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This sprawling collection by Belgian loner blues savant Bram Devens aka Ignatz encapsulates the mystery, murk, and melancholy of his uncanny craft at its most windswept and wayward. Originally issued via Goaty Tapes in September of 2015, this long-anticipated vinyl edition expands the saga with an additional 17 minutes of archival material. Deven’s palette remains constant throughout: feathery fingerpicking, modal loops, and intuitive six-string navigations interspersed with candlelit passages of mournful voice, alternately whispered, mumbled, moaned. His is an aesthetic of embers and resin, cracked masks and distant lights, of what’s left behind and what lingers on.

I Live In A Utopia was recorded following a relocation from his longtime base of Brussels to Landen, with a second child due soon: “I remember the weather being nice and having just bought a hammock.” The change of scenery seeded a promise of slower days and lighter times – no utopia perhaps, but a sense of faint hope glowing on the horizon. The songs slide between loose acoustic spirituals and smoky basement ragas, late afternoon haze and midnight moons, a seesawing restlessness reflected in the titles (“I Have Found True Love,” “Time Does Not Bring Relief,” “We Used To Smoke Inside”). The fidelity is grainy but vivid, refracted by tape warp and Flemish dust.

As always, Deven’s playing is deceptively elegant, raw but precise, attuned to resonance, radiance, and negative space. Echoes of Fahey and Jandek reverberate in certain moments but ultimately the world Ignatz maps is one incomparably his own. A landscape both doomed and dawning, weary but undefeated, tracing outlines of lengthening shadows. “I walk in the sunshine,” he sings, uneasily. This is music of a rare inner wilderness, poised at cryptic crossroads, devoted to its ghosts. I Live In A Utopia stands as an apex work by one of the underground’s most veiled and visionary talents.

Double album in gatefold sleeve with artwork by Zully Adler. In co-production with House Rules & released in an edition of 500.

The Ghentian skyline has low peaks and hides its horrors in full view ~ walk streamside and you’ll quickly be confronted with façades that leer with their tales and secrets, the angels and demons that built this city holding up its mortar and stone in an inextricable embrace. It is within this incongruous backdrop that Benoît Monsieurs has fostered the Venediktos Tempelboom persona. Using the 12-string guitar as his main instrument, the self-taught musician creates passages that take fingerpicking Americana and Eastern transcendence into the Flanders fields, with winding compositions that distill the essence of giants like John Fahey, Robbie Basho and Jack Rose and folds them into the dark drone melancholia of Funeral Folk/KRAAK stalwarts like Silvester Anfang, Helvete and Ignatz. The results are ringing meditations of awe and terror, flamboyant and grotesque yet utterly mesmerizing in their unrooted sonic imagery.

In his debut LP, Syne Vuyle Hoeck, the Tempelboom amalgamates his influences - East, West and deep Flanders alike - into a flurry of acid-drenched tracks that spread out into a distinctive musical iconography. Each composition carries a facet, highlighting angel and demon in equal measure: the solemn opener “De woelige rit op een roze wolkje” is a threading of melodies that carry pensive heft and hopeful asides, as hints of ragtime buoyancy lead into sullen ruminations in a fully lucid change of course; “Ocharme Ochgod” is a sober penitence, slowly and almost imperceptibly building up into a tangle of lines that inexorably coil back into their brooding backbone; the echoing tape loop of “In Flock” reverberates and torments, steel sharpness and frayed magnetic disintegration finding improbable common ground; “El Contrario” swerves unforgivingly in an Eastern-infused openness reminiscent of Six Organs’ rawer days and unnervingly giving way to a forceful - dare we say upbeat - conclusion. And so one treks into the depths of the Tempelboomian universe, a place of high drama and low morals inhabited by a prankster creator who deploys euphoria and distress in equal measure. Just as the strings of his guitar are left to echo like sparkles in the dark, so his music lingers in the soil of our humanity, redolent of the kind of peace one can only make with the demons of the self.

BROODING PSYCHEDELIC REVELATIONS FROM THE STAVANGERIAN OUTSIDERCORE

The uncanny is never out of bounds in the debut release by shadowy Norwegian duo Firmaet Forvoksen. Gaute Granli and Thore Warland, two archetypes of the Stavanger experimental scene long active through solo work (Gaute Granli’s recent Ultra Eczema notoriety, for one) and other collaborative projects (Thore Warland’s ongoing drum devolutions with Golden Oriole, for another), have joined forces under multiple configurations over the years in order to finally coalesce under the FF banner. Together they project an ever-unfolding vision that sonically erodes into a radiant abyss, like some serious atonement from probable jazz school fugitives.

Undone Shal is an unfurling tapestry of erratic guitar pickings, muffled percussive conjurings, barging synths, and moans that are part lamentation, part incantation. These arrangements evoke a definite psychedelia, plunging the listener into unsettling yet luminous expanses of liminality that recall only the most brooding of outsiders. Like craggly rocks piled on top of each other forming an incomprehensible, gravity-defying tower, Firmaet Forvoksen’s disjointed musical deployments forge something lucid and concrete while grazing the edges of complete inscrutability. This strange relic of a record follows the lineage of KRAAK rosterees past and present - the KRAMPs, Ignatzes, Red Bruts and Calhau!s of our hearths - through its assemblage of crude elements that incite the universe to vomit its hidden harmonies and forcibly test the boundaries between fluency and unintelligibility. No Norwegian wood wisecracking to be made here, for these two dwell in a malleable zone where chaos aligns to draw you in, hinting at all that is obfuscated like a marching band to nowhere.