Buscar:slow glass

Slow Glass is not only the debut release by Le Frère it is also a very personal diary of the last two years of his life. All four tracks are based on recordings, samples and ideas he collected while travelling the world. With the concept of 'Slow Glass' in mind Le Frère tried to catch moments of his life without stripping them of their dynamic and evanescence.

The EP starts with lots of positive energy and light but already reveals glimpses of the shadows that slowly emerge throughout the following tracks. 'Nice' is a lightly humming version of an (almost) innocent summer morning. It's a collage of field-recordings, synth-pads and manipulated guitar sounds. 'Candid' is a light and open dialog between a simple guitar theme and a playful synth-arpeggio. 'V1b1n'' creates the dense atmosphere of a rainy Caribbean afternoon dominated by field recordings and everyday noises. 'Nttt8'sets a counter point to the previous three tracks as the energy of Le Frère's travels cumulates in 'Nttt8', making it a more dance-floor oriented piece carried by a dark and heavy bass-line and almost rave-sirens.

“One foot out the door, another in the otherworld…”
So begins Hannah Lew’s debut, self-titled solo record, soaked in imperious, wide-eyed pop songwriting and a girl-group/post punk aesthetic that belies the artist’s history in the U.S. underground. A towering, hook-laden album, it’s infused with an optimism and surrealism that conversely deals with the times we find ourselves in.

Recorded at home in Richmond, CA and in The Best House studio with Maryam Qudus in Oakland CA, with the assistance of a crack team of West Coast musicians, this album sees Hannah Lew stepping out from behind the legacy of her two groups Grass Widow and Cold Beat. While musically bearing similarities with her previous work, “Hannah Lew” is a bold leap into direct pop territory, making ample use of a vocal style that teases out the inherent melancholy in her melodies. Mastered by Sarah Register, each song is a perfectly honed nugget that frequently pulls the heart in two directions at once.

Themes of change, breaking up, shattering old ways of being are shot through the record. For the front cover, a photograph of the artist’s face was printed, ripped up and re-assembled, resembling the creative process embarked upon by Lew for her first “solo” material. The album feels instinctual, almost dream-like in its assemblage of sweeping synths and pulsating, propulsive drum machine beat patterns with Lew’s vocal performances sensitive and caressing over the top. Increasingly relying on the subconscious and dreams to guide her creative process, Hannah Lew frequently abandons literal interpretations or linear narratives, the songs seeming to exist in a swooning, effortless flow-state while remaining emotionally hard hitting.

On an album where every song could be a single, there are kaleidoscopic shades and varying emotional tones in abundance. First single Another Twilight is carried along a pumping, Italo-disco-style 4/4 beat and mono-synth bass line, the low end pulling at the heart and body. Lew’s vocal melody teases the track before swan-diving into a gorgeous chorus as she sings “it’s all over baby and I don’t mind… in decline, I take my time…” The album is suffused with moments like this. On slow builder Damaged Melody, an arpeggiated synth elongates the verse before a cascading synth showers down melodic glitter. The stunning Replica uses dual swirling synth patterns before a driving, synthpop chorus for the ages carries Hannah Lew’s vocal into the stereo field, sailing in on a high register singed with the embers of a break up.

In a departure from previous groups, her solo songs are guided by dreams and free association inspired by Dada and the Surrealist movement and sculpted afterwards. As such, the songs reveal themselves on repeated listens, revealing traces of heartbreak inspired by both personal and global elements - Hannah Lew regards the album “a wartime album.” On Move In Silence, Lew intones “there’s a war outside, just out of view,” revealing the dichotomy at play throughout. With the songs evolving naturally and in a flow state, the pressures and sadnesses of the modern age bleed through, mixed in with Lew’s inherent love, sensitivity and fractured-but-intact optimism. On the swooning, sublime Sunday layers of Numanoid synths open up for the commanding vocal performance pontificating on grief, love, pain as she “feels the ache on Sunday…” As the chorus builds and Lew’s call-and-response vocal adds to the emotional tension, it almost feels like too much to take.

Elsewhere, there are echoes of Hannah Lew’s previous work. On Time Wasted a bass guitar comes in with a heavy, punk attack before the synths and vocal harmonies reminiscent of later Cold Beat elevate everything. The glassy, sweetly resigned closer The Clock sounds like so classic it could be cover, a sweetened Jesus & Mary Chain tune perhaps, before it erupts into volcanic chorus that could only come from Hannah Lew in 2026.

