Posts Tagged ‘Dark-Ambient’

D L F – Korset i Röjden

Posted: 8 February 2025 in Albums, Reviews
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Dret Skivor – 7th February 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

I do like an album with a story. With Korset i Röjden by D L F, we get half a story, but one which builds a sense of mystique, enigma, a sort of allusion to local folklore, set out in the notes which accompany the release:

‘There’s a place in the forest, in the shape of a cross, where nothing grows. No one knows how it got there, or why.

60°33’48.6"N 12°39’15.6"E

The two recordings on Korset i Röjden capture sounds and vibrations in and around the cross. A geophone, a few contact mics, an H6, a smartphone, and a broken cassette recorder. Track two, ‘Den onda ska pressas ur’, features samples from a 1963 television documentary, an old Finnish lullaby, and taped interviews with locals from the 1990s.’

This has got it all: mythology, mystery, co-ordinates – a map, in other words – and the kit, the foundations for a sonic retake of The Blair Witch Project, perhaps. There is a strong sense of there being something hat isn’t right. Granted, I get that from simply breathing the air, from turning on the news – but this is quietly unsettling. Very quietly, in places: the first two minutes or so of ‘Korset’ are almost the sound of silence. Turn it up, and there is the sound of air, a soft breeze, perhaps, some kind of background noise. Insects? Footsteps? The rustle of leaves? Perhaps, but just as nothing grows in that unexplained cross marked in the forest, so it seems there is little sound. No birdsong, no… nothing. Has anyone ever run a metal detector over the sight? Considered digging?

I mention digging with caution. There is a wood close to where I live, a portion of which has been decimated in the last three years or so by dirt bikers who have turned the space into a track with jumps and ditches. It’s clearly not just the work of a couple of kids with spades: these are proper earthworks, excavations, the likes of which have involved adults turning up with mini-diggers. I once witnessed a woman challenging a family who had turned up with motorbikes who were revving around and scaring pedestrians and dog-walkers being met with aggressive verbal abuse. My email reporting the matter was of no consequence. Rather like this narrative detour.

‘Det onda ska pressas ur’ offers another ten minutes of haunting dark ambience – unsettling, disorientating. It rumbles and echoes around infinite subterranean corridors, leading to who knows where? There are sounds – possibly the pushing through undergrowth, possibly almost anything else. Wraiths whisper through the clicks and crackles, hums and pops… is that breathing or simply the breeze?

Korset i Röjden tells us nothing, other than that the world is a dark and unpredictable place. It’s a dark and unpredictable album. But it hints that we should fear, and fear the worst. There are dark forces all around, and while the insanity of the world right now is more than reason to take cover, it’s worth remembering that there are other things a play.

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Vomitriste – Black Abyss Invocation

Posted: 24 January 2025 in Albums, Reviews
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Roman Numeral / Machine Tribe Recordings – 24th January 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Having premiered ‘Opilione’ just over a week ago as a taster for this blackest of black sonic expulsions, I’ve now had some time to digest the album in its entirety. And it’s an acrid, acidic tang of bile which burns the throat and scorches the trachea, and a bilious discomfort which emanates from every noxious moment of this absolutely hellish effort.

The Finnish duo’s Bandcamp simply describes them as ‘BLACK VOID NOISE’, and it’s hard to better that, really. Black Abyss Invocation, which essentially launches Vomitriste phase two, having drawn the curtain on phase one with the Droneworks (2022-2024) compilation.

Black Abyss Invocation is relentlessly dark. In fact, it goes beyond being merely ‘dark’: darkness connotes an absence of light. Here, Vomitriste create a negative balance, subtracting, subtracting, endlessly subtracting, sucking out both light and air, like a black hole which drags the listener into a vortex of perpetual purgatory, while hanging over the smouldering pits of hell.

‘Opilione’ is entirely representative: each of the album’s six compositions last between five and eight minutes, providing ample time for the agonizing atmospherics to wrack every one of the senses in the most torturous fashion, and seeming to manifest in physical ways as you find your skin crawling and your muscles tense.

