quête:tone of arc

Sacramento, CA duo Blank Gloss’s third album, Cornered, is an exquisite statement of pop ambient starkness, an album that oscillates between lush beauty and spare melancholy. It follows from their 2021 debut for Kompakt, Melt, an album that saw Morgan Fox (piano, synths) and Patrick Hills (guitar) aligned, loosely, with the cosmic pastorale of the ‘ambient Americana’ movement. Cornered feels like a significant step forward, though – by peeling back the layers of their music, they’ve revealed both its restful core and its solemn gravitas. It is unendingly lovely, but with something disquieting at its centre.

Cornered was recorded quickly, over two days in December 2020. There’s nothing rushed or haphazard about the album, though; everything has its place, with each sonic element contributing profoundly to these nine miniature dioramas. It signals change, quietly but perceptibly, through the way the duo sculpts their material, building out of loose improvisations that morphed into songs. While there was no plan in mind when Blank Gloss settled into the studio, Fox recalls that “right away we realised that things were sounding and feeling a bit different than any of the sessions we had previously.”

That difference can be heard in the increased amount of space Blank Gloss gift to their sound sources. Some of the most moving moments on Cornered come when Fox and Hills strip everything back – see, for example, “Crossing”, which sets pensive piano across a shyly humming drone and quiet arcs of guitar, recalling the driftworks of Roger Eno. Curiously, the album’s distinctive shape and mood develops, at least in part, from a change in instrumentation, with Hills using a MIDI pick-up on his guitar. “This resulted in making things happen a lot quicker,” Fox says. “It also helped create what I think is a bit more sombre, dark feeling to some of the songs.”

Elsewhere, on songs like “Salt”, the piano tussles with flecks of guitar, single tones sent out to mingle with the stars, like Morricone at 16 RPM, while Cornered’s centrepiece, the eleven-minute “No Appetite”, lets long arcs of electronic texture breathe and sigh, tangling together in a cat’s cradle of bliss. Throughout, it feels as though the music is blossoming as you hear it, like watching time-lapse footage of flora in bloom. But perhaps the most seductive thing about Cornered is the sense you get, listening, that the music was something unexpected, a visitation. “It almost felt like we weren’t dictating where the music went and how it sounded,” Fox agrees. “We were just there in a room together in December and these sounds were happening, and we were lucky enough to be recording the process.”

Cornered, das dritte Album des kalifornischen Duos Blank Gloss aus Sacramento, ist ein exquisites Statement von pop ambienter Krassheit, ein Album, das zwischen üppiger Schönheit und sparsamer Melancholie oszilliert. Es folgt ihrem 2021er Debüt für Kompakt, Melt, einem Album, auf dem sich Morgan Fox (Klavier, Synthesizer) und Patrick Hills (Gitarre) locker an der kosmischen Pastorale der „Ambient Americana“-Bewegung ausrichteten. Cornered fühlt sich jedoch wie ein bedeutender Schritt nach vorne an – indem sie die Schichten ihrer Musik abschälen, haben sie sowohl ihren ruhigen Kern als auch ihre feierliche Schwere offenbart. Es ist unendlich schön, aber mit etwas Beunruhigendem in seiner Mitte.

Cornered wurde relativ schnell aufgenommen, über zwei Tage im Dezember 2020. Es klingt jedoch nichts überstürzt oder willkürlich an diesem Album; alles hat seinen Platz, wobei jedes Klangelement einen wesentlichen Beitrag zu diesen neun Miniaturdioramen leistet. Es signalisiert Veränderung, leise, aber wahrnehmbar, durch die Art und Weise, wie das Duo sein Material formt und aus losen Improvisationen aufbaut, die sich in Songs verwandeln. Als Blank Gloss sich im Studio niederließen, gab es zwar keinen Plan, aber Fox erinnert sich: „Uns war sofort klar, dass sich die Dinge etwas anders anhörten und anfühlten als bei allen vorherigen Sessions.“

Dieser Unterschied ist in der größeren Menge an Raum zu hören, die Blank Gloss ihren Klangquellen bietet. Einige der bewegendsten Momente auf Cornered kommen, wenn Fox und Hills alles zurücknehmen – siehe zum Beispiel „Crossing“, wo ein nachdenkliches Klavier über einen schüchtern summenden Drone und leise Gitarrenloops setzt und an die Driftworks von Roger Eno erinnert. Seltsamerweise entwickelt sich die unverwechselbare Form und Stimmung des Albums zumindest teilweise aus einer Änderung der Instrumentierung, bei der Hills einen MIDI-Tonabnehmer an seiner Gitarre verwendet. „Dies führte dazu, dass die Dinge viel schneller abliefen“, sagt Fox. „Es hat auch dazu beigetragen, einigen der Songs ein etwas düstereres, dunkleres Gefühl zu verleihen.“ An anderer Stelle, bei Songs wie „Salt“, spielt das Klavier mit Gitarrenfetzen, einzelne Töne werden ausgesandt, um sich mit den Sternen zu vermischen, wie Morricone bei 16 U/min, während Cornereds Herzstück, das elfminütige „No Appetite“, lange Bögen schlägt, elektronische Texturen atmet und seufzt, um sich in einem Katzenkörbchen der Glückseligkeit zu verheddern. Während des Hörens fühlt es sich an, als ob die Musik blüht, als würde man sich Zeitrafferaufnahmen von blühenden Pflanzen ansehen. Aber das Verführerischste an Cornered ist vielleicht das Gefühl, das man beim Zuhören bekommt, dass die Musik etwas Unerwartetes war, eine Heimsuchung. „Es fühlte sich fast so an, als hätten WIR nicht diktiert, wohin die Musik geht und wie sie klingt“, stimmt Fox zu. „Wir waren just im Dezember zusammen in einem Raum, als diese Geräusche passierten, und wir hatten das Glück, dass die Aufnahme mitlief.”

