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Richie Culver had been waiting his whole life to record I was born by the sea. His debut album immediately and messily inscribed the artist into the canon of outsider music and experimental electronics, serving both as an arresting statement of intent and a painful reckoning with the difficult path that lead up to it, stealing one last glance back at a place he always knew he had to escape. Between grim lamentations, faded memories and anxiety attacks, all told with searing honesty and disarming openness, I was born by the sea excavates a space for hope, finding Culver digging through Humberside silt to find a world weary optimism, the raw material from which his visual and sound art is shaped. For this collection of expansions and inversions, Culver invites a collection of kindred spirits, contemporary inspirations and old heroes to wade into the salt water of his formative years spent living for impromptu raves and afterparties, connecting vivid memories of his birth place of Withernsea to artists hailing from as nearby as Preston and Bridlington, further afield, from Manchester and London, Berlin and Paris, before returning back to Hull, to where it all began.

For some, responding to I was born by the sea means diving even deeper into the record’s furthest reaches. Space Afrika clear away the pummelling loops of noise from ‘It’s hard to get to know you,’ revealing a cool and cavernous expanse in its wake. Distant chatter, previously heard as though through thin, plasterboard walls, now echoes from outside the maddening claustrophobia of the original’s Sisyphean sonics, illuminated as a dense storm cloud suspended amidst a more open scene, washed clean by a lighter rain, allowing the tender heart of the track to beat clear. London producer MOBBS stretches out ‘Pigeon Flesh’ into an epic, 10-minute, cold-sweat spiral, strung-out tension wrung from disconnected phone tones twisted in unexpected directions, snatches of Culver’s voice turned inside-out and deep fried bass threatening to tip the track over into oblivion, the build-and-release of a nervous breakdown experienced in real time. In an act of subversive self-reflection, Morgane Polanski switches one kind of ennui for another in her adaption of ‘I was born by the sea,’ swapping the sea for the city, English seaside towns in January for summer evenings in Paris and flashing lighthouses and sparkling oil rigs for the Eiffel Tower and the traffic around L’Arc de Triomphe. Even Culver finds time to revisit ‘Dream About Yourself,’ a track taken from his EP Post Traumatic Fantasy, breathing new words into its glacial drift, the half-remembered testimony of a shut-in: Woke up in the evening / Pray for me / Don’t trust anyone / Pray for algorithm. Reframed in a more melancholy light, the track’s reverberant keys even more clearly evoke a mournful nostalgia, fresh pain felt in old wounds.

Others find a parallel universe in Culver’s visceral world building. Rainy Miller flips the script with a scorched, avant-drill rework of ‘Daytime TV’, threading puncturing hi-hats and queasy low-end surge through the track’s steady ambient cascade, invoking the irresistible Preston beat magic of Miller’s own essential debut album, Desquamation. Aho Ssan melts away the crystalline textures of ‘Love Like an Abscess’ with the ominous crackle of a nascent fire, building through swathes of organic Max/MSP squelch and brittle, nails-down-chalkboard scrape, swelling and metastasising the original to spill over Culver’s desperate hymn to corporeal desire, at once flesh and not. Teresa Winter transports us an hour up the coast from Withernsea to her native Bridlington, replacing the sea wall of synthesis on ‘Nervous Energy’ with muffled ASMR murk and fever dream whispers, transforming Culver’s unflinching observations into a haunting call-and-response, filling in the blanks with her own eerie utterances, a fleeting conversation with a ghost. In a touching victory lap, Fila Brazillia, eccentric stalwarts of beloved ‘90s trip hop imprint Pork Recordings, whose performances at Hull institution The Lamp convinced a young Culver of the necessity to make his mark on club culture, resurface for their first remix in 20 years. Steve Cobby and David McSherry lead a low-slung, heartfelt stroll back through a suite of tracks from I was born by the sea, tracing a full circle saunter from Culver’s origins to his current musical practice, the sounds of his present repurposed by the sound of his youth. In a gesture that reflects the emotional complexity of the project, Fila Brazillia find joy at the end of Culver’s troubled reflection, picking out an undeniable groove in the stasis of feeling trapped in your hometown. Underlining Hull’s vital musical legacy, from Baby Mammoth to Throbbing Gristle, Cobby and McSherry demonstrate that, though there are certainly storms, by the sea there is also sun and through the fog, if you listen, you can hear a singular sound, a sound now carried by Richie Culver.

Participant is a record label and creative studio run by William Markarian-Martin and Richie Culver

In the quiet surrounding the pandemic, Madeline Kenney made sonic sketches in the basement studio she shared with her then-partner. She arranged phrases that called her—the sharp knife of a synth cutting a path along a blooming arpeggio, drums stuttering firm and tight. Working this way, she amassed a collection of songs she had no particular aims for. Some formed her 2021 EP Summer Quarter, others languished.

But in 2022, Kenney’s partner left suddenly and without warning, plunging her into the solitary act of untangling what happened. In the wake of her ensuing depression, she revisited these songs and found in them something prescient. She’d already laid the foundation for A New Reality Mind.

That her relationship’s end came without warning is only half true, though. The warnings were in the feelings and fears that inspired Kenney’s critically-acclaimed third album, Sucker’s Lunch (2020), which was co-produced by Jenn Wasner (Flock of Dimes) and centered around the idea of flinging oneself freely into the seemingly-assured destruction of new love, come what may.

