Posts Tagged ‘electronica’

Mortality Tables – 14th August 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Ordinarily, I tend to pave the way to grappling with a release with some form of discursive preamble, but here, I feel it would detract from the work itself. Instead, I present the context for Metanoia: Music From Therapy directly from the accompanying notes, and without comment:

The first spark for Metanoia came from a simple plan to meet for a drink after a gig. Peter Fitzpatrick (Circuit3) and Mat Smith from the Mortality Tables imprint ended up talking about trauma, therapy, and the parts of ourselves we usually keep out of sight. That conversation led to a small, recorded experiment. From there the music began to take form, guided by fragments pulled from their notebooks.

Metanoia grew out of therapy and the slow process of letting difficult truths surface. Instead of singing those words, Fitzpatrick shaped them through analogue machines. The title refers to the deep shift that can follow self-reflection: a break, a reset, a way of living with more honesty.

A defining moment in the project was the opportunity to work with Vince Clarke, a long‑standing influence on Fitzpatrick’s music. They created an eleven-minute piece titled ‘The Hope’, named after the bar near Farringdon, London where that first conversation between Fitzpatrick and Smith happened. The collaboration feels like a dialogue across time: the artist Fitzpatrick once was, the one he is now, and the one emerging through this process.

Metanoia is not a linear or predictable account of trauma, breakdown, and recovery. Instead, it moves through a series of moments and memories that surfaced during therapy.

Vince Clarke crops up with remarkable frequency around Mortality Tables artists and releases, and his presence proves to be a positive one. There’s nothing here, or on other releases, which directly hints at Clarke’s celebrated electropop career

‘Cracked Eyes’ offers minimal, dulcimer-like tones, the notes fuzzy around the edges, as the backdrop to a skipping, fractured vocal loop which resembles to some extent one of William Burroughs’ tape experiments, the phrase, or phrases – muttered, mumbled – reverberates in fragments, overlapping, cutting in and out while played at different speeds, to quite unsettling effect.

A number of the pieces – in particular ‘Mood’, and ‘Where Are We Going?’ are comparatively brief interludes, and some of the instrumentals, such as ‘Imperfect’ are very much in the vein of Tangerine Dream or Mike Oldfield, built around sift, rippling notes and textured drones – flowing sounds of tranquillity, which don’t immediately evoke trauma or anguish. But of course, trauma and anguish aren’t necessarily endless stricken screaming, and therapy – the key to unlocking this album – can, for many, bring moments of peace and clarity amidst the painful psychological excavations.

‘Burnout’, on the other hand, it tense, the sound of a palpating heartbeat and panting breaths, albeit against an overtly uplifting electronic backdrop. This is something I personally find more relatable in some sense, and I suppose this is the leading point to observe when it comes to Metanoia: clearly, it comes from a deeply personal space, and some listeners will relate to some aspects more than others based on their own experiences. I know many people who have been through therapy, for a wide array of reasons, and with mixed experiences and outcomes. The trilling 70s synth sounds which course through the six-and-a-half minute ‘Shielding from the past’ seem to make sense, with their soft ambient cushioning, and despite their more sci-fi leanings that seem to tip a hat to Dr Who. Titles like ‘What If Everything Goes Right?’ take the listener through the difficult journey of self-doubt and catastrophising, before finally arriving at the eleven-minute finale, ‘The Hope’. And while there are undercurrents of doubt as articulated through darker shades, particularly at the start of the track, it does, ultimately, bloom into light.

Metanoia may be non-linear – and I understand this is often true of the journey through therapy, which can be riven with setbacks and periods of stasis – but it very much concludes with a piece which feels like the sun breaking on a new dawn, the curtains opening on a new chapter.

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Nocturnal Rainbow Recordings – 31st July 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

The title of Ran Slavin’s latest does, for all the world, sound like some slangy diss.

“I’m getting skibidi rizz.”

“Bruh’s hyper basic.”

“I can’t even.”

“Bruh.”

It’s been a while since I’ve penned any dialogue in a creative context, and it also transpires that it isn’t actually some slangy diss, but precisely what it is remains unclear, and the accompanying notes do little to solidify where we’re at here, focusing on informing us what the album isn’t, and what it doesn’t do, instead of shedding light on its actual objective:

‘Neither functional nor ambient, the album occupies a shifting territory where abstraction and physicality remain in constant negotiation – a deconstructed club language suspended between pressure, atmosphere, and perceptual displacement… Rather than offering release, Hyper Basic inhabits a state of suspension, where signals dissolve into beats, reduction folds into excess, and movement unfolds as much in the mind as on the floor.’