The album opens with ‘Void Sermon’ – a rumbling blanket of sound that’s between dark ambience and harsh noise wall at first, before vocals – rasping, demonic screams, shit-your-pants inhuman – roar in before the very bowels of hell open wide and drag you down, down, down. Void Sermon? Void bowels would be equally apt.

From here, it’s less about progression, as slow subtraction. Listening to Black Abyss Invocation, I find myself reflecting on various methods of punishment and torture from throughout the ages – rat torture, for instance, or coffin torture, or the breaking wheel. The slow, agonising tortures which almost invariably resulted in a protracted and extremely painful death. Or perhaps, one I discovered on a visit to York dungeons, the ‘blood eagle’, referenced in Norse literature. Certainly, by the arrival of ‘Fleshwards’, on feels as if one’s ribs are being severed from the spine with a sharp tool, and the lungs pulled through the opening to create a pair of “wings” – because this is brutal, cacophonous noise and howls of anguish echo from subterranean caverns without mercy. To survive to the end of the album is to still be awake and alive in the hell that is life on earth in 2025.

Black Abyss Invocation is truly the stuff of nightmares: there is no escape from the abyss, and there is none more black.

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Ian J Cole – The Fraser Syndrome

Posted: 27 November 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Sinners Music Records – 3 November 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

The line ‘hell is other people’ comes from the 1944 play ‘No Exit’ by Jean-Paul Sartre, and it’s something that many of us find relatable. Indeed, it’s a line which more or less summarises my world view. One of the few settings I feel comfortable with multiple ‘other people’ (I’m on with one on one or very small groups, at least in moderation) is in a live music setting, because I can choose whether or not to interact, can limit interaction to the brief times between acts, and – and this is significant – the kind of people I find myself sharing a space with tend to be less representative of the general population. Most of us do have ‘our people’; the only trouble is finding them.

Ian J Cole’s latest work is a concept album based on No Exit ‘whereby Three damned souls, Joseph Garcin, Inèz Serrano, and Estelle Rigault, are brought to the same room in Hell and locked inside by a mysterious valet. They had all expected torture devices to punish them for eternity, but instead, find a plain room with no windows, mirrors and permanent strip lighting. They are all afflicted with fused eyelids or Fraser Syndrome where they can’t ever close their eyes and must spent [sic] eternity in this room and in this state.’

The Fraser Syndrome, from which the album takes its title is a rare genetic disorder characterized by fused eyelids.

Sartre seems to have essentially inverted the effects of the condition, but being unable to either open or close one’s eyes is a terrifying prospect. What’s worse: see nothing, or see everything? Cole’s album is based on the latter scenario, and presents a disturbing soundscape from which there is no escape.

The album opens with the immense sixteen-minute opus ‘Frightened of Cliches’, a heady blend of light-night jazz, erratic beats, and swirling ambient tension. There’s very much a filmic, soundtrack quality to it, and over its expansive duration, there are gradual shifts. The beats dissipate, there are creaks and groans like the rusty hinges of big metal doors being swing shut.

‘A Beauty Diamond Lipstick and No Mirror’ plunges deep into dark ambience. There are some synth incidentals to be found, wandering, lost, amidst the murk and the chimes, the muffled samples and layers of distortion and dissonance, but this is not an easy listen. It is, however, an intensely focused and coherent work.

‘Thelema’, created in collaboration with The Wave Prophets’ offers some light, and reintroduces the faux sax synth sound that was a central feature of Cole’s live sets a while back. But that smooth 80s vibe is now twisted into an altogether darker concoction, a conglomeration of sound that’s unsettling – and no more so than on the sparse feedback drone and hum of the eight-minute ‘Night Never Comes’: it’s a restless, uncomfortable space which it occupies, echoes and metallic clanking reverberations reverberating through the slow wailing undulations.

