Buscar:smalltown supersound

DJ Plead and rRoxymore with a debut collab of rhythmelodically restless productions, infusing limber, freewheeling styles with subtly psychedelic balearic melodics.

After meeting for the first time in 2019, Hermione Frank and Jarred Beeler got together at Frank's Berlin studio, slowly sculpting fractal geometries before finally adding the finishing spit and polish at Beeler's parents’ house in Sydney. Marking some of the first original material from either in a minute, the EP knits the duo’s rhythmic fascinations in three ways.

‘Celestial’ splices a rolling 4/4 with quicksilver polyrhythms and zippy melodic motifs swept into hand-clap trills, imagining something like Olof Dreijer re-shaping Joe’s angular syncopations. ‘Read Wrong’ follows to foreground a thumb piano on a more pendulous, sub-weighted flex, inflected with DJ Plead’s signature palette of drum sounds and canny orchestral flashes at the right moments, dipping like D1’s more melodic works or that forthcoming Nídia & Valentina Magaletti pearl.

The duo save their most hard-hitting for last, sliding speedy, dembow-inspired geometries through green-tinted clouds of electronics on a UKF-compatible offbeat threaded with swooping subs and flighty flutes. The momentum never lets up, but the two producers manage to evoke a mood that's as suited to a late-nite solo thing as it is to peak time wreckage. In other words; deceptively effortless gear that hits harder the louder it gets.

Actress released a mix for Resident Advisor in June and to everyone's surprise, it was filled entirely with new, unreleased music.

When asked if this was a new album, Darren S. Cunningham, aka Actress, responded simply, "It's a collage - Braque." Call it what you likeia mix, a mixtape, a collage, or even an albumiit's unmistakably another bold statement from Actress. Cunningham's approach defies labels and formats, creating music that exists in its own space, evolving without concern for conventional definitions or boundaries. It's just pure, unfiltered Actress, doing what he does best.

Music taken from the Carte Blanche performance »Monument 0.10 : The Living Monument« by Eszter Salamon. This album contains selections from Carmen Villain's score for the two-and-a-half hour performance, most of them edited down from the long-form versions that accompanied the ultra-slow scenes of the performance. These are Carmen Villain's first compositions for dance.

Acclaimed Choreographer Eszter Salamon’s dance performance The Living Monument is built on still life, slowness and the presence of the body. In the performance, the theatrical elements are equal and interdependent, and it develops into an installation of sound, movement and figures. Each tableau is bound together by Carmen Villain’s hypnotic score in which the audience is taken on a meditative journey through vibrant tableaus in a dreamlike universe. Carmen Villain's score is a suspension of time where her music is seeking a new form of slow-moving minimalism. credits

Actress' zehntes Studioalbum, das himmlische und meditative „Statik“, wird am 07.06.24 von Smalltown Supersound veröffentlicht. Die Zusammenarbeit zwischen Darren Cunningham und dem geschätzten Osloer Label entwickelte sich organisch nach dem Actress Remix für eine 12“-Auskopplung eines Carmen Villain-Songs aus ihrem Album „Only Love From Now“. In diesem Sinne war das gesamte "Statik"-Projekt, von der Konzeption über die Entstehung bis zur Veröffentlichung, mit einer fast unnatürlichen Leichtigkeit gesegnet. Für Actress, der den Großteil seines subtil majestätischen neuen Albums in einem ausgedehnten Deep-Flow-Zustand schrieb, dient das Projekt als zusammenhängendes Zeugnis künstlerischer Befreiung. Das Ergebnis ist ein kontemplatives Album, das von einem Gefühl der Freiheit durchdrungen ist, während es gleichzeitig die Expertise seines Schöpfers durch forensische Aufmerksamkeit für texturale Details und die für Actress typischen Resonanzen unterstreicht. Bei genauem Hinhören können sich einflussreiche Visionen von Wasserwelten, wie dem mythischen Atlantis, und Beschwörungen von fliegenden Vögeln (und vielleicht auch Menschen) offenbaren. Egal, ob Statik dazu inspiriert, über oder unter dem Horizont zu schweben, Actress und Smalltown Supersound versprechen eine sichere und transzendente Reise.