And so, from what I can discern, it doesn’t occupy any particular space, but hovers and ambulates in some ‘between’ space.

The ‘hyper’ seems to relate more to the schizoid energy which ripples through the album’s eight ridiculously hectic compositions. The first of these, bearing the title ‘Ritual Decay’ would, superficially’ suggest some snarling back metal grind, but what we get is some sparse electro groove, and ‘Static Ritual’ is infinitely more Gilles Peterson than John Peel, if you catch my drift. Still, while it may not be entirely my bag, I’d take Gilles Peterson over Jordan Peterson, or, for that matter, Gilles de Rais any day. And we shall move on.

It’s all pretty chilled, but for some reason, I personally find this kind of stuff impossibly tense. When the beats hit, it’s not that I fear bring grooved away, as much I wonder what will happen next.

This is very much a work steeped in the tropes of 90s and early 00s dance music – or, perhaps, more accurately, the sound of more underground club culture. Despite the insistent beats and vocal samples which drift in and out, Hyper Basic doesn’t even for one moment deploy the formula of the monotonous mainstream nightclub thud-thud-thud-thud. So that’s another thing it isn’t – a work of mainstream dance. Rather than glowstick territory, this is chin-stroking territory, dance music you don’t actually dance to, but reflect on, dissect, muse on the dynamics, the tones, the details of the beats, and the vibrations. The arrangements are sparse, and there’s space and separation between the beats and the low-key bass tracks.

There are moments when the introverted shuffles break out into all-out groove euphoria, as on the rushing bomp ‘n’ stop of ‘No’, which builds over the course of almost eleven minutes, but many of the tracks just flick and flutter along while whispers reverberate in the background. On ‘Beta Phase’ the beats turn harder, a thwocking metallic bin lid of a snare cuts through a woozy, rolling bass that’s dizzyingly dense and it’s anything but comfortable – although I suspect many would love it. A looped vocal snippet bobs to the surface here and there, too. ‘Found Luxury’ fires up a snarling, serrated bass which owes more to rock than dance, and it drives through a drifting wash of synths and samples amidst a rather conflict-filled semi-ambient concoction.

As with much of Ran Slavin’s work, Hyper Basic is hard to place, and just as hard to critique, largely because it doesn’t stay in one place long enough to get a handle on what’s happening. There are elements I just can’t get on board with, while accepting it’s a matter of taste, but it’s impossible to deny that Ran Slavin has a knack for bringing a unique slant to the dancier end of electronic music, and that Hyper Basic is anything but.

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Most artists begin with a single. Eilir Pierce waited until his 40th album.

Released on July 10th, 2026, ‘Do-List’ is the first official standalone single from the Welsh artist  and filmmaker after more than 30 years of music-making, 39 self-released albums and over 500 songs.

Having spent much of his career operating outside conventional music-industry structures, Pierce recently moved from Wales to Glasgow to begin his most ambitious project yet.

His forthcoming 40th album, Half-Time, is a synth-pop musical about moving to a new city and attempting to become a pop star in middle age. Featuring guest appearances from Aidan Moffat of Arab Strap and Mercury Prize-nominated Welsh artist Gwenno, the project will also become a live stage show and film, with Pierce performing a full run at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in August.

‘Do-List’ captures the overloaded mind behind those plans.

The song races through tasks, ambitions and unfinished ideas as Pierce tries to impose order on everything he believes he needs to achieve. Each completed tick provides a smaller reward. Meanwhile, the jobs continue to multiply.

“I make lists because I’m overwhelmed,” says Pierce. “Then the list becomes another thing overwhelming me. I tick something off, feel satisfied for about three seconds and immediately notice the other 27 things I haven’t done.”

He adds: “I also refuse to call it a ‘to-do list’. The ‘to’ is completely unnecessary. That kind of inefficiency is exactly how lists get out of control.”

Built around tense piano and an increasingly agitated vocal, Do-List developed with Glasgow producer Gavin Thomson into a darker arrangement of drum machines, synth textures and strings.

