Buscar:unfolding

'Liberamente' is now available for the first time on cassette. Dawn Chorus and the Infallible Sea create soft-textured and slowly unfolding sonic landscapes, somewhere between guitar-oriented drone music and modern classical. Liberamente is the kind of album that demands attention and patience from the listener, yet it's ultimately a very rewarding one. Stylistically Dawn Chorus and the Infallible Sea sums up several decades of American soundscape and drone music, taking threads from Windy & Carl, Auburn Lull, and Stars of the Lid then weaves them into a contemporary, and sonically adventurous whole. On the surface it suggests simplicity, but dig deeper and the seven pieces on Liberamente reveals a rare compositional dexterity. This is minimalism at its finest.

Ten years on, Joana Gama and Luís Fernandes show no signs of slowing down. Over the past decade, the duo has released five albums, composed soundtracks for film and television, and created pieces for performing arts. With “Strata”, they embark on a bold exploration of their musical identity, breaking new ground by seeking the primordial, the raw, and forging a deeper creative synergy. This evolution makes their music feel less like a conversation and more like a unified, introspective monologue.

Until now, their work has largely been defined by dialogue - a dynamic exchange of ideas evident in their earlier records. However, in their relentless drive to push boundaries, they now turn inward, embracing a monologue as a pathway for growth, innovation, and celebration of their journey so far. Two key elements shape this transition: Joana’s growing affinity for synthesizers over piano, a direction initiated in “There’s no knowing”, and her integration of field recordings gathered from diverse locations around the world. Rather than stepping into each other’s domain, the duo finds common ground, creating music that thrives on harmony and introspection.

“Strata” stands as Joana and Luís's quieter and most cohesive record to date. It reflects their desire to craft music that resonates with the natural world, unfolding as a seamless stream of sound that enhances their connection and invites the listener into their creative process. While their previous works were compelling, they often felt distant, as if the listener was observing from the sidelines. “Strata”, by contrast, draws the listener in, encouraging them to fill the spaces and find their own place within the duo’s monologue.

This process climaxes in the closing track, "Geode," where the subtle sounds of debris underscore the tightly woven structure of “Strata”. It’s a testament to the duo's commitment to evolution and their ability to surprise both themselves and their audience. A decade into their collaboration, “Strata” reaffirms Joana and Luís's creative vitality, offering a record that feels both fresh and deeply rooted in their artistic vision.

For ALT014, Altered Circuits presents its first Various Artists release. In addition to the label's co-founder, three friends of the label appear on this heterogeneous, club-oriented 12''. Portal, with its breakbeat layered drum section and spartan bass hook, sounds like classic Innershades from the start. When the angular leads and slowly phased, ominous chords hit, we are reminded of the artist's fondness for the new beat genre and his ability to translate its tropes and conventions to the present. On Show You Love, Mr. Ho combines skippy two-step drums with an MS20 type of flat bass. After introducing a one-bar mid-bass arpeggiator, gently swelling pads, leisurely spread side riffs and reverb-drenched musings join, calibrating the vibe to lush and groovy. On the other side, Oshana treats groove as the focal point with her Hey Kiss Kiss contribution. Over its 6-minute course, the snappy 909 kick rarely relents while a bunch of often short, many a time looped sequences emerge and disappear, unfolding a hypnotic tapestry of textures. Rising talent Salomee closes the VA with Late Night Summer, a track capable of setting the floor in motion at any moment. It revolves around a portamento-heavy, neon-tinged lead that lingers long after the track ends and a sturdy, efficient one-note bass pulse.

Building on the promise of his standout Vacuum EP, Brendon Moeller returns to Samurai Music to dial his expert dub techno up to 170 for a full-length trip. Moeller is celebrated as a versatile operator applying cavernous sound design and decades-deep machine soul to a broad sweep of tempos and styles, and his pivot to D&B territory is as natural as it is original. It's a perfect fit on Samurai, where palettes, pressure and rhythms are continually yielding fresh results in this highly fertile zone of modern club music.

