Suche:tone of arc

Made during summer 2020, Loraine James’ second Hyperdub album, ‘Reflection’, is a turbulent expression of inner-space, laid out in unflinching honesty, offering gentle empathy and bitter-sweet hope. ‘Reflection’ further develops a unique pop sensibility realised on last year’s ‘Nothing EP’, while tones of Drill and R&B seep through into this collection too. In contrast to the brash splashes of 2019’s ‘For You And I’ LP and the grimey anger of ‘Nothing’, ‘Reflection’ is pared-down and confident, taking the listener through how last year felt as a young black queer woman in a world that has suddenly stopped moving, the arc of the album peppered with Loraine's diaristic confessions. Starting positively with the gentle pop-trap of ‘Built To Last’ ft Xzavier Stone, into the bumpy instrumental of ‘Let's Go’, the album switches tone with ‘Simple Stuff’, followed by regular collaborator Le3 bLACK amplifying Loraine's vulnerability on the downcast drill of ‘Black Ting’, then ‘Insecure Behaviour And Fuckery’ is a techno glide which pairs Nova's confrontational plea for respect, delivered in monotone autotune, against deep Drexciyan chords. With Baths on vocals, the weightlessness of ‘On The Lake Outside’ soothes numb feelings, and Eden Samara explores the shadow world of anxious dreams on the airy R&B of ‘Running Like That’. Closing track ‘We're Building Something New’ with Manchester rapper Iceboy Violet brings the album together, confidently suggesting a new world is in reach. ‘Reflection’ is a brave step forward for a unique and creative 21st century musician.

Over the past decade, Egyptian-born, Barcelona-based DJ and techno producer Raxon, known to friends and family as Ahmed Raxon, has popped out a steady stream of twelve-inch singles, precision-tooled, for labels like Cocoon, Drumcode, Diynamic, Truesoul, and Ellum Audio. An alumni of Kompakt’s Speicher series – check the insistent, vibrating pulses of “The Ancient” and “Dark Light” on 2019’s Speicher 107 – with Sound Of Mind, Raxon has produced a long-awaited debut album that’s ready and aching both for the dancefloor and the boudoir, traversing the heat of the club and the warmth of the home.

“The idea of an album has always floated around in my head for the past few years,” Raxon confirms, “but it was never the right moment in my mind.” Instead, he’s been insistently pursuing his vision of deep, elegant techno, taking him from early DJ gigs in Dubai, including the legendary audio tonic night, then relocating to Europe on the recommendation of Herman Cattaneo, all the while allowing his experiences to inform and transmute his producer’s thumbprint. He’s an architect by training (though he gave architecture up for electronic music), which might explain why Raxon productions are so sturdy and well-designed; but remember also that architecture is a field filled with brave experimentation, something Raxon definitely draws on throughout Sound Of Mind.

Like many albums from the past twelve months, Raxon’s debut developed partly thanks to the unique social situation the planet has found itself caught within. “In the beginning of 2020 I started working on a few tracks with the album in mind,” he recalls, “with no idea of what’s to come in the next few months. As catastrophic as the situation was/is, I found myself in the studio; in a way the lockdown gave me that creative freedom in the studio, to try to tell my story through sound.” And indeed, there is something in the way of ‘life writing’ about Sound Of Mind, particularly in the way Raxon’s productions pay subtle homage, perhaps, to his formative listening experiences in the late nineties.

It’s no retro trip, but there’s plenty of variety here, and a few moments that’ll tickle the collective memory – see the prowling pulsations of the opening “Majestic”, the alien breakbeat action of “Vice” and “Journey Mode”, where the interstellar tones feel like Foul Play or Steve Gurley, the leaking gas and woozy keys that make “Droid Solo” so subtly destabilising, or the strobelight drones that sputter and flare throughout “El Multiverse”, where dappled organ tones fight it out with interdimensional transmissions, all sucked into the vortex of a late-night techno mantra. Beautifully sculpted, Sound Of Mind feels consummate, an elegant set that pulls Raxon’s vision into its sharpest focus. Alive with possibilities, it’s a fever dream of creativity.

In den letzten zehn Jahren hat der in Ägypten geborene und in Barcelona lebende DJ und Techno-Produzent Raxon, der Freunden und Familie auch als Ahmed Raxon bekannt ist, eine ganze Reihe von 12inch-Singles auf Labels wie Cocoon, Drumcode, Diynamic, Truesoul und Ellum Audio veröffentlicht. Wir kennen Raxon außerdem durch seinen Beitrag zur Kompakt Extra/Speicher-Reihe – man höre sich nur mal "The Ancient" und "Dark Light" auf dem 2019 erschienenen Speicher 107 an. Nun hat Raxon mit “Sound Of Mind“ sein lang erwartetes Debütalbum produziert, das sowohl für den Dancefloor als auch für die eigenen vier Wände geeignet ist und dabei sowohl die Hitze des Clubs als auch die Wärme des eigenen Zuhauses durchmisst.

"Die Idee eines Albums schwebte in den letzten Jahren immer in meinem Kopf herum", bestätigt Raxon, "aber es gab nie den richtige Moment." Stattdessen verfolgte er leidenschaftlich seine Vision von tiefem, elegantem Techno, die ihn von frühen DJ-Gigs in Dubai, einschließlich der legendären Audio-Tonic-Nacht, dann auf Empfehlung von Hernan Cattaneo nach Europa führte. Im Laufe dieser Zeit sammelte er unzählige Erfahrungen, die es ihm erlaubten, seinen Stil als Produzent mehr und mehr zu transformieren. Raxon ist gelernter Architekt (obwohl er die Architektur für die elektronische Musik aufgegeben hat), was vielleicht erklärt, warum seine Produktionen so robust und gut durchdacht sind; aber man sollte auch nicht vergessen, dass Architektur bestenfalls immer ein Feld mutiger Experimente ist, etwas, worauf Raxon in “Sound Of Mind“ definitiv zurückgreift.