Its clipped, spoken verses carry the blunt repetition of The Fall and the  deadpan detachment of Dry Cleaning. The chorus opens into something more exposed, with echoes of early Daniel Johnston and the eerie consolation of the Lady in the Radiator from David Lynch’s Eraserhead.

At the centre of the song is Pierce’s hope for an afterlife free from unfinished admin: “Heaven is a place with no list.” For a moment, the song escapes the pressure of constant productivity. Then another task arrives.

‘Do-List’ is Pierce’s attempt to write a direct pop song after three decades of working largely on his own terms. It is also the first item in an increasingly unreasonable plan involving an album, musical, film, Fringe run and bid for middle-aged pop stardom.

Perhaps Pierce was born in the wrong era.

Or perhaps releasing a debut single after 39 albums is exactly the point.

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Trans-Atlantic dark-electronic duo DEATĦ B¥ LØVE presents their new single ‘n Unity (WIELORYB Remix and Tribute)’ which is dedicated to Wieloryb a.k.a. Paweł Kmiecik, a groundbreaking music and video artist, known forhis aggressive brand of industrial music and post-apocalyptic videos and who also, tragically, passed away just a month ago.

This two-track offering consists of "In Unity (WIELORYB Power Noise Remix)" and "In Unity (WIELORYB vs. PSYCHOTRIBE Tribute Remix)", for which the accompanying video was created by Wieloryb. This single arrives soon after the release of DEATĦ B¥ LØVE’s debut album 444, released via Distortion Productions.

A talented artist, Wieloryb was the dark pulse of Poland’s industrial music scene, emerging in Gdańsk in 1994 during an era of concrete, rust, and cold electronics. From his first recordings, Wieloryb struck without compromise. Electro industrial, EBM, and techno merged with noise, metallic rhythms, and haunting ambient soundscapes. The debut cassette "I" earned a Fryderyk Award nomination and opened a new chapter in Polish electronic music that was brutal, uncompromising, and devoid of light.

For decades, Wieloryb’s music has existed where aggression meets trance, and destruction gives way to contemplation. It is more than sound. It is a complete mechanical ritual, where raw electronics intertwine seamlessly with Paweł’s experimental visual art and video work, creating a singular aesthetic language of industrial melancholy.

“We dedicate this release to Wieloryb, Paweł Kmiecik, an extraordinary artist, producer, and video creator, whose vision left a lasting mark on the industrial scene. ‘n Unity’was the final remix he completed before his sudden and unexpected passing,” says Pete Guellard.

“His post-apocalyptic industrial landscapes sent chills down our spines, while his relentless rhythms and crushing soundscapes raised our pulse and demanded movement. His work was raw, uncompromising, and unforgettable. Thank you for everything Paweł. Your legacy lives on through the art you left behind. All profits from this release will go directly to support Paweł fmily.”

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zeromoon – 1st July 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Gintas K’s relentless release schedule (Discogs lists a whopping 70 albums credited to him since 1999) continues with his second album of 2026, recorded, again, live, with no overdubs, ‘using computer, midi keyboard & controller.’ And while this album contains a not insubstantial seventeen pieces, there are a fair few which are barely over a minute in duration, meaning that it clocks in at under an hour, making it significantly shorter than Merzmania, released in March, with its seventy-five minute run time.

The title implies either sweet but harsh, or the brain froth of a surfeit of sucrose. This being Gintas K, it’s actually both, simultaneously. Sugar Noizy is by no means a radical departure from the vast majority of his work over the last decade, and that’s all to the good. Arguably, he’s emerging as Lithuania’s bubbly, glitchy answer to Merzbow, in that his sound is by no means as harsh, but he very much has a distinctive sound and style.

If anything, Sugar Noizy is rather more sparse and minimal than many previous releases. ‘geras noise ss’ is constructed around subdued trills of feedback, and it has that low-key, subdued, even vaguely muffled feel of ‘Never Forget Death’ by Whitehouse’ – minus the shrill, mangled vocals – but claustrophobic, quietly intense.

As ever, Gintas K’s work sounds like circuitry collapsing into a foamy, frothy meltdown, and amidst the bubbles and bleeps, a chaotic cacophony of dripping, glooping squelches and squiggles, Sugar Noizy is a hyperactive work that’s essentially intended to overwhelm. And it does. Even when it slows to an infrequent drip, you find yourself on edge, wondering what’s next. And when it comes to ‘letas noiz zem’, the answer is a mangled morass of fractured, stuttering distortion that sounds like your speakers are breaking.

