Posts Tagged ‘Ambient’

Prohibited Records – 27th October 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

The… the… you know? Clicking fingers, gesticulating, waving hands in a rolling motion around your ears. The… thing? The… you know? The thing? The thing!

We’ve all been there. It’s on the tip of your tongue, the fringes of your memory. It hangs like a shadow, a fraction beyond the reach of the active brain. You curse your mind because you know it, and your interlocutor would, too, if only they had a clue what you were on about. The thing. The fucking thing.

The very prospect of reviewing Shane Aspergen’s EP flung me into a spin , because the title tossed me into the frantic headspace in which words run out and everything feels overwhelming, and it’s all down to the title. Because… well, that’s the thing. What is the thing? And how do you even begin to describe it?

This EP, we’re told, ‘comes as a precursor to a forthcoming album (tentatively titled Emblems of Transmuting Heat) that was finished a few months prior to the conceptualization of this four-track EP. While recent in its development, the music originates from the same period of transition, during which Shane Aspegren relocated from Hong Kong to Los Angeles.’

It feels like the sonic articulation of transition, of movement, and it feels transitory, ephemeral, fleeting moments, some of which leave an indelible imprint, others which fade instantly or barely even register in the moment. Precisely how or why this is, it’s hard to pinpoint with any kind of exactitude. But then, that feels like the point: the pieces are impressionistic sound collages. It’s a molecular morass of clamorous, scrabbling treble and scratching insectoid busyness and bubbling synthines which dissolves in a fuzzy hum and clatter; a cross of Gregorian chant, ambient, experimental electronica, and dance.

Aspegren explains how the title track ‘is a complete reworking of a different piece [he] started in 2022. “I completely abandoned the original in its initial form — the raw vocalizations were the only thing that I wanted to keep when I went back to revisit those sessions. The voices were recorded as a form of cathartic release during a period of time that I was heavily exploring voice and frequency as a form of somatic connection and release. In the end, this morphed through several different iterations, and finally turned into this version more than a year later, after moving to LA.” The sense of movement here is one of a forward propulsion, which comes largely from the subtle but insistent beat.

‘Imaginal Pathway’ is but a brief interlude, as was intended, penned as an interlude for the Imaginal Pathways app for which Aspegren was the lead artist. It’s a mere minute and a half – of eddying ambience layered with light, hovering drones which bends and droop amidst birdlike tweets, over which a narrative – seemingly lifted straight from an education video – explains the workings of the ear, a ‘magical’ organ ‘which transports perceptual vibrations from the physical realm into the experiential’.

The final track, ‘iTiS’, is the most recent composition, which came about following his relocation, with Aspegren recounting “It started with a Moog Subharmonicon improvisation and turned into a slow build of layers and structure. Strangely, it feels like the oldest track to me… like I made it in another era of my life.”. It certainly sounds like music from another era, too, the contemporary kit very much harking back to more vintage analogue sound. There’s a soft, squelchiness to the bass tones, a blurring edge to the broad space-filling sweeps. But perhaps sometimes the equipment determines the mood and the sound more than the creator. Either way, it makes for a fitting close to the EP – for having brought the listener through a journey of upheaval, of uncertainty, of feeling unsettled, it ends with what feels like a sense of final settlement, of resolution. And end, but also a new vista, and the possibility of a new beginning.

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Ipecac Recordings – 13 October 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Having recently aired the video for the last single cut from Venera’s eponymous debut, in the form of ‘Ochre’ featuring HEALTH, I was feeling energised to explore their eponymous debut.

As their bio outlines, “Venera enigmatically launched their debut single ‘Swarm’ in July. No information, no pre-sale, simply the three-minute single released in tandem with a mysterious screed and a pulsating black-and-white video directed by EFFIXX.”

Some of the excitement is dulled by the unveiling which followed, as the band subsequently revealed themselves as James Shaffer (Korn) and Atlanta-based composer/filmmaker, Chris Hunt. Why? Not because I’m down on Korn: they’re an act I’ve never really felt any gravitation towards. Wrong place, wrong time. But essentially Venera are another supergroup / side project for a major act, which means they’ve already got a head start which places them head, shoulders, and torso above pretty much any other ‘new’ band. What’s more, several guests join Hunt and Shaffer on Venera. Drummer Deantoni Parks (Mars Volta, John Cale) plays on ‘Erosion’ and ‘Disintegration,’ HEALTH’s Jacob Duzsik contributes vocals on ‘Ochre’ and Alain Johannes lends his voice to ‘Triangle.’ The album was self-produced.