If sonically Sucker’s Lunch was letting yourself be pulled into the warm bath of a good story, A New Reality Mind reflects the harsh light of truth coming to break the spell. But as sobering as morning light can be, there’s brilliance to it, too. To see in the clarity of day is a gift. A revolution. Rather than reckoning with love lost, the songs on A New Reality Mind grapple with the self that chose to fall. “I guess I only needed to look twice / Reflected in my attitude, my constant compromise,” Kenney sings on “Red Emotion,” the musical landscape screeching and gasping around her observations of how she made herself small to keep the dream of love alive.

These notions of sight and vision pervade the record as Kenney stands before the infinity mirror of selves she’s been to preserve bonds in her life. On “I Drew a Line,” Kenney contends with the stories she’s told herself to keep plodding along, and the way those stories shape her perceived reality. She invokes John Berger’s Ways of Seeing—“Everything around the image is part of its meaning,” we hear him say. “Everything around it confirms and consolidates its meaning.” Here, Kenney isn’t interested in shaming herself for being carried away by the fantasies of the heart, but rather in investigating the unavoidably human propensity to do so. “I, like everyone else, am muddling through my most ordinary disaster of a life,” she acknowledges, a sentiment which reverberates through album opener “Plain Boring Disaster.” “I don’t need to start again,” she sings at the song’s close. “But I can change when it ends.” We may all be doomed to repetitive, ordinary heartbreaks, Kenney realizes, but at least we can cultivate a capacity to witness our missteps and build new realities for ourselves.

This is Kenney’s most expansive work, while also her most solitary. Produced and recorded alone in her basement, these songs are manifestations of what it feels like to be transformed by pain. Textures collide and collude; sonic ornaments emerge and dissipate capriciously; saxophones soar untamed, as on the 80s pop elegy to self-sacrifice, “Reality Mind”. These songs beg you to dance, then pull the rug out from under you once you’ve caught the beat, leaving you dizzy like the whiplash of love’s end.

But in the propulsive power of A New Reality Mind, there’s also acceptance, self-forgiveness, and a willingness to move forward into life, with all its ways of making a sucker of you. “That way of living, I’m over it,” Kenney declares of the habits that hold her back on “Superficial Conversation”. “I do not need to be reminded of what I did,” she assures, the song opening wide and beaming, like a smile expanding to taste a new breath of air.

Debut vinyl by Cruz Perro Maldito, a Tenerife based trio forever imbued in the collective imagination and folklore myths of the magical and misty mountain of Agua García, located in Tacoronte district at the foot of Teide Volcano (Tenerife/Canary Islands). Their music is an explosion of free jazz improv where sophisticated sound textures emerg-ing from modular synths and processed guitar create abstract and random rhythmic patterns with complex saxophone lines guiding the ensemble from quiet to menacing passages of sudden bursts of noise and frenzy.


Entitled Truquetin Resorte, the album takes inspiration from the rich history of mechanical automata, such as Talos, the bronze giant who defended the island of Crete and was eventually defeated by Jason and his Argonauts. Or Apega de Nabis, a replica of King Nabis’ wife whom crossed unsuspecting victims with its iron spikes hidden in the device's lower arms, hands and breasts.

Or even René Descartes and his infamous daughter- like Automaton replica, an eerie creation from the renown philosopher to evoke his dead daughter
These myths and more serve as reminder of a mechanical world’s past, a world of complex automata stories with me-chanic ‘imitating’ beings as its problematic protagonists. An eerie counterpoint to our current uber modern digital world and its rapid advancing A.I.s.

Eaux proudly announces the second full length LP from Rrose, Please Touch, released on vinyl, CD, and digital download. The LP follows 2019's Hymn to Moisture in ways that are both subtle and striking: Please Touch further hones the artist's tensile sound while exploring new aesthetic vistas and basking in an undeniably erotic sense of play. Moving with undulating power, the album's nine tracks drift across tempos from a weightless 0 bpm to a crawling 100 to a lunging 140 and back, with a rich palette of sculpted noise and cross-talking microtones.

Rrose's compositional process, rooted in their studies with West Coast avant garde trailblazers at Mills College, centers on "seed" sounds being fed through elaborate webs of interrelated audio processing. The result is a world where changes in any one element have downstream implications for some or all the others. It's a rich interdependence that lets the tracks breathe, grow and mutate with uncanny organicism. Please Touch addresses in equal measure the perceptual and the corporeal: these are sounds that sink into the body, exhibiting a tactility that pushes, pulls, bends and yields with fearsome vibrancy.

The album splits its time between radical techno iterations and pieces which pare back the percussion, letting the synth textures uncurl in their own time and space. The quivering drone and rolling sub-bass of "Joy of the Worm'' set the tone for the record, while "Rib Cage," Spore" and "Spines " swing with stepping rhythmic underpinnings. Building with finely calibrated tension, they use their few elements to startling, snarling effect. "Pleasure Vessels" is a rare moment of becalmed introspection in Rrose's oeuvre, hinting at a melodic ambiance that is practically unseen in previous works. It glows with a soft, dawn-like light before dissolving into a tidal fizz. "The Illuminating Glass'' brings the tempo down to a languorous chug, nodding its way through a field of glistening chirps and leaden gasps. "Feeding Time," "Disappear" and album closer "Turning Blue'' meanwhile nod to the cerebral psychedelia of Rrose's forebears, with mesmeric, looping textures and long, magisterial tones not dissimilar to the spectral works of James Tenney (whose work Rrose regularly performs) and the deep listening pieces of Pauline Oliveros.