Since the late aughts, Helsinki-based multi-instrumentalist, linguist, and skateboarder Olli Aarni has released a steady stream of diverse and remarkably consistent recordings via labels such as Mappa, Longform Editions, Cotton Goods, Laaps and Superpang. “Koko maailma” constitutes a major new work in his discography, finding a fertile middle ground between what might be understood as his two primary compositional modes: organic/chaotic/aleatoric music and rule-based, longform works of minimalism. The source material for these compositions was recorded exclusively using the Serge system at EMS Stockholm, but the timbres that Aarni arrives at do not recall archetypal Serge music as most know it. Meticulous editing and processing of the material with an array of digital tools has resulted in music that preserves the erratic and cybernetic character of the Serge system but sounds totally unique unto itself. The first piece, “Ylhäällä,” has the sonic character of fireflies at dusk or ants in the dirt — mercurial, hypnotic, flittering, and scattering tones presented in the spirit of the best environmental music. “Alhaalla” functions almost like a zoomed out impression of what precedes it, with just intonation tuning applied to sine wave generators to create grid-like, harmonically rich, and surprisingly emotive drone music. Micro and macro — two pieces of music, two perspectives of a world.

Bondo is four Los Angeles musicians collaging displaced tempos and fractured melodies. Their sparsely vocalised music conspires to bring into view a practical enlightenment, evoking the sandy contentment of an exhausted marine sunset. The organically mechanical compositions wander with the intention not to be aimless, but to be consumed in Process.
Bondo comes to Quindi Records to release its first full-length album, Print Selections, and it is saturated in the communal consciousness of the band. The songs call for the individuals to dissolve to make way for the music.
The lyrical content of the record tells of a mind made anew, cleared of its data & ego to witness nothing in particular. Bringing the past with them, the band makes clear allusions to their influences - their tones reminiscent of outfits like Duster, Unwound, Acetone & Fugazi, but also has heavy nods to more formless genres like the dub melodies of King Tubby and the jazz of Archie Shepp.
The music feels like the dusty bed of a scanner, plays like the light leaking from underneath its lid.

Music For Dreams signal the summer with the debut LP from Ibizan royalty DJ Pippi & Willie Graff, released digitally on May 27th with the physical version following on the 8th July. The latest bounty from the Danish label’s long and fruitful relationship with the White Isle, Follow Your Dreams is a twelve plate tapas packed with the assorted styles and flavours of the Balearic sound - a complex blend delivered with a warmth, feeling and tone which bring it all together as a whole.

Collaborating on and off over the past fifteen years, with resulting singles gracing the likes of Compost, Leng and Archipelago, DJ Pippi and Willie Graff posses a unique combination of Balearic heritage; one an Italian export who helped originate the sound and style of the genre through his legendary DJ sets at the likes of Pacha and KU in the eighties, the other a trailblazing talent born on the island, who started his residency at Pacha in summer 2000 at the tender age of 17. Their intergenerational entente speaks to Pippi’s unyielding passion for sonic progression and the musical maturity of Graff, as well as a shared love of the soulful side.

Celebrating its one hundredth release, Black Truffle is honoured to present a major archival discovery: a stunning document of the only performance by the trio of Tony Conrad, Arnold Dreyblatt and Jim O’Rourke. Across a two-night programme organised by David Weinstein at legendary New York experimental venue Tonic in January 2001, Conrad, Dreyblatt and O’Rourke presented individual projects before performing a collaborative set each night, the first with members of Dreyblatt’s ensemble and the second the trio heard here. As Dreyblatt points out in the wonderfully informative and reflective liner notes written for this release, this was a collaboration across generations, reflecting the profound impact of Conrad’s pioneering minimalism on Dreyblatt and O’Rourke. Both Dreyblatt and O’Rourke came to this collaboration armed with a deep appreciation of Conrad’s music and the just intonation principles at its core, Dreyblatt having first encountered the incredible power of Conrad’s precisely tuned violin chords during his tenure as an archivist for La Monte Young in 1975, while O’Rourke had performed with Conrad in various settings since the mid-1990s (as well as admiring, reissuing, and performing Dreyblatt's music). The flyer for the concert promised ‘massive, ecstatic, pulsating overtones’, and the trio certainly delivered. From the moment this keening stream of bowed strings begins, it is clear, as Dreyblatt writes, that we are in ‘Tony’s sonic universe’, as massively amplified, slowly shifting combinations of precisely chosen pitches fill the room with complex beating patterns and ghostly difference tones. For more than twenty-five minutes, the music operates at a level of intensity comparable to classic recordings such as Conrad’s Four Violins, until the texture thins out slightly in the performance’s final quarter, allowing for the listener’s first recognition of the individual voices that make up this enormous, overwhelming harmonic edifice. The constant stream of bowed tones is broken by a beautifully rich pizzicato from Conrad on monochord, the sliding low tones and metallic shimmer of the other strings taking the set's final moments on an unexpected detour into spacious pastoral psychedelia.