Trajectories collide in a wormhole as Tokyo-based Igaxx and Amsterdam-based Gropina converge on a crepuscular four-track 12-inch and digital release for Paesaggi Records. Igaxx drifts through near-beatless, spiralling psychedelia: “The Perception” is a slow-burn ascent, suspended in a state of perpetual anticipation, forever circling a climax that never arrives. “Someday in Time” settles into a steady pulse that glides outward, dissolving into the distance as if lost in quiet contemplation.

On the flip, Gropina reshapes the two pieces through his own sonic lens, like stepping through the looking glass. “The Perception (Version)” brings a supernatural, Kraut-inspired vibe, opening with a deceptive 2:35 intro before unfolding into Mother Sky-esque drums, primitive flutes, and reversed guitars. “Some Day In Time (Version)” is a dubby reinterpretation driven by a ’70s Ace Tone drum machine, a funky bassline, dub-soaked guitars, noir alto saxophone, and subtle details swirling through the mix.

Convergence is an ambient album formed through a series of morning rituals during rehabilitation following a severe medical event and an extended hospital stay. After weeks immersed in the constant alarms, beeps, and environmental signals of medical equipment, the act of listening itself became recalibrated. The music was performed and assembled using glass marimba, flute, and analog synthesizers, with each instrument treated as a source of resonance and gradually dissected through spectral analysis—allowing melody to emerge from fragments through repetition, attention, and daily practice, where synthesis functions not as traditional composition but as an exchange of signals.


Working slowly and intuitively, Stardust Multiplier approaches sound as a communicative medium between humans, the natural environment, and non-ordinary states of perception. Motifs evolve through repetition and subtle variation, informed by ceremonial music, mythic structures, and speculative communication frameworks associated with non-human intelligence—not as narrative devices, but as metaphors for attuned listening and pattern recognition.

Rather than moving toward resolution, Convergence documents moments of alignment—instances where intention, system, and environment briefly synchronize. The result is a restrained, deeply focused record, less concerned with atmosphere than attention, where synthesis functions as both a grounding practice and a method of inquiry.

Deep, deep stuff on the debut album from K Wata. Long and dubwise, dark and detailed. With bass that fills and warms a space.

All noir. Cast shadows against the wall. Weight being shifted and distributed with singularly delicate poise, like a knife being balanced on the end of a finger.

There’s a silvery, loose flow state to this record that maybe reveals the way some tracks were first written to be deployed live at Sustain Release 2025. Then taken back to the lab and tightened up further into the album’s final form, with beautiful mixing work between Kenzo and Chris Botta.

With that in mind, Give U Space unfolds slowly and fluidly, giving the listener the chance to access and open up to the deepness of the sound, being led down a path. It rolls and builds momentum and groove, and ratchets tensions up toward peaks of energy "Whisper Dub" and "There Will Be Love".

The tunes feel architectural. Rooms to be in and settle into. Simultaneously stripped back and then etched with neat little details and characterful or atmospheric sound choices. The silhouette of slo mo Memphis and Houston trap is a leading influence, especially with the drums. Mixing with bits of click’n’cut sampling and psychoacoustic tricks, the penumbra of dub techno and drowsier dubstep, and SG’s soft vocals rising in the ether.

The presence and inspiration of the sound system is obvious in all of Kenzo’s work, the music can rattle when spun up louder or blended into the club. But K Wata’s uniqueness and signature comes from an often equally inward facing quality, touched by distance and longing and a sort of chiaroscuro incandescent light set up.



Written and produced by K Wata.

Mixed by K Wata and Christopher Botta at Fer Sound Studio.

Vocals on “Give You Space” and “Go” by SG.

Clarinet on “Radio Embrace” by Eugene Lai.

Mastered and cut by Mike Grinser at Manmade.

Art by S. Gong

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.

Sticking a dirty thumb in the eye of fate, our third collaboration sees this marrow deep family malarky turn official as Pace Yourself teams up with YS’s own imprint ERF REC for a split release. As if our status as minor celebrities and footnotes of the underground could level off no further: the unification no one asked for is here. Sticking it to the man, handing your arse to ya on plate; cauterising infected suburban minds world over.

Burn is the second YS album and written as a direct follow-up album to Brutal Flowers. If their first album was an exercise in the incremental, a construction of poise and patience, Burn, should be taken way the fuck at it’s word: it quite literally finds catharsis in twisted reverse. Birthed out the malignant kick found in deconstruction and chaos. Evil twin, psychotic younger sibling, call it what the hell you like. It might take you a moment to get the lay of the land in this darkly mutated world. Like a bug eye’d native first confronted with a zippo, the hit is radical and instant: a new way for the world to go up in smoke.

Splice the Seattle slacker scene with the spliffhead soundsystem culture of the 90s Bristol trip-hop scene, then cross-breed that with the DIY optimism and glee in creation found in the cut-and-paste worlds of skate, graffiti and hiphop, now run that through the skitzo basement mind of John.T. Gast and you’re close to the kind of scorched earth and spiked suburbia that birthed Burn.