Should it matter? Probably not: I judge any music on its own merits, but I am aware that music doesn’t necessarily reach an audience or receive exposure based on the same criteria.

But here we are, and on merit alone, Venera is a strong album: dark, atmospheric, electronic and often beat-driven, but with layers of noise. It couldn’t be much further from Korn, stylistically. The album has range, too: ‘Erosion’ is like minimalist drum ‘n’ bass contrasts powerfully with the surging, enigmatic ethereality of ‘Ochre’. ‘Triangles’ finds Alain Johannes deliver a magnificent vocal that sits somewhere between Scott walker and David Bowie, crooning and emoting over a slow, dense backing of thick but dispassionate 80s synths reminiscent of The Sisters of Mercy’s Floodland. Clocking in at under four minutes, it feels as if it’s only just beginning to take form – not so much unfinished, but it just could do with there being… More.

‘Disintegration’ transitions between bombastic doom and frenzied blasts of noise, an enigmatic pancultural implosion that hints at Eastern influences, but also melts in droning sonorous low-end synths, and percussion that sounds like a brutal attack. In the context of this week’s world news, it simply makes me feel tense, but it’s but a brief passage before it shifts to clattering jazz-inspired energy rattling around amongst the drift. ‘Holograms’, featuring VOWWS is perhaps the album’s biggest surprise: a slow-burning ethereal and dreamy trip-hop song with a vaguely industrial / gothic edge, it’s supremely well-realised and has immense radio potential.

As a critic, declaring something to be ‘good’ or ‘not good’ feels somewhat redundant, like a teacher leaving comments on a piece of homework. Technically, this is good. Sonically, it’s good. The songs – where there are songs – are good: atmospheric, evocative, haunting – while the same is true of the instrumental passages. Venera succeeds sonically, and as a significant departure for its contributors. And perhaps, over time, I shall come to appreciate it more personally. But first impressions are conflicted: I like it, I like what it does, but I simply don’t feel an emotional connection, there’s nothing that elicits a physical pull in my chest or in my gut.

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Kranky – 13th October 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

One thing I’ve learned as I’ve grown older (apart from the fact you never grow younger, despite the fact that I was amused to recently stumble upon the ‘people also ask’ Google question prompt ‘Is Benjamin Button a true story?’), is that a diversified appreciation of music is particularly useful as you come to recognise the diversified nuances of mood. Adherents to a single genre: how do they deal? How do they find the right soundtrack?

I’m not previously familiar with the music of Justin Walter, but the accompanying notes inform me that it ‘veers between nebulous and numinous, coaxed from the translucent tonalities of his signature instrument, the EVI (Electronic Valve Instrument)’ and that ‘Destroyer, his latest, and third for Kranky, marks his most multifaceted work yet. Inspired by minimalistic urges (evading grandiosity, condensing scope, embracing spatial restraint) tempered with the drama of triptychs (becoming, destruction, aftermath), the album’s 11 tracks thread.’

If the album’s title implies aggression and obliteration, it’s overtly organic analogue synth vibes are quite the opposite. That isn’t to say it’s all shades of mellowness, because Walter weaves in extraneous noise and all sorts and messes with the dials to render soft tones bent and broken, twisted and warped to create a less than silky-smooth air of tranquillity at times. But at others, there are some simply magnificent passages where you feel calm and at ease. The title track is exemplary: it’s an ambient work at heart, soft, supple, gentle, but with serrated edges and spiny burrs that occasionally break through the surface.

Walter obviously has a clear sense of flow. The eleven pieces on Destroyer flow seamlessly from one to the next, and as a consequence, Destroyer feels like an album, despite the contrasts which present themselves across the work. The flow begins with an instant attention-grab in the wibbly shape of ‘For Us’, which blasts in with a blaring drone over which phasey noodles tangle over in ever-increasing layers with adrenalizing effect. While the majority of the album is rather softer, a defining feature of the composition is the exploration of interplay between tones and timbres and the notes their timings gradually shift to create the subtlest of tensions. This is particularly noticeable duribg the second half of the album, which feels slower, softer, and more soporific than the first half. Close your eyes, exhale slowly, and you really start to absorb Destroyer. And you have every reason to do that.

