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Tube Alloys have made a type of record that is in short supply these days. A record that is untethered to prevailing musical trends, punk or otherwise, in either their native Los Angeles or further afield. It's in keeping with a tradition, sure, one pioneered by bands like Wire, Swell Maps and This Heat, who sought to combine the vitality of punk music with an omnivorous ear for the avant-garde. But Tube Alloys honour this tradition with their disinterest in nostalgia and their ability to cast an irreverent eye towards our present and - crucially - our future, rather than endlessly rehashing our past. In short, Tube Alloys are adventurous where many of their contemporaries are content to play it safe. In doing so they tick a lot of boxes for those with open minds and open ears, while simultaneously making sense of the innate contradictions found in any great work of art. Their songs are muscular without being boneheaded, clever without being nerdy. A dry Australian humour is barked with an American sense of self-assuredness. Songs end before you've had a chance to digest their brilliance, or they explode right when you think they've already peaked. And just when you think you're comfortably along for the ride, the songs disappear altogether, and the record's centrepiece abruptly takes shape as an oblique spoken riff on Time. And Time it is, for something a little different. Finally! If you are in need of refreshment, then look no further, you have found your Oasis!

Three timeless tracks from the esteemed D.C. LaRue back catalogue get brand new remixes from three equally exciting producers to give a modern spin to these ‘70s classics.

LaRue joined the music industry by recording two top 40 pop records influenced by the teen-idol era. In his early adulthood, he began writing songs about the fast-growing club and bar subculture he frequented where the most outcast of society’s young and marginalized could safely congregate after being ostracized in work, church, school, and often family. In this relatively brief selection of LaRue classics, contemporary remixes paradoxically bring out the timelessness of his songs, in tone, message and musicality.

First up, ‘Do You Want the Real Thing’ gets a fresh update from re-edit royalty Opolopo in the style of the lush yet sharp Motown and Philadelphia production pieces that inspired the arrangement originally, still resonates as a nightly inner dialogue or negotiation, another of LaRue’s literary signatures.

‘Let Them Dance’ greeted in its time as a one of the breakthrough moments of new music technology, is reinterpreted by Dr Packer mainly with its live acoustic tracks, also retaining bright, rhythmic synthesizer hooks with results that are still true to his intentionally oblique lyric, a novelistic portrayal of the drug dealers, the LGBTQ+ underground community, and the powerful upper class elite that made up the multi-racial, socially integrated crowds on the dance floors at the height of disco.

Last up, ‘Indiscreet’ from LaRue’s 1976 concept album, ‘The Tea Dance,’ tells much of the story about how disco had already birthed its own far more popular and influential successor form, Hip-Hop, by the time it was declared dead by the superannuated establishments of the radio, media, and record businesses. Released in a highly limited, personally inscribed 12-inch 45 rpm edition for a select list of top disco DJs, its complex, elastic polyrhythm made it as irresistible to younger black DJs and breakdancing teens as any of the year’s other big street breakouts. Only Good Vibes Music head honchos and Scotland’s finest The Knutsens give it the magic touch for the modern dancefloor.

Bound To Rise is the quietly impressive debut album from Yorkshireman Chris Brain. His songs have a gentleness and ethereality, enhanced by his softly husky, smoky vocals coupled with delicate finger-picked guitar patterns based around his alternate tunings.

The self-composed songs draw on the pastoral and the traditional, heavily centred in natural imagery featuring both as itself and as allegory. A misty ambiguity, suggestions of layered meaning and hints of multiple interpretations permeate the lyrics. And darker moods throw long shadows across this landscape.

A pre-dawn longing for the sun in title track ‘Bound To Rise’ seems to obliquely evoke springtime, primitive beliefs and lifting mood. ‘Bird Count’ is another daybreak song hinting at other, more intimate, preoccupations, “calling out your name / never to be tame”.

‘Chance To See’ celebrates the emotional significance of a relationship, and it’s easy to interpret ‘Golden Eagle’ as its flipside partner, “but you can’t choose her, she chooses you” – or maybe it’s simply a song about birdwatching. ‘Flying On Time’ continues with rare sightings paired with impressions of human air travel and distance, “she’s due tonight / just for one night / to visit our skies”.

Non-specific doubt and uncertainty edgily patrol ‘If I Could’, whilst the cheerfully pattering guitar motif of ‘Peace And Quiet’ belies an inner melancholy, and ‘Rare Find’ charmingly bookends Mary Jane Walker’s plangent violin and Simeon Walker’s subtle piano.

‘Sunday Morn’ “lays the week to rest” amongst other things but, despite the laid-back vibe, all is not sunny and “melancholy calls to greet us once more”. Brain’s songs are intriguing shifts of light and shade, and the details improve with each listen.

Coming full circle thematically, the joyous simplicity of expression in ‘Sun Song’ makes it close kin to the mighty Bright Phoebus, “the sun was born and she’s beautiful / the sun was born from the ground”. It’s an optimistic ending to an emotionally ambiguous album.

Influenced by, among others, Nick Drake, John Martyn and Joni Mitchell, it’s not hard to see where Chris Brain is coming from. More interesting is where he’s going to. Bound To Rise makes a very promising start.

Taavi Suisalu is an Estonian media artist particularly interested into complex and adventurous sounds, field recordings and harsh audio emergencies, organized under the form of symphony or as a result of performative interactions.

In 2014 Suisalu received the Young Estonian Artist Prize as curator of Project of In-existent Villages, an articulate exhibition full of installations and site-specific sound performances. The use of peripheral spaces and the crossovers, sometimes extremely creative, of human interactions, data, sounds and technologies, are recurring in the works of Suisalu, whose subjective perspective unconventionally investigates different social and cultural phenomena. He is always attracted by the different forms of technologies. It can be an old seismograph he reconstructs to record the underground vibrations of a volcano, or, it can be some 3D models he uses to analyze a grain of soil coming from the ancient Pompei. The results of the researches would lead to the installations. The whole set of data is often the premise of a narration, a datafiction, as in the case of the signals recorded from some abandoned satellites, who are later presented with a speed set by the position of other satellites gravitating above the gallery hosting the event.

“Noisephony of Lawn Mowers" was originally composed in 2013, but it was unreleased until now, when Staalplaat, a fundamental label for its unusual experimental connections and for the sound events performed in unconventional spaces, decided to publish it. It's a score for lawnmowers, whose making is given to a conductor and executed by a group of artists. Suisalu reminds us that historically, lawn has been a symbol of power and wealth as it required substantial upkeep and unused land. Today, it still indicates wealth, but is mainly maintained by the owners themselves. This puts us in a schizophrenic situation where we strive to be privileged by taking the role of the servants.

“Silver Meets Ted” is the other track included in the selection. It's a recording of over ten minutes, whose trend cryptically moves on and with some unsettling minimal tolls, always more metallic. Some deaf beats follow, and then we have a splash of water and some slightly hinted neighs, chirps, different spills of liquid, more intense and measured, clackings and vibrations, some hardly identifiable frequencies and again a series of punctuated metal bells. The work by Taavi Suisalu stands out as a calibrated combination of mathematical coherence and elements of surprise, automatized and causal processes, some small oblique utopias, that work well together by improving highly subjective resources and create some slightly unsettling final results.

Tape

The music of Melati ESP aka Melati Malay is a euphoric vision of megacity rhythm and rainforest escape, club breaks and weightless pop, mapping new dreams from the sound of futures passed: hipernatural.

Drawing on the music era of her teenage years growing up in Jakarta – Javanese radio Dangdut, gamelan cassettes, Moving Shadow-era liquid jungle, Japanese chill-out, etc. – as well as her current work in progressive percussion trio Asa Tone, Malay’s solo debut is boldly borderless, bridging worlds and wavelengths into a richly imagined hybrid synthetic utopia.

hipernatural is momentous linguistically, too, as Malay’s first foray into singing in Indonesian, the language of her youth. She characterizes her lyrical mode as “abstract, and a bit broken,” an intuitive collage of diaristic emotion and oblique poetry (“plant me in fleeting twilight / missing home, where is home? / I am another you”). Her voice serves as its own versatile instrument, alternately intimate and alien, sensual and sacred, shaded with the haze of hidden heavens.

Co-produced with long-time collaborator Kaazi (100% Silk, Asa Tone), the album’s 12 tracks are cohesive but eclectic, threading through temple bass music, cyber siren techno, Stereolab drum n bass, new age downtempo, and dial-up rave reveries, flecked with tactile fragments of offworld dialogue, computer hum, bubbling water, and beyond.

Malay’s technique of sampling and processing her voice into an electronic palette which she then performs on generative instruments gives the songs a bewitching artificial intelligence elegance, exquisite but uncanny. Hers is a hybridity both organic and hypermodern, deeply personal yet globally sourced – YouTube rips, nature tapes, cheap sample packs, club bootlegs. hipernatural champions a dynamic new language at the axis of then and now, of east and west

New York painter and musician exploratory industrialist Tor Lundvall initially envisioned his 14th album, Beautiful Illusions, as an entirely instrumental affair, "inspired by memories of sitting in a church or cathedral watching the shifting sunlight through stained glass." Although he ultimately chose to wreath the majority of the tracks with hushed, poetic vocals, his original muse still resonates. These are certainly songs of shadowplay and vaulted skies, the quiet grandeur of dusk deepening on the horizon. Lundvall characterizes the lyrical subject matter, too, in ways both specific and surreal, exploring "the doubts, the anxieties and even the bleak fantasies the mind spirals into during moments of isolation, separation and distance." Tricks of the eye, mind, and ear, magnified by silence and the looming long winter. Shivering pulses and muted bass lines tread the twilight while icicle synths and wiry guitar map the melody until the voice enters, narrating oblique moods of essence and absence, tenderness and truth. Glimpses of dark humor flicker in the wordplay but the greater sonic landscape is one of falling leaves and failing light, small gestures rendered as revelation, cloaked in reverb and spatial fog. Lundvall's mastery of nuance and negative space continues to heighten, whispered brushstrokes of the invisible and the unsaid, what lies beneath and what lies beyond: "Behind the shields and false fronts is usually a sadness. The heartbreaking reflections of what might have been."