Though produced by three individuals known for their own distinctive bodies of the work, this is egoless music, the perfect expression of Conrad's desire 'to move away from composing to listening', to 'working "on" the sound from "inside" the sound'. Historically important and overwhelming in sonic impact, this release also serves as a moving tribute to Tony Conrad from two musicians profoundly marked by the example set by his art and life.

Glasgow’s Seated Records return with more archival Scottish New Wave material; this time, in the form of Pop Wallpaper’s disco-not-disco interpretation of the Shuggie Otis classic, “Strawberry Letter 23”. And interpretation is the right word, guitarist Evan Henderson confesses that the lyrics sang by Audrey Redpath on the record were, “err inaccurate due to pre-internet home recording translation”.

The Edinburgh band first released “Strawberry Letter 23” in 1986 as a double A side 12” alongside original song, “Nothing Can Call Me Back". The 1986 record’s sleeve states that the original - “Strawberry Letter 23" has been “re-modelled for special pleasures, namely on the dance floor”. Here the re-model has been re-modelled once more. The track is recontextualised for 2022 playing on a four track 12” that includes an unreleased instrumental demo version of the track, as well as mixes from label founder Pigeon Steve and close friend of the label, Useful Tom.

Wallpaper’s first EP “Over Your Shoulder” was released in 1984. The release received a considerable amount of radio support, not least from Radio 1’s John Peel and Janice Long, which culminated with a live session for Long’s show at the BBC’s studios in London. Released a couple of years later, Strawberry Letter received similar levels of radio play. Despite (much to the band’s confusion) being tracked by Motown UK at one point, Pop Wallpaper did not go on to receive commercial success and eventually went their separate ways.

“Strawberry Letter 23” sits in the singular historical, cultural context of mid-80s Britain. Following the explosion of punk at the end of the 1970s, in the 1980s many British bands began experimenting with new styles and instruments - always keeping an eye firmly on their punk roots. The loose percussion and synthesiser melodies have an almost new-age, balearic mood, while the falsetto vocals of singer Audrey Redpath are an unmistakable embodiment the Post-punk style of the time. The prominent bass-line suggests a reggae or disco inspiration, and bass player Myles Raymond admits that he obsessed over a Sly & Robbie Taxi records compilation around the time the band put the tune together.

This reissue includes an unreleased, unheard instrumental demo-version of the cover, “SL23”. The band recorded the demo during an nighter at Wilf’s Planet studios in Edinburgh, just after Wet Wet Wet had just finished up their own demo for “Wishing I Was Lucky” (Pop Wallpaper all insist they thought it would never be a hit). In this version, we hear the band messing around with drum machines and synths which, in a similar style to Kevin Low and Fiona Carlin on Seated 001, creates a stripped back dance floor work-out that bares almost no resemblance to any version of “Strawberry Letter 23”. In an attempt to emulate the Trevor Horne production style of the time, the band’s drummer Les Cook recalls pushing for more and more reverb on the drums during the session to a reluctant producer Chic Medley, who “eventually obliged, but needed a lot of persuading”. Much to Cook’s disappointment “the reverb was toned down when we got to the final release”.

On the B side, label boss Pigeon Steve delivers a dubbed-out and acid drenched, cosmic rendition of the track with “SL24”, before Useful Tom (son of Pop Wallpaper bass player Myles Raymond) brings the EP to an end with spacey de-construction of fractured vocals and gliding synths on the B2 with “SL25”.

34-song SUPERSTORE is the Sam Gendel all genre follow-up album to 2021's 52-song Fresh Bread. SUPERSTORE is more unreleased music from the enigmatic producer/saxophonist collected from personal archives of solo recordings and collaborations in various venues. Contributing players on select tracks include Blake Mills, Gabe Noel, Kevin Yokota, and Philippe Melanson.