Dunno quite what YS have been ingesting of late but this massively twisted LP touches on a host of gloriously fucked totemic underground sources while not sounding much like any of them. It has the ballsy swagger and hard flipping of the script as Massive Attack’s seminal Blue Lines. Indeed, the eponymous album tracks sound similar - the opener ‘Burn’ is like a hard nosed jammed out redux of ‘Blue Lines’. Getting into a kind of slow-spinning overdubbed maximal euphoria ending with mumbled downer vocals, struggling to conceal their tongues in their cheeks there’s an air of paranoia and proto-conspiracy theory. It’ll leave you scratching your head, feeling like you’ve stepped into a New World Order governed by a cacophony of drop outs, dope fiends and apocalyptic stoners. A cracked out world somewhere between Richard Linklater’s movie Slacker (1990) and Marc Singer’s Dark Days (2001).

The rest of the album parts like a tongue on a wine glass: Smith and Mighty, Bandulu, ambient Luke Slater records, Wah Wah Wino, Nurse with Wound, Land of the Loops, Placid Angels, Adrian Sherwood, Urban Tribe and DJ Shadow can all be heard in momentary splatters - but Burn like other works by YS, is its own ritual beast. ‘Moth’, a track which has been knocking about the underground deejai circuit for many moons, is a real raw chopped and screwed slice of stoner erotica that reeks of obsession and unrequited desire. Elsewhere, on tracks like ‘Switch’, ‘Trying’ and ‘Drift’ the throughline from Brutal Flowers can be heard. Underneath the driving heavy gravity the trademark emotional intimacies of YS linger: eternal recurrence, ghosts of static and shortwave, worn memories of the playful and painful sort. The brief moments where flashes of orchestral ambience get out from underneath the swagger are so pure, personal and unguarded that for a moment they leave you completely lonesome. In the album’s closer ‘End’, you can hear the fleeting promise and DIY possibilities of an analogue world and embers of ash that flutter in its wake: where it seemed, for a brief moment, that collective of DJs, engineers, rappers, graffiti artists and skate crews were emerging from the streets, giving the middle fingers to the system, before just as quickly disappearing back to the doldrums of obscurity. ‘End’ is a bittersweet ode to early soundsystem culture, MCs and pirate radio - an out of step time where for a moment the underdogs and weirdos seemed to be kicking on the door of something bigger.

A veritable teenage doof suite dosed with desire, claustrophobia and deviance. Burn is a good old howl at the moon: lonely, raw, and out for blood; basement style exegesis at its best. A thump to the gut, a stud through your blood. A dubbed-to-death classic straight out of the annals of nowhere. A perfect post card from oblivion. A bleak, bold and personally ferocious vision of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

This is everything that record collectors skip dates for. Fuck the scene and keep that shit underground. That’s what it is all about. Know what I mean, if you do? You’re in…

Space Dimension Controller (Ninja Tune, R&S, Dekmantel, Royal Oak) returns with a six-track EP that pays homage to the early 90s Artificial Intelligence era—think Warp Records, ambient techno, and the roots of IDM—but with his signature futuristic twist. While the foundation is unmistakably retrofuturist, SDC propels the sound into new dimensions, blending slow-motion acid lines, ethereal textures, and subtly propulsive rhythms for daydreamers and dancefloors alike.

Reclaim Your Cities next frequency-jammer comes in the form of a heavyweight split 4-tracker, courtesy of two true techno pioneering figures: Mike Parker and Steve Bicknell.

The continued influence of these two artists on both our early raving days and now as a team working on providing you the most exciting, boundary-pushing tech wares is second to none. As you'll experience from the four jams constitutive of this unparalleled mindtrip of an EP, 'In The Years Ahead' is the living evidence the steadfastness of Parker and Bicknell's vision remains absolutely untouched. Zeroed in on taking ravers on an entrancing ride across pulsating corridors of whirring machine funk, sizzling acid and shape-shifting waves of sound, both sides of this EP share the best lot of both producers' uniquely innovative approach to rhythm and production.