‘Cliff the Cloudcatcher’ is a gentle, bubbling synth piece, while the eight-minute ‘Inner Voices’ is a mellifluous movement in many directions simultaneously, which pulls together to take form, becoming graceful, and in places the sounds mimic woodwind, but sculpted into something otherly… backwards, perhaps, and the sounds bend and push and pull – gently, but they do – before a darker turn around two minutes in brings shade, clouds thickening and becoming denser.

Destroyer distinguishes itself from so many other ambient-orientated works by virtue of its dynamics. There are some thick, tones and dense blankets of noise which present themselves, often emerging from cloud-like drifts of near-nothing. But these moments of rising tension resolve to easy washes and ripples of sound, to cloud-like softness.

And this is the album’s real accomplishment, in that is balances many shades, many tones, many textures. Those darker passages serve to remind that life isn’t all easy or plain sailing, and that plans can go wrong. You can set the controls for plain sailing, but there will always be disturbance, disruption. Whatever you plan or expect, there will always be deviation.

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Dret Skivor – 1st September 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

This twenty-two-minute continuous composition is ‘A consideration and contemplation of the stupidity of people who have more money they could ever spend and fritter it away on dick-waving projects instead of paying the tax they should be paying and contributing to society’, adding ‘Billionaires shouldn’t exist at all and we need to start having this conversation.’

Yes. Yes. And yes. It’s been something I’ve been silently raging and experiencing existential agony over in recent months. During the summer, half the planet was on fire. Meanwhile, tax-avoiding billionaires were jetting off into space and planning cage fights to settle the argument of who’s the bigger testosterone-fuelled egotistic manchild.

August saw Oregon flooded following hurricane Hillary and a billion-dollar plus restoration project in its wake: the same week, Virgin Galactic was jetting people into space for fun at a cost of around half a million dollars a ticket. If the ticket fees had been put towards the recovery operation, they’d be well on the way. But these cunts just don’t care. Fuck the plebs in their flooded homes: they’ve all got multiple penthouses well above sea level and they’ve earned their jollies – through the labour of the people who have so little, and some who have even lost everything.

I suffer corpuscle-busting rage at people who jet off on skiing holidays bemoaning the lack of snow. They’re one of the primary reasons there is no snow. How fucking hard is it to grasp? And if cars and planes are heavy polluters, launching rockets is off the scale. Not that they give a fuck. They’ll be dead before the earth becomes inhospitable to human life, and their hellspawn will have all the money and can go and live on Mars, so everything’s fine in their megarich world.

It begins with a grand organ note, as if heralding the arrival of a bride or clergy…and so it continues. On… and on. Five minutes in, and very little has changed. Perhaps some light pedal tweaks , a shift in the air as the trilling drone continues, but nothing discernible. The note hangs and hovers. It fills the air, with the graceful, grand tone that is unique to the organ, a truly magnificent instrument – and I write that with no innuendo intended, no reference to the Marquid de Sade submerged for my personal amusement here.

Admittedly, I had initially anticipated something which would more directly articulate my frothing fury at the fucked-up state of the world, but begin to breathe and relax into this rather mellow soundtrack… I start to think that this abstract backdrop is the salve I need to bring my blood pressure down, and think that perhaps this is the unexpected purpose of this release… but by the ten-minute mark, I find myself bathed in a cathedral of noise, and before long, it’s built to a cacophonous reverb-heavy blast which sounds like an entire city collapsing in slow-motion. And this builds, and builds. Fuck. I’m tense again. I feel the pressure building in my chest, the tension in my shoulders and back aches. It makes sense. This is the real point of this recording. Everything is fine until you log onto social media or read the news, and you see the state of things. Momentarily, you can forget just how fucking terrible everything is, how the world is ruined and how there is no escape from the dismalness of everything, and how capitalism has driven so much of this, creating a life stealing hell for those who aren’t in the minuscule minority.