It's no secret Moeller is a prolific producer, and following his initial connection with Samurai he offered up a vast folder of tracks created in this latest furrow of his production. The label has since sifted through and puzzled out a sonic narrative, first realised on the Vacuum EP in June 2024 and now extended with Further. For anyone keyed into the deep, techno-informed innovations taking place at 170, there is a logical connection to Moeller's take on the sound, but at the same time these tracks stand apart from anything else out there right now. In the particular textures, the unfolding arrangements and monolithic reverbs Moeller threads together with hypnotic poise, his accomplished legacy shines through.

Whether it's the snarl of a delay feedback pushed a little further, a soaring synth swell sculpted into artful noise or a particular shuffle applied to a particular drum rack, Moeller's tracks unfold with a masterful poise, hitting the sweet spot between club-spirited physicality for the deepest of dance floors and introspective headphone trips. Teeming with detail, swathed in soul and engineered to perfection, the inspiration driving Moeller is palpable across the LP, and it's resulted in some of his finest work in a career studded with highlights.

2024 Repress
In early 2023, Tresor Records will reissue the sole output from Shifted Phases entitled The Cosmic Memoirs Of The Late
Great Rupert J. Rosinthrope. Initially released in 2002, soon after James Stinson passed away, this LP plays a mysterious and
compelling role in the Drexciya journey. While other records of Drexciya and related projects have received numerous reprints
and editions, The Cosmic Memoirs... has remained out of print since its release. This rarity leaves it more open to
interpretation with its place in the Drexciyan storm series, as it became increasingly hard to find and underexplored.
Track titles Solar Wind, White Dwarf, and Lonely Journey of the Comet Bopp reveal a focus on cosmic realms, suggesting a link
with the Drexciya LP Grava 4 that moves from the underwater to the galactic. As it launches with mechanical blows on a
precise orbit, each repetition entrenches the gravitational pull in the galaxy of Shifted Phases. In many places, it sounds like
the readout of frequencies harvested from outer space, pockmarked with packet loss from the millions of kilometres distance
travelled.
The music is hard to contain, intuitively restless in motion through its unfolding universe and achingly resonant. It shapeshifts
across aectedly melodic sequences such as in Lonely Journey..., to the sparse, hard-hitting timbres found in Alien Vessel
Distress Call and the mangled reverse vocals in The Freak Show, somewhat reminiscent of another Drexciya side-project, Glass
Domain. The mythology of Drexciya is evident in how keenly James Stinson and Gerald Donald created their imaginary worlds.
In Crossing Of The Sun-Ra Nebula, there is an undisputable reference to another Afro-futurist who delved deep into a galaxy of
their own making.
This reissue does not merely close the loop on Tresor's reissue series of the Drexciya catalogue but brings Shifted Phases to
fresh ears more than other records. Accompanied by newly commissioned artwork from Matthew Angelo Harrison, the 3xLP
vinyl reissue also features the tracks Crossing Of The Sun-Ra Nebula and Alien Vessel Distress Call, which were previously only
on the original CD release.

The prolific Karolina Bnv returns to Wrong Era with 'Yet To Come', an industrial-infused, masterful exploration deeper into her ever unfolding sound. Karolina Bnv brings her sophisticated sounds and undeniable strengths to Wrong Era once again, broadening her horizons with skillful taste.

Marionette presents 'dessus oben alto up', the first collaborative recording by Andrea Belfi and Jules Reidy. Hailing from different ends of the globe (Australia and Italy) but both longtime residents of Berlin, Reidy and Belfi’s approaches have much in common, bringing together compositional precision and electroacoustic rigour with improvisation freedom, the immediate gratifications of rhythmic pulse, and an overtly lyrical sensibility. Working together during a residency at the sound studio of Berlin’s Callie’s, an arts institution housed in a 19th century machine factory, the pair (with Marco Anulli manning the desk) have conjured up four expansive pieces where the beautifully recorded percussive clarity of Belfi’s drums threads through a sparkling haze of guitars and electronics.