The title of the album refers playfully to the tactile quality of the music while hinting at a forbidden sensuality that is only permitted within the confines of this microcosm. The phrase is also another nod to Marcel Duchamp, who gave this title to a 1947 exhibition of Surrealist art. Across the nine tracks, Rrose follows the lead of the sound(s) rather than trying to impose on the flow of the sonic material. Each move changes the parameters of a track's evolution. Thus, a non-hierarchical, symbiotic relationship forms between the so-called "music-maker" and the music itself. Please Touch acts as a collection of limbs, organs, parasites, and growths which both devour each other and keep each other alive.

Introducing "Beats on Boat Vol. 2" - the highly anticipated compilation album featuring some of the most talented and respected names in the lofi hiphop scene With tracks from the likes of FloFilz, Made in M, digitalluc, and Klaus Layer, to name a few. This project promises to deliver a unique blend of chill beats and groovy rhythms that
will transport listeners to a world of laid-back vibes.

Released through ear-sight, tracks from "Beats on Boat Vol. 2" will be released every two weeks starting from
May 31st and will be accompanied by a live set, filmed on Berlins river Spree.

One of the standout features of this album is how each artist brings their own unique style to the table. From FloFilz's jazzy beats to Made in M's dreamy soundscapes, listeners can expect a diverse range of sounds and textures that will keep them hooked like fish on a rod.

Another thing that sets "Beats on Boat Vol. 2" apart from other compilations is the focus on both lofi hiphop and lofi house. While these two genres may seem vastly different at first glance, they actually share a lot of common ground - both are built on a foundation of warm textures, and infectious grooves.

A must-listen for anyone who loves lofi music, chill beats, or just wants to experience something truly unique. With this roster of top-tier artists, the focus on both lofi hiphop and lofi house, and its live beat sets on a boat in Berlin, this compilation is sure to make waves. Hop aboard and tune in!

Mastered by digitalluc
Cover design by Otto Stobbe

Black Truffle is pleased to announce Symphony No. 107 –The Bard, a previously unheard archival recording of the legendary improvising ensemble MEV (Musica Elettronica Viva), captured in concert at Bard College, New York in 2012. Formed by a group of American expat composers in Rome in 1966, the MEV ensemble played an important role in the development of free improvisation, bridging the live electronics tradition begun by Cage and Tudor and the high-energy squall of free jazz. Early recordings like Spacecraft or The Sound Pool unleash volleys of metal and glass amplified with contact microphones, howling winds, primitive synthesizer bleep and raucous audience participation, the intensity of which puts much later ‘noise’ to shame. In later decades, the ensemble would go through many iterations, often including legendary free players like Steve Lacy and George Lewis. In its final years, MEV settled into the core trio of founding members heard here: Alvin Curran, Frederic Rzewski, and Richard Teitelbaum, using piano, electronics, and small instruments.

Curran, Rzewski, and Teitelbaum were life-long friends blessed, as Curran says, with ‘incompatible personalities’: major figures in the post-Cagean experimental tradition, they explored countless divergent and even contradictory paths as composers and performers, from agitprop songs to brainwave-controlled synthesis. MEV is the sound of these three personalities coming together, their contributions radically individual yet attaining a state of ‘fundamental unity’ that Rzewski, in a text written in the collective’s earliest years, defined as the ‘final goal of improvisation’. Of course, listeners familiar with aspect of the trio’s individual works might hazard some guesses about who is doing what: the crisp piano figures are probably Rzewski’s, the cut-up hip-hop samples most likely Curran’s, the sliding, squelching synth possibly Teitelbaum’s. But often these identities are dissolved in a constantly shifting hall of mirrors, the listener unable to tell which of these pianos is live and which is a sample of a past virtuoso, or whether a horn blast derives from ethnographic documentation or Curran cutting loose on Shofar. The two side-long sets here occupy a similar terrain of constantly shifting texture and instrumentation, unexpected interruptions, and moments of sudden beauty. The first set is sparser, at times almost ominous, as a bell repeatedly sounds across wheezing harmonica, seasick orchestral textures, and creaking wood, making room for episodes of yodelling and delicate prepared piano before exploding into a storm of buzzing synth and piano fragments. The second set is more frenetic, moving rapidly across centuries and continents: cars crash into post-serial piano pointillism, wailing voices collide with chopped and screwed hip-hop samples, Hollywood strings are buried under layers of electronic gurgles. The performance slows in its final moments, making way for a sampled voice repeating the phrase ‘protest and the good of the world’, reminding us that MEV’s idea of freedom was always more than musical. Symphony No. 107 –The Bard is a beautifully recorded example of the endlessly multi-layered later MEV sound, accompanied by new liner notes by Alvin Curran (now the only surviving member of the group) and a selection of previously unseen photographs from across the many decades of the group’s activity. Arriving in an elegant sleeve bearing a beautiful photograph by Francis Zhou of the Olin Hall at Bard College where the concert was recorded, this is an essential document from a major group in the history of experimental music. As Rzewski wrote, this music is ‘like life, unpredictable, sometimes making sense, mostly not’.