Fact: 1.1% of the population hold almost 50% of the global wealth. A further 39% of wealth is held by just 11% of the population. 55% of the world’s population hold just 1.3% of the wealth between them. So remind me, how is capitalism working for the world? Trickle-down economics is simply a lie as the wealthy retain their wealth and simply grow it. Liz Truss may think that the UK importing cheese is ‘a disgrace’, but this statistic is mind-blowing.

Eighteen minutes in and my mind is blown, too. It feels like it could be part of the soundtrack to Threads. It’s a dense, obliterative sound, a blowtorch on a global scale, the sound not of mere destination, but ultimate annihilation. It seems fitting, given the future we likely face.

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Front & Follow / gated canal Community – 6th October 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

When Front & Follow called it a day as a label, it was a sad day, and their subsequent emergence from the mothballs for the Rental Yields series was extremely welcome. This was a project that came from the heart and really showed what F&F was all about – yes, music first and foremost, but also community. By working with a certain network of artists, the label built a community of its own, but there was always a sense of locale which was integral to this, and this is what compelled label-leader Justin Watson to resurrect the label to release a series of fundraisers to help raise money to tackle homelessness in Manchester.

This is a project which has clearly taken on a life of its own, and it seems unlikely that when first touting the idea, Justin could have ever seen the deluge of contributions which would pour in over the coming months. He writes, ‘Over 100 artists are involved (the spreadsheet is fun), each one tasked with creating a new track from the sounds created by someone else –we are then collating the tracks and releasing them over 2022 and 2023… This is VOLUME FIVE –THE FINAL VOLUME. 19 tracks, 38 wonderful artists. All money raised will go to SPIN (Supporting People in Need), whose purpose is to feed, shelter, clothe and generally support the homeless and people in need of Greater Manchester.’

This release simply shouldn’t exist. Homelessness shouldn’t exist, either. Levelling up my fucking arse. This government can’t even manage the basics, and while the imminent cancellation of the stretch of HS2 between Birmingham and Manchester is making all of the headlines and the government are refusing to comment on the ‘speculation’ about the inevitable, insisting that there are many other projects which are equally essential to the plan to provide the north with the same quality of life available to those in the capital, the fact that homelessness remains such a huge issue in Manchester is evidence that they’re not receiving the finding they need either. It’s not just Manchester, but charity begins at home and people can only do so much, so it stands to reason that F&F should donate to a local charity.

The one positive outcome of a truly depressing situation is that all five of the Rental Yields compilations is absolutely superb, and this fifth and final one is a glorious showcase of predominantly regional talent from a city with a long history of producing outstanding music, alongside Leeds. While it’s fair to say that much of this musical output has been born from frustration, it only serves to demonstrate just how much the north has contributed, and continues to contribute, to the nation’s creative output. And a nation without art… is simply dead. Over the last nineteen years, which I’ve spent living in York, I’ve often said that the best thing about living here is its proximity to Leeds. The city’s music scene is phenomenal, and where in London could you watch local / national / international touring bands while supping local ales for four quid a pint?

So, while the fact of the matter is that there should be no need for this album in terms of its social motivation, Rental Yields Volume Five is ultimately yet another essential release in terms of the fantastic music it showcases. More than any of the preceding editions, it’s a murky, atmospheric collection.

I’d been bobbing along nicely to the mellow drift before the penetrating feedback blast that heralds the arrival of ‘Rental Yields Weekend in Manchester Mix’ by Dan Gusset vs Omnibadger. Had to be these buggers, of course. Regular contributors / usual culprits, they bring another layer of discomfort to the party. It’s like Test Dept’s ‘Unacceptable Face of Freedom’ for 2023, a punishing, sample-filled industrial racket that tells it like it is, and without compromise. We live in harsh times, dominated by harsh language from government, and if ‘and then it was gone’ by gormless vs Distant Animals is superficially buoyant, the underlying stains of noise are dark and turbulent and this is the noise that fills our heads day in, day out, as we walk down the street. There is no escape, only the delusion. There is plenty oof harsh reality to be found on here, with thick bass blasts dominating Repeated Viewing vs Four Italian Pep Pils’

Most of the contributors on here are new to me, but as has been the case with all of the previous instalments, the quality of consistency is remarkable, and it’s incredible to think that this is a compilation assembled from open submissions. Rental Yields Volume 5 feels more like a film score than anything else, the tracks showcasing a cohesion and unity our government could only dream of. But then, this what happens when artists come together for a cause. And coming together is the crux here. The entire Rental Yields series is essentially about unity, and also about compassion. The government, and the capitalist world at large needs to learn from this. In the meantime, this glorious compilation provides a much-needed salve to the muscle-twitching rage the societal situation elicits. It’s yet another great album from Front & Follow, who deserve to hang up their virtual boots after this.