Composed by Jim O’Rourke and pieced together by Jim together with longtime collaborator and trumpeter Eivind Lønning at Jim and Eiko Ishibashi’s home in the Japanese mountains, this engrossing new album blows brass wails and tense fanfares across O'Rourke's manipulated Kyma tapestries for a deep, captivating trip into the aether.

Eivind Lønning has been sharing ideas with O'Rourke for several years: the duo collaborated on music for the Whitney's 'Calder: Hypermobility' exhibition, and Lønning played trumpet on O'Rourke's brilliant 2020 album 'Shutting Down Here'. For this new work, Lønning headed to O'Rourke and EIko Ishibashi's home studio in the Japanese mountains, where he teased unfamiliar, alien textures from his trumpet to open the labyrinthine three-part composition. O'Rourke took the material and subsequently funnelled it through his Kyma system, transforming it into a swirl of sound that hums alongside Lønning's original takes. The album was composed, mixed and mastered by O'Rourke, with everything's based on Lønning's virtuosic performance.

The album begins by cautiously introducing us to its sonic palette: wavering, bird-like horn wails that O'Rourke contorts around quiet synth oscillations and computerised swarms. Lønning's spittle-drenched blasts are given the spotlight, but O'Rourke's manipulations - often gentle and illusory, and sometimes utterly lacerating - lift the sounds into completely new territory. When Lønning begins to turn rhythmic cycles using the trumpet keys, popping with his mouth to compliment its leathery timbre, O'Rourke replies with dense, hallucinatory drones, juxtaposing unstable electronics with Lønning's breathy, sustained notes. All these sounds coalesce into a dizzy vortex, but O'Rourke is careful not to overwhelm the senses, dropping to near silence as the first act transitions into the second. O'Rourke pelts Lønning's vertiginous wails, steadily mutating them into Xenakis-like stabs until they sound like cybernetic strings and icy tones that extract the tension from Lønning's brassy harmonics.

The third act is more screwed, with O'Rourke allowing Lønning's improvisations wail into cathedral-strength reverb, accompanying the sound with glassy penetrations and throbbing subs. Here, Lønning sounds as if he's heralding the arrival of a celestial being, piercing the atmosphere with bright, sustained tones and muted, jazzy flourishes. O'Rourke hangs back, carefully spinning the notes into naturalistic fibres and orchestral drapery, before he allows the electronics to subside completely and the trumpet to echo into the imposing negative space.

'Most, but Potentially All' is a dumbfounding piece that shifts the dial on contemporary experimental music; dizzyingly complex but never showy, it's the kind of record you can spin repeatedly and hear something different each time. As an exploration of the trumpet, it's a unique expression, and as a progression of electro-acoustic compositional techniques, it draws a deep trench in the sand, setting a new standard.

Smalltown Supersound’s Le Jazz Non Series returns with a collection of pure, emotional club bangers, on a tip somewhere between Aphex Twin’s first Analogue Bubblebath and Drexciya’s most direct The Other People Place romancers.

’Slay Tracks’ is Bratten’s 6th album and perhaps the closest to Smalltown’s heart, personally selected from his swelling hard drive by label bossman Joakim Haugland. You can see the tip he’s on too, opting for a sort of refracted view of ‘90s electronics, propulsive but always emotionally driven.

‘Res’ hits most closely to classic Richard D James with its doe-eyed, single note bassline, while screwed acid vignette ‘Tunnel’, reminds us of Sockethead and Michael J. Blood with its slow, square bass grind. ‘Repair’ gives it all gossebump-inducing melodies in a mode not far from classic Titonton Duvanté or even The Black Dog’s earliest, many-monikered excursions, while ‘A Fog’ craftily dices with a vibe redolent of Phoenicia or the Miami lot, and the closing couplet of ‘The Returner’ and ’Strayed’ smartly extend that analogue on a low- down, offbeat bent like some classic Push Button Objects.

Best known for his work for legendary Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul (he even designed the enigmatic “bang” in 2021’s labyrinthine ‘Memoria’), Japan’s Koichi Shimizu has been honing a unique musical language since the early ‘90s, where some of his earliest material can be found on a split LP with Yoshiteru Himuro via once-iconic imprint Worm Interface (itself home to music from Autechre side-line Gescom). ‘Imprint’, was initially released quietly back in 2021 and has been remastered for this new edition, removing one track and bumping it up with four more, making it all available on vinyl for the first time.