The piano-led ‘Hell is Other People’ is unsettling and chimes and tinkles against minor chords, before the album’s second ‘big’ piece, the twelve-minute ‘Three Damned Souls’ looms large in every way. It’s richly atmospheric, and while the atmosphere may not be overtly gloomy, it certainly is unsettling in places. Echoes and eerie whispers reverberate amidst trilling organs, bleeps and trickling electronica.

The final track, ‘Hell is Dead People’ is a live recording, and in some respects feels a bit bolted-on, but it’s a strong piece – piano-led, atmospheric, with discordant cadences playing throughout. It rounds off a solid and focused work. While concept albums can be a bit corny, or feel somewhat forced, The Fraser Syndrome finds Cole immersing himself in the themes and going deep into the psychologically difficult spaces that the source material necessitates, and the result is a strong suite of compositions, and quite possibly Cole’s strongest and most engaging work to date.

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Listen: ‘Ruby Red’ Amber Asylum

Posted: 19 November 2024 in Recommended Streams and Videos, Singles and EPs
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AMBER ASYLUM reveal the title track taken from their forthcoming new album Ruby Red. The tenth regular full-length of San Francisco’s neoclassical dark ambient quartet has been slated for release on February 14, 2025.

AMBER ASYLUM comment: “The title track of our new album, Ruby Red, is a poignant dirge that directly addresses the pain and loss inflicted by the pandemic, riots, war, and the looming specter of death”, frontwoman Kris Force writes. “Its haunting melody resonates with the collective sorrow and anguish felt in the aftermath of recent upheavals. Through mournful vocals and evocative instrumentation, the song serves as a solemn elegy, amplifying the echoes of grief caused by these tumultuous events. Each note carries the weight of collective sorrow, inviting listeners to confront the harsh realities of our world and to find solace in shared experience.”

Listen here:

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In times of trouble, women have often had to bear an even heavier burden throughout history. On their tenth full-length Ruby Red, San Francisco based all-female quartet AMBER ASYLUM offers a haunting reflection on turbulent eras, and blends instrumental passages with evocative lyrics. Ruby Red combines dirges, introspective laments, and powerful songwriting that evoke both despair and hope. The album transitions between themes of pain, loss, empowerment, and mortality, while creating a sonic landscape that is both raw and introspective. "Ruby Red" features bass, classical strings, percussion and kit, modular synthesis and female voices.

Ruby Red differs from its predecessor in the expansion of focus and depth. While earlier albums centered more on personal emotions, relationships, and journeys, Ruby Red broadens its scope to address global issues such as societal upheaval, war, and human rights. This album navigates both the personal and the global, and aims to illuminate the seen and unseen forces that influence our shared reality.

Musically, AMBER ASYLUM balance driving neoclassical elements with the raw power of pounding bass and drums, adding a potent, rhythmic force that contrasts beautifully with the quieter, brooding strings on Ruby Red. The bass and percussion create a compelling pulse that underpins the tracks, adding both intensity and depth to the album’s darker moments.

AMBER ASYLUM have taken inspiration for the lyrical concepts of Ruby Red from significant global issues such as the pandemic, riots, war, political turmoil, the threat to women’s rights, and empowerment, all while maintaining a deep connection to the extramundane. It reflects on mortality and the inevitability of death as part of a greater cosmic order, intertwining these global crises with metaphysical reflections on the resilience of the human spirit.

AMBER ASYLUM were conceived by composer, singer, and multi-instrumentalist Kris Force in the Californian city of San Francisco in 1990. Throughout their ever-changing musical evolution, the band has shifted throughout a variety of styles and collaborated with a host of musicians such as Steve van Till (NEUROSIS), Sarah Schaffer (WEAKLING), John Cobbet (HAMMERS OF MISFORTUNE), Leila Abdul-Rauf (VASTUM), among many others. 

With Ruby Red, AMBER ASYLUM perfectly capture the growing dread and horror of many of a new dark age falling in our time. Yet the Californians balance the eerie and unhinged with a fragile beauty and blossoming of hope. Ruby Red is a most fascinating soundtrack of all that is to come. Listen carefully.