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Venera, the hypnotic, ambient duo featuring Atlanta-based composer/filmmaker Chris Hunt and James Shaffer (Korn), have shared a third, and final preview of the pair’s forthcoming album, Venera (Oct. 13, Ipecac Recordings), with today’s release of ‘Disintegration’.

“We hoped to explore drifting, gridless timelines of drums and guitars, which converge midway in a wall of harmony and chorale,” explains Hunt of the five-minute song that features drummer Deantoni Parks (Mars Volta, John Cale). He continues, speaking directly to the video, which also features words by author Blake Butler: “Blake’s text sees and explodes light and experience in a way that is deeply committed to density and emotion – an honest voice in ‘Disintegration.’”

Watch the video here:

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Several guests join Hunt and Shaffer on the self-produced Venera. Parks (Mars Volta, John Cale) also contributes to ‘Erosion’ and HEALTH’s Jacob Duzsik contributes vocals on ‘Ochre,’ and Alain Johannes lends his voice to ‘Triangle.’

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Photo credit: Rizz

Felte FLT-089 – 14th July 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Mission to the Sun is Chris Samuels of Ritual Howls fame (synths, samples, programming) and Kirill Slavin (vocals/lyrics), and comes recommended for fans of Wolf Eyes, Moin, Throbbing Gristle, Coil, The Legendary Pink Dots, Drew McDowall, Suicide, Cabaret Voltaire, etc.

Sophia Oscillations is their second album, and it pitched as ‘an immersive journey through the dark corners of post-industrial music’, whereby ‘The Detroit based duo continues the sonic exploration started on their debut album Cleansed by Fire, while delving deeper into themes of isolation and lost communication. Christopher Samuels’ synths, samples and rhythmic programming is accented by Kirill Slavin’s haunting vocal delivery as the listener receives intersperse audio recordings from the outer reaches of inner space.’ This may seem an unusual angle of approach given their chosen moniker, but the one place hotter than the sun or the earth’s core is the core of what it is to be human. We still understand space better than we understand the deep sea, and the deep sea better than we understand the human mind. There is much scope for exploration in every sphere.

William Burroughs famously described ‘Scottish Beat’ writer Alexander Trocchi as a ‘cosmonaut of inner space’, although he also applied the label to himself, stating ‘In my writing I am acting as a map maker, an explorer of psychic areas, a cosmonaut of inner space, and I see no point in exploring areas that have already been thoroughly surveyed.’

This is an appropriate context for the eight compositions which make up Sophia Oscillations, which are essentislly beatless but strongly rhythmic in form. If they belong to the lineage of the avant-garde and the industrial music of the late 70s, it equally draws on a host of other, more contemporary threads in order to forge something quite different and ultimately new.

‘Drowning’ surges and pulses, rippling waves washing over a slow-treading bassline which wanders up and down, stepping somewhere between DAF and The Cure’s Carnage Visors while the vocals whisper and wheeze low in the mix, a stealthy monotone that’s both tense and detached. Whistles of feedback strain from the speakers and wrap themselves around the whole drifting expanse. Things take a turn for the abrasive on the title track, with machine-gun blasts of noise cutting through grainy swathes of bleak ambience, gradually fracturing and fragmenting quite uncomfortably.

There are hints of medievalism and classical on ‘Censor Sickness’, but they’re melted into a dark murk of muttered voices and unsettling atmospherics, and the combination is quite unsettling and far from comfortable: if anything, it’s queasy, and the minimal yet noisy ‘Unborn’ pushes this to another level: stark, metallic, robotic electronica, it has an 80s dystopian feel which again calls to mind DAF and Cabaret Voltaire. The late 70s and early 80s were exciting because musicians with limited means – and ability – were finding ways of using emerging, and increasingly affordable – technology to make music which represented the world in which they found themselves. As such, the emergence of experimental electronic music and industrial music was born out of a collision of multiple factors, none of which will ever recur, and for this reason can never be recreated.