Cory Hanson"s third solo LP follows upon 2020"s luminescent Pale Horse Rider, upping the heat to molten levels, six strings at a time. In search of further adventures, Cory draws with vampiric glee from the madness coursing through the world outside; a spiraling shitshow that"s reawakened a compulsion in him - an old ambition, even! - to crush brutality and elegance together into a fresh set of rocks to hail down upon us. Western Cum is a high-stepping, hard-dancing, first love/heartbreak, tonight"s-the-night, future nostalgia kind of good time - the sound of guitars through the speakers of luxury cars. Like the dream you had once, alone, asleep in an amplifier, blasting Guns N" Roses through every last orifice in your body. And it"s coming through! Western Cum"s map to the treasure is less about pastiche, though; more toward executing the songs by executioner"s axe, rolling their decapitated rhythm heads and soaring melodies, the panoply of Cory"s melodic impulses with guitars, guitars, guitars. Harmony leads are just the tip of the iceberg, but be quick - the guitars like to melt everything in their path! The eight songs of Western Cum are driven by the stalwart bass of brother Casey Hanson and the drums of Evan Backer with a few passing acoustics from Cory and the intermittent spirit-moans of Tyler Nuffer"s steel guitar. The quartet sound - two guitars, bass and drums - acts as beat-making principle/phrasing device, as well as template for Cory"s layers of six-string and vocal textures. From the rooftop of their musical safe house - the band in their makeshift hut and Cory ensconced in an outhouse - they let loose with a blast both face-melting and mind-blowing: a social service that gives constipation a good name.

SWR surfaces on Plantpower Records with his 'Blood Money EP'. A weighty 4 tracker with potent basslines, shuffling drums, dubbed out effects, and hypnotic sounds and textures that weave between the beats.

Repress!

Leeds soul and funk label ATA Records are proud to announce the new single from The Sorcerers. Available on 7" vinyl and Digital Download from Friday 30th March, this single is a driving Ethiojazz track aimed squarely at the dancefloor, backed by the Yorkshire Film & Television's original recording of "The Anderson Spectrum" (Later re-recorded and re-named by The Sorcerers as "The Viking Of 5th Avenue")

Taking influences from Ethiopiques Ethiojazz as well as the soundtracks to the European horror films of the 60s and 70s, The Sorcerers seamlessly blend these disparate elements into one cohesive package. Based in ATA Records' home of Leeds, The Sorcerers are made up of the cream of the city's jazz and world scene. Forming the backbone of the ATA Records house band they incorporate bass clarinets, flutes, and vibraphone alongside bass, guitar organ and drums, providing Ellingtonian textures on top of a solid rhythmic foundation.

Initially inspired by the work of Ethiopian composer Mulatu Astatke, The Sorcerers have developed their sound from the foundations laid out on their debut LP "The Sorcerers"."In pursuit of Shai Hulud" eschews the atmospheric textures of their previous material, replacing them with driving percussion and propulsive bass. Organ and flute tear into the melody as temple blocks beat out an insistent rhythm throughout.

The B-Side ("The Anderson Spectrum") is the original track from The Yorkshire Film & Television Orchestra that The Sorcerers re-recorded and re-named "The Viking Of 5th Avenue" when they recorded it for their debut. Tremolo-fuzz guitar and heavy brass place the track firmly in the sonic realm of 1960s British Library Music, bringing to mind the work of John Barry and Portishead rather than Mulatu Astatke.

Remotely Together introduces new works by claire rousay & Morita Vargas, Maria Chavez & Valentina Magaletti, and KMRU, all commissioned through remote residencies for Rewire’s 2021 - online edition. In the midst of COVID-19 lockdowns, Rewire initiated these collaborations between disparate artists from all over the world, connecting them remotely to explore new creative practices both online and in isolation. The audiovisual results of these residencies were presented during the online edition of the 2021 festival. Newly edited versions of a selection of these performances have now been compiled for this release.

Featuring an enthralling mix of ambient, noise, field recording, and experimental sound art, the scene of Remotely Together is set by the crunching sounds of footsteps over a grassy environment on atmospheric opener Humo De Margatina Dulce, a collaborative song between North American percussionist and improviser claire rousay and Argentinian vocalist Morita Vargas. rousay’s textural mix of field recordings, everyday sounds, and deep electronics coalesce with Vargas’s ethereal vocals, paving the way for compelling music that gradually draws its listeners deeper into its mysterious soundworld.

Meanwhile, New York–based turntablist Maria Chavez and celebrated Italian percussionist Valentina Magaletti collaborate on Particle, featuring hypnotic textures and dreamlike percussion that seems to sonically propel itself forward, slowly expanding into a rich and layered work of stretched-out free jazz.

During his online residency, Kenyan sound artist KMRU teamed up with Dutch filmmaker Donna Verheijden. MicroVerse showcases his evocative mixing of field recordings, entrancing noise, and improvisation, resulting in a piece where the seemingly gentle sounds of the natural world begin to blend in with the artificial muck of droning noise.