Opener ‘dessus’ begins with Reidy’s distinctive just-intoned guitar figures, shimmering over a delicate substratum of Befli’s brushwork and bass drum accents. As in all of Reidy’s recent work, the guitar is twisted out of cliché by the unfamiliar tuning and electronic processing. Hanging almost inaudibly in the background for much of the piece, a rush of synthetic tones surges into the foreground to end it. ‘oben’ is built from kinetic patterns of picked guitar arpeggios, locking into irregular grooves with Belfi’s drums, which move from elegant rolls and cymbal patter to driving closed hi-hats and explosive rock interjections. Around the traditional instruments and across the stereo field, electronic sounds swarm and swirl, fizzing and popping in a sun-drenched soundscape that at points suggests both vintage analogue synth destruction and glitching harmonies. ‘alto’ begins in similar territory but turned up a notch, eventually settling into a propulsive 6/8 groove of shifting drum accents, manically strummed 12 string acoustic, and burbling synth chords.

The B side is dedicated to the fifteen-minute ‘up’, where the strategies adopted on the other pieces are put in the service of a more relaxed, slowly unfolding epic. Anchored by a steady pulse throughout, the piece combines chiming guitars, dubbed-out bass lines and constantly adjusted percussive details into a complex flux of sound. Change is at once so subtle and so ever-present that, at any given moment, the listener can never be entirely sure quite how they got there.

When the quartet of Luke Martin, Gabriel Salomon, Klaus Janek and Andy Graydon gathered to record an afternoon of sessions in Andy's studio, it was both the result of years of cultivation and an afterthought. Klaus and Andy had been long-time, and now long-distance, collaborators since their shared years in Berlin. That city was also where Andy was introduced to Gabriel at one of his solo performances by their mutual friend, the painter Paul McDevitt. Years passed, and cities. After meeting and working together in Boston, Luke and Andy both found themselves transplanted to Minneapolis. And by happenstance Gabriel arrived a few years later. A new conversation was just starting to emerge when Klaus announced his arrival, stopping by on a North American tour. Suddenly the four got a chance to listen and play together performing on a bill at a local gallery, in one configuration or another, for the first time. Packing up after that show, Klaus leaned over to ask, "isn't there a moment we could meet again, to play?"

Nothing was expected, and so anything was possible. The circumstances lent their gathering an impromptu but grounded feeling, a unique mix of chance encounter and reunion. As befits an opening encounter, the focus was as often on listening to the unfolding sonic conversation as it was on making a recording. Everyone seemed to intuit the direction despite not knowing where they were headed. The four faced each other in a loose circle surrounded by speakers and microphones pointed haphazardly, as likely to catch the dog padding around curiously as the bowing of strings or rattling of a cymbal. The permissive spirit of the day was declared early, just before rolling, when Gabriel asked if we should close the studio windows or leave them open. "You know what my answer is," replied Luke. If it's in the nature of a recording to become fixed, to be bottled up, let us at least leave open the windows to hear what might be coming next.

Skylax Records Proudly Introduces the "Cold Summer Ep" by Peter Lc, an Electrifying Collection of Five Tracks That Showcase the Artist's Mastery in the European House Music Scene. Emerging From the Enchanting Landscapes of Apulia, Italy, Peter Lc's Sonic Expedition Begins With "Hasta La Playa." This Track, Reminiscent of Rhythmic Tides Against the Shore, Captures the Essence of Carefree Summer Days With Its Sun-Soaked Vibes and Lively Percussion, Setting the Stage for an Energetic Dance Floor Filled With Joy. as the Journey Continues, "Piano Ipnotico" Unfolds, Revealing a Hypnotic Dance Between Rhythmic Piano Chords and Pulsating Beats.