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Ekin Fil – Sleepwalkers

Posted: 7 July 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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The Helen Scarsdale Agency – 14th June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

For some time now, The Helen Scarsdale Agency has homed some quite challenging experimental noise and industrial-orientated releases. It seems somewhat incongruous, the name suggesting they’re a stuffy literary agency or something.

The notes which accompany this latest offering from Ekin Fil are instructive and informative, in terms of expectation and context, and as such, worth reproducing here:

‘The drone-pop consternations of Ekin Fil emerge through vaporous tone and forlorn, distant song, as if plucked from a dream. These exist on their own accord, moving with their own internal logic of an emotion heaviness that belies any the passing observation of this as mere shoegazing ambience. Her songs, her compositions find themselves adjacent the fragmented etherealization of Elisabeth Fraser’s voice from a forgotten scene of a particular David Lynch film, as a ASMR trigger for Proustian recollection. Something profound. Something hidden. Something desolately sad.’

Do I want to feel something sad? This is a question I asked myself in all seriousness. Everyone has felt deep, desolate, profound sadness at some point, to varying depths and degrees, and while wading through the mires of a recent bereavement I find I can be set off easily and unexpectedly. But sadness is necessary, and is sometimes something to be embraced. To embrace sadness is not the same as to wallow, and to face sadness squarely is to accept its presence, and perhaps begin to make peace with it. And only in making peace with it is it possible to begin to move on.

The album’s first piece, ‘Sonuna Kadar’ is a billowing cloud of thick ambience, suffocating, disorientating. Occasional chimes do little to light the way, and the vocals drift, lost, lonely through this tentative space. Things grow darker still with ‘Stone Cold’: long noes echo out like sirens, and soft, fizzy-edged notes ripple before being absorbed by cruising waves of thick, heavy sound. The organ is almost without question the heaviest of sounds, a droning, wheezing sound that has the capacity to be uplifting, but, more often than not, is slow a d mouthful. It’s a synthesized organ drone with slowly throbs away on ‘Reflection’, too lugubrious, soporific effect.

Vocals echo as if reverberating in caverns, cathedrals, while the instrumentation is abstract, its direction unfathomable. ‘Sleepwalkers (Version 2)’ is heavy with atmosphere, and the experience is haunting.

The absence of percussion or structure renders these pieces formless, rootless, shapeless, and consequently they hang like heavy cloaks which drag the head down to the ground, and, staring at your feet you contemplate the weight of the world.

Sleepwalkers is one of those albums which seems to build in effect cumulatively over its duration, and wile it’s not overtly heavy with, say, distortion or volume, it brings a weight that drags you down, and the final composition, the ten-minute ‘Gone Gone’ pulls the shoulders down.

Listening to Sleepwalkers doesn’t fill me with sadness, as much as a sense of unease. It does unquestionably bring a sense of weight, but on listening I feel a sense of uneasiness and uncertainty more than anything. But music presents much of what you pitch in and bring to it. With Sleepwalkers, Ekin Fill presents music with open doors. What will you bring?

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Watch: ‘Sinners Will Inherit The Earth’ by Ulvtharm

Posted: 30 May 2024 in Recommended Streams and Videos, Singles and EPs
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Sweden-based industrial/dark ambient artist ULVTHARM has released his second opus “7 Uthras” on May 3rd via Cyclic Law. The album is available as digisleeve CD (limited to 300 copies), black vinyl (limited to 200 copies), and red & black marbled vinyl (100 copies).

An official video has been released for the song ‘Sinners Will Inherit The Earth’. The video displays a female character – interpreted by the actress Emelina Rosenstielke (Feed) – sitting in a colorless room and in the center of a target painted on the floor. The character, who embodies modern civilization, is apparently afraid of the risks she may incur. Ulvtharm’s arrival on the scene and the subsequent initiation of a ritual reveal the true identity of the character, as well as of our civilization – thirsty for blood and personal success. We are all sinners on this Earth.