Wie viele andere Alben der letzten zwölf Monate auch wurde Raxon’s Debüt von der einzigartigen gesellschaftlichen Situation, in der sich der Planet momentan befindet, beeinflusst. "Anfang 2020 habe ich angefangen, an ein paar Tracks für das Album zu arbeiten", erinnert er sich, "ohne zu wissen, was in den nächsten Monaten auf uns zukommen würde. So katastrophal die Situation auch war/ist, ich fand mich im Studio wieder; in gewisser Weise gab mir der Lockdown auch eine kreative Freiheit im Studio, um zu versuchen, eine Geschichte durch meinen Sound zu erzählen." Und in der Tat gibt es auf “Sound Of Mind“ so etwas wie eine "Lebensgeschichte", besonders in der Art und Weise, wie Raxon’s Produktionen eine subtile Hommage an seine prägenden musikalischen Erfahrungen in den späten Neunzigern darstellen.

Es ist fürwahr kein Retro-Trip, aber es gibt hier viel Abwechslung und ein paar Momente, die das kollektive Gedächtnis kitzeln werden - zum Beispiel der sich langsam heran pirschende Pulsschlag im Eröffnungstrack "Majestic", oder die außerirdischen Breakbeats von "Vice" und "Journey Mode", in denen sich die interstellaren Sounds ein wenig wie Foul Play oder Steve Gurley anfühlen. Dann das ausströmende Gas und die wummernden Tasten, die "Droid Solo" subtil destabilisieren, oder die Strobo-Drones, die in "El Multiverse" herum sprudeln und flackern, wo einzelne Töne einer Orgel mit interdimensionalen Transmittern um die Wette strahlen und schließlich in den Strudel eines nächtlichen Techno-Mantras gesogen werden. “Sound Of Mind“ fühlt sich formvollendet an, wie ein elegantes Set, das Raxon’s Vision verstärkt in den Fokus rückt. Ein Fiebertraum voller Kreativität und Möglichkeiten.

Label Text "Dekmantel once again teams up with RE:VIVE, the cultural initiative setup by the The Netherlands Institute for Sound and Vision, to pair modern electronic talent with Dutch archival footage. The third EP in the Scores series sees Interstellar Funk and Italian producer Guenter Råler create innovative, modular soundscapes to the graceful visual arts unearthed from the EYE Filmmuseum archives.

As Interstellar Funk, Olf van Elden uses his production competency to craft a heavenly arpeggiated, synth composition to the amateur aquarium movies by J.L. Clement which are edited for this project by Sjoerd Martens. Filmed in the 1940’s, the video’s turn-of-the-century black-and-white style aquatic footage is reanimated through van Elden’s tacit polyphonic, modular sonic soundtrack. Layering together multiple sequences, van Elden pieces together the music as a whole, to mimic the way in which the film was created.

On the B-Side, Italian abstract artist and Dutch native Guenter Raler concocts a deeply introspective, and perfectly choreographed, ambient soundtrack to a select series of pieced together clips from the Collectie Natuurbeelden, the Institute’s Collection of Natural Images. The music plays against the depiction of multiple biological communities in transition; what is referred to as an ecotone. The title itself not only recalls that of a musical tone, but represents the ever-evolving aspect of life and nature as similar colours, along with movements of animals and plants pass on from one image to the next.

Within their own right, the new scores not only give the age-old films new context and sonic character, but exist as creative works as their own, full of resonance and individualism that highlight the retrospective artists’ voices to their fullest."

As if the ever evolving style and sprawling narratives of Creeper didn’t already keep him busy enough, Will Gould reacted to last year’s initial lockdown by delving into the archives to complete the debut EP from his side project SALEM. Working alongside his friend and collaborator Matt Reynolds, SALEM quickly sold-out the first vinyl pressing of their self-titled debut EP while also earning fresh acclaim and streaming an In The K! Pit show for Kerrang!.

Now the second chapter in the SALEM story emerges from the underworld with the news that they’ll release their new EP ‘SALEM II’ on May 7TH and now share the first taste of the EP in the shape of the new single ‘DRACULADS’.

‘DRACULADS’ opens with the kind of larger-than-life b-movie horror love letter that can only come from Gould’s poison pen: “Maybe the blood of Jesus Christ is laced upon your lips / I get a little closer to God and too drunk each time we kiss.” It sets the tone for a blitzkrieg rush of melodic punk and raucous rock ‘n’ roll that only stops for breath for the song’s cabaret croon breakdown.

Elsewhere, the EP builds upon the style that SALEM established with their debut. From the tongue-in-cheek reference to The Smiths on the opening track ‘William, It Was Really Something’ to the closing ‘Heaven Help Me’, SALEM play it fast, frenetic and fun. As with the best old school punk EPs, ‘SALEM II’ is an escapist rush of attention that commands your attention for 15 minutes before it’s time to drop the needle back to the start.

For Böser Herbst, Thomas Fehlmann returns to the sediment of ages, drawing from a similar lexicon of sounds to that used on 2018’s ‘1929 – Das Jahr Babylon’. Like that album, Böser Herbst was produced as the soundtrack to a documentary made by Volker Heise, ‘Herbst 1929, Schatten Über Babylon’, which offers historical insight to the third season of the television series Babylon Berlin. It adds yet another string to the bow of this most forward-thinking and creative artist, whose history takes in NDW (Palais Schaumburg), techno (3MB) and psychedelic ambience (The Orb), plus a clutch of gorgeous solo albums that explore wide terrain, from the dancefloor through supine home listening to compelling soundtrack work. Fehlmann’s approach here was to ‘capture’ samples of contemporaneous music, “picking up the dirt and dust of original 1920s archive sound and music excerpts and shaping the essence into this selection of tunes,” he recalls. After delivering the material to the editing room, Fehlmann “threw all the pieces up in the air, deliberately lost the overview in consequence, researched the atmospheric thread and assembled it for this album.” That explains the singular nature of the material here, and its ability to sit together so neatly and discretely, as its own entity. For Böser Herbst is a music box of possibilities, shadowed by its historical provenance, but never crudely beholden to it, rather “keeping the references only as a distant nod, a scent.”