Parker's opening cut, 'Solar Limb' is a textbook example of his complex, and heavily layered sound-design. An unflinching swing keeping time, brutal kicks punching holes in your head like giant steel hammers, the track may evolve slowly, repeating its post-industrial mantra over and over again, its flame doesn't flicker one iota. Switching onto red-level dance floor menace, 'Badlands' pulls out the heavy artillery: an overkill bombardment of puncturing 909 drums, vortical winds blowing in the back like some solar storm of sorts, and this ebb-and-flow of FX-drenched synth ripples branded on your cortex like odd signs of cult belonging. Bicknell's takeover starts with the rugged and wild 'Chaotic World', whose title is definitely not usurped. Enter a blazing maelstrom of frantic synth assault knocked askew, intense bass tectonic movements and smashing arpeggios on the path of war. The track develops a massive momentum, swelling from primordial raw matter into weirdly arranged modular constructions, like that of Kubrick's monolith emerging with ominous presence. 'In The Years Ahead' serves up a much distinctively elegant, glossy type of textural experience, synths playing pong in a hall of mirrors, interlacing and distorting as the percussive line unfolds its linear train-like groove. It dashes across landscapes of hypermodern glass and concrete with unrelenting horsepower, from techno's early sanctuary right up onto tomorrow's temple of unmapped potentialities.

This much special release, so dear to our heart, comes clad in a beautiful piece of design, and will be pressed to 180g audiophile quality vinyl for an enhanced listening experience.

All those creatures, standing there, making time. Fury eyes, golden dust on artificial fog. Dancing on glass, repetitive poems, looping long after the last loop looped away. Oriental acid, frenzied samples, low hanging film noir suspense. This is DALO. Or not. She is many. Dry maniac downbeat is her craft. Or dark-ish pop-not-pop. There is dub, trance, techno, too. She is known for releases on labels like ESP Institute, WARNING, or Tresor. She is part of bands like Init. She played them all, those clubs, that matter, and those that matter more. Live. Alone. As an artist. With a band. Here she comes with her first album. On the R.i.O. sphere. Her homebase. A trusted zone for experimentation. She brings “Duster”. Seven tunes twisted in different dreams. Fast, slow, veiled, enchanted, haunting trenchant. She sings. These songs. To dance. For a different, stripped-back trance. DALO. Her record longs for a stage. Exporting grace, face to face. A work like a mirror. Hypnotizing. A psychedelic portrait of a performer. Nuanced industrial veils ceremonial journey music. Claps, Jungle. Desolate vocal snippets. A whirlwind of words. All those chords, hanging there, kick drum time. Fury eyes, golden horns amid acid fog. Dancing on glass, cyclic synth-lines. DALO. Duster. A-round-and-a-around. Circulating the ritual.

Clikno Is Proud To Present The Second Strike Of Dr.nojoke's Double Ep 'zero'.

'aplose' Is A Straight 10 Minute-stomper, Which Sounds Like A Wild Horde Of Percussionists Clanging And Banging Cans And Pots. The Truth Is The Doctor Just Threw Glass Marbles On A Wooden Floor. Fun-time! For The Hips He Adds A Low Rolling Bassline And For The Head Some Freaky, Randomly Pitching Chords And Off It Goes! Call It Afro-kraut-jazz-tech Or Just Clikno - Aplose Is A Counter-action To Electronic Music Production With Electronic Machines - Marbles Do It As Well!

'kumuestu' On The Flipside Is The Antagonal Piece On Zero.two - More Dark And Deep It Is Music For A Fictional Ritual. Carried By A Hypnotic Fluctuating Bass-figure And Drones The Tune Slowly Mutates Into A Shamanic Rhythm Monster Creating A Resonating Field For Transcendental Dancefloor Action - From Here To Eternity.

Zero.two Is Purely Audiophile Electricity To Twitch Your Body In All Directions. Do The Clikno!

Again Zero.two Is A Limited Vinyl-only Release Pressed On Transparent Vinyl Coming In A Transparent Sleeve - Transparent As Light, As Ideas, As Music And As The World Should Be - No Borders, But Freedom, Peace And Equality For Everyone!

comes in deluxe gatefold edition with lyrics sheets and colored vinyl limited to 500 copies

Early 20th century. Barbarism on an industrial scale. After the final shots had rung out Europe was left a husk, a shell to be rebuilt. And she did rebuild. Slowly, but surely, normality returned. Different zones. Different ideologies. One Europe. Yet not everyone was happy. Within this struggling continent there were those who saw the hand of authoritarianism at the wheel, past criminals ruling and lands being led back to dictatorship. The solution: the sub machine gun.From Reason to Ritual is Rude 66´s most ambitious album to date. Amsterdam´s premier electronic musician maps the rise and fall of terrorism over two slabs of wax. Gruesome naivety, one that led to countless deaths, is given an electro beat on the first record, 'Reason.' Warbling wave vocals from Ruud's wife Shaunna tell a bitter tale of paranoia and looming violence. That violence is truly realised on the second record 'Ritual.' Beats rain like shards of broken glass, constricted acid and echo as the enemy closes in for the final hollow defeat. An album that takes you from manifesto to death march.