Watch it here:

“7 Uthras” is the second release from MZ 412 co-founder Jouni Ollila. Ulvtharm is painting his world as a sprawling, post-apocalyptic industrial wasteland, where humanity clings to survival in the shadows of monolithic factories and decaying cities. Skies choked with ash, and a sun that seldom breaks through the omnipresent smog. Within this landscape, the Seven Uthras exist not as beings of benevolence, but as ancient, god-like entities that emanate from the darkest depths of the earth, commanding forces beyond human comprehension. 7Uthras serves as a sonic gateway to otherworldly realms, offering a glimpse into the abyss that challenges and expands the listener’s perception of the known universe.

The artist masterfully blends the essence of dark industrial soundscapes with layers of mystical ambiance, creating an immersive experience that is both deeply unsettling and profoundly enlightening. This new album is not just an exploration of sound but a journey into the soul of its creator, exploring the chaos and darkness within his imagination. ULVTHARM’s deeper vocal experimentations are weaving a narrative that is both personal and universal. The album’s blend of dark, martial, pulsating rhythms and ambient organic soundscapes invites us to confront the death and ruins of our world. As each track unfolds, we will be drawn deeper into a narrative of chaos and transformation, where the end of one world signifies the birth of another. “7 Uthras” is not just an album; it is a ritualistic journey that seeks to unlock the ancient doors of perception and embrace the darkness as a path to enlightenment. All hail the Serpents, all hail the Seven Uthras!

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Attrition – The Black Maria

Posted: 16 May 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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22nd March 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Everyone has a different way of processing, everyone’s cognition operates differently. It’s all a matter of experience and perception. The broader one’s experience, and also one’s exploration of art – in all media, be it books, music, visual art – the broader the network of intertext and references available. Formative experiences and interactions are also a significant factor in the way we come to shape and comprehend our world. And so it s that the moment I encounter the words ‘Black Maria’, my mind immediately leaps to ‘Afterhours’ by The Sisters of Mercy – my first encounter with the term, long before I would understand that it was a term for a police van. Attrition’s latest release certainly doesn’t elicit images of dark vehicles, but does hint at the seedy backstreet scenes that the Sisters song brings to mind, with its sense of disconnection, of being outside yourself, .the paranoid twitch of sleep deprivation

The album’s brief intro track, ‘The Promise’ is a murky ambient piece with hushed spoken-word vocals which is build a mood, a sense of dark atmosphere and foreboding. This intro track thins has really become a vogue in recent years, to the point that it’s becoming predictable and even frustrating to be presented with an atmospheric opening piece which probably isn’t particularly representative of the album it prefaces.

In the case of The Black Maria, it’s a fair primer for the wildly varied, even cacophonous blend of musicality which follows. ‘The Great Derailer’ brings operatic vocals and some bold technoindustrial grooves, before ‘The Switch’ gives us some techno-heavy goth with strong hints of Twitch-era Ministry woven into the mix. But once again, against the busy backdrop that alludes to the likes of PIG and KMFDM, there are ethereal moans and wails which drape themselves hauntingly. I’ve loosely reminded of some of the contributions Gitane DeMone made to Christian Death around the time of Ashes, or maybe Jarboe on Swans’ Children of God, but this is somehow different, and if anything, more difficult to assimilate.

Attrition bring a vast array of styles to the table for a start. ‘The Pillar II’ is exemplary: a low industrial throb brings a heavy tension, an unsettling uncertainty, which manifests as a discomfiture in the lower regions of the gut. But the wailing wordless vocals evoke tortured souls, wandering in purgatory. There are tense strings swelling and holding a tight grip, you find your chest tightening and it’s hard to swallow for this clench of tension. It evokes physical response: I feel my jaw clench and my breathing growing more laboured as the track builds layers of sound: there’s a hum that tortures the ears, and when it falls away, the sensation is strange, empty.