It’s certainly an evocative listen, a cornucopia of textural pleasure and sensual, tactile assemblage. The spiralling, psychedelic cycle of “Karnickel” winds its way between the ears like thread to the needle; “Mit Ausblick” immerses the listener in deep, gaseous tones, only to be lifted into the air by the glassy drones of “Umarmt”. “Wunschwechsler” crackles with the unpredictability of weather systems while a guitar-like loop unspools across the horizon. Throughout, you can catch tiny tastes of the source material, but they’re pressed into greater service, Fehlmann using these sources for their evocative capacity and then saturating them with grain and rumble, abstracting outwards. It’s a music of temporal disjuncture and clairvoyant resonance, “speaking with the past – alert, distant and quixotic.”

Für “Böser Herbst“ schürft Thomas Fehlmann tief in den Sedimenten der Zeit und schöpft dabei aus ganz ähnlichen Klangquellen wie auf dem 2018 erschienenen Album “1929 - Das Jahr Babylon“. Auch “Böser Herbst“ wurde als Soundtrack zu der von Volker Heise gedrehten Dokumentation “Herbst 1929, Schatten über Babylon“ produziert, die den historischen Background der dritte Staffel der deutschen Fernsehserie “Babylon Berlin“ beleuchtet und dabei Archivmaterial mit Stimmen unterschiedlichster Zeitzeugen verknüpft. Das neue Album fügt eine weitere Saite zum Bogen dieses überaus voraus denkenden und kreativen Künstlers hinzu, dessen Geschichte NDW (Palais Schaumburg), Techno (3MB) und psychedelischen Ambient (The Orb) umfasst, plus eine Reihe von großartigen Soloalben, die ein weites Terrain erkunden, von der Tanzfläche über entspanntes Hören bis hin zu Soundtracks.

Fehlmanns Herangehensweise auf diesem Album war es, Samples aus jener Zeit "einzufangen", "den Schmutz und Staub der originalen 1920er Archiv-, Sound- und Musikaufnahmen zu sammeln und als Essenz in die einzelnen Tracks einfließen zu lassen", erinnert er sich. Nachdem Fehlmann das Material im Schnittraum abgegeben hatte, "warf er alle Teile in die Luft, verlor dabei absichtlich den Überblick, suchte sich dann einen atmosphärischen roten Faden und setzte alles wieder zusammen." Das erklärt die Einzigartigkeit des vorliegenden Materials und dessen Eigenschaft, sich fein säuberlich und gänzlich unangestrengt zu einer Einheit zusammenzufügen. “Böser Herbst“ ist eine Spieldose voll unbegrenzter musikalischer Möglichkeiten, umspielt von düsteren historischen Quellen ohne darin zu ertrinken – Fehlmann ging es stattdessen darum, "die Referenzen nur wie eine flüchtige Geste, wie eine Ahnung von etwas zu behandeln."

“Böser Herbst“ löst eine Vielzahl an unterschiedlichen Vorstellungen beim Hörer aus, es ist ein wahres Füllhorn an lustvollen Texturen und sinnlicher, taktiler Assemblage. Der spiralförmige, psychedelische Kreisel von "Karnickel" dreht sich in die Ohren wie ein Faden ins Nadelöhr; "Mit Ausblick" lässt den Hörer in tiefe, gasförmige Töne eintauchen, um anschließend von den transparenten Drones von "Umarmt" in die Luft gehoben zu werden. "Wunschwechsler" knistert mit der Unberechenbarkeit eines aufziehenden Unwetters, während sich ein gitarrenartiger Loop am Horizont abzeichnet. Überall kann man winzige Spurenelemente des Ausgangsmaterials erhaschen, aber sie werden in einen größeren Kontext gesetzt; Fehlmann benutzt seine Quellen nur als Mittel zum Zweck, um eine bestimmte Wirkung hervorzurufen, die einzelnen Teilchen werden angereichert mit Struktur und Körper und schließlich abstrahiert wieder ins Außen gesendet. Es ist Musik, an der die Zeit sich bricht und in die Zukunft schaut wie in einen Resonanzraum: Musik, "die mit der Vergangenheit spricht - hellwach, mit aller gebotenen Distanz und voller Rätsel".

Ed Cosens is stepping out of the shadows to take centre stage. The bewitching ‘If', his debut single, marks both the start of an overdue solo career and the latest chapter in the life of a longtime lynchpin of the Sheffield music scene. Best known as the guitarist/bassist and co-songwriter in Reverend & The Makers, Ed has spent 15 years conquering the charts and touring the world, yet leaving the limelight to others. With ‘If', the first song written for his forthcoming solo album, Fortunes Favour (due early 2021), he’s finally ready to reveal his true self. “It’s only taken 10 years or so for me to find the confidence!” says the self-depreciating singer, who shared stages with Arctic Monkeys members Matt Helders and Alex Turner before the Makers took off. “I subscribe to the fine wine way of thinking - allow things to mature fully before enjoying. Nobody wants to be Lambrusco!” ‘If' distils a lifetime of longing and loss, of dreams Vs. desires, into three mesmerising minutes of tremolo-rich, strings-soaked melody. Plangent chord progressions and mournful tones pair with poetic reflections on life’s twists and turns. Shades of The Beatles, Echo & The Bunnymen and Richard Hawley snake in and out. Emotions take over as Ed opens up fully for the first time. Drawing on Ed’s personal experience, he says of ‘If' "Its a love-lorn tale of the struggle between true love’s path and the path which you think you're destined to follow. It’s about the conflict between what you think you want, where you unwittingly lead yourself and ultimately where you should really be." “After several attempts, it became the song that sent me in the right direction. With a lot of albums, it takes one song to kick things off and this was that moment for me. It set out the stall for who I wanted to be as an artist with its strong sense of emotion and the journey that runs through it.” ‘If' was produced by Dave Sanderson, recorded at Giant Wafer studios in Wales at the tail end of 2018 and finally the man from Sheffield’s musical shadows can relish the start his solo career. “People ask why I waited so long, but there was no masterplan,” says Ed. “The time had to feel right. I found my voice along with an inner confidence and suddenly the itch was too much not to scratch. Once I'd started, I scratched like there was no tomorrow.”