The album offers a perfect overview of Shimizu’s broad palette, ranging from fine-wrought keys to electronic brutalism and guttural rhythmic pulses, plotted with an underlying narrative cadence that evinces his ability to heighten the impact of moving image, whilst also colouring the imagination with ephemeral sound imagery. His tekkerz are in bracing, anticipatory effect on a retooled, expanded version of his music from ‘Memoria’ within the convulsive, swarming silhouette of ‘Imprint’, and ‘The Path’ finds his aural accompaniment to ‘Uncle Boonmee...’ given room to breathe and develop into an unexpected, OOBE-like experience. In ‘Moth’ he magnifies and anthropomorphises a winged insect with finely chiselled technical nous, and his exquisite arrangement to ‘Faded Sign’ is somehow comparable to the ephemeral emotional register of cinematic collaborations between Ryuichi Sakamoto and Carsten Nicolai.

Trym Søvdsnes is a relative newcomer to the scene, but he’s been putting in work in and around Bergen for years, scoring a residency at the infamous Café Opera, where he snagged the attention of local house legend Bjørn Torske. Soon, the duo were DJing, producing and performing together, eventually running the monthly radio show Pigs in Space where they would go head-to-head for six hours at a time, plumbing the depths of their immense record collections.

It’s this lust for bottom-of-the-crate oddities that guides Søvdsnes’ self-titled debut album, a concoction of dub techno, hard-swung house and percussive club music that positions itself a few paces away from any conventional modes. Basically, a perfect fit for Le Jazz Non.

‘Gølles Dans’ opens with a filtered acid bassline and bone dry kick that’s like some psychedelic, slower variant of Basic Channel’s ‘Enforcement’, slicing into the groove with gristly acoustic percussion that drags it up from the basement. The producer leans into asymmetry on ‘Døgnrytmen’, wrangling 303 squelches with booming Berghain kicks and tight snares, enhancing the psychedelic potential by layering ticking percussion into loopy spirals. If you’ve ever caught an extended Dozzy set, this is the kind of ruff-edged gear he would likely play an hour before sunrise. ‘Ordnings Mix’ is weirder still, slopping chirpy bleep/rave stabs into a jazzy hybrid that sounds like a bossa meltdown.

Søvdsnes saves his most cosmic mettle for last, on ‘Cowboy Acid (Solstikk Dub)’ he strips the kickdrum to a faint knock, before building up into a sort of screwed Metro Area mirrorball that sounds brilliantly out of time.

After collaborating together for more than a decade, Jenny Hval and Håvard Volden released their first album under the Lost Girls moniker in 2021: Menneskekollektivet. The record received rave reviews, including a Best New Music mark at Pitchfork. On October 20th, 2023, the duo will release their second album Selvutsletter.


Like its predecessor, the album title is a made up Norwegian word, a word that almost exists. The band’s own translation of Selvutsletter is «self-effacer»: Someone who tries to erase themselves. Someone who is cleaning out themselves. Performing exorcism. Or perhaps just getting older, less interested in their own present self.


In 2022, Lost Girls were booked to perform a concert at Les Subsistances in Lyon, together with a few Norwegian performing arts groups performing their pieces. The band decided to use the opportunity to create all new material, and think of it as a coherent piece. Working in tandem, with Volden creating beats and wild sets of guitar chords and Hval restructuring the parts, creating melodies, words and adding more sounds, they started spiraling into unchartered territory of shorter, more concise and melodic songs than their debut LP Menneskekollektivet.


As the material developed, words already embedded in the chords, guitar sounds and rhythms began to dance around. Lyrics about cities after dark, music rituals and band practices of the 90s, and the early days of the internet began to take shape. These were Hval's own memories of her hometown and her obsession with creating music as a way of leaving it behind or even setting it on fire. Selvutsletter is, in that sense, about retracing Hval and Volden's steps back to how it felt to discover music, the intensely physical and communal experience of creating something. Certain tracks even go back further, to discover possible happenings in Norwegian towns and cities before any of us were born, using elements of faux folk singing.