Peter Lc's Enchanting Melodies Create an Immersive Atmosphere, Guiding Listeners Through a Spellbinding Journey That Seamlessly Blends Classic Elements With a Modern, Entrancing Flair. "Time in Cologne" Marks a Temporal Shift, Resonating With Echoes of the City's Historic Charm. the Track Weaves Intricate Sonic Tapestries, Capturing the Unfolding Essence of Time in Each Beat.

Layers of Sound Interlace, Creating a Rich and Immersive Experience That Stands as a Sonic Exploration, Evoking Both Nostalgia and Forward Momentum Simultaneously. "Dive Into the Ethereal Realm of "Your Dreams," Where Dreamlike Melodies Intertwine With Pulsating Rhythms. This Nocturnal Odyssey Invites Listeners Into a World of Introspection and Reverie, Transcending Boundaries With a Seamless Blend of Atmospheric Elements and Rhythmic Patterns.

"Your Dreams" Becomes a Musical Voyage That Resonates Deeply With the subconscious.The Ep Concludes With "With Nobody," a Venture Into Darker Territories That Maintains an Undeniable Energy. Pronounced Beats Create a Driving Force That Propels the Listener Forward, With Mysterious Undertones and Intricate Arrangements Unfolding Like a Narrative. "With Nobody" Encapsulates a Perfect Balance Between Intensity and Allure, Leaving an Indelible Mark as the Grand Finale of the Ep.

Peter Lc's "Cold Summer Ep" Is a Testament to His Boundless Creativity and Mastery, Poised to Carve an Indelible Mark on the Global House Music Landscape. Each Track Is a Testament to His Unique Style—a Captivating Blend Reminiscent of Dj Sneak, Coupled With a Nod to the Golden Era of Italian Dream House From the Early '90s, but Elevated in Production Quality. Whether Basking in Sunny Vibes or Venturing Into Darker Territories, Every Composition Stands as a Bona Fide Banger....

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

After recent explorations into ambient and pop under his full name, Sacha Renkas switches back to his Antenna moniker for ALT013. The Kiev-born, longtime Rotterdam-based artist uses a rough-around-the-edges, hiss-laden palette to construct his intricate, pensive club tracks. Often recording on the fly, he embraces the limitations and quirks of the hardware he works with, curating the happy accidents that come with them and that help make his music feel as alive as it does. It is emotional and imaginative in spirit, yet raw, almost instinctive in its rendering. Renkas cites the new wave and synth-pop from his youth and the sounds coming from Chicago and Detroit, as well as the Dutch West Coast he encountered later on, as inspirations. The sensitivity and hands-on approach associated with these are also tenets throughout his work. The ''Another Wave EP,'' a selection of tracks created over nearly a decade, further substantiates this approach. Made on multiple MPCs, Juno synthesizers, and an Akai S900, and mixed on a Mackie 16-channel mixer, it blends, among others, elements of first-wave techno and European proto-trance. Opener ''Alisa'' stacks angular sine melodies and formant basslines one upon another yet flows like silk, its balance immaculately kept in check. On ''Everyone M1,'' the bass organ patch from which the track derives its title finds itself amidst a lo-fi flux of capricious arpeggiators, ethereal pads, and decocted drums. ''Another Wave'' is a carefully sculpted slow burner, collected in its unfolding. Wisps of melody, gated pads, and whisper seem to wind between its drum patterns; the tension looming beneath this patchwork never entirely reveals itself. ''Quasar'' blends signature dramatic chords and off-rhythm bells with a creeping acid bassline and more kaleidoscopic drum patterns. It closes an EP distilled in its form, confident in its intent, and nowhere too bothered by genre boundaries or other formal constraints.

From the first notes of Symbiont, the radical new collaborative album and document of Black and Indigenous futurism from Jake Blount and Mali Obomsawin, the listener is met with rising tidewaters, massive droughts, and the appearance of an iconoclastic uprising amidst the worlds indifference. Questions of future or present tense swirl around the music as the duo unspools the intertwined threads of racial and climate justice. Amid rumbling synthesizer drones, the thrum of banjo, and the thwack of drum machines, a whisper of truth can be heard: this crisis has been unfolding for centuries.