Since his 2012 debut as Heathered Pearls, Jakub Alexander has constructed art — music, objects, installations, performances — as a way of re-imagining fragments of his past and mapping ideas for his future. The Polish-born, Michigan-raised, New York-based artist and producer sees imagery and narrative framework as fluid components to his craft. Alexander’s first album, Loyal, mimicked the hypnotic motions of ocean waves at night, offering melodic, loop-based ambient music as a tribute to the tasteful influence of his mother and aunt. The second Heathered Pearls album, Body Complex, found inspiration from comfort, imperfection, and visions of interior architecture, transforming Loyal’s soft textures into driving 4/4 figures, glacial tone drifts, and starry synth plateaus. His 2017 EP, Detroit, MI 1997 - 2001, reflected on a formative era through ephem- eral dance music. The third Heathered Pearls full-length,


Cast, returns to moodier loop formats joined by the distinctly new presence of the spo- ken word. The move mirrors the multitudes of its namesake: collaborators comprise a cast, healing in the bind of a cast, complex emotions and the shadows they cast. Alexander started work on Cast when living in Berlin and in Queens.

“I hit a wall listening to these tracks when they were instrumental.” This is where he diverged from previous modes, deciding to integrate speech. With a healthy distaste for aspects of performance art, he invited strictly non-scripted recordings, a series of anti-performances. This new format adds a surprising human element to music that has previously operated as sea-shapes or infrastructure. These flashes of language, Alexander’s close friends speaking about things, narratively and cerebrally, casually and profoundly, turn the distinctive Heathered Pearls sound into some- thing surprisingly gritty, tangible, and in certain sweeps, cinematic. It is as if the world outside of these compositions bleeds into the music, casting their verbal being from just off the surface, like the album’s cover artwork where the light hits the plexi object but misses the wall.

Alexander sees his covers as naturally unfinished workstations; the gauzed and patinaed copper on Cast continues in this philosophy. This is all to say Cast deals with absence as much a presence. Among the guest storytellers is Alexander’s friend and tourmate Nick Murphy (formerly Chet Faker), who unwinds a series of tender observations on “Basic Needs.” The swirling synthesizer immerses a series of empathies; feeling like an egg yolk, a window’s view, his love for the color yellow, and wanting yellow to love him back.

Altar De Fey originated in San Francisco in the early 1980’s as part of the emerging musical form that would come to be
known as Deathrock. Out of the Zeitgeist flash of 70’s Punk Rock the new sound took the darkest elements of the counter
culture into ever deeper, gloomier and more mature territory.
Performing at legendary San Francisco venues Mabuhay Gardens, Graffiti, The Nightbreak and the rest billed with
Christian Death, 45 Grave, and all the fellow architects of West Coast Post Punk.
The original incarnation passed through a rotating cast of characters centered strongly by the vision and experimental
guitar of founding member Kent Cates. Eschewing the conventional chord progression/solo form entirely Cates’s guitar spins
strands of melody and rhythm, tone and texture in a style that to this day is all his own. The mood was perfected with the
innovative tribal drumming of Aleph Kali and Butch Mason’s haunted confrontational vocals.
Though the band had a strong base of support, no original recordings were ever released and the young members
carried on into new musical endeavors. By 1988 ADF disbanded.
Years upon years passed yet the name was never completely forgotten. As Goth Punk culture persisted, grew and
developed over time the band began to take on a kind of legendary hue among fans in the know; The lost mysterious
phenomenon of Altar De Fey. -There was a kind of poetry to it. Finally in 2011, when asked if they would play a reunion for a
festival in San Francisco Kent and Aleph surprised everyone by answering yes.
Reforming originally as a 2 piece with a drum machine Kent on guitar and Aleph on vocals to an enthusiastic reception,
the duo enjoyed it so much they decided to continue the momentum and quickly added Skot Brown on bass, Aleph switched
over to live drums, and Jake Hout was added on vocals. The new line up debuted in April of 2012 and has continued
regularly performing songs from the original 80’s catalogue and steadily adding new material ever since.
A new generation of underground Deathrock music is growing across the world, in closer, more direct communication
than ever before, and interest in the band has quickly escalated.
This unique compilation brings you 11 original ADF songs recorded between 1984-1986 (demos, rehearsal records, live
records). If you are into classic Christian Death, 45 Grave, Kommunity FK, Burning Image etc. grab this gem now before it’s
too late!