Peruvian-born and Amsterdam-based graphic designer Jonathan Castro Alejos has designed the artwork of Remotely Together. It was thought of as a sculptural documentation of the unnoticed urban gestures between Amsterdam and Lima during the pandemic – further reinforcing the relationship between isolation and interconnectivity explored during the remote residencies of Rewire.

Gladio Operations inaugurates 2023 with its seventh release titled “Split Machine”, a new series of shared EPs, where in this first episode the producers Jauzas The Shining and Cycloplex go halves on the EP.

The French producer returns to Gladio with three cuts which possess his peculiar and characteristic rugged sound. The EP launches with “Business Machines” and “Isla De Encanto”, two powerful cuts with aggressive and noticeable basslines filled-up with dark textures. Jauzas gifts us a last cut titled “Equation”, a nod to the EBM sound, where he preserves the same darkness as in the previous cuts.

On side B we encounter the Spanish producer Francisco Aguado, who has recently released his first work under the “Cultivated Electronics” label under his new electro alias, Cycloplex. With two cuts titled “Intercepted” and “Acid Machine”, Cycloplex reveals his particular minimalist vision of electro sound in an abstract journey of excellent monotonous rhythms.

Blue Marbled Vinyl

Opening the EP we have a serious sensory treat from Aural Imbalance, as he ditches his own rulebook unleashing a myriad of rapidly combining elements synergising over glorious echoed intro-beats, before an uncharacteristically heavy slice of breaks punches its way into the track, electrifying the atmosphere while the trademark melodies dance above like fireflies in the night.

A2 - Luminosity

An airy intro slowly welcomes in snappy snares, staunch forthright bass tones and those delicious airy pads we know Aural
Imbalance so well for, gradually enveloping the listener in a luscious web of glorious serenity. Layers of intricate textures and rhythms build upon one another, creating a mesmerizing and hypnotic sonic journey inviting repeated listens.

AA1 - Moonscape

Aural Imbalance crafts a true gem here as Moonscape opens with a serene hit of soothing pads before the wonderfully analogue breakbeats join the party, laden with hi hats and subtle poise. The backdrop exudes whimsical birdsong until halfway we are treated to a true earworm melody carrying us through to the clean ritualistic outro.

AA2 - Sunlight Through Clouds

Simon closes the EP with Sunlight Through Clouds, opening with wistful muffled grooves before the bubbly apache break reveals itself and whisks us on a synthful audio feast, built on the immersive, meditative soundscapes he is so well known for. The track has a soothing, reflective vibe and fits perfectly as a curtain call for his latest extended player.

Words by Chris Hayes (Spatial / Red Mist)

The next chapter of the Natural Information Society is here. Since Time Is Gravity, credited to Natural Information Society Community Ensemble with Ari Brown, presents a newly expanded manifestation of acclaimed composer & multi-instrumentalist Joshua Abrams nearly 15 year, 7 albums &-counting flagship ensemble. Joining the core NIS of Abrams (guimbri & bass), Lisa Alvarado (harmonium) Mikel Patrick Avery (drums) & Jason Stein (bass clarinet) are Hamid Drake (percussion), Josh Berman & Ben Lamar Gay (cornets), Nick Mazzarella & Mai Sugimoto (alto saxophones & flute), Kara Bershad (harp) & Chicago living legend of the tenor saxophone Ari Brown. Recorded live to tape at Electrical Audio & The Graham Foundation, cover painting Vibratory Cartography: Nepantla, by Lisa Alvarado. 2xLP on Eremite USA, 2xLP & CD on Aguirre/Eremite Europe. Out 14-04.

Since first developing Natural Information Society in 2010, Joshua Abrams has been gradually expanding the group’s conceptual underpinnings, its musical references & the sheer number of the group’s members. Its music is, in a sense, an expansive form of minimalism, based in repeated & overlaid rhythmic patterns, ostinatos & modality. Its roots, its scale & its meaning become clearer in time. If time is gravity, it also allows us to carry more. Having begun as fundamentally a rhythm section with Abrams’ guimbri at its core, the version here can stretch to a tentet, including six horns.

Abrams has been expanding his minimalism gradually, but he has long understood a key to minimalism’s potential: the breadth of its roots in the late 1950s & early 1960s, ranging from the dissatisfaction of young European-stream composers with the limitations of serialism to the simultaneous dissatisfaction of jazz musicians with the dense harmonic vocabulary of bop & hard bop. The former began exploring rhythmic complexity & narrow tonal palates in place of harmonic abstraction (Steve Reich’s Drumming, Philip Glass’ Music with Changing Parts; perhaps above all Terry Riley’s In C & his late ‘60s all-night organ & loop concerts); the later reduced dense chord changes to scales (signally with Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, but rapidly expanding with John Coltrane’s vast project). In the 1950s the LP record opened the world with documentation of Asian & African musics, key influences on both minimalists & jazz musicians. If John Coltrane’s soprano saxophone suggested the keening shehnai of Bismillah Khan, the instrument was rapidly taken up by two key minimalists, LaMonte Young & Riley, similarly appreciative of its flexible intonation, the same thing that kept it out of big bands.