"A Singular Blend of Dynamic Post-Pop & Electronic Production Featuring The Vibraphonist’s Remarkable Quartet Special Guests Gerald Clayton and Marquis Hill Named One Of Downbeat's 25 For The Future

“His music is fresh, it speaks to everyone. Never heard anyone play vibes like that before.” -Herbie Hancock

“Best vibes player I’ve heard...” -Quincy Jones

In discussing Elements of Light, his fifth album as a leader, the vibraphonist-composer Simon Moullier often returns to a specific term: unfolding.

“This is an important word — the unfolding of a song,” says Moullier, who was born in France and lives in New York. “It’s something I’m very attached to, and something I’m always working on.” As he explains, many of his essential influences —Wayne Shorter, Milton Nascimento, Toninho Horta, Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, Ravel, — have been masterful unfolders in their writing. Moullier admires the movement and design in their music and harmony, the way one section of a tune leads into the next, everything flowing in a natural, beautiful, inviting way. Even the most serious intellectual musical concepts are rendered with a directness, a simplicity that can captivate a general audience. “For me, no matter how complex an idea can get,” he says, “clarity is always key.”

That’s a mature, evolved outlook for a millennial jazz musician to embrace, and it’s shared among Moullier’s youthful quartet featuring pianist Lex Korten, bassist Rick Rosato and drummer Jongkuk “JK” Kim. What’s more, these musicians of astonishing technical facility interact with the selflessness and good taste that Moullier’s song-focused music requires; to say it another way, they use their virtuosity to make the bandleader’s compositions sound as human and affecting as possible — never to preen."

WE ARE WINTER'S BLUE AND RADIANT CHILDREN (WAWBARC) is the new quartet of Mat Ball (BIG|BRAVE), Efrim Manuel Menuck (Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Thee Silver Mt. Zion), and Jonathan Downs and Patch (both Ada). On "NO MORE APOCALYPSE FATHER" they present six modal lullabies drenched in seared distortion, slathered across striding electronic pulses. Ball and Menuck began creating music in and for the bleakest moments of Montréal winters: "We're honoring that idea of winter, when you come inside and your house is warm, a place that only exists because of how cold it is outside," says Menuck. They later recruited Downs and Patch to flesh out their initial ideas. Menuck met them in 2015 when recording Ada's final album at Montréal's Hotel2Tango _ where they reconvened to make this record. "NO MORE APOCALYPSE FATHER" is an album about witnessing bleakness from a place of safety. Carrying newfound descriptive depth, thanks to the quartet's open-ended songs freeing him from writing in meter, Menuck likens his lyrics to photorealism. On opener `Rats and Roses' he sings of an unnamed city struck by an unknown cataclysm, but the details are local: specifically, his neighbors inadvertently poisoning birds when tackling a rat infestation. It's backed by blown out synths and guitars reaching a soaring crescendo. "Seeing things from a distance and not being able to intervene happens a lot on the record," Menuck explains. "If you're a feeling and thinking person, that's just part of the human condition. We watch horror unfolding from afar, unable to do anything concrete to change it." A powerless witness, able to describe but not intervene. `Dangling Blanket From A Balcony (White Phosphorous)' references Michael Jackson holding his child over a hotel balcony in 2002_the bizarre media spectacle still lodged in Menuck's psyche. This and the album's closing track also elegize white phosphorous, a technology of war designed to light up battlefields but capable of inflicting horrific burns on those it touches. Illumination and horror in one, here underpinning scenes picturesque and terrifying. "The last song `(Goodnight) White Phosphorous' is deliberately like a lullaby," says Menuck. "Written from the viewpoint of watching white phosphorous falling outside your window." Scorched and tarnished and laden with harrowing imagery, "NO MORE APOCALYPSE FATHER" is also a record bathed in light: the bewilderment of hopeful spirits witnessing despair, watching a blizzard of distress unfold outside from a place of relative shelter and comfort. You could call that emotional ambivalence, maybe numbness. But those words are too passive for the weight of conflicted feeling resonating through the album. "I never know how I feel on an overcast day when the sun is still bright despite the grayness and the light is very flat. The colours become more saturated, and you see a single flower, say a morning glory, whose colour is so vibrant beneath the gray, I don't know if that's a lovely sensation or a terrible sensation. It's both," says Menuck.