Mission to the Sun aren’t attempting to recreate history here, but instead, Sophia Oscillations finds them processing history through their own filters. ‘Attrition’ brings together post-rock and crunching industrial electronica with a dash of Gary Numan and more detached spoken-word vocals, and it’s a hybrid that isn’t easy to process, because it all feels so alienating. But then, articulating alienation always does.

The churning grind of ‘Cornerstone’ sounds like the intro to something by Big Black, but instead of Roland kicking in, alongside a relentless bass, it just grinds on and on, and it’s dark and messy. Once again, Slavin’s voice is half-buried in the mix: it’s difficult to decipher the words, and his voice hovers, blank, flat, vaguely Dalek-like, in the vein of Dr Mix, but less harsh.

Sophia Oscillations is a challenging album. Yes, it’s unsettling, bleak, stark sparse, but the hardest part is the fact it doesn’t confirm to any one genre, it doesn’t follow any obvious or specific form, and it’s not the fact that it’s unsettling and difficult to find a place for it that’s the issue, but the fact it keeps you tense and on edge for its duration. But, perhaps even more than that is the fact it feels removed from anything human. But it’s not so far removed as to be alien. The brain simply isn’t equipped to process the inhuman– or the near-human-but-not-quite, the uncanny, the unheimlich. Because we recognise it, and yet we don’t. Sophia Oscillations brings the challenge right in front of your face. Sit back, draw breath, process. This isn’t an easy ride.

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nynode intermedia – 7th July 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Sometimes, a title just captures the imagination. And in some respects, art – be it a book, an album, or a movie, will take one unawares in the same way as a new person. Sometimes, it’s something unexpected at precisely the right time, discovering something you don’t even know you need until it’s there. To select a quote from what may appear to be an unlikely source, ‘just when you least expect it, just what you least expect’, sang The Pet Shop Boys on ‘Love Comes Quickly’. It’s a great line because it so succinctly summarises the unpredictable nature of life, and this wordy title tripped a similar trigger, which, I accept is uniquely personal…. But then, in the personal lies the universal. It must be so true for many that we’ve met the right person, but at the wrong time, for whatever reason.

And so it is that I’m spiralling on a chute of reflection, a wall of mirrors inset with faded and distorted memories of people I’ve met and lost along the way as I begin to ease myself into what ultimately proves to be a remarkably diverse album, with deft compositions flitting between retro electronica, sparse techno, trance and shoegazy electrombience – and a lot more besides. Other times, mood-dependent, I may find the perceived lack of identity frustrating, the gentle mellifluousness without any obvious focus nigglesome, but right here, right now, I’m ready to experience transportation. And having emerged from a journey for the artists, If We Had Met Earlier Things Might Have Turned Out Differently feels like a suitable soundtrack.

As the accompanying notes recount, ‘Hours of recorded improvisations were arranged afterwards to slowly shape what would be the new sound of the duo. After three years of experimenting and writing various compositions the album slowly began to unravel itself and took its final form. Eleven unique pieces — deep explorations of sound — that all have their own story to tell are assembled in this collection of snapshots from the past years.’

In some ways, then, If We Had Met Earlier Things Might Have Turned Out Differently is more of a work of sculpture than composition, moulding and shaping the recordings into pieces with form and structure. Rising from a mist of gentle ambience, ‘Arbour’ soars, but is pinned down by a solid martial drum and ambulant, bulbous bass.

Listening to the ominous discordant experimentalism of ‘X’, I reflect on the fact that there was a time I’d have found this boring, just as I’d have cringed at anything remotely jazz-flavoured and sneered at anything overtly dance, before the clattering mess of ‘Techno | Hovestaden’ arrives, chanking and chiming over some ponderous keys, rippling piano, and evolving drones. In the background, as the piano plays mellow chords, there’s a banging tune giving it large way off in the distance, and it’s like hearing a neighbour’s music through your own. It’s irritating, but it’s real: as William Burroughs wrote, ‘life is a cut up’.