On a class debut for Biscuit’s choice Good Morning Tapes label, Kyoto’s dub specialist G Version III runs signature fusions of digidub steppers, drill, and holographic, minor-key FM synths.

One up on her 12” for Riddim Chango last year (plus the »Scenery From Double Glazing« tape for Digital Sting in ’24), G Version III’s »Chapter II« most finely chisels her lucidly rugged definition of the late ’80s / early ’90s mystic steppers sound. The OG Caribbean spirit is heard filtered through UK dances and shored up in Japan, where G tessellates its salient points with a palette of glassy Japanese synth tones and chamber music to exquisite effect. If Wendy Carlos was a soundgyal?

Across six cuts she builds the dance around digidub x drill waltz »Livin 4« and a haunted dancehall special in the harpsichord/horn riff of »An Idyll«, impressing her prowess in the fusion of subcontinental scales with a drill-tipped skip in »Queen G Theme Chapter II«, and tucking right into an aerodynamic, flying steppers mode, shades away from Element, in »Motherearth Guidance«. At a slower, wider stride her »Higher Grade« goes eyes-down on massive subs, and »Voice of Mystique Warriyah« adapts the classic-schooled sound like TNT Roots in Tokyo.

After their recent LP Mirages (Kraak Records, 2025) with French turntablist Guilhem’All, the group continues to explore collaborations with artists and instruments from diverse musical traditions. Building on decades of uncompromising acoustic exploration, Razen delves deeper into their practice with five improvisational pieces that unfold slowly in time and space. The duo’s radical core - Brecht Ameel and Kim Delcour - finds in Van der Harst a longtime kindred spirit, united by the impact of sound, intonation, and the sheer joy of playing.

To be released on April 24 via VIERNULVIER Records, the artwork for Stained Glass Starling was created by American visual artist Robert Beatty (Oneohtrix Point Never, Christina Vantzou, The Weeknd, Tame Impala). The physical release comes with a 16-page booklet including artwork and an interview.

A long-standing artistic kinship lies at the heart of this project, with first encounters dating back to the early 2000s in Belgian musical improv theatre. Van der Harst’s lifelong experience in improvised music and music theatre, spanning back to the 1980s, combined with a vast arsenal of rare and historical instruments, opens new tonal territories within the Razen universe.

These explorations are not incidental: his family roots in the former Dutch East Indies — through his great-grandfather — provide a quiet backdrop to his enduring affinity for Asian musical traditions. Instruments such as erhu, Javanese kacapi, and others introduce timbres
that bring the music its most pronounced Asian inflections to date.

Yet despite this shift in colour, the underlying ethos remains unmistakably Razen. Working from sound rather than form, the ensemble approaches music as painters approach a canvas: adding layers, contrasts and shades with care. There is no soloist’s ego here; all voices are equal, echoing principles found in gamelan traditions.

Over the decades, Razen and Dick Van der Harst have crossed paths repeatedly, notably through cult theatre productions by Belgian theatre maker Eric De Volder, including Zwarte vogels in de bomen (2002) and Huis der Verborgen Muziekjes I–II (2000–2006). Recording an albumtogether had long been a shared aspiration — a wish that crystallised after a 2024 concert at Concertzaal Miry in Ghent, part of the Ruiskamer series by VIERNULVIER Art Centre.

XKatedral Anthology Series II (An Anthology Of Slowly Evolving Timbral Music), featuring exclusive music from Kali Malone, Jessica Ekomane, Mats Erlandsson, Theodor Kentros, Wilma Hultén, and Maria W Horn.

"XKatedral Anthology II is the second instalment in a series of archival releases dedicated to presenting music by composers affiliated with XKatedral working within the realm of slowly evolving harmonic and timbral music. This double-vinyl set contains an array of pieces dating from 2018 - 2020. This collection of pieces focuses on the use of synthetic sound and algorithmic composition languages as tools for precise work within the realm of spectral exploration. In addition to this, the electronic instrumentation in many of the pieces is augmented by acoustic instruments.

The first piece on side A is Kali Malone’s Music for Low Quartet. This piece is an adaptation of the composition “Rose Wreath Crown” originally released on The Sacrificial Code in 2019. In this iteration, the music is scored for two double basses played by Vilhelm Bromander and Zach Rowden, and sine tone electronics performed by Malone herself. The recording of this piece was made at EMS in 2019.

Closing side A is Jessica Ekomane’s ‘First Light’. This computer music piece focuses exclusively on digital sound, layering razor sharp synthetic textures into an otherworldly dynamic weave. The music heard here is a reworked version of a piece originally commissioned by Semibreve in 2020.