Where Menneskekollektivet was about exploring club beats, and expanding and trying out structures, Selvutsletter is about disappearing in experiences. It combines the intuitive, late night feel of Lost Girls’ previous work with experimental rock music as its object. The result is more adventurous than nostalgic: A fiery, bilingual whirl of colors, words, vegetation and electricity.

'Farewell to Faraway Friends' finds Lauvdal at her Wurlitzer, captured by two mics in the room, with no additional overdubs or edits. Her set of hushed, jazzy flourishes and pregnant pauses is so well realised that it’s hard to believe they were improvised, while the “kitchen feel” of the room recording (as Marhaug describes it) enhances a sense of brittle intimacy. Much in the same way that Dominique Lawalrée imbued his ostensibly naive music with glimpses into a multifaceted inner life, Lauvdal explores an ocean of feeling through the most humble components, transporting us through some alchemical act of emotional teleportation.

Lauvdal avoids meandering flights of fancy, instead exposing a filigree level of detail and beauty through the cracks of her spartan recordings. There are no arbitrary found sounds, no sound design or overdubs, just Lauvdal and her Wurlitzer, occasionally singing at a barely perceptible volume in the background. If there's melancholy, it's not self absorbed or effacing, but trapped behind sunny rays and poetic, romantic phrases.

One of those effortlessly impactful records we’ve not been able to stop listening to for a while now, ‘Farewell to Faraway Friends’ is apparently the first in an ongoing series. Here’s hoping.

Sam Barker returns with his first solo EP since 2020's BARKER002, this time on Oslo's Smalltown Supersound. While Barker's previous releases (2018's Debiasing EP, 2019's Utility LP) explored the possibilities of kickless dancefloor tracks, Unfixed sees him inverting the musical equation and exploring both the variability and sonic possibilities of a kick-drum - though the final result is not a concept EP. The four tracks emerged from a session that started out as both a technical study in bass drum design and cognition, specifically problem of "functional fixedness", which describes a mental block that restricts the use of an object to its traditional application. Exploring the so-called "generic parts technique", whereby an object is broken down into its component parts to help reveal novel solutions, the typical bass drum elements of waveform, transient, and noise were re-combined through modular synthesis to become fluid, expressive and dynamic. However, what began as a rule-based experiment was overtaken by a more organic music making process without specific conceptual constraints, which allowed the music to live and breathe. Tracks were started and then left unfinished, only to be approached again and again over lengthy intervals. Stylistically the result a mix of raw, stuttering, psychedelic growl, kosmische techno, and infinite iterations and of a single groove. In this regard, Unfixed sees Barker not only deeply invested in musical experimentation but also exploring his own biases in both composition and sound design. The result is, once again, a sound and musical framework all of his own.

‘Lindstrøm returns with his sixth studio album Everyone Else is a Stranger, and the first since 2019’s On a Clear Day I Can See You Forever. The title of the album was inspired by John Cassavetes’ original title for his 1984 film Love Streams, and contains four tracks of his signature chord-stacking disco epics and freeform cosmic voyages, stretching across nearly 40 minutes. An album that in many ways sums up his career, and gathers his different musical paths into one sound and one album.

Where his previous album had a slower and more mellow feel, 2023’s Everyone Else is a Stranger sees Lindstrøm take on a much more rhythm-oriented and uptempo approach, containing tracks that fit perfect with the artist’s revered live sets. That said, this album also contains the unexpected twists and turns that has become the Norwegian producer’s trademark, including recordings of him playing a cheap Chinese cello and violin for the first time alongside the old Solina String-Ensemble he has used on essentially every track since his debut.

Named «the king of space disco» by The New Yorker, Lindstrøm has always made a virtue of his obsessive work ethic, turning his city center studio into a factory floor for churning out monster tracks. He has collaborated with the likes of Todd Terje, Prins Thomas and Todd Rundgren, has remixed a slew of acts including LCD Soundsystem, Lana del Rey, Haim, Grizzly Bear, Flume, RAC, London Grammar and more.’

