them on his Soundcloud page under the name “Canyon Diablo”, a tribute to a meteorite that crashed in Arizona 49,000 years ago. Amazed, the future co-founder of M+M Disques barely had time to download them onto his hard drive before they were deleted... until today.

Behind the extraterrestrial sounds of this 2-tracker, Lumigraph seems to want to establish communication with planet earth using its own means. In the dubby “Flamingo Drive”, he patiently builds up his sluggish groove before bringing in a reassuring and catchy bassline. On the B-side, the avant-garde “America Song” combines industrial rhythms, drone guitar, and Pierre Henry-ish noises.

* fine art printed insert + PVC sleeve

“France absolutely engage the body... but the spectacle is one for your mind, especially as you start to wonder how much of what you’re hearing is really there.” The Quietus

Legendary hurdy-gurdy-powered kraut/psych/folk/drone band France have announced a new album ‘Good Thoughts. Bad Thoughts’ on The state51 Conspiracy label; capturing a wild performance at The state51 Factory in East London - part of their very first tour of England. They played Liverpool Psych Fest as a one off some years back.

Forming 20 years ago as a trio in Valence, France, for this performance, were Jeremie Sauvage on bass, Yann Gourdon on electrified hurdy-gurdy, and Cyril Bondi (of La Tene and Cyril Cyril on drums (stalwart Mathieu Tilly was taking some much needed time off).

This album sees the band plunge into the depths of the human psyche, backed up by Hugo Hyart’s deep, all-over cosmic doodles and an unhidden homage to the Parliafunkadelicment state of mind : Uniting, dancing, staying creative and open minded despite the tribulations of life. Dedicated to the feeling of good (and baby they’re good... at being good).

On the night France were recorded by Hot Chip’s in-house engineer James Crump who subsequently mixed the record at Hot Chip’s studio in East London. The album was mastered by Richy Hughes at Binary Feedback.

Death Is Not The End present a further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919).

"Ivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka's kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category.

Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis.

Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way.

During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18).

Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll' tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it.

The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived.

The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release."

— Arja Kastinen

Death Is Not The End present a further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919).

"Ivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka's kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category.

Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis.

Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way.

During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18).

Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll' tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it.

The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived.

The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release."

— Arja Kastinen

With their third album, Inanimate Objects of the 21st Century, Newcastle’s The Pale White prove once again that there’s no slowing them down. Following the success of their introspective sophomore album The Big Sad, brothers Adam (vocals/guitar) and Jack Hope (drums) return louder, sharper, and more defiant than ever. This third full-length is their most expansive yet: a record that blends the anthemic punch of classic rock with the urgency and edge of modern alternative.The title, Inanimate Objects of the 21st Century, is a nudge to the uncomfortable irony of our time – as technology accelerates, humanity feels increasingly frozen in place. Lead singer Adam Hope says: “Technology is moving, but we are not. Human civilization entered the 21st century wide-eyed and naive with mobile phones that would barely fit in our pockets. Fast forward a few decades and we’re so far from where we were that it almost looks like a bad 80’s sci-fi movie. Back then, that film would be watched in packed-out cinemas after an eagerly anticipated release, but now they stand emptier than they once were, attended mainly as a nostalgic experience in the age of Netflix and doomscrolling.

The birth of AI, algorithms, cryptocurrency, drones, holographic concerts, autonomous cars… we’re living in a strange transitional period which is both fascinating and terrifying in equal measure. We humans have now in fact become the inanimate objects - mannequins.After our softer, melancholic second album ‘The Big Sad’, we felt it was only right to move as fast as our world is moving and release our next within the year. ‘Inanimate Objects of the 21st Century’ is the evil twin, the Yin to The Big Sad’s Yang.”

New “Inversions” of drone rock pioneers Earth’s debut release. A collaboration between Dylan Carlson and Black Noi$e (Armand Hammer, Danny Brown, Earl Sweatshirt) formed in mutual respect and appreciation for one another. Both artists were intrigued by the creation of vast musical landscapes and the connection of music, with its ability to transport the listener. The music of Earth was recognised and celebrated for moving at a glacial pace and yet this new collaboration surprisingly saw Black Noi$e slowing things down even further.
The debut, which originally came out in 1991, notably featured Kelly Canary and Kurt Cobain on vocals on the tracks “A Bureaucratic Desire for Revenge Part 2” and “Divine and Bright”. Black Noi$e reimagines the original recordings with his experimental sensibility and innovative multi-instrumental, cross genre exploration. Applying contemporary electronics to the heavy droning bass and guitars and languid rhythms, this inversion oscillates and reverberates with a different kind of energy whilst simultaneously highlighting the much loved low slow and distorted properties of the original.