If the guimbri, the North African hide-covered lute that Abrams plays with NIS, involves a rich tradition of hypnotic healing music associated with the Gnawa people, Abrams’ music also touches on other musics as well — other depths, memories & healings, different drones, rhythms & modes. As the group expands on Since Time Is Gravity, he has made certain jazz traditions in the same stream more explicit as well. If there is a mystical & elastic quality involved in the experience of time, both in direction & duration, you will catch it here. The parts for the choir of winds expand on the roles of Abrams’ guimbri, Mikel Patrick Avery & Hamid Drake’s percussion & Lisa Alvarado’s harmonium: at times, the winds are almost looping in the tentet version, each hitting a repeating note in turn, at once drone & distinct inflection on temporal sequence. The brilliance of the work resides in Abrams’ compositions, the NIS’ intuitive execution & in Ari Brown’s singular embodiment of the great tenor saxophone tradition, including the oracular genius of Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis, & Yusef Lateef. The three pieces by the expanded NIS featuring Brown —the opening “Moontide Chorus” & “Is” & the ultimate “Gravity”— have an immediate impact, & togther might be considered a kind of concerto for tenor saxophone. Here Brown presses almost indistinguishably from composed melody to improvised speech, getting so close to language that he might have a text. Everything here is a sign. Note the tap of the Rhythm Ace that links “Moontide Chorus” to “Is”, the attentive heart always present, even when signed by a machine. There’s a link here to the methodologies & meanings of dub music & the linear & vertical collage of beats, textures & tongues: treated with reverence, a sample of a beat-box can be as soulful, as hypnotic, as a mbira or a tamboura. If those pieces with Brown are heard as a suspended concerto, the three embrace & enfold the other works, like the sepals of a flower. That placement will also touch on the mysteries of our perception of time.

Particularly in “Is”, but elsewhere as well, a phenomenon of transcendence arises in which time appears to be tripartite, at once moving backwards & forwards & standing still. This is an act of technical brilliance certainly, but also an illumination of music’s ability to represent temporal consciousness through polymetrics. This particular listener has only heard it before in a few places, including the horn shouts & bowed basses of Coltrane’s Africa, in moments of Charles Mingus’ The Black Saint & the Sinner Lady, in certain pieces where tapes were literally running backwards, & earlier still in Dizzy Gillespie’s Cubana Be, Cubana Bop, in which the composer George Russell & conguero Chano Pozo found a music that spoke at once in the voices of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring & the vestigial rites, rhythms & songs of the Yoruba language & Santeria religion of inland Cuba.

In Joshua Abrams’ compositions & the realization of them by the NIS, in the time of one’s close listening & memory thereof, distinctions between the “natural” & the “social”, the “quotidian” & the “transcendent” are erased, suspended or perhaps irrelevant. Consider two of the ensemble pieces, one named for nature, the other social science. In “Murmuration” the repeated wind figures of flute & alto saxophone combine with the interlocking patterns of harp, guimbri & frame drum (tar) to create a perfect moving stillness, not an imitation but a witness to the miracle of the starlings’ astonishing collective art, a surfeit of beauty that might be the ultimate defense tactic.

“Stigmergy” takes its name & concept from the Occupy movement’s Heather Marsh, who proposes a social system based on a cooperative rather than competitive models, one in which ideas are freely contributed & developed as ideas rather than an individual’s property. In its form, Abrams’ “Stigmergy” is the closes thing to traditional jazz, a series of accompanied solos by each of the wind players. However, the composed accompaniment is a radically collectivist notion: a repeated rhythmic figure, call it ostinato or riff, in which the different winds each play only a note or two of the figure, a concept both more collectivist & individualistic in its conception than any typical unison figure. It suggests another of the underlying recognitions that propel the Natural Information Society, the group as social organism, the teleology of hypnotic anarchy, all parts in place, functioning systematically, evolving & expressing itself, its nature & society, as a transformative organism.

George Lewis has described music as “a space for reflection on the human condition”. This suggests that, rather than a “distraction”, at least some music might serve as a distraction from distraction. It’s a focus, a clarity, a awareness, an external invitation to interiority, as if music itself is a model for form & contemplation, an organism contemplating for us or as us. If that is a possibility, & I am sure I have heard such musics, than this music is among them. How many of our rhythms, melodies & harmonies (cultural, historical, biological, psychic) might such music carry, translate & transform in the particulate ecstasy of our own murmuration? (Stuart Broomer, April 2022)

»Nifbin Circle« is the fourth release by Detlef Funder, aka Konrad Kraft, on the Cologne label aufabwegen. Sounds generated with two apps on the iPad,provided the basic structures and the sound space. The strangely enraptured textures created in this way, with a subtle percussive touch, were partly combined with supporting beats in the course of further processing. Thus, after more than 30 years, tracks with rudimentary melodies and rhythms were created again.

»Nifbin Circle« is the fourth release by Detlef Funder, aka Konrad Kraft, on the Cologne label aufabwegen. Sounds generated with two apps on the iPad,provided the basic structures and the sound space. The strangely enraptured textures created in this way, with a subtle percussive touch, were partly combined with supporting beats in the course of further processing. Thus, after more than 30 years, tracks with rudimentary melodies and rhythms were created again.

