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In alten Zeiten, wenn sich Nebel um ein Schiff legte, war der einzige Weg nach vorne, langsamer zu werden und zuzuhören. Vögel, brechende Wellen, Schiffsklokken, Gongs und Hörner wurden zur neuen Sprache der Navigation, neben Tiefensondierungen, die den Meeresboden mit einer Bleileine abtasteten und seine verborgenen Formen enthüllten. Die Technik hat diese Methoden zwar weitgehend überflüssig gemacht, aber es hat immer noch etwas Faszinierendes, wenn man das Sehen gegen Hören und Fühlen eintauscht. Dieser Wandel steht im Mittelpunkt von AEAEA dem neuen Duo aus Patrick Higgins & Nicolas Jaar und ihrem Debütalbum Mist", einem Album, das fragt: Wie findest du dich zurecht, wenn die Welt um dich herum verschwimmt? Die Anfänge des Duos reichen zurück bis zum Le Guess Who?-Festival 2019, bei dem Higgins als Künstlerkurator fungierte. Benannt nach dem nebligen, mythischen Land der Eichen- und Buchenwälder, wurden die Insel und die sie umgebenden Geschichten zu einer Inspirationsquelle für beide Musiker, die schon lange eine Mischung aus altertümlicher Harmonie und elektronischem Experimentieren bevorzugen. Das Album entsteht aus der Erforschung einer neuen gemeinsamen Sprache durch das Duo, bei der Higgins' Gitarre und Percussion live durch Jaars Echtzeit- Effektketten geleitet werden, wodurch Sampling, Dubbing und Verarbeitung zu eigenständigen Musikinstrumenten werden. Aufgenommen über drei Jahre hinweg in Berlin und in Higgins' Studio im Bundesstaat New York, verwebt Mist" die neblige, intuitive Logik von Bearbeitungsketten und Improvisation in den Kern der Komposition. Die Platte entwickelt eine Reihe melodischer Themen, die aus Higgins' Gitarre hervorgehen und sich in ein Meer aus Elektronik, Percussion und schließlich einem volleren Ensemble aus Keyboards, Orgeln, Schlagzeug und den Cello-Improvisationen der Komponistin Judith Hamann brechen. Die Klanglandschaften von Mist" sind traurig und langsam, mit Tönen, die oft von einem blaugrauen Dunst umhüllt sind. Manchmal nehmen wir Strahlen fernen Lichts wahr, die die Unschärfe durchdringen, doch meist hören wir Echos ferner Ufer, deren Rhythmen es uns vielleicht endlich ermöglichen, ohne zu sehen zu sehen.

Following up a string of releases on labels such as Mana, Sun Ark, Orange Milk Records and Abyss, Other People are honoured to present the new album Fobia by Argentinian musician and sound artist aylu, real name Ailin Grad. Inspired in part of Grad's many collaborative projects over the last few years, Fobia sees her collecting and rearranging the music and sounds fostered within these to create an intimate, spiritually charged album that turns personal struggle into collective resistance and resilience. What initially started as a way for Grad to process her own experiences with agora- and claustrophobia, and an attempt to navigate feelings of shame and a perceived demand to keep these feelings bottled up and hidden from the world, she began to realise how mental health struggles are not isolated incidents but part of broader systems of collective suffering and injustice. “It took a long time for me to discover that my issues were part of a system that produces these kinds of symptoms and that it takes a lot of courage to find a way around them. I have the feeling that more and more people suffer from these kind of things in some way or another, and what was at first taught as something you should be silent about and keep private, I discovered that the more you talk about it and share it with people you trust, the more you realise that it’s part of something much bigger.” This tension and constant pull between fear and joy, light and dark, is present throughout the album. From the strained breathing featured in opening track Yodo echoing the suffocating feeling from claustrophobia interspersed with the lighter textures of Obelisco Elysium and Prospero offering up a sense of relief, to the almost cacophonous, immersive soundscapes of El Sol Mal, mirroring the complex, often contradictory emotions when navigating mental health challenges. Fobia invites listeners to move through pain with honesty, finding strength in shared experiences.