‘Extra Capsular Extraction’ was the first music Dylan made with Earth and his first time in a recording studio, which he recalls at the time as being “terribly exciting”. It also marked the first time collaborating with others and seeing it reified into a tangible object or product, a spirit that Dylan has carried through to the present. The original album is a document of a specific period and Dylan’s creative development. These inversions of Extra Capsular Extraction are, to quote Dylan, “an exciting way to reintegrate them into the present time and with my more expanded conceptions of musical endeavours”.
"Doom-metal innovators" Pitchfork.

"With guitars ramped up to the nth degree, but tuned to gut-wrenchingly low frequencies, Earth carved out a veritable canyon of pure molten drone, one which would have a profound influence on modern metal music." The Quietus

Ten years after their last collaboration, Jacques Duvall and Benjamin Schoos return with Plein Sommeil, a duo album that is at once melancholic, ironic, and tender—a poetic mirror of the fatigue of the modern world.

The legendary lyricist for Lio, Chamfort, and Daho meets the indie pop producer and sonic adventurer of Freaksville, in a generational union as improbable as it is natural.
Between Brussels and Paris, they weave songs about slowness, worn-out love, and resistance through gentleness.

Blending original compositions and delicate covers (The Kinks, Higelin, Daho), the album evokes a sensual and lucid refuge amid the overheating of everyday life.
Recorded with Bertrand Burgalat, The Loved Drones, and lush string arrangements, Plein Sommeil embraces a handcrafted, timeless aesthetic.

Its motto: “Slow business” — a manifesto against the speed and emptiness of contemporary times.

Each song, balancing irony and elegance, celebrates fragility and humanity.

London quartet The Leaf Library return with their bold new album After The Rain, Strange Seeds. A luminous collection of pastoral indiepop, drawing inspiration from suburban isolation, unreliable memories and the surreality of the weather. Their most immediate and melodic work to date, the richly evocative songs brim with chiming guitars, buzzing organs and warm, dulcet strings, evoking Yo La Tengo’s more contemplative moments, The Clientele’s autumnal jangle pop and early Stereolab’s motorik melodicism. The sound of the album is defined by mixer John McEntire, whose work with Stereolab and Yo La Tengo (as well as a member of Tortoise/The Sea And Cake) have been major inspirations to the band.
The album explores themes of memory and place, albeit through an abstract haze – returning again and again to specific moments frozen in time: midsummer bright hot days in the Chilterns (“Sun In My Room”), meteorology and the strange movement of the weather (“Colour Chant”), red kites circling over suburban motorways (“Some Circling”), and the uncanny feeling of dusk and nighttime creatures on “The Reader’s Lamp” (titled by celebrated film director Peter Strickland). The lyrics are vivid yet elliptical, strung with abstract ideas and imagery, conjuring a gently unsettling, though never unwelcoming atmosphere. Not quite trusting your own recollection of things, while marvelling at the oddness of the natural world, the album’s title a good summation of the mix of strangeness and hope contained within.

As on past albums the band - founded by singer Kate Gibson and ex-Saloon guitarist Matt Ashton in the mid 2000s, and now completed by drummer Lewis Young and bassist Gareth Jones - have involved their extended musical family, including guitarist Mike Cranny (of fellow drone pop travellers Firestations) and keyboardist Irina Shtreis, both members of the Leaf Library live band. The album also sees the return of James Underwood’s Iskra Strings, a quartet that features on 4 tracks, with sumptuous arrangements by Daniel Fordham, as well as regular contributor Melinda Bronstein on vocals and Will Twynham (Dimorphodons) on harpsichord. They also welcomed Paddy Milner (on Hammond organ) and Scott McKeon (guitar) – both current members of Tom Jones’ band – for a startlingly delicate rolling crescendo to closing track “There Was Always A Golden Age”.
After The Rain, Strange Seeds is their 4th studio album. The result is The Leaf Library’s most accomplished and affecting work, John McEntire’s mix bringing a bold clarity to the band’s meticulous arrangements – closer to how they sound live than anything they’ve done before.