The debut album from Kiri Ra! is an intuitive journey through landscapes of spectral otherness with colors of post classical minimalism, ambient folk and spiritual jazz. Starting as cross Baltic improvisation group in 2014, Kiri Ra! found form in the winter of 2016 when Finnish experimental artist Lau Nau, Finnish jazz saxophonist Linda Fredriksson, and Swedish pianist Matti Bye were commissioned by The Swedish Film Institute to create music for experimental amateur documentary films from its archive. Their debut album is made up entirely of improvised live studio recordings that stemmed from this film-scoring effort. With meticulous attention to detail and a sense of wonder, the players are collective witnesses to what can unfold between three musicians in a room. As illustrated on the tracks "Happlo'os" and "))Glänta//", softly played piano ostinatos, field recordings and bowed percussion set a visceral foundation for the saxophone to carve melodic tones of tingling melancholia. This warmth and sense of intimacy prevails throughout the album, as illustrated on the serene track "Linnesöndagen Gynnas Icke", whilst "Kites Över Gärdet" is an almost supernatural unfolding of timelessness.

Somewhere Between: Mutant Pop, Electronic Minimalism & Shadow Sounds of Japan 1980–1988 hovers vibe–wise between two distinct poles within Light In The Attic’s acclaimed Japan Archival Series—Kankyō Ongaku: Japanese Ambient, Environmental & New Age Music 1980–1990 and Pacific Breeze: Japanese City Pop, AOR & Boogie 1976–1986. All three albums showcase recordings produced during Japan’s soaring bubble economy of the 1980s, an era in which aesthetic visions and consumerism merged. Music echoed the nation’s prosperity and with financial abundance came the luxury to dream.

Sonically, Somewhere Between mines the midpoint between Kankyō Ongaku’s sparkling atmospherics and Pacific Breeze’s metropolitan boogie. The compilation encompasses ambient pop, underground electronics, liminal minimalism and shadow sounds—all descriptors emphasizing the hazy nature of the nebula. Out–of–focus rhythms wear ethereal accoutrements, ballads are shrouded in static, and angular drums snake skyward on transcendent tones. From the Avant–minimalism of Mkwaju Ensemble and Yoshio Ojima, to the leftfield techno-pop of Mishio Ogawa and Noriko Miyamoto (featuring members of YMO), and highlights from the groundbreaking Osaka underground label Vanity Records, these are blurry constellations defying collective categorization.

These tracks also exist in a space of transition when the major label grip on the Japanese recording market began to give way to the escalation of independents. Thanks to the idyllic economic climate and innovations in domestically–manufactured music gear, creators on the edges were empowered to focus on satisfying their artistic visions in the open headspace of home studios. While labels like Warner Music and Nippon Columbia explored new sounds through traditional channels, it was possible for Vanity, Balcony and other indie labels, not to mention self–released artists like Ojima and Naoki Asai, to publish their work via affordable media such as cassettes, 7" vinyl, and flexi–discs.

Expertly curated by Yosuke Kitazawa and Mark “Frosty” McNeill (dublab), Somewhere Between is a collection of music, much of it released for the first time outside Japan, that is bound more by energetic vibration than shared history, genre or scene. They are the sounds of transition and searching—a celebration of the freedom found in floating.

Note: The track “Days Man” by Yoshio Ojima is only available on the LP and Cassette versions.

“The Vale” is in immersive electronic album of dark soundtrack work. It’s the first of several Everyday Dust releases scheduled for Castles in Space in 2021.

Everyday Dust is RJ McConnell. Based in Scotland, RJ ditched piano lessons when he realised I had no interest in being an instrumentalist. Instead he wanted to create his own musical works from the ground up. He goes on, “I was much happier working my way through music theory books on my own and applying my learning to my own music. We had a little home studio when I was a child. My Dad was also a musician and was involved in local amateur theatre where he prepared and operated all the sound cues on reel to reel tape. So from an early age I was messing around with tape machines, making tape loops and recording music. For years I tried to make the most interesting tones I could from a Yamaha home keyboard by passing it through my Dad’s guitar pedals, or recording to tape and playing it back at different speeds etc. My first proper synth was the Roland SH101.” He went on to study music and sound for theatre and worked for many years as a theatre composer before branching into larger events and eventually film and documentary work.

The Vale story starts in 2018. RJ again, “I was brought in as composer for an independent horror short that was being filmed in Istanbul. The film was a vampire movie, very atmospheric and beautifully shot. I was aware of being a Scottish composer on a Turkish film and therefore didn’t want to attempt in any way to make anything that sounded traditionally Turkish. I wanted to represent the idea of these ancient beings who had existed in one of the oldest cities in the world for centuries. I wondered how I could imply this “ancient” world with the instruments I had to hand. I recorded various old metal whistles, which were slowed right down to become eerie arcane horn blasts that sounded like they had come from another time. I also recorded lots of melodica, which was again slowed down to sound like wheezing old harmonium drones. I spent another day recording inside an old piano, plucking individual strings and also hammering them percussively with wooden beaters. Using synthesizers and effects as the “glue” to bring these sounds together I started to work on the cues for the film. I had scored most of the film by the time I heard it was being cancelled. The concept and story had been taken over by a streaming site who wanted to make it into a series - with a drastically different tone and style.

“Later that same year I had worked on a project that incorporated the folklore of a celtic water sprite who kept the waterfalls and streams running smoothly so they could turn the mills of the local village. In return the villagers would bring the water sprite bannocks (Scottish flatbreads) each day. I started to daydream about a darker, Lovecraftian twist on this story. Some Ancient One dwelling in the forests and controlling the water - the very life essence of the village - in return for offerings of the soul. The concept was filed away in the back of my mind for some months.

“The following year I was on a flight to visit my friend in Bodrum. He had been the producer and editor on the original disbanded Vampire film, and I found myself thinking about the project again. I wondered if the sound cue files were still on my laptop, which they were. It had been a year since I’d even heard them. Hearing the eldritch folk-tinged sounds of the whistles and plucked strings my mind instantly returned to the idea of the Lovecraftian folk horror story. I started jotting down notes and musical ideas and by the time I landed in Bodrum I already had the album title - The Vale. Having the album concept and prototype ideas to work with was a huge head start in making the album. Although all of the original cues were so dramatically developed and transformed that they really just served as the initial clay on the wheel.