Lukas de Clerck brings us the ancient greek instrument, the aulos, of which his new interpretation of long form expression is coaxed forth on this tremendous recording. Lukas de Clerck explores a niche of archaeological research in music; the aulos is a historical Greek instrument that Lukas analyzed and reinterpreted by a luthier in modern times_navigating this impression as an artwork or living sculptural object, as there is an absence of historical partitions or written information about how to recreate technique on the instrument. Lukas de Clerck has interpreted information from the rare archaeological resources and visual art of the classical Greek period to recreate both playing technique and possible sound timbres with the instrument. With his contemporary approach to drone, post-minimalist music, and contemporary folk, we find a deeply satisfying and compelling, even playful set of songs, timbral exercises and compositions. An important document of new music meets contemporary archaemusicological research via Stephen O'Malley of SUNN O)))'s label Ideologic Organ. _ The telescopic aulos is speculative: might it have existed? It takes on features from the historical aulos, a double-reed instrument of which we know how it looked but little about what music was played on it or how it would have really sounded. It's an instrument without the limitations of canon or manual, providing creative freedom and awakening curiosity. The new instrument featured on this album is ancient and futuristic at once. The aulos has no tone holes; instead, each of the two tubes consists of three parts that can slide into each other. In this sense, the metal pipes bear a certain resemblance to the principle of a trombone. However, since both hands are already in use to hold both tubes, the sliding has to be done by way of gravity and the help of a «phorbeia», a leather mask which helps keep the reeds in place. The aulos's material is metal (instead of wood), which gives it a certain electronic allure and intensity, as well as a variety of sonic possibilities and textures. It produces overtones efficiently and allows them to play with their microtonality. The aulos Lukas plays on this recording was developed at Brasserie Atlas, a temporary occupation of a former brewery in the heart of Brussels where Lukas lives. It is quite a poetic coincidence that the birthplace of the instrument is named after the Greek titan condemned to carry the sky, while this instrument needs to be turned skywards to lower its pitch with the help of gravity. At Brasserie Atlas, Lukas has found collaborators who have shared in the process of building this new instrument: the collective Noir Métal has constructed the tubes, in this way becoming instrument builders; the phorbeia has been manufactured by Jot Fau; a former water reservoir in the vast cellar of the building carried the instruments' resonance for its first sounds. The place has left an imprint on this new instrument. With all of the telescopic aulos' layers, its sonic, musical and extra-musical components are still unfolding their potential as a medium for discovery and research, next to being an instrument of great musical potential. The music on The Telescopic Aulos of Atlas reflects this spirit. In several miniature pieces, it presents an encyclopaedia of musical possibilities that the instrument offers while keeping an intense and corporeal sonic specificity. The short pieces are studies that reflect on the sonic possibilities of this instrument that are yet to be explored. It meanders, searches and interacts with itself and the space. It needs to answer common expectations of old instruments being harmonious or pleasing. It transports a kind of experimental archaeology that, by formulating hypotheses in the present, allows us to reflect on what might have been in the past and simultaneously questions concepts of beauty, harmony or virtuosity. However, in the end, this instrument might have never existed before. -Julia Eckhardt