In the wake of their acclaimed comeback album Figures (2020), Aksak Maboul took a playful sideways step to create this total work, a 63-minute, continuous suite of fifteen pieces, which could be described as an experimental audio play. The thread running through Une aventure de VV (Songspiel) is Véronique Vincent"s text, an enigmatic philosophical-poetical tale unfolding through monologues and dialogues, spoken and sung by a series of characters. The music was written & arranged by Marc Hollander and features his characteristic genre-hopping tendencies: strands of electronica, pop, jazz, collage, techno, ambient, improv, krautrock, contemporary classical & systems music are merrily woven together, in the inimitable Aksak Maboul style. The album"s subtitle, Songspiel, highlights its theatrical/musical aspect: the work pays oblique homage to the those experimental radio plays that once emerged from the creative workshops of the BBC, the RTF and the RAI, and especially to those German Hörspiels which, at their best, might combine spoken word, instrumental or electronic music, songs and sonic research. The album features appearances by Alig Fodder, Audrey Ginestet & Benjamin Glibert (Aquaserge), Lætitia Sadier (Stereolab), Blaine L. Reininger (Tuxedomoon), Don The Tiger, and the members of AKsak Maboul"s current live line-up.

Andy Shauf"s songs unfold like short fiction: they"re densely layered with colorful characters and a rich emotional depth. On his new studio album Norm, Andy Shauf"s songwriting veers decidedly more oblique, hinting at sinister happenings and dark motivations. The result: an intoxicating collection of mellifluous melodies and beguiling lyrics. Levitating, synth-laden atmospherics drive Shauf"s storytelling on "Norm," mixed by Neal Pogue (Tyler, the Creator). In 2016, The Party catapulted Andy Shauf to indie notoriety, followed by 2020"s The Neon Skyline which landed Andy Shauf performances on Jimmy Kimmel Live! and CBS This Morning: Saturday, a Polaris Prize nomination, and mentions on several best-of lists - among them, a track on Barack Obama"s playlist and praise from Pitchfork, Mojo Magazine, France Inter, Rolling Stone Germany, Q Magazine, and more.

Andy Shauf"s songs unfold like short fiction: they"re densely layered with colorful characters and a rich emotional depth. On his new studio album Norm, Andy Shauf"s songwriting veers decidedly more oblique, hinting at sinister happenings and dark motivations. The result: an intoxicating collection of mellifluous melodies and beguiling lyrics. Levitating, synth-laden atmospherics drive Shauf"s storytelling on "Norm," mixed by Neal Pogue (Tyler, the Creator). In 2016, The Party catapulted Andy Shauf to indie notoriety, followed by 2020"s The Neon Skyline which landed Andy Shauf performances on Jimmy Kimmel Live! and CBS This Morning: Saturday, a Polaris Prize nomination, and mentions on several best-of lists - among them, a track on Barack Obama"s playlist and praise from Pitchfork, Mojo Magazine, France Inter, Rolling Stone Germany, Q Magazine, and more.

• There was plenty of genuine discontent in Britain at the tail end of the 1970s, and it had little to do with bin strikes or dark rumours about overflowing morgues. In the world of popular music, the most liberating after-effect of the Sex Pistols was that anyone with something to say now felt they could make a 7” single. “Winter Of Discontent” is the sound of truly DIY music, made by people who maybe hadn’t written a song until a day or two before they went into the studio. It’s spontaneous and genuinely free in a way the British music scene has rarely been before or since.

• “Winter of Discontent” has been compiled by Saint Etienne’s Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs, the latest in their highly acclaimed series of albums that includes “The Daisy Age”, “Fell From The Sun” and “English Weather” ("really compelling and immersive: it’s a pleasure to lose yourself in it" - Alexis Petridis, the Guardian). The era's bigger DIY names (Scritti Politti, TV Personalities, the Fall) and the lesser-known (Exhibit A, Digital Dinosaurs, Frankie’s Crew) are side by side on “Winter Of Discontent”. Mark Perry’s Sniffin’ Glue command – “Here’s one chord, here’s another, now start a band” – was amplified by the Mekons and the Raincoats, whose music shared a little of punk’s volume, speed and distortion, but all of its obliqueness and irreverence.

• The discontent was with society as a whole. No subject matter was taboo: oppressive maleness (Scritti Politti); deluded Britishness (TV Personalities); gender stereotypes (Raincoats, Androids of Mu); nihilistic youth (Fatal Microbes); alcoholism (Thin Yoghurts); self-doubt and pacifism (Zounds). The band names (Thin Yoghurts!) and those of individual members (Andrew Lunchbox!) had enough daftness to avoid any accusations of solemnity.

• “Winter Of Discontent” is the definitive compilation of the UK DIY scene, and a beacon in grim times.

When Dead Horses burst on the scene with ‘Ballad For Losers’ in 2017 directly from the acid-induced foggy lands of weird Ferrara they fooled everyone from the get-go and now they are back with the aptly titled ‘Sunny Days’. These characters were here to stay, unique, oblique and oblivious. Watching them live reminds you of the highs and lows of life, a train ready to derail at any curve, literally duct taped together, that suddenly arrives on the plateau, shining in the horizon. This is when it’s important to not blink, because mark my words, you might miss the rapture, even just a minute of pure forceful magic, where everything comes together, the peak and the ecstasy hand in hand.
Their new record is once again an incredible mix of primitive-punk, Gun Club marshlands, country sadness and acid-folk that sways from the rays of light of the Vaselines to the dawn comedown of the Meat Puppets.

In ’s words:
A music journalist on the new Dead Horses record would write: a concentrate of early swampy grunge, mixed with the Californian folk psychedelia of the 60s and the folk-blues of the Appalachians, with a tune that even Piero Ciampi may have written.
I am not a music journalist so these are my words: sweet and sad songs and soundscapes that embrace you and transmit human warmth to you. This is what music should be for, to warm you up, to excite you.

Clear Vinyl

Originally released in 2020 on cassette and digitally. more eaze is the nom de plume of Austin, TX mainstay m.maurice, a roving experimentalist who’s explored an astoundingly diverse range of sounds, from drone and computer music to avant-pop and beyond. claire rousay is a San Antonio, TX-based percussionist/composer/sound artist who uses physical objects and their potential sounds as a way to explore queerness, human physicality, and self perception. Together—through a suite of deeply personal aural collages—two of Texas’ most vital and vibrant sonic searchers beg the eternal question: If I Don't Let Myself Be Happy Now Then When?

Although only their debut album together, If I Don’t Let Myself… reveals a profound and fruitful relationship between m and claire. But the symphonic symbiosis goes even deeper still. Outside of musical breakthroughs, the pair helped each other conquer intensely personal changes, with m and claire transitioning and coming out as non-binary and trans, respectively.

As m explains, “to me this record is very much about this process of becoming—trying to reach something and getting there but sometimes not being quite where you want to be but at least getting closer. It’s about feeling alternately empowered and insecure socially as you transition and trying to cope with these conflicting emotions.”

Musically, the album showcases startlingly sincere sets of serrated but sedative situational music. A-side epic Drunk is a sprawling but taut rove of aural duality. Passages of exquisite elegance subtly clash with shimmering shards of sound. Pre-op is a poised and pensive piece of solemn reflection, harrowingly honest and delivered with clarity and composure, while Post-op closes out the set in a wholly uplifting and optimistic flair.

If I Don't Let Myself Be Happy Now Then When? is ultimately about coping during the respective transitioning phase in both of their lives, obliquely blissful and fraught with freedom.

SoiSong is the stunning but short-lived partnership of Coil co-founder Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson and veteran Russian electronic experimentalist Ivan Pavlov. Though friends since 1997, the project birthed roughly a decade later in Bangkok, where Christopherson relocated following the death of his Coil collaborator John Balance in 2004. Named after the Thai word for `two' along with a notorious red-light district street nearby, the duo dialed into a cryptic language of lurching synthetics, Eastern minimalism, and interdimensional glitch, oscillating between elegance and mayhem. qXn948s collects some of their earliest recordings, and remains as transgressive and transcendent a listen now as it was upon its release a decade and a half ago. Pavlov characterizes SoiSong as less a musical group than a "utopian, semi-alien platform for collaboration, devoid of pronounced personality or centralized authority_ more like a message from elsewhere that anyone is welcome to participate in and spread." Every facet of the project was disruptive and oblique: self-released CDs packaged in elaborate origami that had to be destroyed to be accessed; a website with password protected sections, where different passwords were provided for different events, objects or releases; performance merchandise of headphones and a Walkman melted shut so the music can only be heard as long as the set of batteries last. Theirs was a muse as unprecedented as it was uncompromising, equal parts pranks and profundity. qXn948s began with samples and software composed intuitively in tandem before a large monitor, then progressively processed and scrambled into bewildering arrangements of digital frequencies, alternately spartan and claustrophobic, uneasy and uncanny. Vignettes of small melody emerge and are obliterated; gamelan-esque tones spiral above cybernetic pulse programming and funereal didgeridoo; skeletal piano meanders in the distance while flickering circuitry pummels patterns of white noise. Pavlov describes his and Christopherson's chemistry as "unspoken and sincere, and very efficient." That music this aggressively disorienting and complex congealed in a smoothly organic fashion is testament to the rare vision of its creators.