“I used a Doepfer A100 modular synth to create the animalistic yelps, conches and horns that were improvised over the original cues as a response to the arcane “folk” world of the acoustic instruments. This half-acoustic half-modular landscape was the sonic scene-setter I needed to move onto the composition and musical journey of the album. I composed and developed most of the musical parts on an Oberheim Matrix 6 synthesizer. However all the percussion, rhythmic sequences and ornamental synth sounds were created from improvised modular sessions multitrack recorded. A lot of editing later, the soundtrack to the movie in my mind was finally there.

Recorded in 2011 in a dusty, beloved barn, ‘Even Your Drums Will Die’ is a time machine, a real one, to a moment packed thick with Richard Swift’s singular, crackling liveliness. Where Swift’s studio recordings are marked by texture, tone and mood, ‘Even Your Drums Will Die’ puts a spotlight on Swift’s voice, his lyrics and his songwriting.
Running through all of Swift’s tunes is a certain agitation - a fidgetiness, a restlessness. It’s clearer than ever now, over two years after Swift’s passing, that he used his music to let a little pressure out of his tire. ‘A Song for Milton Feher’ nods to all this, its namesake coming from the professional dancer and director who taught his students to release their “habits of tension.” The song feels like a skeleton key to Swift’s oeuvre, a clear look into the wild wheels spinning inside his big old artist noggin.
On the flipside is ‘Lady Luck’. The classic. The revived ghost of a lost 45 that never existed, or maybe always did, but that only Richard Swift could make real.
If you know these songs, you will find them set alight here. If you don’t, ‘Even Your Drums Will Die’ is an incomparable snapshot of both art and artist. It is a genie, a real one, let loose from the lamp with Richard Swift’s explosive energy, imagination and mischief.
Recorded Live at Pickathon, 2011.
Swift was a celebrated recording artist, collaborator (The Black Keys, The Shins, the Arcs) and producer (Nathaniel Rateliff, Kevin Morby, Guster, Pretenders).

What hides in the fog that keeps people apart, and what does it take to cut through it? These questions hang heavily over
Sarah Beth Tomberlin's music, whose hushed and intimate tones orbit answers as much as they savor the unanswerable.
To be in relation to another human being is to engage with a deep mystery: We are all fundamentally alone, siloed into
confusing bodies, and yet occasionally we ¬nd someone who lets us feel as if we weren't. Tomberlin, the Louisville native
who recently relocated to Los Angeles, delights in articulating and amplifying that mystery, picking out its details and
marveling at its scale. In singing her aloneness she soothes it, and extends a hand to others reckoning with their own
solitude--a paradox that warms her spectral songs.

Tomberlin's new Projections EP continues the arc of her critically acclaimed 2018 debut At Weddings, weaving new collaborators and new techniques into her signature dusky milieu. Since the LP's release, Tomberlin has toured with Pedro the
Lion, Andy Shauf, American Football, and Alex G, played a Tiny Desk concert for NPR, and given a riveting performance on
Jimmy Kimmel Live! The ¬ve-song EP, capped with a cover of Casiotone for the Painfully Alone's stunning "Natural Light,"
re ects this period of intensive growth and self-discovery. "I wrote these songs while getting to know myself outside of
people's perceived notions of who I was," says Tomberlin. "I just started being like, What am I interested in? What do I want
out of relationships and friendships? What am I looking for that I don't have in myself already?"

Itzhak Perlman, the supreme violinist of his time, performs the supreme works for unaccompanied violin. In preparing the Bach Sonatas and Partitas, Perlman sought authenticity through the score itself, not through musicological research: “Music is a language, and, performed responsively, with musical logic as guide, it will make sense.”

Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas are a landmark not only of the solo violin repertoire but of all music history. No composer before or since has created a comparable architectural miracle, or made better use of the violin’s polyphonic capabilities, than did Bach in this set of six works. The improvements in instrument-making introduced by such experts in the field as Niccolò Amati and his pupil Antonio Stradivari meant that performers and composers could now push the tone and power of the violin to bold new limits. The Second Partita also includes a Chaconne which appears to stand outside space and time. Its complexity, power and splendor make it in a way the keystone of the entire musical edifice — a magnificent set of variations on a single theme which exploits the violin’s full harmonic and contrapuntal potential. While the great virtuosos of the nineteenth century, Paganini chief among them, expanded the instrument’s technical capabilities, Bach had already established its limits in terms of polyphony.
Perlman made several earlier attempts at recording the set, none of which was ever released, then performed it live on stage at venues around the world. In other words, he had the wisdom to wait until he had achieved a level of excellence in both performing and understanding this music before committing it to disc. The most practised of ears may detect a subtle difference in tone between the C major and A minor Sonatas, which he recorded on the “Soil” Stradivarius, and the other four works, recorded on the Guarneri del Gesù “ex-Sauret”.

THE LAST EXIT is the fifth studio album from Still Corners. With the shimmering desert noir sound the band has become known for, THE LAST EXIT takes you on a hypnotic journey, one filled with dilapidated towns, mysterious shapes on the horizon, and long trips that blur the line between what's there and not there. Greg says, "We found something out there in the desert - something in the vast landscapes that went on forever." THE LAST EXIT consists of eleven beautifully crafted songs with organic instrumentation, clean-toned guitar, spacious drums and the smoky croon of Tessa Murray. Album highlights include "The Last Exit", "White Sands" and "Shifting Dunes" all of which evoke the vast space of the desert and rolling unconcerned skies.