Copenhagen’s Echocord returns this September with the ‘Invincible Nature’ EP by Altone, backed by a remix from Thomas Fehlmann and Another Channel. Atone is the guise of Tokyo’s Yuki Takasaki, one of the leading figures of the genre out of Japan with releases on the likes of Greyscale, Lempuyang, Vuo, Æ Recordings, Primary colours and many more. His distinctive twist on Dub Techno has earned him accolades worldwide within the underground and here he joins the roster of the esteemed Echocord, the Kenneth Christiansen helmed label that’s been at the forefront of Dub Techno for more than two decades now. The original mix of ‘Naturally Unnatural’ opens, showcasing Altone’s unique style via subtly nuanced chord flutters, expansive reverberations, pulsating low end tones and ever unfolding, subtly unfurling feel. The ‘Naturally Flowing Thomas Fehlmann Remix’ follows, the Swiss sonic wizard and former member of the legendary The Orb among many other projects delivers deep, throbbing subs and glitched out synth modulations intertwined with fragments of the original composition. ‘Unnaturally Balanced’ then opens the B-Side with Altone diving deeper into dub realms courtesy of ever alternating, billowing dub echoes and a raw, reduced rhythm section. The ‘Another Channel Version’ of ‘Unnaturally Balanced’ then rounds out the EP, embracing a more classic dub techno aesthetic as crunchy drums, swirling atmospherics and spaced out echoes ebb and flow amongst one another across the six and half minute duration.

Alter is proud to present the debut full length release from devotional music outfit Unstern, a collaborative effort between deep ambient artist Arzat Skia and prodigal pianist Leo Svirsky. Co-mixed by Swedish electronic music luminary Civilistjävel! and Arzat Skia and mastered to tape by Stefan Betke, the album features lush electronics, two pianos refracting across the stereo field, processed recordings from the Peruvian Amazon, bowed percussion by Greg Stuart, alongside strings and renaissance meantone organ recorded at Orgelpark in Amsterdam.

The results are an abundant audio illusion where what seemingly repeats slowly over time morphs in a manner where the destination escapes the departure point with extreme discretion, a reverent nod to Morton Feldman's compositional method of "Crippled Symmetry."

Throughout Es Geht Der Tag there is a muted, refined melancholy imbued with a constantly fluctuating pulse which generates a sense of temporal disorientation, leaving the listener lost in a strange yet not at all unfamiliar sonic labyrinth. It is a journey whereby a glorious subtle tension exists between the grandiose and the restrained.

This is environmental music, not in the sense of capturing nature itself, more with regards to an unfolding of audio elements which move in a manner in tune with the multitude of flows in the world.

Unstern’s Es Geht Der Tag is a deep mental journey, rich in subtle transcendental tendencies and psychic liberation.

Biomes are little worlds of organic relationships, full of struggles, symbiosis, and sheer obsolete noise. In "De Silenti Natura," Henrique Vaz is meticulously crafting synthetic auditory biomes, sprouting from their own fuzzy logic. Unfolding across two distinct acts, the Brazilian artist interprets and replicates the complex, often ambiguous sounds of (un)natural environments, creating imaginary systems to inhabit over two sides of tape. The soundscape of the first side and title track is entirely algorithmically synthesized, with no samples used, leveraging Supercollider for real-time sound generation. The environment thus built is a flourishing one, seemingly unable to escape its own grandeur as insect-like buzzing and crackles expands into mountain ranges and forests of erupting sonorous drama. The second side introduces 'hydrophone' water synthesizers, submerged in a goldfish bowl to interface with the unfurling waves of electronic chords, creating a unique blend of damp and unwieldy sloshing movements, prismatically scattered into a luscious soundscape, and resembling everything from the bridge of a starship to the echoed drip-drip of stalactites.

Both sides of the album slowly unwrap and uncrinkle, revealing layers of hisses, distant digital choirs, warm enveloping chords, and juddering bleeps. Despite their unwieldy and strange nature, myriad elements convey a familiar sense of environment, flitting between the blossoming of new (manmade) life and the doom and destruction of the (real) world.

As the ringing of bells (fully synthetic; no samples were used) hove into view during the closing movement of side one, a simulacrum cacophony of voices is ushered in. It’s a reminder of the holy nature of sound itself, beamed into our heads intangibly. The flipside’s water ritual, frantically dunking ‘water synthesizers’ to birth swooping melodies and yawning tones, is jabbing at sleeping giants. It’s pushing and pulling the stars in the night sky into place. It’s both a simple act of beautiful creation, and a storm in a teacup.