Side B contains the work ‘Hands Melt In The Sun’ by Mats Erlandsson. This composition is built from electronically processed tuned zithers and synthetically generated tones arranged in a series of chordal inversions over a sustained fundamental tone. This music, written as a love-letter to the localized drone tradition of Stockholm in the years 2008-2012, was composed and recorded in seven days while in residence at Ställbergs Gruva in Bergslagen, in the summer of 2018.

Opening the second half of the collection is Rough Draft v.7 by Theodor Kentros. Kentros’ compositional practice usually combines acoustic and electronic source material and in this piece he molds the sound of the Buchla 200 and a collection of recorded wind instruments into a molten mass of sound. In its original form, this music was presented as a multichannel immersive work and even in the current stereo configuration it retains some of that enveloping sense of depth.

The second piece on side B, Inertia, is by Wilma Hultén, who makes her debut on record here. An exclusively synthetic piece, Inertia utilizes internal digital feedback in a sealed synthetic system to manifest a harmonic field that swells and abates throughout the length of the piece, interspersed by small gestural elements.

Closing Anthology II is Maria W Horn's work ‘Dies Irae’ for female vocal quartet, pitched glass and synthesis. ‘Dies Irae’ uses a modified form of traditional tonal harmonic language to invoke an uncanny and restless middle ground between the classical western polyphonic vocal tradition and contemporary electronic music. The version heard here is a live recording from Eric Ericssonhallen in Stockholm on May 30th 2020. Performing the piece here are the vocalists Katarina Henryson, Lisa Holmgren, Vilma Ogenblad and Paula Wegmann, as well as Maria herself on glass and electronics."

Music To Watch Seeds Grow By continues its second season with Seoul-based left of centre ambient duo Salamanda - Uman Therma (Sala) and Yetsuby (Manda) - and their meditation on the inner life of a basil plant. Seeds 008 is an ambient composition born from quiet domestic observation: a single basil on a windowsill, its days shaped by light, warmth, and the slow passage of time.

The album moves through a full day in the plant's life opening with ‘introduce my atom which is my favorite one’, an act of quiet self-declaration in morning light, before settling into the unhurried rhythmic pulse of ‘to to ki toki tok’- the drip of water, the tick of a clock, the slow beat of photosynthesis. ‘allez, pousse!’ - one of the standouts in this journey - carries the basil's gentle will to grow, to push, to tilt toward the sun, while ‘hungry snail’ captures a moment of creaturely encounter on the glass: an uninvited visitor, moving slowly, wanting. As the afternoon deepens, 'Basil's Ritual' traces the daily ceremony of light and warmth, repeated with calm devotion from root to leaf. Night falls across 'Basil's Dream', and in the stillness something like sleep arrives - the plant resting, imagining tomorrow's sun. The album closes with ‘the blue wine’, a final mysterious reverie in which the basil seems to contemplate its own fate, somewhere between acceptance and wonder.

As Nathan Fake rises from the nocturnal subterranea and rave catharsis of his previous records, on Evaporator, he resurfaces into the domain of daylight, bringing a tangible sense of air rushing against your face, of big skies, and endless landscapes.

The idea of pop accessibility that trickled into 2023’s Crystal Vision is refracted here through the prism of sweeping ambient, deep electronica, and trance uplift. Evaporator is Fake’s idea of “airy daytime music”, with each track a different barometer reading across the album’s varying atmospheres, which range from vibrant sunbursts, bracing rainscapes, and fine mists of clement melodics. “It’s not overtly confrontational electronic club music,” states Fake. “It’s quite pleasant, it’s accessible. As I was progressing through making the tracklist, I called it a daytime album. It doesn’t feel like an afterparty album.” For the past decade Fake has been gingerly introducing collaborations with heroes and friends alike into his lone, idiosyncratic working process.

Border Community alumni Dextro AKA Ewan Mackenzie transmutes his ferocious drumming for Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs into the blurred choral thump of ‘Baltasound’. ‘Orbiting Meadows’, meanwhile, is his second collaboration with Clark, an eerily idyllic duet where microtonal 18EDO piano clangs slowly twirl around wailing pads. Evaporator marks the junction point of old technology and ever fresh creativity for Nathan. The trusty “dinosaur” age software, particularly Cubase VST5, that has powered two decades of music is rarely updated. “I used to sort of feel a bit ashamed of using such old software, and then I kind of had an epiphany – that’s just how I work”, comments Fake. “That’s just how I play. I’m very fond of these old tools, and I get the most joy out of them, but now I’ve incorporated new technology too.” When an artist accumulates so much synergy with their instrument, music making becomes instinctual. By Fake’s account, much of Evaporator just fell into place. The album title arrived randomly in his head (“it felt completely perfect. Airy.”), ideas looped and developed until things locked into place and just felt right. ‘The Ice House’ is a fleeting glimpse of the sonic world he taps into in this creative state, its glassy FM synths built around a counterpoint between rough-hewn crystalline arpeggios and sparse yet gravitas-bearing bass. “That riff I just wrote out on the keyboard, I just played it forever and ever and ever.