The first resonant space Zosha Warpeha played in was the Emanuel Vigeland Museum in Oslo, Norway. Built as a mausoleum, its walls reach up into a gradual archway, creating an environment where sound expands and reverberates for twelve seconds before decaying into silence. Warpeha was greeted only by dim lights when she entered, and it wasn’t until she had spent several minutes listening that she was able to make out the frescoes that covered every inch of the room: graphic depictions of the cycle of life from conception through death. As the sound of her Hardanger d’amore encountered the walls and these slowly emerging scenes, they obscured its point of origin in both time and space, augmenting its own life cycle. The experience sat in the back of her mind over the next several years as she developed her own patient style of composition and performance, one that comes into full bloom on her new album I grow accustomed to the dark.

When Warpeha was selected as an artist in residence at Brooklyn’s ISSUE Project Room in 2025, she saw it as an opportunity to more intentionally explore how her music might fill a room with ample natural reverb. I grow accustomed to the dark documents two single-take solo performances for Hardanger d’amore and voice at IPR, with both pieces composed in a unique tuning system developed to interact with the space itself. Listeners can trace resonance from the contact of the bow on gut strings into the body of the instrument, its five sympathetic strings offering another layer of refraction, before the sound is thrown about the cavity of the room. The echoes emerge like a photographic double exposure, or wisps of smoke that linger in the air, creating ghostly harmonic convergences that blur the line between what is there and not-there. Sound begins to act like light, a synesthetic alchemy that transforms drones into beams and ornamental trills into flickers.

Both side-long compositions, “filament” and “visual purple,” exemplify a duality that animates Warpeha’s music: an expressive, individualistic style that draws on extensive knowledge of her instrument’s history in folk traditions, and an austere, devotional quality maintained by focus and precision. Though very different in character and structure, both pieces evolve slowly through numerous repetitive phrases, passages of stillness, and bursts of intensity. “filament” opens with a cycle of delicate melodic fragments played and sung around a drone before blossoming into an outpouring of swooping arpeggios, harmonics flying from the strings like sparks off a bonfire. The disorienting pulsation of harmonic beating forms the core of “visual purple,” the close-tone dissonance building to a swarm of open strings ringing boldly throughout the space. After the knotty tones reach their climax, the piece collapses into studied quietude, hushed, but without any drop in intensity.

When Warpeha first visited the Vigeland Museum in 2019, she was in Oslo to deepen her relationship to the Hardanger fiddle through the study of Norwegian traditional music, which is primarily passed down aurally. The experience of learning songs by ear, not only internalizing the tune but also absorbing the techniques and tonalities by listening, was a crucial step in her development as a composer. The years since have seen her sharpen those skills as a prolific member of the New York avant-garde and improvised music communities. Warpeha’s music encourages listeners to join her in this journey, to listen closely with each repeated phrase and through each dramatic shift. Like the frescoes on Vigeland’s walls, with time and intention, the depth of I grow accustomed to the dark comes on like a revelation.