Clear Vinyl

SoiSong is the stunning but short-lived partnership of Coil co-founder Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson and veteran Russian electronic experimentalist Ivan Pavlov. Though friends since 1997, the project birthed roughly a decade later in Bangkok, where Christopherson relocated following the death of his Coil collaborator John Balance in 2004. Named after the Thai word for `two' along with a notorious red-light district street nearby, the duo dialed into a cryptic language of lurching synthetics, Eastern minimalism, and interdimensional glitch, oscillating between elegance and mayhem. qXn948s collects some of their earliest recordings, and remains as transgressive and transcendent a listen now as it was upon its release a decade and a half ago. Pavlov characterizes SoiSong as less a musical group than a "utopian, semi-alien platform for collaboration, devoid of pronounced personality or centralized authority_ more like a message from elsewhere that anyone is welcome to participate in and spread." Every facet of the project was disruptive and oblique: self-released CDs packaged in elaborate origami that had to be destroyed to be accessed; a website with password protected sections, where different passwords were provided for different events, objects or releases; performance merchandise of headphones and a Walkman melted shut so the music can only be heard as long as the set of batteries last. Theirs was a muse as unprecedented as it was uncompromising, equal parts pranks and profundity. qXn948s began with samples and software composed intuitively in tandem before a large monitor, then progressively processed and scrambled into bewildering arrangements of digital frequencies, alternately spartan and claustrophobic, uneasy and uncanny. Vignettes of small melody emerge and are obliterated; gamelan-esque tones spiral above cybernetic pulse programming and funereal didgeridoo; skeletal piano meanders in the distance while flickering circuitry pummels patterns of white noise. Pavlov describes his and Christopherson's chemistry as "unspoken and sincere, and very efficient." That music this aggressively disorienting and complex congealed in a smoothly organic fashion is testament to the rare vision of its creators.

Fleeting configurations of piano, wind, strings, synthetics, and field recordings, inspired by the Greek isles.
Previous albums adored by the likes of The Quietus, Exclaim, Drowned In Sound, etc.
For fans of Angelo Badalamenti & David Lynch soundtracks, Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, and Global Communication.
While on the island of Syros in the Aegean Sea for a film festival performance, Christina Vantzou experienced what she characterized as “a moment of focus”—a specific vision for the sprawl of raw recordings she’d been amassing for her fifth album. Upon relocating to the Cycladic island of Ano Koufonisi, she situated herself outside at a patio table with a laptop and headphones, taking brief breaks to swim, and began the “reductive process” of shaving and shaping the source material into uneasy but lyrical movements, alternately austere and adorned with strange inflections: glottal groaning, cavernous water, glittering eddies of modular synth, languorous silences. Mixing the pieces herself without outsourcing to an engineer compounded the intimacy and autobiographical dimension of the music; she refers to No5 as “almost like a first album.”
Drawing on sessions staged in February 2020, Vantzou’s editing instincts emphasize process and isolation, spotlighting resonance and restraint, liquidity and long tails. Fleeting configurations of piano, wind, strings, synthetics, and field recordings, these are spaces as much as compositions, surreal grottos of shifting light, suffused with a sense of invisible divinity. Although seventeen musicians appear on the record, the proceedings feel minimalist and malleable, sculpted from interstitial moments and oblique synchronicities. The definition of a composer as “one who joins things” is here both plumbed and proven; Vantzou describes No5 as “a letting go,” a place of “soft borders,” unfixed and undefinable.

Futurismo are proud to present a deluxe remastered vinyl package of the classic 1980 album: Red Exposure by the uncompromising Chrome.

Arguably considered the San Francisco bands greatest work, Red Exposure, the fourth album to feature core members Damon Edge

and Helios Creed, was the definitive version of Chrome’s idiosyncratic approach to sound: a projected vision of near future dystopia via an undefinable guise of experimental space rock and punk-tinged alien soundscapes. Here, the band simultaneously draw from the otherworldly noises of their past records, whilst pushing their synthesizers forward into, albeit oblique, pop song structures.


Edge’s vocals are structured more like an instrument than a voice, lyrics painting images of humanities future on the edge of total destruction. As Creed’s guitar work multilayersit’s way into a completely different aural spectrum, beautiful yet violent, slashing against rhythmic pulsations, loops and experimentations, to create a sound that even today feels beyond the here and now. This distillation of the bands repertoire seemed to envision a deconstruction of rock ‘n’ roll, aimed to break past the shell of cliché that it would of course eventually come to inhabit. Which is why despite it’s age Red Exposure remains a record that still sounds like the sonic product of a far off civilisation, making this disk of new wave nihilism vital for fans of Space rock, Krautrock, Throbbing Gristle, Cabaret Voltaire and Suicide.

The deluxe remastered version of this out of print 1980 LP is presented here in ltd edition coloured vinyl. It comes packaged in a chromed mirrorboard sleeve, contains a large screen printed poster printed with neon ink featuring unseen photographs of the band, and a bonus track.

Moiré's rain-streaked and masterful Circuits album dropped this past September. RA's Andrew Ryce stated the eight-track album cast the shadowy producer into "a rarefied air occupied by the only the finest and most influential of ambient techno artists."

Now, in short order, the label returns with a remix EP charting out multiple hubs of oblique dance floor innovation. If there's a sonic motif on the A-side, it's vastly reactive interpretations of the "factory floor" element that inspired techno's pioneers. Matthew Herbert, a pioneering force in his own right, mixes steam engine percussion with the dreamy atmospherics of "Circuit 15" and comes up with eight minutes of cerebral machine funk. Tolouse Low Trax, meanwhile, continues his masterclass in modern motorik on his remix of "Circuit 7," integrating a chiming piano into a fascinating, perfectly-timed 110 BPM rhythm.

The B-side, meanwhile, doubles down on the oneiric nature of the original material. Workshop head and Avenue 66 alumnus Lowtec builds allows "Circuit 04"'s synths to billow into Gas-like immersive layering, sheets of melody are anchored by a restrained beat for an ambient techno track that doesn't tip the scales too far in one direction or the other. Rather, it achieves a perfect balance. Hamburg/Dial mainstay Lawrence closes things out with his version of "Circuit 18," which also concludes the original album. While the original has a wistful, Deckard's dream quality, Lawrence's version is deeply-rooted in the late-night German style; a low-slung bassline will keep dancers deeply rooted while those wistful chords sweep in like the violet before dawn.

'The Arbitrary Dimension of Dreams' is Cate Kennan's oblique exploration of memory, nighttime, and narrative. The resulting 12 compositions are brisk, evocative, and lingering. Kennan's sonic palette is vast yet harmonized, deftly matching spectral synthesizers to hazy lap steel guitars and watery analog effects. Existing in the sparsely occupied world of early melodic electronic music, her songs call to mind the sonic landscape's of Malcolm Cecil, Hans-Joachim Roedelius, and Deux Filles. Each individual track sculpts a setting, constructing an amorphous landscape of surreal musical vignettes. Picture a boat tied to a dock, bobbing with the waves, wisps of fog refusing the complete vision. This is the nebulous space of 'The Arbitrary Dimension of Dreams,' an enveloping, insistent realm that feels both intimately familiar and profoundly otherworldly.

Reflecting upon their new album Different Bridges, Nutrients discovered a
time capsule from the dullest days of the pandemic
The 10 hopeful songs manage to sonically sound as optimistic as their lyrics.
Unbeknownst to the band, they were composing an ode to the way life had once
been. Lyrically, Teeple subconsciously penned love letters to everything he had
taken for granted: parties, air travel, even just meeting new people. The band's
sun-drenched guitars continue to jingle and jangle on Different Bridges, yet this
time around, other ingredients are in the spotlight. Sean McKee's basslines
ecstatically bounce around on the album's title track opener, while Iulia Ciobanu's
ghostly harmonies and tense keys soar on the jazzy, lounge pop bop Nauseous.
Ben Fukuzawa's steady cadence and vivacious fills animate tracks like the spritely
closer, Kool Kat '22. Saxophone by guest Emily Steinwall shimmers alongside the
buoyant congas, bongos, and triangle added by percussionist Juan Carlos
Medrano. Still, guitar work on songs like the wordplay-adorned I and the nostalgic
House Fire Painting sturdily underpin Taylor Teeple and Will Hunter's smooth
songwriting. Compositionally, the band has freshened up forgotten cliches from
'70s soft rock and '80s new wave and incorporated them into a signature sound
listeners first discovered on their self- titled debut. Some of the more oblique
noodling may bring to mind bands like Steely Dan, while certain funk-lite grooves
evoke British pop groups like Orange Juice or Haircut 100. Contemporarily,
Different Bridges would likely find fans in listeners of fellow Canadians TOPS,
Video Age, or even Drugdealer. That optimism was perhaps a bit….well optimistic,
the band now recognizes. But they still believe that keeping a positive mindset is
key to creating music you can be proud of, and living a fulfilling life in general.