Sam Gendel - All Music
Marcella Cytrynowicz - Original Drawings
Philippe Melanson - E-Percussion Gu Shi, Saiko
Gabe Noel - Electric Bass [Saiko]
Blake Mills - Synth Guitar [Gu Shi]
Kevin Yokota - Drum Kit [Two-Tone]
Matthewdavid McQueen - Mastering

Cacophony is the second Rudimentary Peni album. Released after the band returned from their first hiatus following a series of personal events that changed the band forever. The thirty track LP keeps turning heads 34 years after its release. Far from writing another “Death Church” the band embarked on a truly bizarre quest - to record an album based on the life and writings of horrors absolute king H.P. Lovecraft. A dense cacophony of total free songwriting. Dark, gothic, intricate, unexpected head-scratching punk. The short bursts of music twist and turn at every corner - the vocals are part classic Blinko and part spoken word, the guitar is full of distorted awkward tones and the very inventive bass and drums are locked together creating a truly unique album. Cacophony is the benchmark of outsider Punk and the influence and cult nature of this album grows with every passing year. This reissue stays close to the original version, with Nick Blinko’s incredible cover art, including a 11” x 11” 8-page lyric booklet.

The relationship between Bryn Jones’ music as Muslimgauze and the track/abum titles he would provide (sometimes right on the tapes he would send in for release, but often determined later, sometimes even giving two different pieces months apart the same title, accidentally or not) has always been a little mysterious. Jones himself can no longer be asked, and as we continue to investigate the swathes of material he provided, you hit sources like the DAT or DATs that make up the contents of the new double LP »Turn On Arab American Radio«. Nine tracks, the first LP/four tracks titled »Turn On Arabic American Radio,« and the other LP/five tracks labelled only »Arabic American Radio.« None of them sound particularly radio-esque, although given the simultaneous vastness and ornate focus of Jones’ Muslimgauze work that gap between name and sound is far from atypical.

Instead here the de rigeur percussion loops that underpin this particular set of tracks, while occasionally clipping into the fierce distortion that Jones either loved to use or couldn’t get away from, steer away from both the more consistent application of that distortion as well as the Middle Eastern and Asian influences he often used. It’d be a stretch to call anything here basic boom-bap production but they come closer to it than a lot of Muslimgauze production. And while those loops are, as always prominent, they’re not actually the focus; settling into steady vamps as structures for Jones to pursue an extended and often more gentle exploration of the other sample sources he has here. There are stringed instruments, the sound of water, but most prominently or strikingly the human voice. Nothing is in English but tone and the occasional word ('familia', 'passport') still provide guides. There are ululations, snatches of melody; but most often speech, dialogue, often tense and harried sounding. Is this what Jones was thinking of or referring to with his Arabic American Radio?

As with so many other questions about Muslimgauze, we’ll never know the answer to that one. (Most pertinently in this case we might wonder who appears here, and what the context of these recordings is. But Jones never provided that with his submissions.) Here, even though those inexorable loops pound on, indefatigable, that emphasis on some of the people Jones chooses lends a measured gentleness to much of »Turn On Arabic American Radio«, at least within the context of his body of work. The last thing you hear at the end of the second LP is one last question from one of the many speakers on this peculiar Muslimgauze radio, echoed away into infinity. We may never have answers, but those questions continue to resonate.

Over the last decade-and-a-half, C Joynes has ploughed a singular furrow through solo guitar, with a body of work incorporating English folk-tunes alongside North & West African music, and lifting proto-minimalist and improvised techniques from the European classical and avant-garde traditions.

His new release, ‘Poor Boy On The Wire’, is his first full album dedicated wholly to the electric guitar. Through a typically wide-ranging set, Joynes exploits the instrument’s potential by placing intricate parlour music alongside overdriven garage blues throw-downs, wiry electric folk and the brittle ringing tones of free improvisation. However, these explorations of the tones and timbres of close-mic’d guitars and amplification retain an overall coherence and unity through the deliberate use of a limited palette of budget instruments and vintage equipment.

With ‘Poor Boy On The Wire’, Joynes has released 9 albums to date, including ‘The Borametz Tree’ (2019), recorded with long-term fellow travellers Dead Rat Orchestra, and ‘The Wild Wild Berry’, a collaboration with singer Stephanie Hladowski (MOJO Top 5 Folk Albums 2012, fROOTS Editors Choice Album Of The Year 2012). He has played extensively across the UK, Europe and the USA, sharing bills with performers including: Shirley Collins, Martin Carthy, A Hawk And A Hacksaw, Marc Ribot, Alasdair Roberts, Richard Dawson, Jack Rose, Josephine Foster, Sir Richard Bishop, Six Organs Of Admittance and 75 Dollar Bill.

“As much Conlon Nancarrow and Ali Farka Toure as Blind Lemon Jefferson, the compositional mind at work here can take apparently disparate threads of modernism and ethnic tradition and treat them as though they were all archaic blues styles learnt from dusty 78s.”
BRUCE RUSSELL, THE WIRE

“An inheritor to Davy Graham; a lone operator prone to unexpected collaborations, with a repertoire that crosses continents and timezones with consummate ease, and dashed off with a phenomenal, yet lightly applied technique.”
ROB YOUNG, THE WIRE

“His epigrammatic re-castings and re-readings of widely-travelled folk melodies and rhythms from a variety of traditions suggest shared memories that might be intensely universal while seeming strangely out of reach.”
KEVIN MACNEIL BROWN, DUSTED MAGAZINE

Florence Cats is a poet, visual artist, sound composer, performer and acupuncturist. Born in Vilvoorde (Belgium) in 1985, she is currently living and working where Brussels merges with the Sonian forest.