Cinna Peyghamy unveils new album fusing Persian tombak and modular synthesis Five years in the making, "Music For Tombak & Synth" bridges heritage, technology, and personal identity. The project, initiated in 2019 during Peyghamy's master's thesis research on contact microphones, was conceived as a means to reconnect with his Persian roots while exploringexperimental sound design. In the album, Peyghamy seamlessly blends the traditional Persian tombak with modular synthesis and digital signal processing, creating a distinctive musical landscape that bridges live improvisation and studio production. The album’s genesis traces back to Peyghamy’s exploration of improvised electronic music and his desire to craft a performance-ready setup. Over
several years, the project evolved from capturing the energy of his live shows into a fully composed studio work.

"Music For Tombak & Synth" stands as the first record where Peyghamy unites his dual identities as a live performer and producer, resulting in a body of work that reflects his deep connection to family, memory, and cultural heritage. The album features personal elements such as his father’s voice reciting the poetry of Ahmad Shamlo on the track Dar Shab ,?? ??collaborations with long-time friend Quelque Bourdon on clarinet, and the evocative sounds of the Persian setar, all anchored by the physicality and rhythms of the tombak. A sentiment further reflected in the album cover; a photograph taken by his father, Khosrow ‘Payram’ Peyghamy, picturing both his parents and grandparents.

With this release, Peyghamy moves beyond conventional boundaries of "traditional versus contemporary" or "acoustic versus electronic," instead offering a nuanced exploration of identity through sound. Each track serves as a keepsake, referencing cherished memories, emotions, and musical influences that define his experience as a French-born artist of Iranian descent, unable to visit his home country. "Music For Tombak & Synth" invites listeners to engage with a deeply personal narrative, rooted in both cultural history and sonic innovation.

Following a string of acclaimed collaborations, including Agua Dulce with percussionist Laura Robles and Mapambazuko alongside Congolese guitarist Titi Bakorta, Peruvian artist Alejandra Cárdenas (aka Ale Hop) returns with her most personal work to date yet, A Body Like a Home. Marking her first album under her birth name, the project is a sonic memoir exploring the tangled realms of trauma, recovery, and love through autobiographical soundscapes.
A Body Like a Home is the artist at her most exposed. Comprising 13 songs and 15 poems, the album sees her set aside collaborative fusions for solo catharsis, channeling years of turbulence - intergenerational scars left by colonialism, racism, domestic violence, and alcoholism - into a work that oscillates between brutality and tenderness. Cárdenas states: “I grew up under Alberto Fujimori’s dictatorship, when a veil of hopelessness seemed to settle over everything. This is the backdrop of the album. The songs and poems trace the inevitable loop between private wounds - addiction, domestic violence, fractured intimacy - and Peru’s national scars, carved by colonialism. It’s not a straight story or a resolution. Writing and composing became a ritual of digging for meaning, into what’s buried, disguised, or renamed, until the body itself became a living archive.
” At the heart of the album is Cárdenas’s own voice - part witness, part confessor - reciting over layers of electric guitars, electronic textures, the haunting violin of Mexican musician Gibrana Cervantes, and a collage of field recordings, from rainfall, muffled whispers, broken glass, to archival protest footage from Peru. The result is a work that resonates like a diary written in sound.
The first single, "Motherland", is a searing testimony where Cárdenas voice cracks under the weight of history and personal loss. Amid a storm of distorted guitars, she traces the cyclical legacies of colonialism, from state massacres branding Indigenous bodies as “terrorists” to the spiral of addiction as an unavoidable future. The lyrics draw parallels between political and domestic violence: a mother’s drunken knife pressed to her chest, and a motherland where racism is currency. She utters: “sacrifice demands a body.” Yet, amid the wreckage, a willful grip on love and faith persists. Ultimately, A Body Like a Home is a document of transformation. Tracks like "Evangelina" and the title piece "A Body Like a Home" hold space for resilience, spirituality, and love, while "Early Road" and "Going South" thread subtle nods to Peruvian folklore, opening up bright vignettes into a sense of belonging.
The poetry chapbook accompanying A Body Like a Home (five of its pieces are also recited on the album) extends the work, building a parallel architecture. Oscillating between the documentary and the mythic, the intimate and the forensic, the profane and the oniric, these poems practice a theology of the ordinary, where everyday objects - cameras, knives, moth-eaten cotton - are charged withspiritual and historical weight. Here, the body is land, house, battlefield, collective pain, geological territory; and trauma is, in contrast, archival, cellular, ritualistic, inherited. Read alongside the music, the stories refract across two mediums: songs give them breath and poems give them bone.