For fans of Khruangbin, El Michels Affair, Tame Impala and Bonobo. “I spent a while thinking about the title for this album; it was quite hard to pin down the feeling I felt it represented. At a certain point I realised it was nostalgia, for everything; our life passed by, childhood, moments of happiness and sadness, where we grew up”. – Skinshape // Will Dorey aka Skinshape has proven himself time and again as a connoisseur for the cosmopolitan, across a prolific career expertly exploring understated sounds and theatrical textures. Taking his place alongside the likes of Khruangbin, Tame Impala, Bonobo and Madlib, Skinshape’s global kaleidoscopes are loaded with warmth and wisdom created on vintage analogue equipment applying a perfectionist’s touch. As a former member of indie band Palace, he has played everywhere from Glastonbury and BBC Maida Vale to headlining Shepherd’s Bush Empire. Conversely as a solo artist Skinshape has never played live preferring to record, releasing an album a year (two in 2020’s lockdown) and keeping away from the trappings of stardom.

Damian Lazarus’ Secret Teachings imprint welcomes a unique project from Malian and French pairing Siraba, unveiling their debut single ‘Ngana Fôlly’ alongside remixes from Philou Louzolo and Peaking Lights. Meaning ‘The Great Path’ in Bambara, Siraba - the duo consisting of Malian hunter Boubacar Samake and Damien Vandesande, one half of French electronic band dOP - are on a path of bringing the traditional sound of the Wassoulou to the world. They met in 2003 when Damien visited Mali to work with local artists and met Boubacar’s father - the legendary Sibiri Samake. Working together on multiple occasions, the two promised to work with one another and Boubacar on a project one day, and 17 years later, the two connected to begin to develop their unique sound and showcase their shared universe.

Inspired by the music of the master hunters from across Mali, the ‘Dozo’, the project transmits values based on justice and righteousness, love and respect for others, moral and spiritual rectitude and protection for everyone. Debuting on Damian Lazarus’ Secret Teachings imprint, an outlet for the Crosstown Rebels boss to delve deeper into musical realms outside of the norm and away from the dance floor, the pair will release their debut album in September, with a series of live performances set to be announced. Their first single arrives in early June with ‘Ngana Fôlly’

A spiritual and hypnotic production rooted within Dozo musical tradition, featuring Boubacar playing the Ngoni while singing in Bambara, ‘Ngana Fôlly’ is a resonant and rich production combining organic textures with warping synths, rich bass and sweeping electronics, capturing the magical essence of Mali across a fascinating journey. Providing the first remix on the package, Dutch DJ/producer and DJ Mag ‘Artist To Watch for 2023’ Philou Louzolo harnesses Boubacar’s vocal and places it at the heart of his soaring remix as stripped-back percussion and a commanding low-ends guide sweeping synths, before handing over to San Francisco husband-and-wife pairing and Dekmantel signees Peaking Lights who tip things down a bright and blissful rabbit hole of soundscapes as vibrant guitar riffs and twisting leads work amongst off-kilter melodies and acid flecked tones for an eight-minute trip.

Timo Kaukolampi, frontman for Finnish electronic rock group K-X-P and tireless sonic wanderer, is releasing his second solo album, this time on Optimo Music. Exquisitely rendered, shadowy, curiously claustrophobic and even occasionally paranoid, Inside The Sphere is an album wholly deserving of its name.

A sense of paranoia is one of the threads through this glittering, winking electronic maze. Kaukolampi says “I came up with this metaphysical concept of the “sphere”. When you are manipulated you are ‘Inside The Sphere’. It’s like this dome of ‘undue influence’ that you don’t know exists around you. It’s a bit like the inside of a cult.”

Indeed, it’s amazing the effects achieved with a few sparse electronic textures, the odd smattering of studio trickery, and two or three well-placed synthesizer parts. Though the result might sound ostensibly simplistic, Inside The Sphere is an album of reduction rather than addition. The rhythmic and textural scaffolding is based around what’s not there, rather than what is. Take ‘VCS3’. At first listen, it seems forged from a few synth lines and a simple percussion part – so far, so simple. But listen closer, enter the sphere, look behind the mask – notice the slightly detuned drones, the chattering percussive textures, that distant swell of bass, the way the central fugue shifts and mutates somehow statically, like a barber’s pole.

Might we be listening to an album within an album, a more complex song cycle hiding within the folds of an ambient electronic album? This ties in with another of Kaukolampi’s thematic frameworks – that of the mask. He references Oscar Wilde’s quotation that “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

Inside The Sphere is not a one-note album. For every moment where a clammy ambient space enters, a buttery analogue bassline is there to fill it. This clash seems to be the album’s engine room, its power supply.

Timo references devotional and choir music as an influence on this album. The paranoia and foreboding is tempered by these headier aspects. Kaukolampi mentions “empty and hollow spaces” in relation to several of the songs. Perhaps this is the very space behind the mask, where outward disguise merges with inner reality. Perhaps inside the sphere is not always such a bad place to be.

The formidable Rex The Dog returns with his first single for Kompakt in three years, “Change This Pain For Ecstasy”, a slow-burning disco-glitter stomp that’s charged with analog energy. Pushing his self-built modular hardware set-up to its limits, “Change This Pain For Ecstasy” is taut and thrilling, stripped-back and pulsating, with sweeping chords shimmering through a classic Moroder arpeggio, as a delirious voice sings out a psychedelic raver’s plaint for liberation, pleading for you to "take away my sorrow and this pain”. Deeply emotional, it’s also a masterwork in tension and release, dizzy with snare-rush peaks, and dark, humid valleys where Rex is bound to the patchbay.