Florence Cats’ working process involves things about to appear or disappear, and echo one another : air, light, wind, tone, print, voice, water, color, dust, junk, rumor… She creates eclectic pieces related to travel, porosity, natural energies and celestial events. Each proposal is in tune to a context, a space, an environment.

Ys is a generous debut. Raw, courageous.

Sunken Cathedral is Florence interpreting Claude Debussy’s La Cathédrale Engloutie (trans. the Sunken Cathedral). The track reminds me of one of those fabled Charles Ives home recordings. Where he records himself on Speak-O-Phone - an old brand of recordable aluminium phonograph discs - while practicing and composing his music. But unlike Charles Ives treating these home recordings as personal sketches, Florence Cats shares her captured moments as compositions for the public.

Similar to the Speak-O-Phone recordings, we now meet the piano as a physical expression - not as an archetype. We are together with Florence in a room. The pedal. The keys. The hiss of the room. Learn, repeat.

Trough Florence’s hands and feet, La Cathédrale Engloutie is brought out of its pupa stage to become a presence. Instead of being grounded in luxurious concert halls or on high end recordings, the piece is now natural. Sunken Cathedral is a template, an affirmation for amateurs.

The piece was originally created for the group exhibition "Here Comes the Wave” at Project(ion) room, Brussels, February 2020.

In Fall Call, we find ourselves at QO2, a sound art initiative in Brussels. This piece was captured during a residency Florence took over the summer of 2022. We listen to the moment when a summer storm just washed the city.

Fall Call is a testament to Florence’s magical - humanistic way of playing her custom-made theremin. By pushing the controls of the instruments so high, her whole body starts to control the instrument - instead of just her hands. So when she walks around in the room, the instrument answers in full color.

And then, a phone-call. Giving it a bit of a Poulenc vibe.

For the last piece, Drop Out, we find ourselves in Florence’s apartment. When Florence opens the windows, the ambience of the surrounding Sonian Forest seeps in. This is an adorable moment. It predicts new beginnings. The smell of wet dirt and dripping leaves in the air. The poetry of rain.

Volker Bertelmann and Hildur Guðnadóttir hardly need an introduction - their distinct styles have graced the speakers of pretty much anyone enamored with experimental music in the last decade, and between them the two have chalked up an enviable canon of successes. Bertelmann, under the Hauschka moniker has explored the extremities of prepared piano improvisation, and Guðnadóttir has taken cinematic, explorative cello music into a new era of depth and passion, so to hear them both together is a rare and unexpected treat. Rare is putting it lightly even - „Pan Tone“ is a recording of a single concert which the duo performed on the 26th of February 2010 as part of Arctic Circle - Bubbly Blue and Green festival at Kings Place in London, and documents an event that would truly never be repeated. Sure, they could attempt to re-create the event, but the spontaneity and glorious serendipity in this particular recording is a pleasure to behold.

Bertelmann and Guðnadóttir decided to create a set of compositions which based on the idea of the ocean, and took a book of Pantones to extract exact references to the specific colors of the sea. These watery tones form the backbone of the performance and inform the direction of the collaboration, guiding us through rich blues, glassy greens and frothy whites. In listening to the music it seems incredibly appropriate that the artists should choose blue as the middle ground in their work; the ineffable lightness that Bertelmann brings to the table is a stark contrast to Guðnadóttir's sinking darkness, and as the two styles collide we witness a plethora of tones, shades and hues. It sounds as if the two artists have been playing together for decades, and their sound is so perfectly matched you might wonder why it's taken them this long to collaborate. All that's left for us to do is to soak in the tidal beauty of this very exclusive body of music, to listen to it sing, bubble and crash through its duration before settling in total silence. When the record reaches its conclusion there is an unsettling calm, a sense that you have witnessed something very special indeed, and that is a feeling to prize amongst all else.

‘Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls’ is Andrew Wasylyk’s second LP for the esteemed Clay Pipe Music label. It sees the Scottish composer and producer reach for new ground, finding quietly sublime imagery in rich and immersive worlds; horizon-less oceans and limitless landscapes.

The initial seed of inspiration for this work was conceived as a commissioned response to ‘The World’s Edge’ exhibition, by American contemporary landscape photographer Thomas Joshua Cooper, at the National Galleries of Scotland.

Andrew journeyed with Cooper to Inchcolm Island in the Firth of Forth to learn of the artist’s practice. Specifically, his three decades of travel across five continents, capturing cardinal points and extreme locations surrounding the Atlantic Ocean. Many of which will be under water within 35 years as a result of the impact of our changing climate.

From the deep allure of the sea to the symbolism and folklore of flowers, a dreaming to leave or a longing to stay, “Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls” utilises the ideas behind TJC’s work as a point of departure. Exploring outwardly in search of a better understanding within, themes of longing, self-discovery, new parenthood and premonitions weave through a Wasylyk album of melodic succour.