Music box melancholy prefaces more ultra-tense violins on ‘The Alibi’, which really takes a turn for the disturbing. The dual vocals grate against one another, dark sinister, deranged, almost schizophrenic in their whispers. The layers are busy and there are serpentine instrumental intrusions amidst the strolling piano and skittering strings and the wild cacophony of backing vocals: the effect is absolutely dizzying. The title track draws the album to a close with warping, time-bending synth dissonance and pulsating bass which contrasts with operatic quailing providing the backdrop to a growled, menacing spoken word vocal – and then it goes large near the end, with industrial-strength percussion cutting through the melee.

‘Spooky’ feels like such a weak, tame adjective in the main, but it’s the best I’ve got when it comes to summarising the otherworldly discomfit of the experience that is The Black Maria. But throughout The Black Maria, Attrition channel all of the dissociation and disconnection, and I’d challenge anyone to listen to this and keep their feet completely on the ground.

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ROHRER / TROBOLLOWITSCH / NAMTCHYLAK – Jeito de Ferver

Posted: 7 September 2023 in Albums
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Sonoscopia sonos – 15th September 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Trobollowitsch is certainly a name that sticks in the mind, and so it was that back in 2016, I penned a piece on Roha by the Austrian Sound artist. At the time, I struggled to really connect with his conceptual compositions.

This latest offering finds him working with Thomas Rohrer, a Swiss musician, who ‘plays the rabeca, (a Brazilian fiddle), and soprano saxophone’, and whose work ‘is largely based on free improvisation, but also engages in a dialogue with traditional Brazilian music.’

The collaboration between the pair actually began in 2017, but they didn’t begin work on any recording until January 2021, when, according to the bio, ‘they embarked on a duo project combining Trobollowitsch’s rotating mechanical turntables equipped with branches, wood and dried leaves with Rohrer’s soprano saxophone, small objects and rabeca… During their collaborative recording process, renowned singer Sainkho Namtchylak from the Tuva region contributed her captivating, versatile voice, which she has used to great effect in a variety of musical genres, including jazz and electronic music.’

Given their diverse background and different modes off operation, this collaboration was always going to be not only eclectic, but a collision of diversity, and the question would always be to what extent do they compliment one another, or otherwise pull in such different directions as to render the work more of a competition than a collaboration? Given that both Trobollowitsch and Rohrer are credited with ‘recomposition’ of several tracks, there’s a sense that this effort is defined, if not by friction as such, then by differences, and a working method which entails dissecting and reconstructing, a restlessness and dissatisfaction.

Crackling static and an electrical hum are the key elements of the title track. It’s somehow both spacious and claustrophobic, and as the sounds rumble and echo around, you feel like your shut right in a small room – more like a walk-in cupboard – as the serrated buzzes and grinding drilling sounds fizz and fret all around, gradually warping and twisting, sometimes ballooning and others shrivelling. Suddenly, I jump. Is that my phone vibrating? No, it’s not, it’s a vibration puncturing the third wall, something that sounds like it’s in the room rather than coming from the speakers, which are by now emanating shrill blasts of feedback.

The sound collaging on this album is something else, leaping into the three-dimensional at the most unexpected moments, and the sounds and textures constantly shifting to forge a work which is more than music, more than sound: this is something you feel, not emotionally or cerebrally, but physically: it makes your fingers tingle and move in a quest to grapple with the details. Sometimes those details are dark and demonic, as on the unsettling ‘Ovaa’. The vocals are rasping, gasping subterranean, subhuman grunts and gasps, strangled cackles that cark and bleat and croak and claw up from the sewers. It’s pure horror.

There are undulating, stuttering low-end bumps, there are hornets the size of buzzards as your car breaks down and your skull slowly crumbles as your brain struggles to process everything… anything. This is a soundtrack to something that simply shouldn’t exist; it’s aa soundtrack to your worst nightmares, as yet unimagined.

The production, the panning, the listening experience of interacting with this in the way it’s intended is terrifying and surprising in equal measure, as tweets and twitters occupy the same space as thunderous thumps and insectoid skitters and metallic scrapes and… there’s a lot going on, and it all makes for in accumulate and intense and really rather difficult sort set – not really of compositions, but largely incoherent audio processes. The accumulations and stacking of the sounds is by no means truly random or haphazard, but their assemblage creates as experience which feels altogether more happenstance. It’s a scrappy, scratchy, stop-start mangling of noise, and at times, it’s scary and strange, at other’s it’s ominous and eerie. It’s unsettling, and difficult to absorb. It’s incredible.