The original track ended up being really short. Here you go, and it’s gone!” These unplanned channellings of sound call forth records from Fake’s past while he looks ahead, perhaps getting at the very essence of his musicianship. The opener ‘Aiwa’ (“the breeziest,” he muses) reminds of the introspection that characterised Providence, excited by the fire and grit of Steam Days’ textural experiments, its chunky slams and clatters surging into a flood of harmonic buzzing as they reach out for old wisdom. ‘Hypercube’ stampedes in a similar chronological confluence, infusing an incessant synth line reminiscent of the golden age of rave with the crackling, ecstatic energy of modern festival anthems. Like the vaporisation of liquid to particles, everything that Evaporator presents has a mutant desire to be amorphous. Sounds rarely settle; the irradiated garage beat of ‘Bialystok’ is pitched downwards to driving, rebounding effect, while ‘You’ll Find a Way’ warps static into shivering energy, cinematic synth strings building anticipation into a gradual gush of chords. This translates into a more expansive stereo field than Fake has explored before.


‘Slow Yamaha’ saves the wildest, most kinetic transformations for last with a cornucopia of crispy melodies and fried drums; a sibilance of cymbals on the left, a susurrus of shakers on the right, and kaleidoscopic lasers pulsing and fizzing all around. Evaporation culminating in pure excited atoms.

As Nathan Fake rises from the nocturnal subterranea and rave catharsis of his previous records, on Evaporator, he resurfaces into the domain of daylight, bringing a tangible sense of air rushing against your face, of big skies, and endless landscapes. The idea of pop accessibility that trickled into 2023’s Crystal Vision is refracted here through the prism of sweeping ambient, deep electronica, and trance uplift. Evaporator is Fake’s idea of “airy daytime music”, with each track a different barometer reading across the album’s varying atmospheres, which range from vibrant sunbursts, bracing rainscapes, and fine mists of clement melodics. “It’s not overtly confrontational electronic club music,” states Fake. “It’s quite pleasant, it’s accessible. As I was progressing through making the tracklist, I called it a daytime album. It doesn’t feel like an afterparty album.” For the past decade Fake has been gingerly introducing collaborations with heroes and friends alike into his lone, idiosyncratic working process. Border Community alumni Dextro AKA Ewan Mackenzie transmutes his ferocious drumming for Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs into the blurred choral thump of ‘Baltasound’. ‘Orbiting Meadows’, meanwhile, is his second collaboration with Clark, an eerily idyllic duet where microtonal 18EDO piano clangs slowly twirl around wailing pads. Evaporator marks the junction point of old technology and ever fresh creativity for Nathan. The trusty “dinosaur” age software, particularly Cubase VST5, that has powered two decades of music is rarely updated. “I used to sort of feel a bit ashamed of using such old software, and then I kind of had an epiphany – that’s just how I work”, comments Fake. “That’s just how I play. I’m very fond of these old tools, and I get the most joy out of them, but now I’ve incorporated new technology too.” When an artist accumulates so much synergy with their instrument, music making becomes instinctual. By Fake’s account, much of Evaporator just fell into place. The album title arrived randomly in his head (“it felt completely perfect. Airy.”), ideas looped and developed until things locked into place and just felt right. ‘The Ice House’ is a fleeting glimpse of the sonic world he taps into in this creative state, its glassy FM synths built around a counterpoint between rough-hewn crystalline arpeggios and sparse yet gravitas-bearing bass. “That riff I just wrote out on the keyboard, I just played it forever and ever and ever. The original track ended up being really short. Here you go, and it’s gone!” These unplanned channellings of sound call forth records from Fake’s past while he looks ahead, perhaps getting at the very essence of his musicianship. The opener ‘Aiwa’ (“the breeziest,” he muses) reminds of the introspection that characterised Providence, excited by the fire and grit of Steam Days’ textural experiments, its chunky slams and clatters surging into a flood of harmonic buzzing as they reach out for old wisdom. ‘Hypercube’ stampedes in a similar chronological confluence, infusing an incessant synth line reminiscent of the golden age of rave with the crackling, ecstatic energy of modern festival anthems. Like the vaporisation of liquid to particles, everything that Evaporator presents has a mutant desire to be amorphous. Sounds rarely settle; the irradiated garage beat of ‘Bialystok’ is pitched downwards to driving, rebounding effect, while ‘You’ll Find a Way’ warps static into shivering energy, cinematic synth strings building anticipation into a gradual gush of chords. This translates into a more expansive stereo field than Fake has explored before. ‘Slow Yamaha’ saves the wildest, most kinetic transformations for last with a cornucopia of crispy melodies and fried drums; a sibilance of cymbals on the left, a susurrus of shakers on the right, and kaleidoscopic lasers pulsing and fizzing all around. Evaporation culminating in pure excited atoms. In a world where music has increasingly become background content, making albums remains lifeblood for Fake: “It makes me realise how long; twenty years is ages! It’s weird to see how much the world has changed. Release day back then you did fuck all, now you spend all day on socials. When I grew up the people who made the electronic music I was into were quite mysterious, and the artwork was very abstract. There was a massive distance between you and that music, and that was a key part of it, really. Now it helps to be an extrovert, and I'm just not, but the album marks the first time my face has graced the cover art. I’ve never wanted to do this before, I'm very shy, and generally I don’t like being seen,” he professes. “But, twenty years in, I supposed I could try something new. I'm very lucky that I'm somehow surviving in this world, where the media world favours extroverts and interesting looking people. It’s not my world but somehow I’m still in it.” Evaporator continues to prove Nathan’s necessary presence, with some of his most engaging, varied, and magical music yet.