Für Chantal Michelle ist das Komponieren von Musik wie eine Art Choreografie. In surrealen Klangwelten verbinden sich verschiedene Töne miteinander - sie bewegen sich zusammen und entfernen sich dann wieder voneinander - in einem Prozess, der sich ständig im Hörfeld wiederholt. Diese sich ständig verändernde Konstellation zeigt, wie zerbrechlich und veränderlich Wahrnehmung sein kann, ein Thema, das in Michelles Arbeit immer wieder auftaucht. Michelle, die schon früh eine Tanzausbildung absolvierte, bringt eine ausgeprägte räumliche Sensibilität in ihre Arbeit ein: ein intuitives Verständnis dafür, wie Formen koexistieren und sich durch drei Dimensionen bewegen, sowie eine Wertschätzung für die Schönheit, die sich in ungewöhnlichen Gegenüberstellungen von Materialien und Ideen findet. Seit sie 2021 ihre Solokarriere gestartet hat, hat sie internationale Anerkennung für ihre geduldigen, akribischen Aufnahmen bekommen, die oft zusammen mit Installationen, Mehrkanalkompositionen und Klangskulpturen entstehen. Innerhalb dieser subtil verwirrenden Klangarchitekturen können neue Beziehungen entstehen, neue Grenzen gezogen werden, und die Zuhörer werden zu einer Erfahrung von Zeit eingeladen, die sich der Linearität widersetzt. All Things Might Spill, Michelles erstes Album für Shelter Press, ist eine Auseinandersetzung mit anhaltender Spannung und der mysteriösen Erfahrung der Zeitdehnung in den Momenten kurz vor einem Bruch oder Zusammenbruch. Die Musik bewegt sich in einem Raum der Instabilität, und obwohl sie durchgehende Töne und definierte melodische Phrasen verwendet, herrscht eine Atmosphäre der Unentschlossenheit - wie ein Moment der Unruhe, der auf unbestimmte Zeit in der Schwebe bleibt. Ein Großteil des Albums wurde in den Wintermonaten 2024 in Berlin aufgenommen, wobei viele frühe Morgenstunden in einem Raum subtiler Unruhe verbracht wurden. Man sagt, dass Licht in die Dunkelheit eindringt, und diese Übergangszeit, die von Erwartungen geprägt ist, ist in der Musik zu hören. In ,Presence of Border" winden und verflechten sich nebulöse Stimmen, während sie über mehrdeutigen Harmonien schweben, die sich in unendliche Ferne zu erstrecken scheinen. Die beiden kurzen Stücke ,Magnetic Field I" und ,Magnetic Field II" enthalten bearbeitete Aufnahmen einer Tromba Marina, gespielt von der argentinischen Klangkünstlerin Alma Laprida. Die Gegenüberstellung von kratzigen Tönen und hauchzarten Obertönen erzeugt tamburaähnliche Drones, die den Zuhörer in einen schwer fassbaren Mittelpunkt ziehen. Später auf dem Album gibt es in ,Drying of Frozen Soils" modale Klarinettenlinien von Severin Black, die anfangs in dem nebligen, synthetischen Hintergrund fast nicht zu hören sind, bevor sie sich zu einem gespenstischen Kontrapunkt entwickeln. Eine ähnliche Struktur aus Unklarheit und Klarheit prägt den Titeltrack, in dem wortlose Gesänge eine laute Feldaufnahme durchdringen, die auf einer Fähre aufgenommen wurde, die den East River von Brooklyn nach Manhattan überquert. Das ist Musik mit einem weitläufigen Terrain und einer dichten Atmosphäre. Veränderungen sind langsam, aber dramatisch, jede Verschiebung ist sorgfältig geplant, um Gefühle des Staunens und der Vorfreude zu wecken und gleichzeitig eine erhabene Sensibilität dafür zu bewahren, wie einzelne Klänge mit der Bewegung ihrer Umgebung in Beziehung stehen. Michelle verzichtet meisterhaft auf Narrative und komponiert in drei Dimensionen. Wir bleiben mit der Mehrdeutigkeit des Wortes ,might" zurück - der anhaltenden Möglichkeit des energetischen Ansturms des Bruchs, des Ausbrechens, mal am Horizont, mal unmittelbar bevorstehend, irgendwie beides gleichzeitig.

New album by SABA ALIZADEH, a groundbreaking voice in contemporary Iranian music who blends classical Persian traditions with avantgarde experimentation.

Born in Tehran in 1983 as son of the world renowned tar and setar virtuoso HOSSEIN ALIZADEH, SABA ALIZADEH established himself not only as a true master on the Iranian spike fiddle kamancheh but one of the groundbreaking voices in contemporary Iranian music, blending classical Persian traditions with avantgarde experimentation. His music, praised by THE WIRE as "a bridge between the ancient and the contemporary", turns sound and image into powerful narratives of memory and resistance. Over the past years, ALIZADEH (who relocated to the Netherlands a few years ago) has appeared at key festivals and venues such as Reeperbahn Festival, CTM, Flow Festival, Philharmonie Berlin, Kölner Philharmonie, solidifying his reputation as a singular live performer.
After the critically acclaimed releases "Scattered Memories" (his international debut, released on Karlrecords in 2019), "I May Never See You Again" (2021) and last year's "Temple of Hope", his new album fascinates again with a unique artistic voice, weaving together centuries-old sonic heritage and the urgency of the present through deeply immersive, meditative landscapes in two epic pieces. "Rituals Of The Last Dawn" may feel like a sad or resigned title (compared to the positively fierce "Temple Of Hope"), but at the same time the highly meditative music provides a good lot of contemplative strength. Appealing to an open-minded "world music" audience as well as fans of current streams of ambient or drone in its most subtle forms, ALIZADEH's latest work is a strongly needed soul food in bitter times. Created on the spot with his musical partners PIETRO CARAMELLI (guitar and electronics on "First Ritual") and LIEW NIYOMKARN (lap steel and electronics on "Last Ritual"), "Rituals Of The Last Dawn" is a pure, unfiltered emotional expression from one of contemporary Iranian music's leading artists.