‘Ghost’ is suitably eerie, and ‘Shinjuku’ goes all-out tweaking electro, straddling late 90s dance and new age which just shouldn’t work and I should detest, but having lived through this and experienced a somewhat fractious relationship with tunes like ‘The Sun Rising’ and ‘Sadeness Part 1’, I’m rather more at peace with the incorporation of diverse elements to conjure sensations of spaciousness and spirituality, as long as they don’t involve pan pipes. Gotta have limits, y’know. This doesn’t actually sound like these musical forebears, but it feels as if there’s a certain context and progression at play here. The present only exists because of the past.

We’re plunged back into ominous drone territory with ‘Odessa’, and its warping grind which quavers up and down is most unsettling, building to a droning roar that’s hard not to equate to missiles and jets as the oppressive buzz grows louder.

The looming brass and slow, deliberate percussion of the spacious ‘Noon’, as it trickles slowly toward the album’s soft ending, with clattering percussion slowly marking a long wind-down before ‘Tide’ smoothy washes everything away to a smooth, blank state once more.

So what does this say? It says Hellas have conjured a majestic work from – well, who knows what source material? How much of this album came to fruition in the wake of its recording? And how much does it matter? It’s not as it’s an AI work, contentiously bypassing human input: pianist Peter Sabroe and drummer Jeppe Høi Justesen, with the assistance of producer Brian Batz have created something with personality, intricacy, depth. If I’d have heard it ten years ago, I’d have hated it: now… it reaches me. It’s an accomplished work, subtly complex and possessing significant depth. It’s amazing how things can turn out.

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26th June 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

‘Industrial’ is a definition that’s shifted significantly over the years. The shift seems to have come some time in the late eighties or early nineties, when the likes of Ministry and Pitch Shifter were breaking into a much more mass-market audience: the former smashed MTV with the singles from Psalm 69, with even Beavis and Butthead getting down to ‘NWO’ and proclaiming ‘even the old dude is cool’ in reference to William Burroughs’ appearance in the video to ‘Just One Fix’. It seems hard to reconcile the enormity of that album with the face of music in the media now, but the early 90s really were something. You’ll read endlessly about how Nirvana smashed open the doors and so on, and perhaps to an extent that’s true, but they were simply a part of the zeitgeist in an era when MTV focused on ‘M’, and you would find bands like Soundgarden and Butthole Surfers and Rage Against the Machine being played alongside ‘Sabotage’ by The Beastie Boys, and it didn’t seem incongruous with all the mediocre pap because, well, that was what people were listening to. I even picked up a Therapy? live bootleg CD in a record shop while on holiday in Venice in the summer of ’94. I was excited, but it didn’t seem particularly strange at the time. Pitchshifter, meanwhile, had named their debut album Industrial, and it was fucking heavy, but it wasn’t until they changed their sound and rode the wave of sports metal around the turn of the millennium that they got popular, doubtless aided by their intersection with The Prodigy.

But because of the bracketing of these bands as ‘industrial’ in the 90s, the original characteristics of what had previously been deemed ‘industrial’ became buried, and forgotten. It’s hard to really find a connection between Ministry and the likes of Throbbing Gristle and Cabaret Voltaire (at least musically: they all loved Burroughs, but Jourgensen’s fascination was more about the junkie guru legend, whereas TG and The Cabs were into exploring ways of applying the cut-ups and Burroughs’ tape experiments of the late 50s and early 60s to music.

Binary Order sit firmly in the bracket of contemporary industrial, or what many refer to as Industrial Metal, and with this release they really show their influences and wear them with pride.

Now, I do get somewhat twitchy when the running order of a review stream or download differs from the Bandcamp stream or whatever, because the flow of a release is important – at least to me, and I tend to consider the overall flow of a release in my appraisal of its success.

So we’re going with the Bandcamp sequence here, which kicks off with lead single and title track, ‘Thrown Away’, a cover of the song by the oft-maligned nineties nu-metal act Papa Roach, who, remarkably, are still going and releasing albums at a steady rate. Are people really still buying this shit? Rap Metal was surely one of the worst things to have happened to music… but here it is. They blast off the four-track EP with a chunky riff-dense rendition of ‘Thrown Away’, and with that out the way, be can finally turn to the rest of the EP.

The remaining three tracks are remixes of songs from their debut album, Songs from the Deep, released in November of last year. The ‘Bleeding Mix’ of ‘Parasite’ is a gut-churning gurgle of stuttering electronica, that starts with a pumping, shuddering beat and a quivering synth groove which provides a stark backdrop to the raw vocals… but then it gets a bit ravey and autotune and straddles the uncomfortable intersection between dancefloor and sonic assault.