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Lee Riley – From Here We are Nowhere

Posted: 27 July 2023 in Albums
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illereye / Eyeless Records – 28th July 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Lee Riley’s works include only minimal information about their inspiration or methodology, often coming only with the advice of ‘loudspeakers or headphones’. This is sound advice – if you’ll pardon the pun – not least of all because try as I might, I have never yet succeeded in listening to anything telepathically. This no doubt sounds incredibly facetious, but I’m only partly joking. With my inbox bursting with more new music than I could ever listen to in ten lifetimes, and that’s assuming a lifetime is a couple of centuries, I often find myself lamenting my inability to simply absorb all of the music by some kind of cerebral osmosis. I have sat and visualised a method whereby I place electrodes to my temples and the files simply transfer, or even a large syringe by which the music could be injected into me. I have similar visualisations about writing. Speech to text dictation programmes simply aren’t enough, it’s not practical for the most part. Since I compose most of what I write in my mind while walking along or doing other things, what I need is thought to text, by which the ideas simply appear on the screen. Way more useful than the AI shit that’s supposedly taking over.

With no detail to contextualise the title, or the sound contained therein, From Here We are Nowhere leaves us to interpret for ourselves, and before I hit play, I feel a sense of pessimism descend upon me from the inference of the phrase. The future is bleak… we are nowhere… lost, adrift, or worse, the connotations are there of ceasing to exist. Perhaps it’s my habit of having news channels on in the background while I go about my day, while I work my dayjob, while I cook on an evening, on mute but with subtitles, and the last week or two have elicited a sense of impending apocalypse. And I ask myself, why has it taken till now, when half the world is either melting or on fire to take climate change seriously. So where do we go from here? Probably nowhere.

The six pieces on this album take the form of dense, suffocating drones: the title track thrums and throbs like a thick, acrid smoke that engulfs your entire being, five-and-a-half minutes of muffled tones that grow in tension. Shards start to scrape and funnel near the end, but then it’s gone, just beyond reach. There is something illusive about this album. It feels as though there are forms to be found, but they’re submerged. ‘Lifting Undertow’ is ominous, and the scrunching scrapes and rattles are menacing, reminiscent of a sensation I experienced in a recurring dream as a child, perhaps most easily described as the visual disturbance of a migraine manifesting in an aural form. It’s all very quiet and low-key, making you feel quite detached from the plane on which the sound is playing out, and this is true of the album as a whole. ‘Undoing These Knotted Times’ is a long, low, sonorous undulating buzz that’s sedative and soporific, but also uncomfortable and queasy, as bleary and blurry as the cover art suggests. As that final note hovers and fades, a desolation grips harder: is there really any scope to undo these knotted times? Or is this simply a painful paradox?

The idea of ‘Staring Through Lit Skies’ feels optimistic, evoking perhaps a sunrise, but the reality is that the serrated drone and scrapes of feedback are more like looking at the searing sun through the smoke of a wildfire. It’s painful, and damaging, and it saps your strength as the only dawning is the realisation that we are all doomed.

I feel in my limbs and in my lungs and in my heart as the final trails of ‘No One Knows What’s Inside’ dissipate into the thick, claggy atmosphere following a crackling hum of distortion and grumbling, and then, there is nothing. And here we are, as we find ourselves… nowhere.

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TUNNELS OF ĀH – THE SMEARED CLOTH (2012 – 2018 UNEARTHED)

Posted: 1 July 2023 in Albums
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Cruel Nature Records – 16th June 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

After calling time on Head of David in 1991, Stephen R. Burroughs re-emerged in 2013 as Stephen Ah Burroughs with recording as TUNNELS OF ĀH, and offering a dark ambient focus. Since the first TUNNELS OF ĀH album, Lost Corridors, Burroughs has maintained a steady output through the years, also working under the FRAG moniker (although this project was conceived in the ‘90s, it wasn’t until much later that recordings would begin to be released).