LTD. CRYSTAL CLEAR VINYL

THE LAST EXIT is the fifth studio album from Still Corners. With the shimmering desert noir sound the band has become known for, THE LAST EXIT takes you on a hypnotic journey, one filled with dilapidated towns, mysterious shapes on the horizon, and long trips that blur the line between what's there and not there. Greg says, "We found something out there in the desert - something in the vast landscapes that went on forever." THE LAST EXIT consists of eleven beautifully crafted songs with organic instrumentation, clean-toned guitar, spacious drums and the smoky croon of Tessa Murray. Album highlights include "The Last Exit", "White Sands" and "Shifting Dunes" all of which evoke the vast space of the desert and rolling unconcerned skies.

Much like its predecessor, In Decay, the 2014 compilation of unreleased, early Com Truise recordings, In Decay, Too unlocks a new set of rarities and unheard fragments from the past for the producer's legion of fans. To accomplish such a feat, the Com camp tapped the Internet's foremost Com Truise archivist, Polychora (formerly Comrade), whose YouTube channel has diligently documented Seth Haley's musical output since his earliest Komputer Cast (Haley's podcast mix series) days. Polychora's vault and input helped Haley and the team locate and curate the ultimate sequence of career-spanning off-album material, showcasing an artist in perpetual orbit of hazy machinist nostalgia. Haley's singular style of melodic beat music is the work of countless iterations; with In Decay, Too, his idiosyncratic exercises, experiments, and pivots pause for a rightful wave of appreciation. Following the smeared introductory tones of "Zeta," the album locks into its first robotic groove on "Compress_ Fuse," a trademark Truise treatment with cascading synth lines and deep, sinister low-end bass stabs. Further down is the suspiciously bright "False Ascendancy," which lures listeners through a labyrinth of drum patterns and siren-like keys, all colliding into "Constant Fracture." The track pushes to the point of stress, reaching the album's apex with a punishing series of blows before fading to relief, where the beatless and contemplative "Trajectory" awaits. In 2019, Com Truise left his previous sci-fi narratives behind for the visceral Persuasion System, a markedly more human record, which now makes In Decay, Too something like a bookend to an era. One last transmission from coordinates unknown; a culminating exhale ahead of what's still yet to come.

Much like its predecessor, In Decay, the 2014 compilation of unreleased, early Com Truise recordings, In Decay, Too unlocks a new set of rarities and unheard fragments from the past for the producer's legion of fans. To accomplish such a feat, the Com camp tapped the Internet's foremost Com Truise archivist, Polychora (formerly Comrade), whose YouTube channel has diligently documented Seth Haley's musical output since his earliest Komputer Cast (Haley's podcast mix series) days. Polychora's vault and input helped Haley and the team locate and curate the ultimate sequence of career-spanning off-album material, showcasing an artist in perpetual orbit of hazy machinist nostalgia. Haley's singular style of melodic beat music is the work of countless iterations; with In Decay, Too, his idiosyncratic exercises, experiments, and pivots pause for a rightful wave of appreciation. Following the smeared introductory tones of "Zeta," the album locks into its first robotic groove on "Compress_ Fuse," a trademark Truise treatment with cascading synth lines and deep, sinister low-end bass stabs. Further down is the suspiciously bright "False Ascendancy," which lures listeners through a labyrinth of drum patterns and siren-like keys, all colliding into "Constant Fracture." The track pushes to the point of stress, reaching the album's apex with a punishing series of blows before fading to relief, where the beatless and contemplative "Trajectory" awaits. In 2019, Com Truise left his previous sci-fi narratives behind for the visceral Persuasion System, a markedly more human record, which now makes In Decay, Too something like a bookend to an era. One last transmission from coordinates unknown; a culminating exhale ahead of what's still yet to come.

Caught somewhere between environmental sound studies and surrealist sonic architecture, SUGAI KEN helps mark the 30th release of Field Records with an ambitious new album. Commissioned by the Dutch Embassy in Tokyo, Tone River is the product of a year’s intensive work between artist and label, created in part to examine the relationship between Japan and the Netherlands with regard to water management.

While its doors to the Western world were closed during the 17th and 18th centuries, Japan kept abreast of Western science via a Dutch trade post in the bay of Nagasaki. When the country changed from a feudal society to a modern democracy through the turn of the 19th century, Dutch engineers lent their expertise to large-scale water management projects. One of the most prestigious projects of the time was the Tone River, which stretches 322 kilometers across Honshu, Japan’s largest island.

For this project, SUGAI KEN travelled to three points across the Tone River and used regular, binaural and underwater microphones to record environmental sounds, seeking to express the change in landscape of the river in its flow into the Pacific Ocean. On Tone River, these varied recordings are interspersed and juxtaposed with Ken’s distinctive take on synthesis, where raw and precisely sculpted textures and tones interact in stark, neutral space.

On this conceptually rigorous, yet beguiling and free-flowing record, SUGAI KEN glides between the elemental and hyper-synthetic in a flexible exploration of sound and story

Videosphere, the debut album by Kompakt’s latest signing, the London-based artist Lake Turner (aka Andrew Halford), swoons into focus with “The Sunbird”, a teasing drift of lilting, ambient tones, riding out a submerged piston-pulse rhythm. Across its brief 109 seconds, it manages to traverse evocative terrain – something mythopoetic, something both humble and grandiose, a glimpse of the other behind the sky’s curtain. “I wanted to conjure up something resembling an ancient ceremony or death procession,” Turner nods. “Like a hymn to the surroundings of a faraway hill.” It’s both sky-bound and earthen, a ritual incantation to call in the music of the spheres.

Turner was introduced to the Kompakt family by his sometime collaborator Yannis Philippakis of Foals. He’d previously made music in post-punk and indie groups Great Eskimo Hoax and Trophy Wife, but Videosphere is the first time he’s fully articulated his own vision of electronic music, aside from one limited lathe-cut 12”, 2018’s Prime Mover EP, on Algebra. The lush ambient-disco-techno dreams of Videosphere were constructed and completed in his London studio and at his parents’ arable and sheep farm in Worcestershire, which might help explain the hazy, unhurried pastoralism of the album.