Jonathan Fitoussi & Julie Freyri are Model Alpha. 8 years on after their first album Dimensions, Perceptions is the duo's second album and was entirely composed on analog synthesizers.
Model Alpha is inspired by electronic artists such as Kraftwerk, Laurie Spiegel, Manuel Göttsching or early Detroit techno productions. An elegant blend of synthesizers and drum machines including remix by Chloé (Thévenin).

 The Orielles have created their first genuinely
contemporary record - an experimental double
album self-produced in collaboration with producer
Joel Anthony Patchett (King Krule, Tim Burgess).
 In doing so, The Orielles have utilised holistic jazz
practices, oblique 21st Century electronica,
experimental 1960s tape loop methods,
otherworldly Auto-Tuned vocal sounds, the downer
dub of Burial, Sonic Youth’s focus on improvisation
and feedback, and Brian Eno’s legendary Oblique
Strategy cards.

Thrill Jockey Records is proud to present Into This Juvenile Apocalypse Our Golden Blood to Pour Let Us Never, the third collaborative album by Japanese free music provocateur Keiji Haino and expressionist metal trio SUMAC. Into This Juvenile Apocalypse finds the quartet navigating the push-and-pull of creative interplay with bolder strides and stronger chemistry. Recorded on May 21, 2019 at the Astoria Hotel on Vancouver BC"s notorious East Hastings Street as a one-off performance during a short North American tour for Haino, the six compositions comprising Into This Juvenile Apocalypse showcase a musical unit bouncing unfiltered ideas off of one another, mining a trove of textures and timbres from their armory to buoy and bolster these living and breathing pieces. Like so many albums documenting free music, the thrill here is in the tight rope walk, the wavering moments of uncertainty and the ecstatic moments of shared brilliance. Japan"s fearless multi-instrumentalist and cultural provocateur Keiji Haino has made a career out of his free-form musical improvisations and diverse collaborations. Whether deconstructing American blues, to a few rogue notes hanging across chasms of empty space in his solo endeavors, sparring with the nebulous fringes of psychedelia in Fushitsusha, or teaming up with musicians like Faust, Boris, Jim O"Rourke, Stephen O"Malley, John Zorn, and Peter Brötzmann for fleeting aural experiments. Haino"s work is never pre-planned or structured, but rather a completely spontaneous exploration of chemistry, texture, and dynamics. SUMAC"s tenure is much younger than Haino"s, though guitarist-vocalist Aaron Turner has covered a similarly large swath of musical territory across numerous projects and collaborations. From the sedated drones of recent projects with Daniel Menche and William Fowler Collins, to the modern compositions of Mamiffer and all the way back to the restless evolutions of post-metal stalwarts ISIS. With his cohorts Nick Yacyshyn (Baptists, Erosion) on drums and Brian Cook (Russian Circles) on bass, Turner has dissolved the rigid forms of heavy music, searching for a balance between disciplined precision and unhinged musical barbarism, crafting music that vacillates between meticulously detailed instrumentation and uninhibited forays into oblique abstraction.

Thrill Jockey Records is proud to present Into This Juvenile Apocalypse Our Golden Blood to Pour Let Us Never, the third collaborative album by Japanese free music provocateur Keiji Haino and expressionist metal trio SUMAC. Into This Juvenile Apocalypse finds the quartet navigating the push-and-pull of creative interplay with bolder strides and stronger chemistry. Recorded on May 21, 2019 at the Astoria Hotel on Vancouver BC"s notorious East Hastings Street as a one-off performance during a short North American tour for Haino, the six compositions comprising Into This Juvenile Apocalypse showcase a musical unit bouncing unfiltered ideas off of one another, mining a trove of textures and timbres from their armory to buoy and bolster these living and breathing pieces. Like so many albums documenting free music, the thrill here is in the tight rope walk, the wavering moments of uncertainty and the ecstatic moments of shared brilliance. Japan"s fearless multi-instrumentalist and cultural provocateur Keiji Haino has made a career out of his free-form musical improvisations and diverse collaborations. Whether deconstructing American blues, to a few rogue notes hanging across chasms of empty space in his solo endeavors, sparring with the nebulous fringes of psychedelia in Fushitsusha, or teaming up with musicians like Faust, Boris, Jim O"Rourke, Stephen O"Malley, John Zorn, and Peter Brötzmann for fleeting aural experiments. Haino"s work is never pre-planned or structured, but rather a completely spontaneous exploration of chemistry, texture, and dynamics. SUMAC"s tenure is much younger than Haino"s, though guitarist-vocalist Aaron Turner has covered a similarly large swath of musical territory across numerous projects and collaborations. From the sedated drones of recent projects with Daniel Menche and William Fowler Collins, to the modern compositions of Mamiffer and all the way back to the restless evolutions of post-metal stalwarts ISIS. With his cohorts Nick Yacyshyn (Baptists, Erosion) on drums and Brian Cook (Russian Circles) on bass, Turner has dissolved the rigid forms of heavy music, searching for a balance between disciplined precision and unhinged musical barbarism, crafting music that vacillates between meticulously detailed instrumentation and uninhibited forays into oblique abstraction.

With a discography held in such high esteem amongst fans of conceptual French pop and soundtrack composition, the likelihood of finding an unturned stone amongst maestro Jean-Claude Vannier’s fertile psychedelic rockery falls somewhere between slim and skeletal. Even the most intrepid explorers of the most fearless and fastidious nature should naturally expect to encounter one or two shadowy characters when braving the oblique corners of the Vannier vault, but few lost souls cast a darker silhouette than the cinematic obscurity known only as La Bête Noire (The Black Beast).

Lost and presumed missing for decades the soundtrack tapes to this lesser-known 1983 French thriller (featuring a cast culled from films such as Alphaville, The Modern Couple and Sweet Movie) captures the revered composer and arranger of Serge Gainsbourg’s Histoire De Melody Nelson embarking on a darker exploration of free jazz, frenzied batucadas and cyclic carousel psychedelia. Counting key players of the French jazz scene within its ranks, The Insolitudes group comprises a crack team of Palm/Futura/Actuel/Saravah regulars such as saxophonist Philippe Mate´ (Acting Trio/Mate´-Vallancien/Tacet) alongside drummer Bernard Labat (Mad Ducks) and legendary Arpadys/Voyage rhythm masters Marc Chantereau and Pierre-Alain Dahan (Brutus Drums) all of whom alongside Michel Zanlonghi (Ensemble De Percussion De Paris) make up this thunderous, tumultuous, four-headed rhythm machine bridging an authentic gap between The Jef Gilson Groups and France’s signature “cosmic” revolution. Naturally these previously unheard compositions are spearheaded by lead pianist and composer Vannier and for devotee’s of his 1972 concept album L’Enfant Assassin Des Mouche there is much to admire and cross-reference herein.

Having been the most loyal and long-running guardians of Jean-Claude’s monster archive over the past two decades Finders Keepers Records are proud to present this first catch of newfound vintage Vannier discoveries on this limited and unlikely free jazz 45 single (which should find a perfect home between coveted Euro jazz 7”s by Krzysztof Komeda, Franc¸ois Tusques and Brussels Art Quintet). Almost 15 years since Finders Keepers once liberated the

Quandary is a work of electronic music that wants to balance between opposites - nature and technology, human agency and artificial thinking, ritual and machinery. That’s how quandaries emerge, as an impossible choice between two extremes. But music isn’t binary thinking and allows the exploration of obscure connections. Underground, a growing mycelium intersects and communicates with a fiber optic backbone: on the surface, the curtains open, and the quandary may begin to dissolve.

Produced in Berlin between 2019 and 2021, the album originates from open jams, which were then deconstructed through heavy editing - and finally recomposed, sometimes challenging the original spirit.

Bob Meanza's oblique approach to music production encompasses the creative textures of guitarist Alex Baboian, and is enriched by the vocal appearances of Bianca Guitton. A small orchestra of three that already implies roots in Germany, Italy, USA, Armenia and France - each musician carrying him/herself the «quandary» of having at least two homes. But again, this unexpected network can bring precious fruits to the surface.

Over the past decade, the mysterious, London-based artist Moiré has perfected a syrupy, addictive brand of dance music via labels like Actress's Werk Discs and illustrious imprints like Ghostly and Rush Hour. For most of this period, Moiré seemed pramarily concerned in creating alternative universe club tracks. The beats were hypnotic, if wonky. The pads were deep before they were refracted through an oblique filter. In a discography bearing a surfeit of leftfield high points, Circuits, Moiré's latest album for the Berlin-based Avenue 66 (Lowtec, John Frusciante, Joey Anderson) is a massive creative leap that fully breaks with the strictures of a "conventional" dance music.

While there are still nods to the low-slung, slow house style Moiré's perfected in the past ("Circuit 1"), as well as the looming shadow of hardcore ("Circuit 8), Moiré's style now billows into a liminal, cinematic zone that recalls the canonical SAW albums, BOC or even Seefeel's enduring, genre-free experiments. Rhythms come and go at all tempos, from Hauntological four-on-the-floor to flickering downtempo and ambient house approximations. But the emphasis lies with the melodies. From the queasy orchestral style of "Circuits 1" to the glacial, "end credits"-style synths that close out the album, these motifs bear an uncanny familiarity, as though they always existed. You recognize them, not from a previous listen, but rather, some half-remembered dream, or, perhaps, a previous lifetime.