Lindstrom returns with his sixth studio album Everyone Else is a Stranger, and the first since 2019's On a Clear Day I Can See You Forever. The title of the album was inspired by John Cassavetes' original title for his 1984 film Love Streams, and contains four tracks of his signature chord-stacking disco epics and freeform cosmic voyages, stretching across nearly 40 minutes. An album that in many ways sums up his career, and gathers his different musical paths into one sound and one album. Where his previous album had a slower and more mellow feel, 2023's Everyone Else is a Stranger sees Lindstrom take on a much more rhythm-oriented and uptempo approach, containing tracks that fit perfect with the artist's revered live sets. That said, this album also contains the unexpected twists and turns that has become the Norwegian producer's trademark, including recordings of him playing a cheap Chinese cello and violin for the first time alongside the old Solina String-Ensemble he has used on essentially every track since his debut. Named "the king of space disco" by The New Yorker, Lindstrom has always made a virtue of his obsessive work ethic, turning his city center studio into a factory floor for churning out monster tracks. He has collaborated with the likes of Todd Terje, Prins Thomas and Todd Rundgren, has remixed a slew of acts including LCD Soundsystem, Lana del Rey, Haim, Grizzly Bear, Flume, RAC, London Grammar and more.

Selected by Jim O’Rourke for his Tone Glow list of 25 albums that “never got their due”, Org was founded in the early 90’s by Espen Jensen and Kjetil D Brandsdal who would later go on to variously record as Elektrodiesel, Noxagt and Ultralyd in the swirl of the highly active Norwegian underground. “Org" was the only album the pair recorded as a duo, pressed in a meagre edition of just over 100 copies which disappeared almost as soon as they were made, lodged in the memory of the select few who have managed to hear it in the years since.

Made up of three long tracks, the near 20-minute ‘001’ opens the album with an extended organ zone-out matched with scraping factory machinery saturated into a dense cloud of harmonic fuzz. There's something transcendental about the sound that intersects with microtonal Alice Coltrane (particularly the unfairly maligned organ-only edition of "Turiya Sings"), as well as Pauline Oliveros and Ramleh. It’s music that pulls you in subconsciously; before you know it, you're fixating on the uncomfortable grind of metal on metal, buried mechanical rhythms and liturgical organ vamps that wind between industrial cacophony and sacred ritual music. For its last few seconds, we go into a full death metal tearout that fades out before it takes full flight, a glorious wtf.

‘002’ connects between minimalist drone styles and shoegaze, distorting fuzzed organ into pliable, dreamlike warbles that end up sounding like Kevin Shields' ‘Loveless’-era glides, or even Sunn O))) at their most devotional. Never losing the numbing overdriven mettle, its a piece that sounds spiritually entwined with Matthew Bower's Skullflower - a minimalist re-reading of high-contrast guitar music that takes all the psychoacoustic power and none of the annoying posturing.

For ‘003’, subaqueous organ is joined by synth and drum machine, sounding like the inspirational spark for Religious Knives' screwed 'n chopped cosmic psychedelia. The choice of sounds links it to Antena's foundational electro samba recordings too, but the overwhelming drone - a constant on all three compositions - connects the music to minimalist spirituals that have simmered beneath the DIY/avant garde for decades.

‘Org’ sits heavy on the nerves with overproof levels of mulched amp worship and ungodly, palms-down organ chords and wheezing, bezonked lines of melodic thought. 25 years out of sight and marinading in the archives, with the benefit of hindsight we can better understand the role these sounds played in the development of music in the contemporary sphere. It’s an important piece of the puzzle, one that makes valuable connections that, over time, have looked progressively more faint.

Kelly Lee Owens returns with LP8.2 - a compendium to her LP.8 album from earlier this year, produced by Kelly herself along with Lasse Marhaug (Jenny Hval).

This mini album contains four tracks and 18 minutes of new Kelly Lee Owens music following the abstract industrial beauty of LP.8.

This 40 year anniversary collection traces Brother Culture's career and includes some of his biggest hits, with remastered versions of these classics. The album includes his hits Jump Up Pon It (25 million streams), Supanova (15 million streams), My Selecta (2 million streams), and some of his most listened-to tracks ever released on vinyl.