In ‘Dreamt In The Current Of Leafless Winter’; ambiences and devotional bells are imbued with the visceral playing of saxophonist/composer Angus Fairbairn, aka Alabaster DePlume, whose unmistakable tone casts ethereal and impressionistic hues across this striking, long form opener.

Elsewhere, string phrases flourish in pockets between restrained drum groove and light-touch piano chords of ‘The Confluence’, conducted by Pete Harvey (Modern Studies). Harvey’s sonorous arrangements augmented Andrew’s ‘The Paralian’ (2019) and ‘Fugitive Light And Themes Of Consolation’ (2020). Again, they illuminate and articulate throughout this collection.

The arc of present and past is examined in ‘The Life Of Time’, featuring words and narration by Thomas Joshua Cooper himself. His rich, baritone transcends amongst a rolling piano motif, undulating violins and the mellifluous brass work of Rachel Simpson.

With ‘Truant In Gossamer’ a new absence is felt while synthesised arpeggios glide and intertwine with glistening harp in the cadence of a farewell vibraphone. Steadily, this luminous journey dissolves and comes to a remarkable end.

Previously described as a "spiritual-jazz salve bathed in the cinematic”, Andrew Wasylyk is accumulating a growing body of work. With this seven song suite he distills these ideas and offers perhaps his most bold record yet. ‘Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls’, the follow-up to 2021’s ‘Balgay Hill: Morning In Magnolia’, is framed in a hypnagogic fog of wonder and possibility. A place to shade your dreamtime in subtle colour.

1. Dreamt In The Current Of Leafless Winter 2. Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls 3. Years Beneath A Yarrow Moon 4. A Confluence 5. Dusk Above Delphinium Dew 6. The Life Of Time 7. Truant In Gossamer

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

Available from Blank Forms for the first time since its original 1980 release on ALM-Uranoia, New Sense of Hearing documents a collaboration between Takehisa Kosugi and Akio Suzuki, two luminaries of Japanese experimental music in the lineage of Fluxus. Blank Forms's high-quality reissue of the sought-after, long out of print LP, is produced by musician-artist Aki Onda and mastered from the original tapes recorded on April 2, 1979, at Tokyo's Aeolian Hall. Described by Suzuki as the "culmination" of their sound,New Sense of Hearing features the two musicians improvising together in that empty Tokyo theater, Kosugi on vocals, violin, and radio transmitter and Suzuki on the Analapos, his namesake glass harmonica, spring cong, and kikkokikiriki, all apparatuses of his own invention. Suzuki and Kosugi first met at the city's Minami Gallery in 1976 on the occasion of "Sound Objects and Sound Tools," an exhibition of Suzuki's homemade instruments. Two years later, at the Festival d'Automne in Paris, Suzuki invited Kosugi to join him for a suite of performances as part of the exhibition "MA: Espace - Temps au Japon," organized by architect Arata Isozaki and composer-writer Toru Takemitsu. Suzuki and Kosugi performed together at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris, nearly fifty times, honing their approach to mutual improvisation, before traveling with the exhibition to Stockholm and New York_critic Tom Johnson wrote in the Village Voice that he had "seldom seen two performers so completely tuned in on the same types of sounds, the same performance attitude, the same philosophy, the same sense of what music ought to be."For New Sense of Hearing, the duo reunited in Japan and produced an extraordinary dispatch from their collaboration of arioso violin, echoing vocals and bangs, and metallic twangs. As Johnson observed in 1979, Kosugi and Suzuki are "in a very subtle artistic world where there can be no direct relationships. . . . Only coincidence." Takehisa Kosugi (1938-2018) was a composer, artist, and violinist from Tokyo. In 1960, Kosugi founded Group Ongaku, the country's first improvisational performance collective dedicated to Happenings, with Mieko Shiomi and Yasunao Tone. Four years later, Fluxus leader George Maciunas published Events, an eighteen-piece set of his text compositions. Between 1971 and '74, his band the Taj Mahal Travelers produced four live albums. In 1977, the Merce Cunningham Dance Company invited Kosugi to be their resident musician; from 1995 to 2011 he served as the company's musical director. The Whitney Museum of American Art presented "Takehisa Kosugi: Music Expanded," a two-day retrospective of Kosugi's work, in 2015. Akio Suzuki (b. 1941) was born in Pyongyang, North Korea, to Japanese parents. For the artist-musician's first Fluxus-style work Kaidan ni Mono wo Nageru (Throwing Things at the Stairs), 1963, Suzuki tossed a bucket of miscellaneous objects down a flight of stairs in Nagoya Station and listened to the sounds it produced. During the next decade, he would create original instruments including the Suzuki-type glass harmonica and the echo instrument Analapos. In 1976, Tokyo's Minami gallery hosted his first exhibition, "Akio Suzuki's World: Sound Objects and Sound Tools." For his 1988 performance piece Space in the Sun, Suzuki spent twenty-four hours listening to his surroundings on the meridian line which runs through Amino, Kyoto. Suzuki has performed and exhibited at many venues and music festivals, including Documenta 8 (Germany, 1987), the British Museum (2003), Musée Zadkine (France, 2004), Kunstmuseum Bonn (Germany, 2018), and the Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo (2019).