If you’ve been following the wanderings of prolific psychedelic magicians Elkhorn, you might be surprised that Elkhorn guitarist Drew Gardner’s solo LP Wave Field is the most out and out “rock” record on VHF in many years. Working here in a small group with excellent players Tom Malach (guitar), Andy Cush (bass), and Ryan Jewel (drums), Gardner cuts loose on a set of propulsive and swinging material that allows him to greatly expand his sound into unexpected areas. “Rhizoid” starts with a sneaky groove riding the nimble bass and drums of Cush and Jewel before a leap into the ripping Sonic Youth/NEU! hybrid of “Space Ray.” “Shadow Casting Grass” brings things back down to end the side with some Elkhorn-adjacent gentle guitar weave backed again by the sly rhythm section. “Wave Field” kicks off side 2 with an extended buzzy guitar raga with Cush’s melodic and fat bass providing jammy counterpoint. The epic “Mayan Bees” closes the LP with an extended workout on another extremely fine drum and bass ostinato, a hypnotic minor key riff that slow builds over 10+ minutes.

Recorded in concert at the University of Sheffield in March 2025, Reality Is Not A Theory is the first collaboration between Mark Fell and Pat Thomas. Major figures in British experimental music since the 1990s, Fell and Thomas have developed their rigorous practices from radically different backgrounds and perspectives: where Fell’s singular take on synthetic abstraction emerged from Sheffield’s electronic underground, Thomas is a virtuoso improvising pianist steeped in jazz and modernist art music who has simultaneously worked with sampler-based electronics for decades. As the record’s wonderfully academic subtitle explains, we are presented here with two sides of ‘algorithmic and improvised music for computer and piano’, exemplifying both players’ insatiable search for new (and sometimes uncomfortable) playing situations.

The performance begins with Fell’s electronics close to the timbres of acoustic percussion, attacks that suggest wood, metal or glass threaded along a rapid pulse while Thomas focuses on the lowest registers of the piano, deadening the strings. As Fell’s electronics start to ring out and occupy more harmonic space, Thomas turns to wide, repeated clusters, which slowly expand into patterns of chords. Like in his recent solo recordings and his trio work with Joel Grip and Anton Gerbal, Thomas’ playing combines extreme dissonance with a deep lyrical sense. Fell’s work gradually shifts its focus toward drum sounds, drawing on the microtemporal processes that have characterized his practice in recent decades. Heard together with Thomas’ probing piano, the computer sounds call up unexpected associations with the klangfarben antics of improv drummers like Paul Lovens or Tony Oxley. Throughout its second half, the music grows increasingly frenetic, as Thomas sounds out rapid, irregularly repeated figures and beautifully sour chords in the upper register, while Fell’s percussion develops into angular pan-pipe-like feedback and waves of glissandi.

With great confidence and patience, Fell and Thomas often let their individual contributions remain rhythmically distinct and unsynchronised, allowing unexpected correspondence and coincidence to guide the music’s development. Recorded in a hall named after Sheffield steel manufacturer and Master Cutler Mark Firth, the location might suggest a model for understanding how Fell and Thomas interact here: two workers in the same workshop, each immersed in their own part of the production process. Arriving in a striking sleeve designed by Mark Fell, with liner notes by Francis Plagne, Reality Is Not A Theory is an invigorating document of the meeting of two mavericks of contemporary music.