A composition simply means things being put together. In music, we usually think of composition as a classical idea. But in recent years, the possibilities of what ‘composing’ can be, have dramatically increased. Based in Oslo, Norway, Deathprod (aka Helge Sten) has been making his own forms of music with no compromise since the early 90s. His specialty is a deeply atmospheric, grainy minimalism that slows time down and explores the very particles of sound itself. This music can sound forbidding and alien at first, but compared to his more brutal output, it’s an extraordinarily close and intimate experience. The first new Deathprod studio project since 2019’s OCCULTING DISK, Compositions is the result of an intense period at his legendary Audio Virus Lab studio in central Oslo. All tracks are released in chronological order – in other words, the order in which they were recorded. Helge used a personal, unique combination of obsolete digital audio processors and sound generators, combined with his own secret-sauce tuning system. Like gazing at the wonders revealed by an electron microscope with Helge compositional control directs your attention to a succession of ever more spellbinding details and textures. Helge adopted the Deathprod alias in 1991. A complex array of homemade electronics, samplers, sound processing and analogue effects – cumulatively known as the ‘Audio Virus’ – combined with obsolete samplers and playback devices, to distort and transform sounds into unrecognizable relatives of their former selves. On the new album Compositions, the virus has evolved into even more fascinating and kaleidoscopic new strains. Electronically generated sounds vibrate and tremble like undiscovered metals ringing and resonating together. Sonic forms attract or repel each other as if under the influence of a strange magnetism. None of the tracks are over four minutes, but no way are these ‘miniatures’. Each one contains its own fully-formed galaxy of tones and clusters, while all tracks audibly belong in the same universe. These are 17 compositions in search of a sonic ideal. His off-grid audio control centre created a parallel acoustic universe which he filled with mutated samples and electronic textures. Even the gaps between the tracks are part of that universe. Helge left the almost silent, twitching crackles of his snoozing analogue gear intact, ensuring a smoother transition between them. Helge is continually striving to find new parameters and possibilities for what music can be – what you can affect with the medium of sound. From the intricate homemade miniatures of Treetop Drive to the bonecrushing electronic barrage of Morals and Dogma and OCCULTING DISK, the different sides of Deathprod are all products of the same obsessive focus and self-discipline in pursuit of sonic exploration. His Compositions are private rather than public music: like introspective chamber or solo compositions instead of the more strident, outward-looking tones of a symphony. Helge is a founder of Norwegian improvising group Supersilent and has produced records by Motorpsycho, Susanna, Jenny Hval, Arve Henriksen and others. He recently composed music for Harry Partch’s legendary instruments, which can be heard on Sow Your Gold in the White Foliated Earth, released in 2022 on Smalltown Supersound.

Produced by Laurel Halo and released via Norway’s respected Smalltown Supersound label, Anja Lauvdal’s first solo release, From a Story Now Lost, is a gorgeous musical essay reflecting on time, its perception, and lost histories rediscovered. Finally exploring her own voice after more than a decade of collaborative improvisational playing – starting at her time in jazz conservatory in Trondheim – the album is a jewel of subtle beauty and innovative detail.

A freeform musician on piano, synthesizers, and electronics, Lauvdal’s discography stretches back to 2013 and includes her participation in a myriad of ensembles and collaborations exploring the limits of sound and music in many forms, including noise, jazz, and more. Following her move to Oslo after graduation, she became deeply embedded in the music community there, touring with Jenny Hval as well as playing on her records. When pandemic hit and isolation was the norm, Lauvdal began working on her own, recording her improvisations in an attempt to capture something new for herself

Armed with a disdain for pastiche and a penchant for experimentalism, rRoxymore has spent the last decade pushing the boundaries of what constitutes club music. Across a steady stream of releases, the Berlin-based artist has continually reinvented her sound, shifting from hypnotic leftfield techno to UK bass mutations, genre-eschewing dub oddities and so much more.

On Perpetual Now, her sophomore album, she again displays this propensity for pushing the sonic envelope. It’s a slow-burning record, and one that blurs the lines between the electronic and the organic.