“There was a slight bittersweetness in finishing the record (in Worcestershire) as my parents were in the middle of selling my childhood home,” he sighs, before quipping, “on the plus, I ended up shearing a lot of sheep over the summer.” A student of archaeology and ancient history, Turner is no doubt carefully attuned to the twisting cogs of history and memory, and it’s no surprise that Videosphere has a nostalgic, melancholic cast; much of its beauty rests in the way it tugs, gently, at the heart strings – see the tear-stained cheeks of the lush, dappled “Honeycomb”, or the sweetly sad electro-roundelay of “No Way Back Forever.”

It’s not all drift-dream hypnosis, though – Videosphere is very much grounded in the now. ““No Way Back Forever” is a nod to the linear nature of time,” Turner explains by way of example, “and the tipping point of the world climate crisis that scientists have now declared.” Jayne Powell’s vocals are sent spinning through the song, wound like candyfloss; she takes centre stage on the techno hymnal title track, too. Throughout, there’s a sense of forward movement, despite the life stasis we find ourselves collectively bound by in mid-2020; there’s also a yearning for the communal, for community, that’s captured in the album title, a nod to an object Turner encountered at London’s Geoffrey Museum, “a television set in the shape of a spaceman’s helmet from the 1970s.”

“The vision I loosely had was to make an electronic record that had a communal warmth and almost ceremonial or ritual feel. I wanted to examine the relationship of our archaic minds in the trappings of the modern world,” Turner concludes. “What the Videosphere also symbolizes for me is the oneness of humanity and community, prevailing.”
Eröffnet wird "Videosphere", das Debütalbum von Kompakts jüngstem Signing, dem in London ansässigen Künstler Lake Turner (alias Andrew Halford), mit "The Sunbird" - einem herausfordernden Strom aus Ambient Sounds, die zu schweben scheinen, um sich dann in einen subtilen, maschinellen Rhythmus zu verwandeln. In gerade mal 109 Sekunden gelingt es dem Stück, ein gewaltiges Terrain abzuschreiten - etwas Mythopoetisches, bescheiden und grandios zugleich, gibt uns eine Ahnung davon, was sich hinter dem Himmel verbirgt. "Ich wollte etwas heraufbeschwören, das einer alten Zeremonie oder Totenprozession ähnelt", sagt Turner, "wie eine Hymne an die Umgebung eines weit entfernten Hügels." Himmlisch und irdisch zugleich, eine rituelle Beschwörung von Sphärenmusik.

Der Kompakt Label-Familie wurde Turner von dessen zeitweiligen Mitarbeiter Yannis Philippakis (Foals) vorgestellt. Zuvor hatte er in den Post Punk- und Indie-Bands Great Eskimo Hoax und Trophy Wife gespielt. Bis auf eine limitierte lathe-cut 12", der "Prime Mover EP" auf Algebra von 2018, artikuliert Turner mit "Videosphere" zum ersten Mal seine eigene Vision von elektronischer Musik.

Die üppigen Ambient-Disco-Techno-Träume von "Videosphere" hat Turner in seinem Londoner Studio und auf der Schaffarm seiner Eltern in Worcestershire produziert, was den nebulösen, gemächlichen und beinahe pastoralen Charakter des Albums erklären könnte.

"Es gab einen bittersüßen Moment als ich mit der Platte (in Worcestershire) fertig geworden war, da meine Eltern gerade dabei waren, das Haus meiner Kindheit zu verkaufen", seufzt er, bevor er witzelt, "das Positive war, dass ich im Laufe des Sommers eine Menge Schafe geschoren habe". Als Student der Archäologie und der Geschichte des Altertums ist Turner zweifellos mit den sich unaufhörlich drehenden Rädern der Geschichte und der daran geknüpften Erinnerungen vertraut, und es ist keine Überraschung, dass "Videosphere" einen nostalgischen, melancholischen Einschlag hat; viel von seiner Schönheit liegt in der Art und Weise, wie es einem sanft ans Herz geht - die Tränen benetzten Wangen von "Honeycomb" oder der ambivalente Elektro-Reigen von "No Way Back Forever".

Trotz allem hypnotischen Driften und Träumen - Videosphere ist sehr stark im Jetzt verankert. "`No Way Back Forever`ist eine Anspielung auf die lineare Natur der Zeit", erklärt Turner beispielhaft, "und auf den Wendepunkt der globalen Klimakrise, den Wissenschaftler gerade ausgerufen haben". Jayne Powells Gesang wirbelt dabei wie Zuckerwatte durch den Song und steht auch im Mittelpunkt des technoid hymnischen Titelstücks. Überall ist ein Gefühl der Vorwärtsbewegung zu spüren, trotz der Stagnation, in der wir uns Mitte 2020 kollektiv befinden; trotzdem existiert eine Sehnsucht nach dem Gemeinsamen, nach Gemeinschaft, die im Albumtitel eingefangen ist - eine Referenz an ein Objekt, dem Turner im Londoner Geoffrey-Museum begegnete, "ein Fernsehgerät in Form eines Raumfahrerhelms aus den 1970er Jahren".

„Die lose Vision, die ich hatte, bestand darin, eine elektronische Platte zu machen, die eine soziale Wärme und eine fast zeremonielle oder rituelle Atmosphäre ausstrahlt. Ich wollte die Beziehung unseres archaischen Geistes in den Fallstricken der modernen Welt untersuchen", so Turner abschließend. "Was `Videosphere` für mich auch symbolisiert, ist die Einheit von Menschlichkeit und Gemeinschaft, die am Ende obsiegt".