Black Truffle is thrilled to announce a reissue of Chico Mello and Helinho Brandão’s self-titled release from 1984, the first return to vinyl of this classic of Brazilian experimental music with its original cover art and complete track listing. An under-recognised figure whose work inhabits a singular terrain where radical new music techniques and music theatre meet musica popular brasileira, Mello has lived and worked in Berlin since the late 1980s. A student of Dieter Schnebel, Mello played in the 90s iteration of Arnold Dreyblatt’s Orchestra of Excited Strings alongside compatriot Silvia Ocougne, with whom he produced a radical and hilarious deconstruction of MPB classics on Musica Brasileira De(s)composta (an early and rather atypical release on Edition Wandelweiser).

On this release, his only recording predating his move to Europe, Mello works with the alto saxophonist Helinho Brandão, who appears to be otherwise unknown outside Brazil. The record’s six tracks range from solo saxophone improvisation to densely layered ensemble works bridging minimalism, acoustic sound art and a plaintive melodic sensibility that calls up Edu Lobo or Milton Nascimento. Beginning with a dramatic, dissonant wind and string surge from which emerge ominously pounding piano chords, opener ‘Água’ slowly builds in intensity, a halo of clustered vocal harmonies gradually closing in on Brandão’s squealing sax until the piece opens up to reveal a gorgeous passage of melodic singing. The piano accompaniment reduces to tolling bass notes as the voice begins a repeated incantation, suggesting a ritualistic atmosphere reminiscent of parts of Xenakis’ setting of Oresteia. Dissonant, sawing tremolos on the strings climb to a crescendo before disappearing into the sounds of water being poured and splashed into metal vessels, presented not as a field recording but as a percussive element performed by the ensemble. A child’s voice then appears, singing to piano accompaniment the same melody heard earlier in the piece. After a brief solo alto improvisation from Brandão, working with the guttural pops and fleeting melodic gestures of Braxton or Roscoe Mitchell, the remainder of the first side is dedicated to the leisurely unfolding of ‘Baiando’ over the course of twelve minutes. A trio for Brandão on soprano saxophone, Mello on a very period-appropriate phased nylon string guitar and Edu Dequech on bongos, the performance eases its way hypnotically through subtle variations on a set of rhythmic and melodic patterns, almost derailed at points by Brandão’s wild forays into extended technique but held together by Mello’s droning guitar notes.

The second side opens with another multi-part epic for a larger ensemble, ‘Matraca’, which makes use of strings, electric guitars and a wide range of South American percussion instruments. Rasping violin harmonics hover as drum hits, repeated guitar notes and triangle accompany a slowly descending bass glissando. A sudden change in direction introduces a thrumming, incessantly repeated bowed bass tone, beginning a series of episodes of minimalist phasing and pattern variation, the combinations of electric guitars and orchestral instruments giving the ensemble an ad hoc charm like the early Penguin Café Orchestra but with more percussive drive. Eventually the piece is overrun by a cacophony of the titular matracas (a kind of ratchet/cog rattle). Following a lyrical trio improvisation by Mello, Brandão and Gerson Kornin on bass, the final ‘Danca’ focuses entirely on Mello’s layered acoustic guitars and vocals, using this restricted palette to build up a haunting piece of almost orchestral density, reminiscent of the 70s work of Egberto Gismonti in how it thickens a folkish ambience with harmonic sophistication.

Arriving in a starkly beautiful gatefold sleeve and sounding better than ever in its new remaster, one might call the stunning music contained on Chico Mello/Helinho Brandão ahead of its time. But what (other than some of Mello’s own work) produced in the years since its initial release has really touched the organic fusion of minimalism, free improvisation, radical instrumental technique and popular song achieved here? Forty years after its first release, Chico Mello/Helinho Brandão remains music of the future.