Runhild Gammelsæter and Lasse Marhaug are two Norwegian musicians/sound artists. Both started in the early 1990s music underground and have worked in many constellations with a wide range of collaborators.

Despite knowing each other for a long time, Gammelsæter and Marhaug’s first collaborative work was the “Quantum Entanglement” LP in 2014. The album ignited a collective spark that both wanted to pursue further. Still, other commitments got in the way, and the project lay dormant until Stephen O’Malley, and Greg Anderson invited them to open for Sunn O))) for a special gig in the St. James Church of Culture in Oslo in the autumn of 2019. The two gathered for a long series of rehearsals, and after the successful performance, it was clear that it was time to start working on new compositions and recordings. That process initiated in late 2019 and continued to early 2021, encompassing before and after the world went through the lockdown. The result of this long development to be heard accumulated upon their new album “Higgs Boson” on Ideologic Organ Music.

Throughout the profound process of creating “Higgs Boson”, Gammelsæter and Marhaug drew inspiration from various subjects and artists. For Marhaug, it was concepts informed by the structuralist experimental cinema of Japanese directors Takashi Ito and Toshio Matsumoto, futurist worlds of French comic book artists Philippe Druillet and Jean Moebius Giraud, landscape photography of Fay Godwin, Kåre Kivijärvi, and Tamiko Nishimura, amongst others.

It became a metaphysical juxtaposition involving Gammelsaeter’s research and lyrical ideas based on several seemingly unrelated principles. A process of association inspired by “the Glass Bead Game” by Herman Hesse. The discovery of the Higgs Boson as a confirmation of the physical universe. The work of Ernst Schrödinger on the uncertainty principle. The four forces of physics. The Force. Helplessness under armed forces - as the war sailors in World War II. The influence of magic as expressed in tarot.

Gammelsæter experiments with a boundary involving the thresholds amongst various states of focus and legibility by forensic experimentation with techniques such as exclusive expression of consonants, syllabic repetition, retrograde text vocalisations and multi-lingual layering. Her vocal inspirational sources include Sidsel Endresen, Diamanda Galas, Natacha Atlas, the choral works of Rachmaninov, and the bands Carcass and Grave.

Two worlds coming together, making the music special. Mixing hard facts with science fiction helps create a kaleidoscopic cross point between the complex realities of the past and a possible future.

“Quantum Entanglement” featured two long-form pieces centred around a prepared piano and layered voice, while “Higgs Boson” developed a much more elaborate and ambitious compositional work. Across eight parts, the two artists brought a broad palette of instrumentation and sound. Electronic and acoustic, objects and field recordings, and pipe organ define the structures of which the centre is Gammelsæter’s magnificent voice. She has become known for her legendary voice, with her vast and unique range of inflective techniques and affective colour through her 30 years creating music. In the mix, Lasse approached the instrumental elements like landscapes, then Runhild’s vocals as characters that inhabit those worlds. Often, Gammelsæter multiple characters fused with the landscape. Make them occupy space, sometimes blend into it, sometimes dominate it. Constructing and setting visual guidelines helps set focus and open possibilities.

As an album, “Higgs Boson” is direct and focused, drawing on song structures. Within these tracks are vast strata of sound, an immersive multi-dimensional depth of music. Creating a feeling of depth while working with a flat two-channel stereo format - and how dimensions of texture and distortion can help develop the illusion of a space. The album structure is a story-like arc, a malleable subjective path, set as the album traverses oblique and suggestive areas, opening the concepts for the listener to unpack as they like.

– exclusive consultation with Gammelsæter & Marhaug, edited by Stephen O’Malley, June 2022

Jacob Long’s third Earthen Sea outing for Kranky, Ghost Poems, further refines his fragile, fractured palette into fluttering arrhythmias of dust, percussion, and yearning.
Composed during the first wave of lockdowns in New York, the pieces took shape patiently from samples of piano, texture, and domestic sounds (sink splashing, room tone, clinking objects), filtered through live FX to imbue them with an intuitive, immaterial feel. Wisps of melody splinter, shimmer, and refract, like light on water; pulses accrue and dissipate, as if mapping shifting sands. Throughout, there’s a sense of matter made animate, of absences felt.
Long cites notions of “the studio as a dub instrument” and the melancholy of “7th chords on a fake Rhodes patch” as central elements in his process, transforming raw materials into rare thresholds of symbiosis and hypnosis. This is music for night skies in hollowed out cities, for views across rivers towards unknown shores: restless, placeless, and profound.
track listing:1. Shiny Nowhere 2. Stolen Time 3. Felt Absence 4. Oblique Ruins 5. Snowy Water 6. Rough Air 7. Slate Horizon 8. Ochre Sky 9. Fossil Painting 10. Deep Sky
press quotes for previous album Grass and Trees:
“Jacob Long’s vaporous, lo-fi ambient tracks feel like snapshots of stillness made of moving parts.” Pitchfork
“As light as a warm breeze on skin, Earthen Sea’s latest album for Kranky showcases Jacob Long’s natural sensitivity for low-key, enchanting electronic sound craft.” Boomkat
“It’s exciting to hear such a significant change in his sound without sacrificing a personal touch and sonic character.” Igloo

Cabaret Voltaire co-founder Stephen Mallinder's second solo outing for Dais further distills his signature fusion of minimal synth, oblique wordplay, and "wonky disco" into a riveting rhythm suite ripe for our Age of Escalation: Tick Tick Tick. Channeling the temporal malaise of lockdown through a lusher palette of modular electronics and stereo strings, the songs embrace ambiguity and plasticity, loose systems of percolating circuitry and airless funk. Recorded across a handful of sessions at Meme Tune Studios in Cornwall with frequent collaborator Benge (aka Ben Edwards), Mallinder cites no guiding aesthetic premise for the collection beyond "cowbell on every track, and entirely no reverb." From the first coiled cybernetic groove of opener "Contact," the album's spatial dynamics are disorienting and asymmetrical, alternately cold and sensual, opiated and claustrophobic. But, throughout, "rhythm is the default, the bedrock, the building block-even the melodies are rhythmic." Across 40-plus years of electronic musicianship, Mallinder's sense of timing and tempo has honed into a rare tier of mastery, limber and fluid but knotted with strange frictions. Shades of Detroit technoid industrial ("ringdropp," "Shock To The Body") crossfade into now avy punk-funk ("Guernica Gallery," "Galaxy," "The Trial"), bad trip IDM ("Wasteland"), and jittery vapor house ("Hush"), at the threshold of modes both familiar and foreign. Lyrically the record is equally evasive, rich with allusions and associative linguistics, surveying liquid notions of societal noise, ecological ruin, art world pretension, and the trials of daily life. But the lack of fixed meaning remains Mallinder's main muse: "Music should draw you in; lyrics should make you think. Most interpretation is misinterpretation." This is music of countdowns and comedowns, fleeting pleasures and opaque futures, observing the great decline while dancing on its ashes. Flux is deathless and forever; the rest, illusion: "I will be a constant figure / Flickering a moving picture / Turning in your head forever / Split apart but held together."

Cabaret Voltaire co-founder Stephen Mallinder's second solo outing for Dais further distills his signature fusion of minimal synth, oblique wordplay, and "wonky disco" into a riveting rhythm suite ripe for our Age of Escalation: Tick Tick Tick. Channeling the temporal malaise of lockdown through a lusher palette of modular electronics and stereo strings, the songs embrace ambiguity and plasticity, loose systems of percolating circuitry and airless funk. Recorded across a handful of sessions at Meme Tune Studios in Cornwall with frequent collaborator Benge (aka Ben Edwards), Mallinder cites no guiding aesthetic premise for the collection beyond "cowbell on every track, and entirely no reverb." From the first coiled cybernetic groove of opener "Contact," the album's spatial dynamics are disorienting and asymmetrical, alternately cold and sensual, opiated and claustrophobic. But, throughout, "rhythm is the default, the bedrock, the building block-even the melodies are rhythmic." Across 40-plus years of electronic musicianship, Mallinder's sense of timing and tempo has honed into a rare tier of mastery, limber and fluid but knotted with strange frictions. Shades of Detroit technoid industrial ("ringdropp," "Shock To The Body") crossfade into now avy punk-funk ("Guernica Gallery," "Galaxy," "The Trial"), bad trip IDM ("Wasteland"), and jittery vapor house ("Hush"), at the threshold of modes both familiar and foreign. Lyrically the record is equally evasive, rich with allusions and associative linguistics, surveying liquid notions of societal noise, ecological ruin, art world pretension, and the trials of daily life. But the lack of fixed meaning remains Mallinder's main muse: "Music should draw you in; lyrics should make you think. Most interpretation is misinterpretation." This is music of countdowns and comedowns, fleeting pleasures and opaque futures, observing the great decline while dancing on its ashes. Flux is deathless and forever; the rest, illusion: "I will be a constant figure / Flickering a moving picture / Turning in your head forever / Split apart but held together."