Subverting the traditional album format, Perpetual Now is made up of four extended soundscapes - each taking the listener on a journey through tempo, texture and emotional state. Downtempo opener ‘At The Crest’ gently sets things into motion, allowing the sparse percussion to tentatively find its feet. ‘Sun In C’ is a peculiarly meditative excursion, crafting a rich, intoxicating atmosphere across its nine minutes. ‘Fragmented Dreams’, with its pulsating rhythms and fractured melodies, sees the album fleetingly burst into life, before ‘Water Stain’ winds things down in the most effortless of manners.

A daring, unconventional album, Perpetual Now is everything we’ve come to expect and more from one of electronic music’s most unique producers.

Armed with a disdain for pastiche and a penchant for experimentalism, rRoxymore has spent the last decade pushing the boundaries of what constitutes club music. Across a steady stream of releases, the Berlin-based artist has continually reinvented her sound, shifting from hypnotic leftfield techno to UK bass mutations, genre-eschewing dub oddities and so much more. On Perpetual Now, her sophomore album, she again displays this propensity for pushing the sonic envelope. It's a slow-burning record, and one that blurs the lines between the electronic and the organic. Subverting the traditional album format, Perpetual Now is made up of four extended soundscapes - each taking the listener on a journey through tempo, texture and emotional state. Downtempo opener `At The Crest' gently sets things into motion, allowing the sparse percussion to tentatively find its feet. `Sun In C' is a peculiarly meditative excursion, crafting a rich, intoxicating atmosphere across its nine minutes. `Fragmented Dreams', with its pulsating rhythms and fractured melodies, sees the album fleetingly burst into life, before `Water Stain' winds things down in the most effortless of manners. A daring, unconventional album, Perpetual Now is everything we've come to expect and more from one of electronic music's most unique producers. French-born, Berlin-based DJ, sound artist and producer rRoxymore first emerged on the scene with `Wheel of Fortune', a ten-minute epic released on Planningtorock's Human Level back in 2012. She has since put out music regularly, dropping her debut album Face To Phase in 2019, and more recently "I Wanted More", a four-track EP that veered from downtempo ambience to lush deep house.

Produced by Laurel Halo and released via Norway's respected Smalltown Supersound label, Anja Lauvdal's first solo release, From a Story Now Lost, is a gorgeous musical essay reflecting on time, its perception, and lost histories rediscovered. Finally exploring her own voice after more than a decade of collaborative improvisational playing - starting at her time in jazz conservatory in Trondheim - the album is a jewel of subtle beauty and innovative detail. A freeform musician on piano, synthesizers, and electronics, Lauvdal's discography stretches back to 2013 and includes her participation in a myriad of ensembles and collaborations exploring the limits of sound and music in many forms, including noise, jazz, and more. Following her move to Oslo after graduation, she became deeply embedded in the music community there, touring with Jenny Hval as well as playing on her records. When pandemic hit and isolation was the norm, Lauvdal began working on her own, recording her improvisations in an attempt to capture something new for herself. Connecting to Laurel Halo via Smalltown's founder Joakim Haugland, the acclaimed American artist agreed to work with Lauvdal in shaping her solo record, becoming integral to its creation through all of its stages. Lauvdal credits Halo as a deep listener and gentle "thought-provoker", who contributed ideas as well as helping to shape the finished versions (Halo also worked alongside Rashad Becker on the final mix of the album). Together, they found a method of recording Lauvdal's improvisations, making small loops from those, feeding them back into the synthesizers, and making synthesizers out of the improvisations, which Lauvdal would then re-improvise with. She describes the end result, "like seeing different pieces of time around in the universe." While the record is based on Lauvdal's improvisations, some tracks were inspired Agathe Backer Grondahl, a Norwegian classical pianist and composer from the latter half of the 19th century. Lauvdal notes that Grondahl is not widely known, although her best friend Edvard Grieg is still considered Norway's most famous composer. Yet now, partly through Lauvdal, her story resurfaces and persists. "From a Story Now Lost means the story is still there," Lauvdal explains. "It hasn't gone anywhere even though nobody heard it, or maybe you're hearing it for the first time. And actually it was told a long time ago - maybe you weren't ready to hear that story at the time." This hints at the limitless nature of her music, as well as its new emotional texture. Direct in its vulnerability, immediate in its tenderness, From a Story Now Lost is a sophisticated evocation over restrained artistry spilling over with meaning.