Melohman and Paco Colombas Unveil 'Palma de Janeiro': A Rhythmic Bridge Between Mallorca and Brazil...

PALMA DE MALLORCA - Producers Melohman and Paco Colombas announce their new EP, 'Palma de Janeiro' on GAMM, a vibrant sonic fusion where Mallorcan tradition meets Brazilian pulse. All together, the result is a highly percussive house workout with a South American feel.

The project centers on a unique dialogue between two worlds: the Mediterranean drone of the Ximbomba and the tropical snap of the Pandeiro.
Inspired by the festive spirit of Mallorca's 'Devil' - a mischievous figure of joy and dance - the EP weaves together communal island roots with the duo's deep-seated passion for Brazilian music.

Born from years of crate-digging and travels across Brazil, 'Palma de Janeiro' is more than a collaboration; it is a celebration of music as a universal language. It is a tribute to the dancefloor, where local heritage and global rhythms collide.

Soft Echoes presents the first physical edition of ‘In a Few Places Along the River’ by Abul Mogard as a limited run of 500 vinyl copies. Originally released digitally in 2022, the album now appears in its intended form, marking the label’s second release.

Three long pieces, composed between 2019 and 2022, emerged from Mogard’s meticulous experimentation with analogue and digital instruments. Slowly evolving harmonic fields of layered drones and spectral textures drift across the record. They are enhanced by reverb from Scotland’s Inchindown oil tanks, which hold the longest reverberation of any man-made structure, giving the music a haunting resonance and a sense of suspended space.

‘Against a White Cloud’ and ‘In True Contemplation’ open the album with their nocturnal tones that gradually intensify into dense, immersive waves of sound. Side B is devoted to the 21-minute elegiacal piece ‘Along the River’, which flows between weight and silence, unfolding with reflective depth and moments of subtle transcendence. As one listener observed, “His music doesn't break the wilful suspension of disbelief: you stay in its trance.”

“Recording for this album began in 2019, when I was still living in London,” Mogard explains. “The first version of ‘Along the River’ was created at my studio near Brick Lane. It started with experimenting around a chord progression inspired by a classical piece I had once been recommended, though, strangely enough, I no longer recall what it was. Early in 2022, I revealed the identity behind Abul Mogard and wanted to mark this new period, so I decided to release it quickly, by myself, as digital-only.”

After returning to Rome, Mogard created the other two pieces, working with new digital instruments alongside his modular synthesiser, and integrated recordings from the London sessions. The music reveals a patient attention to texture and space, defining his usual restraint. Mogard adds, “I was trying to explore very subtle changes in the spectral characteristics of the music using extremely slow, intertwined tones.”

Described by critics as one of Mogard’s most melancholic and absorbing releases, the album maintains an austere beauty and contemplative weight, leaving a lingering impression that lasts far beyond the final note.

The music has extended beyond the album itself, with tracks appearing in films and contemporary artworks. Most notably, Swedish artist Peder Bjurman’s ‘Slow Walker’ audiovisual installation and French filmmaker Fleuryfontaine’s politically charged animated film ‘Soixante-sept millisecondes’.

Mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri and cut to vinyl by Lupo, the record emphasises the clarity and depth of Mogard’s frequencies, with each layer precisely balanced. The cover artwork and design are by Marja de Sanctis, who has collaborated with Abul since his first cassette release in 2012.

Siren Selector presents the first voyage of Remy Solar, as the producer takes a break from composing sound system exclusive dubs to expand his horizons with this by-turns lush, textured, menacing and plaintive album.

‘Heavy Terrain’ emerges from the depths of a lifetime inside the dub fraternity: reared on a potent diet of Lee Scratch Perry and Augustus Pablo, The Disciples and Digital Mystikz, it’s an album which stuck its head in a bass bin in an abandoned bingo hall in north London before striking out on a musical road-trip to imbibe sounds and rhythms from further afield.