REMASTERED

Grönland Records announce a revised, remastered reissue of “Sleepwalkers” by DAVID SYLVIAN. Available as a gatefold 2LP with exclusive art print and as a gatefold digipack CD, this new edition also features the previously unreleased track “Modern Interiors”.

in the 00s, DAVID SYLVIAN produced two of his strongest and most solitary statements, BLEMISH and MANAFON. but those records don’t tell the whole story. during that the same period, SYLVIAN created an alternate body of work: a series of collaborations and side projects with leading talents of pop and improv, electronic and contemporary classical music. the best of these recordings are gathered here on SLEEPWALKERS, meticulously sequenced and remixed: the fruits of one-off meetings and lifelong partnerships, they jump from bliss to intrigue, romance to sensuality, as arch experiments lead into the lushest pop.

the single ‘world citizen – i won’t be disappointed,’ written with RYUICHI SAKAMOTO, is a sublime example, with an impeccable melody and lyric warmed by SYLVIAN’S gorgeous tenor. SYLVIAN has worked with SAKAMOTO for close to three decades. by contrast, on ‘pure genius,’ a collaboration with CHRIS VRENNA aka tweaker, he sounds like he’s walked into a heist flick, singing the part of a delusional, dangerous bedroom genius. as sylvian explains, tracks like this ‘give me a chance to write in a way that’s completely non-personal, playful. it’s an exercise of some kind, working within the parameters of a given assignment.’

intrigue of a different kind drives ‘sugarfuel,’ with music by JEAN-PHILIPPE VERDIN, aka READYMADE FC. the lyrics offered ‘an opportunity to grapple with a more overt sexual theme than anything i’d previously attempted, as suggested by a vocal sample in the original track provided, a threateningly insistent ‘i’m on your side.’ so i took that as my point of entry and ran with it. i would love to write more on this subject should i find the right context. you’re always aware of walking a thin line exploring sexuality with language alone. the failings of the great and the good are strewn all around.’

NINE HORSES’ ‘wonderful world’ strolls in on a black tie bassline and the echoing coos of swedish chanteuse STINA NORDENSTAM, whose high chirps brush hands with SYLVIAN’S lead; there’s the blistering ‘money for all’ by FRIEDMAN and SYLVIAN, an oblique response to the fallout of 9/11 and the war on iraq. this is followed by the last known recording of SYLVIAN’S singing voice in over a decade, ‘do you know me now?’, a live studio recording later augmented by JAN BANG, EIVIND AARSET and ERIK HONORÉ. it’s certainly a title that’s become more relevant over time as SYLVIAN, in the latter stages of his career, repeatedly comes face to face with a new generation of admirers fixated on the life and times of the band formed by his younger self. SYLVIAN is one of only a handful of musicians to have successfully moved on from overt pop beginnings into a domain all his own but is consistently plagued by the misguided desires or expectations of some unfamiliar with his evolution to do a u-turn, pick up where he left off in the late 90s. although this compilation, as well as his writing for NINE HORSES, adequately shows SYLVIAN’S traditional love of melody is
intact, that it’s consistently remained part of his output, there’s no denying his focus has shifted, evolved.
the refusal to embrace complacency, the need to cover new ground ‘as older generations of popular musicians have a moral duty to explore despite, or because of, the greater possibility of failure’ will, i believe, lead to a reassessment of his later work that embraces a sightly more complex relationship with what we’re referring to as ‘melodic’, accompanied by an exploration of improvisation without dogma or beholden to any ‘givens’ for which he’s not infrequently been castigated. for SYLVIAN, there are no such boundaries. it’s obvious that different facets of his work co-exist without conflict but not necessarily for the majority of his audience. again, this places SYLVIAN in the odd, rare, unenviable(?) position of moving forwards leaving many in his devoted audience behind as, should he decide to return to music, it’s unlikely he’ll be aiming to placate an audience in love with work that preceded the 00s. in fact we’ve no idea where new work, should it surface, may lead.

SLEEPWALKERS also spotlights the innovators who contributed to MANAFON and BLEMISH. CHRISTIAN FENNESZ hangs a crackling, shimmering curtain behind the vocal on ‘transit,’ matching his signature mass of sui generis sounds to sylvian’s stately performance. and the title track began with an instrumental handed to SYLVIAN by MARTIN BRANDLMAYR of POLWECHSEL, soon after the first recording session for MANAFON. spite crackles in the gaps between the percussion, and onkyo artists TOSHIMARU NAKAMURA and SACHIKO M set the stage for the scathing lyrics in the chorus.

it cuts close to the bone and so do the two spoken word cuts, ‘angel’ and ‘thermal,’ produced by SAMADHISOUND recording artists JAN BANG and ERIK HONORÉ (and featuring ARVE HENRIKSEN on trumpet). SYLVIAN describes the latter work as a ‘love poem’ to his daughter. ‘‘thermal’ reflects on a period when our time in sonoma, ca was coming to an end. we’d stayed in temporary accommodation which had lulled us into a false sense of security. we had pear, apple, lemon, and figs trees growing in the yard. a small but exotic paradise. a cocoon. but the cracks were beginning to show in the relationship between ex-wife INGRID CHAVEZ and i which is where i think this underlying sense of anxiety, which runs throughout the poem, is derived from, coupled with the need to provide physical and spiritual stability to the children, the youngest of whom was just under two at the time. the poem is addressed to her. our world was dissipating, coming apart at the seams, but we were an island unto ourselves.’

‘five lines’ marked the start of a new partnership with acclaimed young composer DAI FUJIKURA, who at the time of recording was also working on remixes of MANAFON for what became DIED IN THE WOOL. the string quartet was performed by the celebrated ICE ENSEMBLE and written for SYLVIAN, who FUJIKURA cites as an early influence. says SYLVIAN, ‘the composition moves through numerous changes in time signature but as i had no knowledge of what these were i just relied on my gut instinct, and responded, as i always do, with what felt right to me, composing an entirely new melody in the process. some months later i was working in a studio in london and dai dropped by. i rather tentatively asked if he’d like to hear a rough mix of the song as it stood, painfully aware that my contribution might make no sense to him at all but, to my relief he loved the result.’

there’s one further new addition to this collection, the first official release of a track composed in response to the tsunami in fukushma, ‘modern interiors’, featuring SYLVIAN once again in collaboration with BANG and AARSET.

like 2000s EVERYTHING AND NOTHING, SLEEPWALKERS is a retrospective of a particular decade when SYLVIAN was free of major label interference and could follow his own instincts without having to explaining himself – but it’s also an eye-opening complement to his solo releases. as SYLVIAN explains, ‘some collaborations seem to be a one-off exchange but you can never be too certain of that fact. others have been long term. in this respect, RYUICHI comes to mind. there’s others with whom you hope to continue working as you feel you’ve barely scratched the surface. other times offers come out of the blue, welcome, inspired. regardless, it’s wonderfully explorative to have so many possibilities to juggle with. each collaboration seems timely. it’s as if there’s a rightness to the exchange at a given moment in time.’

in the meantime, we hope you enjoy the work presented here, personally selected, remixed and sequenced and entirely remastered. these are the orphans, abused, estranged, exotic, migrating from diverse corners of the globe, brought together under one roof which they're learning to share despite their differences.

‘as many of you will already be aware, despite relatively continuous work on solo albums, i’ve maintained strong ties with a number of musicians throughout my life in one context or another. on this new collection, let’s call it SLEEPWALKERS 2.0, a selection of collaborative work produced over the period encompassing blemish through to manafon, i’ve included compositions by nine horses as well as more fleeting flirtations and one-offs. neglected offspring. represented also is long term friend and writing partner, RYUICHI SAKAMOTO, as well as more recent but potentially equally productive partnerships such as CHRISTIAN FENNESZ, ARVE HENRIKSEN and contemporary classical composer DAI FUJIKURA.
i hope you enjoy the work presented here, personally selected, remixed and sequenced and entirely remastered. these are the orphans, abused, estranged, exotic, migrating from diverse corners of the globe, brought together under one roof which they're learning to share despite their differences.

we contain multitudes. we’re nothing if not contradictory.’