On the flipside, Rex gives us “Moto”, which tickles your ear with cymatic phenomena, its gentle vibrations building, beautifully, into a monster-piece of stealth techno. Rex’s DIY synths work overtime as he chases patterns and phases through circuitry, wielding the tones until they erupt into a spray of pointillist pizzicato. The sounds here crackle and corrode, the textures so tantalizing, so sensual, you can almost grab hold of them with your hands. It’s great to have Rex The Dog back, making livewire, yet deeply human techno, alive and bursting with electricity.

Der formidable Rex The Dog kehrt mit seiner ersten Single für Kompakt seit drei Jahren zurück, “Change This Pain For Ecstasy”, ein mit analoger Energie aufgeladener, stürmischer Disco-Glitter-Stomper. Man kann förmlich spüren, wie Rex’ selbstgebautes modulares Hardware-Setup an seine Grenzen gerät. “Change This Pain For Ecstasy” ist eine Hymne an das Nachtleben, an die kathartische Qualität einer durchtanzten Nacht. Über schwungvolle Akkorde und ein hochenergetisches Moroder-Arpeggio bittet eine delirierende Stimme um Befreiung von allem Leid und Schmerz. Das ist zutiefst rührend und emotional – da es sich hier aber um ein Meisterwerk der Spannung und Entspannung handelt – schwingt sich der Track plötzlich auf in schwindelerregende Höhen der Euphorie.

Auf der anderen Seite gibt Rex uns “Moto”, das das Ohr mit zymatischen Phänomenen kitzelt, deren sanften Vibrationen sich zu einem Monster von Stealth-Technotrack aufbauen. Rex’ DIY-Synthesizer machen Überstunden, während er Muster und Phasen durch die Schaltkreise jagt bis sie in einen Sprühregen aus pointillistischem Pizzicato ausbrechen. Die Sounds hier knistern und korrodieren, die Texturen so verlockend, so sinnlich, dass man sie fast mit den Händen greifen kann.

Es ist großartig, Rex The Dog zurück zu haben, der hochverdrahteten und doch zutiefst menschlichen Techno macht, voller Leben und Elektrizität.

Following on from the Bergisch-Brandenburgisches Quartett’s anarchic Live ’82 (BT095), Black Truffle continues its deep dive into the archives of legendary drummer/accordionist/photographer/composer/conceptual prankster Sven-Åke Johansson with Scheisse ’71. Recorded in November 1971 during the Berliner Jazztage at a heavy-hitting concert that also included the Spontaneous Music Ensemble and groups led by Peter Brötzmann, Manfred Schoof, and Masahiko Sato, Scheisse ’71 is the only document of a wild, otherwise unrecorded quintet featuring Johansson on drums, accordion and oboe d’amore, legendary free jazz vocalist Jeanne Lee, her husband Gunter Hampel on vibes, flute and bass clarinet, live electronics pioneer Michael Waisvisz on modified Putney (VCS 3) synthesizer, and the unknown Freddy Gosseye on electric bass. Part of a festival centred on giants of jazz like Duke Ellignton and Dizzy Gillespie, the radical performance shocked its audience, who can be heard heckling and yelling abuse at points, including the titular exclamation of ‘Scheiße!’ Clocking at just over half an hour and recorded in raw but detailed stereo by Johansson himself, the music burns with intensity while also making room for spacious passages and frequent dynamic movement. Beginning with Lee’s voice, Hampel on flute and Johansson on oboe d’amore in a bird-like game of call and response, the unexpected entry of Waisvisz’s tortured, squelching synth bursts prompts the first of many changes in energy and instrumentation, as Gosseye’s busy, roving bass enters and Johansson moves to the kit, his swinging cymbal work and juddering toms extending the approach of Sunny Murray or early Milford Graves. The presence of synthesizer, electric bass, and Lee’s highly amplified voice moves the quintet away from conventional free jazz textures, at times pushing into zones of abstract free sound reminiscent of what groups like MEV, AMM or Johansson’s MND were exploring in the same years. But the energy and joyful melodicism of the music keep it rooted in the tradition of American fire music and its European inheritors. Capable of changing gears in an instant from ferocious blow outs to fragile tapestries of chiming vibes and fizzing synth, the music finds space for Lee’s post-bop free scat (which integrates shrieks and howls just as a post-Ayler saxophonist might), Gosseye’s virtuosic bass runs (a rare attempt to apply the classic free jazz style of players like Alan Silva or Henry Grimes to the electric instrument), Johansson’s folkish accordion interjections, and even a sustained passage of unison bass clarinet and electric bass riffing in its second half. Special mention should be made of Waisvisz’s Putney performance, one of the earliest documents of this under-recorded instrument inventor and player, here playing a major role in giving the music its wildly exploratory, primordial air, his buzzing glissandi and bubbling filter sweeps at times howling like a distressed monkey. Arriving in an austerely stylish sleeve with beautiful black and white photographs by Johansson, Scheisse ’71 is an essential recording that adds yet another layer to our appreciation of this golden era of radical free music.