THE SMEARED CLOTH (2012 – 2018 UNEARTHED), as the title suggests, collects unreleased recordings made between 2012 and 2018 and more recently excavated. You couldn’t exactly call this a cash-in: this is ultra-niche and it is, however, a valuable dredging of the archives.

The cassette release is a double, with volume 1 spanning 2012-2015, and volume 2 spanning 2016-2018, and while an album conceived as an end-to-end listening experience would suffer from the enforced breaks, the (cruel) nature of this release means this isn’t an issue.

Oftentimes, with dark ambient works it feels as if the sounds are drifting out of the air rather than being forged by any kind of instruments, but the warping drones of the first composition, ‘Aceldama’, twist and grind and there’s quite analogue synth feel to it, with distant vocals adding an intriguing depth. In contrast, ‘Garlic Blades’ feels as if it something that has come not from instruments, but from a pair of bellows wheezing in a dank underworld. The two sonic facets come together on the third track, the heavy, stark ‘Brute World’ where drifting drones and creeping atmospherics filter over tense, brooding strings, and this all provides the backdrop to barely-audible incantations in a mystical tongue.

These contrasting elements highlight the range of the recordings featured on THE SMEARED CLOTH – and with twenty-one tracks, the majority of which are over six minutes in length, it’s a substantial document. But despite the contrasts – and the span of time over which the recordings were made – there is a certain cohesion to this collection, and the tracks run from one to the next without there being any jarring leaps.

Repetition is a common feature of the compositions; ‘Keys King at the Womb Again’ is centred around a short loop of a heavy industrial scraping, which equally sounds like a pained bark – or a pained barf, for that matter. Because Burroughs does venture into harsher territories at times, there’s some uncomfortable listening to be had among the drones and hums, scrapes and chants, and there are extended passages of quiet, ominous ambience, sounds without definition or any indication of origin ebb, flow, and eddy, to unsettling effect. The mid-section in particular is given to these more abstract forms, the sounds muted and creeping slowly, stealthily. ‘The Cloth is Smeared’ is exemplary: the words, spoken in an even, ritualistic tone, echo amidst creaking, creeping hums and clattering , and while stylistically worlds away, it harks back to themes that go back to early Head of David: the viscerality of ‘Smears’ (it’s a word which carries so much power and evokes a real revulsion, and religion, as represented by cuts like ‘Newly Shaven Saint’. Somewhat annoyingly and inappropriately because my brain is not my friend, the phrase ‘touching cloth’ insists on thrusting itself into my mind – and my mind wanders as it finds itself led through the dark, metal-edged passages of ‘Great Darkness’ with churning noise and what sounds like the clank of metal against railings, as if in protest or otherwise or trapped inside a prison cell. ‘Metallic Shoes and a Sword’ is particularly sharp-edged in the abrasive edges that saw through the swampiness of the damp gloaming, before ‘Gnosis of Self Loathing’ and ‘Amorphophallus’ drive us deep into some gruesomely dark spaces, suffocating, strangling, asphyxiating in their density: these are the sounds of slow punishment.

While the pieces themselves are (essentially) instrumental, the titles convey a great deal and ‘Circumcision (Hunter Christ)’ and ‘The Castrate Became An Angel’ largely speak for themselves. The latter is minimal, jittery, tense, like listening to the sounds in the walls at night and wondering if you have some kind in infestation. And perhaps. perhaps you do, but it’s in your body, inside your skull. There’s nothing here to calm that anxiety, only crackling distortion and drones and groans, grumbling, gut-shaking rumbles.

THE SMEARED CLOTH hangs dark, damp, and heavy, and rather than sounding like a bunch of straggly offcuts, it showcases the depth and breadth of Burroughs’ work, that the works in progress and outtakes and otherwise cast off and forgotten recordings are enough to make two full-length albums of consistent quality.

AA

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