DAVID SYLVIAN, 2010

(consistency is contrary to nature, contrary to life: aldous huxley)

Having initially met more than a decade ago at a local community radio station, sometimes doing guest slots on each other’s live, improvised noise shows, Cormac Culkeen and Dave Grenon knew they had a mutual interest in working with sonic textures. They listened to each other’s bands for a handful of years, and in 2017, “made good on a threat” that they’d been making for quite a long time: to start a band. At Cormac’s gentle but clear urging—declaring that they’d gone ahead and booked a space in which to record a video—the two wrote their first song, “Sebaldus,” an ambitious 12-minute trip, which also serves as the fireworks finale to their self-titled debut album. With surges of pathos that smooth out into something more soothing in turn, Cormac goes: “The hunter, you’ve seen him / The archer, his arrows are strong / And hunger, you’ve known her / I know the winter is long.” The track is as much about enduring a Canadian winter as it is about the eponymous 8th century hermit, shot through with sublimated desire. As Cormac put it, Joyful Joyful’s songs are “a little bit outside of time.” But while the lyrics beg close, oblique reading unto themselves, there’s also a distinct sense that they’re only one of many more ways that the duo shapes sound. Cormac, whose voice is like a sea with irregular tides, lights up about an idea in traditional sean-nós Irish music that songs already exist and are out there; it’s up to the singer to become the conduit. This belief in music as something to be channelled, and something more than sound, resonates with the singer’s fundamentalist religious past. To paraphrase: lots of group singing, harmonies, no instrumentation, totally unmediated, no priest, congregational—not choral, not a performance, not about talent, the spirit moves through people. “Of course that informs how I think about singing,” Cormac says. So, when they were exiled from the church because of their queerness, they took the music with them, dislocating it from its dogmatic bounds but not from its transcendent potential. This record might be thought of, then, as a kind of queering of sacred, devotional traditions—or at the very least, a space where all of these things can be held at once. Perhaps perceivable by some as contradictions, these intersecting influences create the conditions for an incredibly singular sound. Dave is steady and exploratory in his handling of this multiplicity, arranging sounds as they’re revealed, corralling them, coaxing them into form. “Because Dave is there,” Cormac says, “I get to sing three times higher, and three times lower, and faster, and backwards, and all of these sounds! That are there. They’re all there.” When asked about early musical memories, Cormac recalled an immediate fascination with harmony: from demanding that the first person they ever heard singing it explain what they were doing, to always (still, to this day) singing in harmony with their twin sister around the house, to being part of a children’s choir that sang soprano in Handel’s Messiah—not realizing until they entered the room with all the other ranges that their learned melody was but one part of the whole. Just as tellingly, Dave reflects on his early attraction to “abstraction and becoming abstract,” describing childhood afternoons messing with microphone and speaker feedback loops, producing long, enduring sounds with almost undetectable variations. In a way unique to the coalescing of these two listeners, notions of harmony are central to their output. Dave samples field recordings, old keyboards and synths, and vocal drones, running the live singing through four or five parallel effects chains, sampling and treating everything again in the moment. “Another way to put it is that Cormac’s voice comes into the board and then comes back out shifted, delayed, and shattered; Cormac and I hear it, live with it, and respond,” Dave says. This work is contingent not only on a deep intuition (neither of them read sheet music) of polyphony and due proportion (something St Thomas Aquinas famously listed as an attribute of beauty) but also on their connection to each other and ability to read subtle cues. Dave says they’d hold each other’s hands while performing if it was more convenient to do so, riffing on something else Cormac mentioned about traditional Irish singing: that someone would always hold the singer’s hand, for fear that without a tether to the ground they might find themselves utterly lost, unsure how to return. Joyful Joyful doesn’t shy away from offering such experiences of departure; they’re willing to unsettle their audiences because they themselves are unsettled. Their shared penchant for spooky, heavy music, and self-described “omnivorous” listening practices equip them with an array of sonic concepts that support this effort; Diamanda Galás, The Rankin Family, Pan Sonic, Pauline Oliveros, Keith Fullerton Whitman, Yma Sumac, and Catholic hymnody were just a few that came up. Observing their audience gives them insight about the effect of each song—something they considered while arranging the album. Its arc is marked by soft, sometimes sudden oscillations between cacophony and euphony, day and night (listen for insects), and from sexual, visceral entanglements to more ephemeral, celestial ones. Front to back, it arouses expansion, unraveling. Of lightning, Vicki Kirby writes: “quite curious initiation rites precede these electrical encounters. An intriguing communication, a sort of stuttering chatter between the ground and the sky, appears to anticipate the actual stroke.” By all accounts, something similar seems to happen at Joyful Joyful shows, between those on the stage and those off it, between what’s earthly and what’s beyond. “A lightning bolt is not a straightforward resolution of the buildup of a charge difference between the earth and a cloud … there is, as it were, some kind of nonlocal communication effected between the two,” writes Karen Barad, extrapolating on Kirby’s thought. Cormac acknowledges that while they and Dave play a role in this mysterious charge that comes about, they’re not solely responsible. However ineffable it may be, it’s undoubtedly a form of communion—and a sensuously shocking one at that

While Bauhaus have been waiting to continue their reunion shows, founding member David J has been trawling through his archive of tapes and diaries from the early 80s in coll;aboration with sound sculptor Tim Newman to present two volumes of unique spoken word and songs, including a vocal contribution from Black Francis of The Pixies and guitar overdubs by Warren Defever of His Name Is Alive and Adrian Utley of Portishead. Sleeve notes by Andrew Brroksbank of the Bauhaus Archive.

The second LP by California rock n roll unit SPICE expands their palette of damaged anthems and addiction poetics with a more bristling, visceral sound, distilled from years in the trenches of bands, break-ups, and breakdowns. Singer Ross Farrar explains their chemistry succinctly: "We all got in a room and this is what came out." Viv is named for a precursor project of bassist Cody Sullivan and violinist Victoria Skudlarek, but also alludes to broader notions of vividness, sonic, visual, and otherwise. Engineered by Jack Shirley and mixed/mastered by Sam Pura in Oakland, the mix achieves that rare balance of every element being elevated but distinct, with voices, strings, and drums each given space to blaze parallel paths. Opener "Recovery" captures SPICE at their stormy, weathered best, booming drums and East Bay riffs skidding out in a rockslide of rapture, regret, and bruised melody ("You sacrifice perfect days to laugh through the night / you have to get out of bed / and it's hard / and it's hard / it's so hard to admit"), peaking in Ian Simpson's poignant single-note vibrato guitar solo; Farrar agrees: "The guitar says what we cannot." Other tracks embrace the group's shredded pop potential ("Any Day Now," "Dining Out," "Live Scene") and their speedway ripper mode ("Threnody"), with detours into oblique instrumentals ("Melody Drive") and orchestral balladeering ("Ashes In The Birdbath"). But what unites and ignites these songs across different energies and arrangements is their specific sense of emotion. Rawness refined into reckonings, approaching truth, born of cold mornings, bad luck, and too many wrong turns. Waking up where you're not supposed to be, living a life you don't recognize. The album ends with no end to its narrative, still fighting, still slipping. Farrar calls "Climbing Down The Ladder" a "relapse song - telling people you're okay but you're still fucking up." Heartbeat drums march under heartbroken guitars in an elegant downward spiral of defeat, delusion, and desperate hope, dreamed more than believed: "I said it was the last time / but I was up so high / 100 miles / 1000 miles / no me in sight / I saw into the next life / I wasn't dead / I felt so vivid in the next life."

The second LP by California rock n roll unit SPICE expands their palette of damaged anthems and addiction poetics with a more bristling, visceral sound, distilled from years in the trenches of bands, break-ups, and breakdowns. Singer Ross Farrar explains their chemistry succinctly: "We all got in a room and this is what came out." Viv is named for a precursor project of bassist Cody Sullivan and violinist Victoria Skudlarek, but also alludes to broader notions of vividness, sonic, visual, and otherwise. Engineered by Jack Shirley and mixed/mastered by Sam Pura in Oakland, the mix achieves that rare balance of every element being elevated but distinct, with voices, strings, and drums each given space to blaze parallel paths. Opener "Recovery" captures SPICE at their stormy, weathered best, booming drums and East Bay riffs skidding out in a rockslide of rapture, regret, and bruised melody ("You sacrifice perfect days to laugh through the night / you have to get out of bed / and it's hard / and it's hard / it's so hard to admit"), peaking in Ian Simpson's poignant single-note vibrato guitar solo; Farrar agrees: "The guitar says what we cannot." Other tracks embrace the group's shredded pop potential ("Any Day Now," "Dining Out," "Live Scene") and their speedway ripper mode ("Threnody"), with detours into oblique instrumentals ("Melody Drive") and orchestral balladeering ("Ashes In The Birdbath"). But what unites and ignites these songs across different energies and arrangements is their specific sense of emotion. Rawness refined into reckonings, approaching truth, born of cold mornings, bad luck, and too many wrong turns. Waking up where you're not supposed to be, living a life you don't recognize. The album ends with no end to its narrative, still fighting, still slipping. Farrar calls "Climbing Down The Ladder" a "relapse song - telling people you're okay but you're still fucking up." Heartbeat drums march under heartbroken guitars in an elegant downward spiral of defeat, delusion, and desperate hope, dreamed more than believed: "I said it was the last time / but I was up so high / 100 miles / 1000 miles / no me in sight / I saw into the next life / I wasn't dead / I felt so vivid in the next life."

- First vinyl reissue, available on LP for the first time in 20 years - Completely remastered audio and restored artwork - Side D lunar vinyl etching art // After leaving London in 1999 for the sleepy seaside retiree town of Weston-super-Mare, Coil co-founders John Balance and Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson set up shop in a palatial eight-bedroom estate to pursue the outer reaches of the group's heightening cabalistic chemistry. Among the staggering string of late-era masterpieces they produced is lunar opus Musick To Play In The Dark, widely hailed as an artistic zenith upon its release. The sessions that birthed it were in fact so fruitful that a second LP took shape during the creation of the first one. Aided by the recent addition of Welsh multi-instrumentalist engineer Thighpaulsandra, Coil mined further into the recesses of surrealist eldritch electronica Balance termed "moon music" - post-industrial spellcasting at the axis of narcotic and nocturnal energies. Musick To Play In The Dark² spans a full witching hour of bad acid sound design, synthesizer voyaging, opiated balladry, Luciferian glitch, and subliminal hymnals, alternately ominous, oracular, and absurd. Scottish gothic icon Rose McDowall guests on vocals for two tracks but otherwise the album is a hermetic affair, tapping into the group's limitless insular synergy. Opener "Something" is stark and incantational, a spoken word experiment for windswept voids. "Tiny Golden Books" unspools an aerial whirlpool of cosmic synth, both whispery and widescreen. "Ether" is an exercise in funeral procession piano and intoxicated wordplay ("It's either ether or the other"), while "Where Are You?" and "Batwings - A Liminal Hymn" lurk like liturgical murmurings heard on one's death bed, framed in granular FX and flickering candlelight. As a whole the collection skews more muted and remote than its predecessor, as if having grown accustomed to the nether regions of these darkening seances. But music box hallucination "Paranoid Inlay" captures the group's oblique comedic side, always glimmering beneath: over a warped, wobbly beat Balance intones an opaque narrative of serenity, Saint Peter, and suicidal vegetables, accompanied by spiraling harpsichord and stuttering squelches of electronics. "It seems concussion suits you," he repeats twice, like a macabre pickup line, before dictating a dear diary entry about risks and failures, finally concluding with as close to a self-portrait as Coil ever came: "On a clear day I can see forever / that the underworld is my oyster."