Far over on the west coast of the USA we find a room full of drum
machines, samplers and keyboards. Hard at work is Israel ‘Iz’ Gravning aka Tone Scientist, who’s been using this Seattle studio to produce genre-defying future music for more than 25 years.
An avid student of jazz fusion, hip hop, house, techno and others, he
was galvanised to build his own studio after hearing jungle and drum & bass on a trip to London in 1995. His musical course thus intersected with the collectives then pushing new dancefloor sonics rooted in the rich tradition of Black music – like Nuyorican Soul over on the east coast, and the new broken beats of IG Culture, Dego and Bugz In The Attic in London. Then, in the early 2000s, Iz put out a handful of EPs under different aliases, including ‘Lion Dub’ on the Guidance sublabel Subtitled, but soon stepped back from the public stage. That’s not to say he stopped making or playing music, though. Far from it. Fast forward two decades and our very own Walrus, chilly but happy in the depths of a Toronto winter, happened across ‘Lion Dub’ in the legendary Play The Record store. Intrigued, he tracked Iz down and discovered he had been active all this time. A short email exchange later and this 2xLP of archive material was born.

These six tracks explain fully why Iz calls his studio the ‘Time Machine’: vintage equipment and instruments converse with up-to-date software; classic sounds and textures twist into fresh configurations; and Iz’s own creativity and musicality sings to us from a location beyond the trappings of time or genre.

All music written, produced and mixed by Israel Gravning aka Tone
Scientist in Seattle/Washington between 2005 - 2008 except for “Things

'Razen is the collective consciousness of core members Brecht Ameel and Kim Delcour, who since 2010 have realized themselves through virtuoistic and highly expressive improvisations with lesser-heard instruments. Experimenting with repetition of tones through controlled breathing and phrasing, Razen arrive at a synesthetic playground of auditory textures and colorful imagery.

The ensemble is carefully orchestrated for every occasion with the intent and desire to escape to environments unbeknownst to them, taking shelter in the fleeting ego-dissolving moments that arise, whether divine or disturbing. While the formula of instrumentation and like-minded peers may appear mundane on paper, it’s Brecht and Kim’s outlook and imagination beyond musical references that’s the immeasurable catalyst to their peculiar pursuits. Conversations about paintings, books, or films ultimately manifest themselves into live performances or album recordings - with the philosophy of embracing playfulness and exploration through the lens of a child’s eye.

Only six collaborators have been invited to their inner circle to date. This is mainly attributed to the rarity of finding spiritual counterparts that are seeking freedom outside the confines of written musical scores. Trading notes and rhythms for strokes and color, the band embodies emotive and meditative drones that demand a deep listening state. Joined by Will Guthrie and Paul Garriau, Razen venture into their vision of Arcadia through Regression, proudly presented by Marionette. On this album, Brecht Ameel turns to his trusty prepared harmonium and celesta, while Kim Delcour controls air and breath on various wind and reed instruments. Featuring Will Guthrie on tuned and melodic percussion (timpani, glockenspiel, marimba, vibraphone), the recordings have a distinct flow and fluid movement when compared to some of Razen’s previous works where rhythm is taking a backseat. Hurdy-gurdy specialist, Paul Garriau, plays accompanying melodies and drones on Moon, Aether and Nebula.

The album's earthly elements deal with survival, timelessness, and simplicity; such as the life affirming rewards of finding refuge and the wonders of observing the interstellar. The unearthly elements pitch this narrative into the realm of mythology and superstition, in the hopes of trying to understand our primeval universe and thrive in the unknown. Regression also addresses Razen’s fascination with inhospitable places and how to adapt to the sorrows that come with this sort of brutalism. The resulting destination is a mind and time bending zone - one that can be reached by riding sound waves that transcend the past, future, and present.'