The album opens with the militant drums and ethereal pads of 'Sound in the East' before being bookended by two mixes of 'Star Trail', where unformed musical space and time cross uncharted distances to coalesce into the beginning of direction and rhythm. The lush deep house chords and drilling synths of 'Lila #3' summon ghostly presences, while in its counterpart 'Lila #7' layers of melody rise and hang like mist before dissipating in percussive heat. 'Dakhla's’ swelling and retreating drones fade into swirls of drums. In the eponymous 'Heavy Terrain', off-beat keyboard chops respond to each other from uncertain depths while electronic horns pulse across miles of open space. 'Empty City 'sees walls of sound coalesce and fragment, falling into bursts of white noise.

Remy Solar explores a deliberately constrained hardware set-up to create the primordial conditions of trance, locking down a rhythmic foundation while semi-improvised excursions form and reform above it. It’s an album that takes the listener on a journey between order and chaos, past and future, all the while underlaid by a counterpoint of cavernous bass lines and echoing percussion, yang and yin, shade and light.

Taupe’s latest album release, waxing | waning delivers jazz experimentalism, ‘skronk’, avant-rock, and electronics, by the Glasgow-based trio, due out via Minority Records. Across its seven tracks, waxing | waning captures Taupe’s approach – bold and boundary pushing – shaped by a fresh shift in the band’s dynamic and compositional approach.

Taupe’s waxing | waning, co-composed and realised by its players in a studio that was once an undertaker’s premises in Glasgow, is an absolutely affirmative album, an act of cultural defiance in desperate times.

Comprising Mike Parr-Burman (guitar, bass guitar, electronics), Jamie Stockbridge (alto and baritone saxophones) and Alex Palmer (drum kit, percussion), Taupe work up a storm of skronk, free jazz and harmolodic frenzy whose closest relations include Zu, Melt Banana and John Zorn. However, waxing | waning is from its opening, stuttering blasts, an exercise in seeking out and claiming new territory, finding unique and novel permutations in which jazz, rock, electronics interbreed at breakneck pace. Here is a group determined to say and do things they don’t get to say and do elsewhere in their musical lives.

‘Lemonade Tycoon’ hits the ground skronking. It’s cubistic jazz, cumulative in its impact, avoiding the white lines of the conventional freeway, bridling, bustling, coming at you from all angles – a three way conversation of astonishing rapidity, fast track, telepathic communication – everyone from James Chance to Albert Ayler coming at you at once, before morphing in to a spidery scrawl of electronics and furious percussion. ‘Anti-Bird-Spike BirdNest’s‘ title somehow sums up the sort of mental images evoked by the music – its sheer creative disobedience, as if being chased in vain, like a delivery rider evading capture by ICE agents -– shapeshifting, assuming different shades, sprouting metal quills and, in its midsection, seeming almost to swallow itself alive, before regurgitating itself in a sublime mess.

‘Interlude (Stride)’ is not exactly ambient, more a horizontal enmeshment of percussion, drones, reverberant noise, electronics, a sonic mulch. ‘allcapsallbold' reminds of early Aksak Maboul, in its playfulness, a haywire series of short phrases, subject to mechanical interference, a complex weave of irregular rhythms, increasingly eloquent sax phraseology and caustic guitars, which land heavier and heavier. ‘Pet Boss' is the new jazz equivalent of a highly evolved, mature conversation among brilliant equals, sharp, empathetic, complementary, rising to a collective, joyful noise. On the title track, electronics descend like a shower of bright particles, intensifying in their luminosity, whitening the skies, as sax and drums kick up a tempestuous, spontaneously sculpted noise that summons the ghosts of the great free jazz players, before a dark calm descends slowly. Finally, ‘Turn Push Kick’, a burgeoning chatterstorm of electronics, before the group kicks in, at angles to one another, led by abrasive guitars, reminiscent of Sunn O))) in their ritualistic concussion, riffing, digging deep amid squealing sax and piledriving percussion.