The Arcadmix Remix of ‘A Good Death’ is altogether more atmospheric and moody, and works well, largely because it’s neither overtly dancey nor Industrial / Nu-Metal. The six-and-a-half-minute ‘Irreversible Mix’ of ‘Hands of Time’ manifests as a long, oppressive, darkly ambient drone that’s a real departure from the rest of the EP.

The diversity is the key strength of this release, paired with the fact that it shows a band wanting to push their limits and aren’t especially precious about how their material is reshaped or adhering rigidly too their chosen genre.

AA

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Waxing Crescent Records – 7th July 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Since parting ways with Gavin Millar and worriedaboutsatan, Thomas Ragsdale has been incredibly busy recording both as Ffion and Sulk Rooms, as well as playing synths with Mancunian post-rock act Pijn. Looking at his bandcamp, you wonder how he has time to piss, let alone sleep.

The Incidental Crack, meanwhile, are no strangers to these pages either, and Simon Proffitt, Rob Spencer and Justin Watson are hardly idlers when it comes to creativity, with The Incidental Crack Does Nothing, released almost a year ago to the day from this release, following two albums in 2021.

And as the accompanying notes explain, it’s this shared love of the act of creating that brought the two together: ‘Split was created through the desire to collaborate. Thomas Ragsdale and The Incidental Crack spoke about the idea of working on a split release and then all hurried away into their studios to get to work. The split idea soon become a reality as music was exchanged ready to share.’

The title is factual, and gives nothing away, but it’s also descriptive in a way, in that it’s distinctly an album of two halves, complimentary and contrasting.

Sulk Rooms present a single longform composition of some twenty-one-and-a-half minutes in duration: The Incidental Crack’s contribution is of more or less equal length, but spread across three pieces.

Sulk Rooms’ ‘Objects In The Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear’ has no connection to Meat Loaf and his bombastic rock, and is instead a big, slow-moving mass of ambience, which has a density and shade as well as a certain lightness. ‘Vaporous’ and ‘cloud-like’ are terms I often reach for in the face of such works, but this feels more like standing atop a mountain while the cloud thickens to the point that there is no visibility, to the point that you’re unable to even discern the presence of your own body, and so dense as to be suffocating – perhaps more like a smog or smoke. Tim Hecker managed to create such a sensation the time I saw – or, more accurately, was present, when he played in Leeds a few years back. The smoke was so dense and the lighting so minimal as to induce a kind of sensory deprivation. But with the swirling sounds all around, there was, simultaneously, sensory overload. You need balance: many of us are reliant on multiple senses, and those who lack sight, hearing, often experiencing a sharpening of the senses which do function. But his is not an immediate thing, and to suddenly find oneself with restrictions, it’s a shock of sorts. And so while ‘Objects In The Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear’ is soft and tranquil, the experience isn’t entirely soothing as I feel an inner tension grow as the time drifts and dissolves, diffusing in reverberating waves of vocal samples.

The Incidental Crack’s three cuts are descriptively titled and combine elements of the dramatic and the mundane to intercut aspects of pathos with bathos to somewhat comic effect.

‘Rob To Holland Via Köln And Back Again’ sounds like is should have something of a travelogue feel, but is, in fact, a work of dark ambience with deep tensions evoking the chilling fear of The Cold War, while ‘Lawnmower Death And Subsequent Resurrection’ isn’t an homage to the parodic thrash band Lawnmower Deth, but a soundtrack to the trauma of dealing with tools and appliances when they don’t function as intended. Yes, most of us have been there, but to feel it so bluntly and boldly is impactful. This – if I’m not mistaken – the sound of a guy recording his DIY and the like before seeking a narrator. Yet, there are some dark atmospherics too, and thee overall sensation is ominous rather than uplifting. And by that measure, the ‘Bus Stops In Wigan’ must be pretty fucking terrifying: places to avoid in bleak territories.

As split albums go, it’s absolute perfection in that it gives you everything you want. If the two acts operate very differently in formal terms, both have created deep, dark works here that make for a release that’s wide-ranging, interesting, and just a little scary.

AA

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