Following on from last year’s acclaimed Sylva Sylvarum, the epic double LP from Ora Clementi (her collaborative project with James Rushford), crys cole returns to Black Truffle with Other Meetings. Originally commissioned and released on cassette by Boomkat Editions in 2021, Other Meetings is a major addition to the body of carefully hewn solo work cole has released over the last decade, offering up two side-long suites of her radically intimate approach to sound. After many years dominated by touring and travel, cole found herself in lockdown in her Berlin apartment, working in a limited space with minimal equipment. Digging through archives of recordings taken overseas and exploring the sonic potential hidden in the objects surrounding her (including a coffee pot and a vase of dying flowers), she crafted what in her liner notes she calls ‘an internal dérive, a journey that drifted through many places without a defining compass’. Totalling over 50 minutes, the two pieces unfold at an unhurried pace, each containing four individually titled subsections. Beginning with a sequence of the highly amplified small sounds characteristic of much of cole’s work, the opening moments of ‘The time between two durations of sleep’ are underpinned by a gentle rocking motion, weaving together contact mic crunch, metallic resonance, glimpses of bird song, and isolated drum machine hits, the sonic space expanding and contracting as focus moves between elements. Briefly side-lined by a tactile but unplaceable sizzling, this complex weave of voices then returns in a kind of dubbed-out ‘version’, the percussive accents echoing around the stereo space. In one of the record’s most beautiful and unexpected moments, these sounds are joined by a sparse melodic line performed on a broken 1980s digital synth, the vaguely New Age timbres being taken on a long, tonally ambiguous wander. Cole’s immersion in memories of travel comes to the fore in the final section of the first side, titled ‘Wat Paknam’ after a royal temple in Bangkok, where snatches of voices, ringing bells and distant waves of chanting blur together with synth tones into an increasingly abstracted wave of sound. The second side, ‘Slices of cake’, opens in a similarly hallucinatory outdoor space of echoing bird song and liquified traffic before abruptly zooming in on a microscopic world of subtly processed and highly amplified objects, explored with a starkness and quiet insistence that calls to mind the fringe not-quite-concrète of outsiders like Paul A.R. Timmermans or Knud Viktor, whose obsessive interrogation of dripping water might also serve as a point of reference for the following sub-section, the aptly titled ‘magischer Abfluss’ (magic drain).

While Other Meetings develops many aspects of cole’s previous work – the hyper-magnification of small gestures, the unsettling edits and fades partly inspired by hypnagogic states, the location recordings smeared into oneiric haze – it is almost as if these pieces are somehow songs, the remnants of an evaporated music of which nothing remains except isolated hits from a synthetic drum, a handful of notes, or simply a duration of emptied atmosphere. Radically reductive yet deeply musical, Other Meetings is a major work from an artist driven by an uncompromising and idiosyncratic vision.

Presented with an inner sleeve with photos and liner notes from the composer and remastered audio.

Anthology introducing the first of a series of albums based on the concept of Aquapelago.

‘’ Since the earliest days of the planet there has been a rhythm of tides that creates coastal interzones where humans have foraged and pursued various livelihoods. Developing boats to fish from and technologies that enabled them to immerse themselves deep underwater, the aquatic realm has been one explored, experienced and imagined in various ways. In an effort to express the vitality and richness of this environment I coined the term aquapelago in 2012. The wordplay was deliberate. The neologism was designed to distinguish the liquid inbetweenness of this space from the dry, scattered, lands of archipelagos.

The concept of the aquapelago coalesced around themes taken from various places. Epeli Hau’ofa’s idea of an Oceanic “sea of islands’” was formative but a number of songs were also inspirational. Torres Strait islander Seaman Dan captivated me with his experiences of pearl diving in the Darnley Deeps in his song ‘Forty Fathoms’ and Norfolk Islander singer Kath King imaged how sea-turtles might have experienced ecological change in her song ‘Tech me how fer lew’. Other reflections on watery realms also appealed. Debussy’s solo piano piece ‘La cathédrale engloutie’ soundtracked me as I researched myths of lost Lyonesse while Mike Cooper’s Kiribati, an ambient exoticist album about the imperilled archipelago (recently re-released on Discrepant), caused me to reflect on the social and cultural impact of sea level rise before that topic became a high-profile concern.

This compilation album takes the concept of the aquapelago into new depths and breaches it on fresh shores. The tracks are soaked with the aquatic. Bassy sonorities boom as if heard deep underwater. Bubbly textures breach the surface, water drips and seabirds soar high above waves. Sugai Kei samples fragments of text concerning the Ningen, a fantastic humanoid/whale that reflects the ‘aquapelagic imaginary’ of modern Japan and its preoccupation with industrial whaling. Andrew Pekler continues the orientation of his Phantom Islands project - a sonic atlas of imaginary places - with a soundscape as if heard by a swimmer just offshore, mixing sounds of the island and the sea together. Mike Cooper’s sonic reflection on Hong Kong’s Lamma Island is similar, combining the island’s ubiquitous barking dogs with the slurp of waves on rocky shores, conjuring a languorous time before Chinese crackdowns on the territory.

Taking another tack, the Dead Mauriacs gleefully water-ski through collage of tropical island exoticisms, replete with glitchy orientalism, while Babau combines skittering idiophone melodies with resonant glissandi. Vica Pacheco moves between dense and airy sounds, as if crossing between surf lines and the space above. Yannkick Dauby’s track is also imbued with in-betweenness, evoking ambient sounds heard through a ship’s hull. Sculpture’s ‘Froth Surfer’ realises its title, with bubbling sounds and rhythms that evoke Hawaiian surfing filtered through layers of time and distance. Reminding us of the shore necessary for aquapelagic spaces, Franceso Cavaliere and Tomoko Sauvage’s composition anchors the album, centred around shaken rhythms and resonant ringing tones and drones.

Taken together, the album sketches the contours of the aquapelago as it might be imagined and conjured in sound – an endless oceanic realm that laps on to beaches and crashes against cliffs. The performers navigate this space under alternately starry and cloudy skies, orientating themselves with sounds, textures and sonic samples of their terrestrial homes while we float with them. ‘’
Philip Hayward December 2021