Der postklassische Komponist, Klangkünstler und Kurator Matthew Patton ist mit seinem zweiten Album als Those Who Walk Away zurück. "Afterlife Requiem" ist eine Elegie für seinen Freund und Kollegen Jóhann Jóhannsson. Drones, Elektroakustik und fast vollständige Stille, extrahiert aus unvollendeten Aufnahmen auf Jóhannssons Festplatten, bilden die Grundlage für zwei Streichquintette - Ghost Orchestra (Reykjavík) und Possible Orchestra (Winnipeg) -, die in einem traurigen, langatmigen Werk verarbeitet und ausgelöscht werden. Patton hat auch wieder mit Andy Rudolph (Guy Maddin) und Paul Corley (Sigur Rós, Ben Frost) an der Koproduktion und dem Sounddesign gearbeitet, um eine brodelnde Körperlichkeit zu schaffen, die brodelnde Tiefen mit eindringlichen Bewegungen gespenstischer Streicher kontrastiert. ,Alles, was ich je geschrieben habe, ist ein Requiem. Alles ist ein Ende. Der Tod ist überall in dieser Musik präsent. In meinen Werken geht es um das Verschwinden - der Gegenwart, der Vergangenheit, von allem. Afterlife Requiem wird im Laufe seiner Dauer immer langsamer, es ist ein einziges großes Ritardando, die Zeit verlangsamt sich nicht nur, sie verschwindet. Ohne dass ich darüber nachgedacht hätte, ereigneten sich zwei miteinander verbundene Tragödien, die während des Schreibens, Aufnehmens und Arbeitens organisch an die Oberfläche kamen: der Tod meiner Mutter und der Tod des Komponisten und Freundes Jóhann Jóhannsson. Wenn ich mit dem Schreiben anfange, denke ich an nichts Bestimmtes, ich schreibe einfach, komponiere, nehme auf und höre zu ... aber irgendwas macht sich immer auf unvorhergesehene Weise bemerkbar oder drängt sich in den Vordergrund. Nach dem medizinisch assistierten Tod meiner Mutter wurde mir beim Ausräumen ihrer Wohnung klar, dass ich auch die physische Manifestation ihrer Welt auslöschte - und dass ich genau dasselbe mit der Musik tat, die ich schrieb und aufnahm. Während dieser Zeit wurde mir auch Jóhanns Tod immer wieder bewusst. Für Afterlife Requiem habe ich kurze, verlassene Fragmente aus Jóhann Jóhannssons Festplatten genommen und diese körperlosen Audio-Geister abwechselnd in meine eigene Musik eingebaut, wobei ich sie unrein gelassen habe - und dabei die Grenze zwischen Schaffen und Zerstören verwischt habe. Nach seinem Tod hatte ich diese Festplatten aus Jóhannssons Berliner Studio zum Anhören bekommen. Diese Musik war aufgegeben worden, in verschiedenen Stadien der Entstehung und Auflösung: ein Verzeichnis zerfallener und toter Erinnerungen, vergessen und jetzt nur noch in einer Reihe ineinandergreifender mechanischer Teile vorhanden, die mit der Zeit selbst versagen und verschwinden werden, wie alles andere auch. Monatelang hörte ich mir diese Überreste von Jóhanns Musik obsessiv an und versuchte, Hinweise auf Jóhann vor seinem Tod zu finden. Oft stellte ich fest, dass er das Aufnahmegerät noch lange nach Ende der aufgenommenen Musik laufen gelassen hatte. Er schien nicht zu bemerken, dass die Musik aufgehört hatte, oder registrierte nicht, dass dies das Ende der Musik war, oder vielleicht war er durch etwas anderes abgelenkt. Aber ich fand diese langen Stillephasen zutiefst emotional und berührend. Die verschwindenden Elegien von Afterlife Requiem sind weniger Musik als vielmehr Überreste von Musik. Auf diese Weise arbeite ich immer auf die Subtraktion von Bedeutung hin. Die Musik ist fern und verschwommen, beschädigt, geisterhaft und gespenstisch und deutet nur wie eine halb vergessene Erinnerung an das, was einmal existierte, eine verdichtete Darstellung von Verfall und Auslöschung. Ich habe dieses neue Stück von Anfang bis Ende mit diesen körperlosen Stillephasen aus Jóhanns eigenem Werk, Raum und Zeit unterlegt. Jetzt für immer verschwunden, bleibt seine aufgezeichnete Stille zurück; eine monumentale Leere, die der Welt verloren gegangen ist. Im gesamten Stück, insbesondere in den Abschnitten ,Memorial Environment", habe ich auch unzählige Geräusche aus der Natur integriert, von vulkanischer Lava über Lastenaufzüge bis hin zum menschlichen Blutfluss, dem Zischen von Turbinen und Selbstmordinjektionen. Der Künstler Robert Smithson sagte vor Jahrzehnten: ,Es ist die Dimension der Abwesenheit, die es noch zu finden gilt." Für mich misst diese Musik auch, wie die Zeit abläuft. Tatsächlich ist die Zeit bereits abgelaufen. Die Ewigkeit hat bereits begonnen." - Matthew Patton (Those Who Walk Away)