- First vinyl reissue, available on LP for the first time in 20 years - Completely remastered audio and restored artwork - Side D lunar vinyl etching art // After leaving London in 1999 for the sleepy seaside retiree town of Weston-super-Mare, Coil co-founders John Balance and Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson set up shop in a palatial eight-bedroom estate to pursue the outer reaches of the group's heightening cabalistic chemistry. Among the staggering string of late-era masterpieces they produced is lunar opus Musick To Play In The Dark, widely hailed as an artistic zenith upon its release. The sessions that birthed it were in fact so fruitful that a second LP took shape during the creation of the first one. Aided by the recent addition of Welsh multi-instrumentalist engineer Thighpaulsandra, Coil mined further into the recesses of surrealist eldritch electronica Balance termed "moon music" - post-industrial spellcasting at the axis of narcotic and nocturnal energies. Musick To Play In The Dark² spans a full witching hour of bad acid sound design, synthesizer voyaging, opiated balladry, Luciferian glitch, and subliminal hymnals, alternately ominous, oracular, and absurd. Scottish gothic icon Rose McDowall guests on vocals for two tracks but otherwise the album is a hermetic affair, tapping into the group's limitless insular synergy. Opener "Something" is stark and incantational, a spoken word experiment for windswept voids. "Tiny Golden Books" unspools an aerial whirlpool of cosmic synth, both whispery and widescreen. "Ether" is an exercise in funeral procession piano and intoxicated wordplay ("It's either ether or the other"), while "Where Are You?" and "Batwings - A Liminal Hymn" lurk like liturgical murmurings heard on one's death bed, framed in granular FX and flickering candlelight. As a whole the collection skews more muted and remote than its predecessor, as if having grown accustomed to the nether regions of these darkening seances. But music box hallucination "Paranoid Inlay" captures the group's oblique comedic side, always glimmering beneath: over a warped, wobbly beat Balance intones an opaque narrative of serenity, Saint Peter, and suicidal vegetables, accompanied by spiraling harpsichord and stuttering squelches of electronics. "It seems concussion suits you," he repeats twice, like a macabre pickup line, before dictating a dear diary entry about risks and failures, finally concluding with as close to a self-portrait as Coil ever came: "On a clear day I can see forever / that the underworld is my oyster."

- First vinyl reissue, available on LP for the first time in 20 years - Completely remastered audio and restored artwork - Side D lunar vinyl etching art // After leaving London in 1999 for the sleepy seaside retiree town of Weston-super-Mare, Coil co-founders John Balance and Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson set up shop in a palatial eight-bedroom estate to pursue the outer reaches of the group's heightening cabalistic chemistry. Among the staggering string of late-era masterpieces they produced is lunar opus Musick To Play In The Dark, widely hailed as an artistic zenith upon its release. The sessions that birthed it were in fact so fruitful that a second LP took shape during the creation of the first one. Aided by the recent addition of Welsh multi-instrumentalist engineer Thighpaulsandra, Coil mined further into the recesses of surrealist eldritch electronica Balance termed "moon music" - post-industrial spellcasting at the axis of narcotic and nocturnal energies. Musick To Play In The Dark² spans a full witching hour of bad acid sound design, synthesizer voyaging, opiated balladry, Luciferian glitch, and subliminal hymnals, alternately ominous, oracular, and absurd. Scottish gothic icon Rose McDowall guests on vocals for two tracks but otherwise the album is a hermetic affair, tapping into the group's limitless insular synergy. Opener "Something" is stark and incantational, a spoken word experiment for windswept voids. "Tiny Golden Books" unspools an aerial whirlpool of cosmic synth, both whispery and widescreen. "Ether" is an exercise in funeral procession piano and intoxicated wordplay ("It's either ether or the other"), while "Where Are You?" and "Batwings - A Liminal Hymn" lurk like liturgical murmurings heard on one's death bed, framed in granular FX and flickering candlelight. As a whole the collection skews more muted and remote than its predecessor, as if having grown accustomed to the nether regions of these darkening seances. But music box hallucination "Paranoid Inlay" captures the group's oblique comedic side, always glimmering beneath: over a warped, wobbly beat Balance intones an opaque narrative of serenity, Saint Peter, and suicidal vegetables, accompanied by spiraling harpsichord and stuttering squelches of electronics. "It seems concussion suits you," he repeats twice, like a macabre pickup line, before dictating a dear diary entry about risks and failures, finally concluding with as close to a self-portrait as Coil ever came: "On a clear day I can see forever / that the underworld is my oyster."

Scott Walker, PJ Harvey, Coil, Matmos, Autechre & Pan Daijing. 180g LP with inner, 12”x24”poster + DL card. The Debut Full-Length By Montréal Producer Kee Avil, The Project Led By Avant/Improv Guitarist Vicky Mettler, Also Known As A Member Of Sam Shalabi’s Land Of Kush And As Co-Founder Of Concrete Sound Montréal. Advance Single “See, My Shadow” Premiered By Mary Ann Hobbs On BBC6 And Picked Up By Music & Riots, Backseat Mafia, Aural Aggravation, Etc In Dec 2021. Kee Avil, a project led by Montréal producer and guitarist Vicky Mettler: a singular expression of fractured dream logic concretized in chiselled postpunk guitar, sinuous low-end electronics, a panoply of organic and digital samples creating alternately twitchy and propulsive rhythm, and the anxious intimacy of her finely wrought lyricism and vocals. Bound by an outstanding production sensibility throughout, Crease unfolds one oblique earworm hook after another, with compositional innovation anchored to an inscrutable and compelling voice across 10 songs of tremendous and imaginative sonic detail. Kee Avil brings a contemporary electroacoustic sensibility to bear on traditions and conventions of pop, postpunk, electronic and sound-art songwriting, where touchstones range from Scott Walker and Coil to Fiona Apple, (early) PJ Harvey and (later) Juana Molina to Eartheater, Pan Daijing and Smerz; or Grouper produced by Autechre. Her unconventional alloys also conjure the guitar-inflected deconstructions of Gastr del Sol and the crystalline micro-worlds of Bjork, Matmos and Rashad Becker. Crease is one of those debut records that excites a wide range of peerless references precisely because it's so compelling in its own idiosyncratic authority, originality and execution. Each song on Crease is its own sculpture, meticulously assembled to resemble disassembly: “each of these worlds was built without consideration for the other; it felt impossible to me, once I would enter the atmosphere of a song, to try to start another until that idea was finished.” The album nonetheless unfolds in impressive holistic integration through a palette of textures and techniques deployed in recurring but continually refracted ways. Alongside her superb austere guitar work stitched into electro-industrial, dark-ambient and minimal-techno soundworlds, it’s her voice and lyrics confidential, hermetic, implacable that provide the galvanizing, always captivating through-line. Her more compositional, exacting, (de)constructed musical identity was first unveiled with the self-titled Kee Avil EP (Black Bough Records) and further honed by pre-pandemic tours sharing stages with Pere Ubu, Marc Ribot and Bill Orcut among others. Woodshedding since then, Crease presents a quantum leap in Kee Avil's exploration of studio-based experimentation, arrangement and production, signaling the arrival of a brilliantly genre-melding, refined and assiduous new voice in avant-garde songcraft.

Möbius is an aerial ballet created by Cie XY in collaboration with the choreographer Rachid Ouramdane, and composers Jonathan Fitoussi & Clemens Hourrière.

One of the most sensitive sets of ears in Paris, GRM affiliate Jonathan Fitoussi meets Clemens Hourrière for a beautiful 3rd album called "Möbius". After their acclaimed "Five Steps" 2015 & "Espace Timbrés" 2018 on Versatile records, Fitoussi & Hourrière tethered again to the classic Buchla modular synthesiser, but this time for composed the soundtrack of an amazing aerial ballet in collaboration with Cie XY and famous choregrapher Rachid Ouramdane; Widescreen results
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"For Möbius we have teamed up with two composers, Jonathan Fitoussi and Clemens Hourrière; for several years now they have shared a common passion for electronic instruments with their unique incredible sound. We soon found there was a lot of common ground between our own acrobatic research and the way they create music : their sounds meeting, colliding or clustering together in a slow and finely nuanced progression, requiring the same continuous adjustment as our own process. This constantly evolving music with its expansive percussion will leave the door wide open to flights of the imagination, transporting us to strange atmospheres, at times disturbing, at others invigorating..." Cie XY