Some of the shorter ‘interlude’ tracks are truly wild: ‘minutinis’ may be a minute long, but it’s fried, a complete frenzy, and there are a lot of moments – often extremely brief – which sound watery, and slow digital darkness drips amidst the freakout of dark, digital violence as the segments and elements intersect.

Like the majority of Gintas K’s works, Sugar Noizy is a discombobulating barrage of wibbles, dribbles, whirs and buzzes, fragmented shards and dying drones, often all at the same time – making for a nice addition to his ever-expanding catalogue.

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18th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

‘Death is following us’, Áron Siegler warns at the start of, and throughout ‘Last’, the new single from Southeast London act The Pixel Rain. Hungarian-born songwriter and project founder Siegler has spent the last three years evolving a sound which draws on industrial rock, post punk, synth-pop and electronic music, and now, in the run-up to the release of the debut album, A Sense of Danger, set for a September release, they serve up a tune that pitches the guitar up in the mix.

Of the song, Siegler says, “‘Last’ was born from my scorn for modern-day authority figures as I was picturing a world that these kinds of people are gonna leave behind. The song has a specific meaning for me as a Hungarian person but I always try to write lyrics universally, encouraging the audience to find their own stories in my songs”.

The timing of the release couldn’t be better, landing just a few short days before the resignation of UK Prime Minister Sir Kier Starmer, after less than two years in the position. The media – online, in print, and on TV – is frothing with speculation, of course, while much is also being made of his legacy. It’s remarkable how a leader so insipid could be so divisive – but certainly, under his leadership, the government has done no favours to the trans community, migrants, or those with disabilities, or civil liberties in general, particularly when it comes to protesting the genocide in Gaza, which he still maintains is simply Israel defending itself. What kind of world is he leaving behind? What of his predecessors, and what – just what? – of Trump?

Death is indeed following us – and it’s stalking us digitally, through social media, through AI. One might be forgiven for feeling paranoid.

The production of ‘Last’ forges a sonic density which encapsulates that inescapable tension. The band cite The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Horrors as sonic inspirations in addition to their usual electronic touchstones, and it may allude vaguely to Automatic in form, but I’d say it lands more in the domain of Interpol intersecting with Depeche Mode – although that’s by no means a bad thing. The guitars are mixed quite smooth and soaring, and the song is imbued with an anthemic feel, while propelled by an insistent beat, and the chorus is prominent and dominant. If the rest of the album matches this standard of songwriting, it’s destined for success.

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The Pixel Rain (Áron Siegler) by Evelina Klimova (Landscape 02) web

Áron Siegler by Evelina Kloimova

Karlrecords – 22nd May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Flocks is the duo consisting of drone specialist Werner Durand and percussionist Uli Hohmann, and their second album, Lagoon, we’re informed that ‘the duo further explores the aesthetics it has crafted on its selftitled debut (2023, on the now defunct ZEHRA imprint): DURAND and HOHMANN shape drone-y soundscapes based on their self-built wind- & stringed instruments, Persian percussion and subtle electronics, drawing additional inspiration from Krautrock (listen to the irresistible, hypnotique, ever-changing rhythmic pattern of the title track) as well as JON HASSELL’s “fourth world” aesthetics, placing the duo nicely between tradition and experiment!’

For those unfamiliar with the fourth world concept, it can be traced to the 1980 collaborative album Fourth World, Vol. 1: Possible Musics by Hassell and Brian Eno, with the former defining the fourth world as “a unified primitive/futuristic sound combining features of world ethnic styles with advanced electronic techniques.” And it does very much describe the sounds on Lagoon, where electronic drones and quavering digital textures are melded with percussive forms of ancient origin. Indeed, Hohmann’s credits on the album include kanjira, riq, ghatam, Tibetan bells, Venetian shells, and bamboo tube zither. And the result is nothing short of hypnotic.

The three longform tracks share aquatic-themed titles, matched with gloopy tones and fluid forms. Side one contains two ten-minute pieces in the form of ‘Whirls’ and ‘Tidal’, while the twenty-minute title track fills the entirety of side two.

The length of the pieces means they each have time – and space – in which to fully explore the tones and textures of the instruments involved, and to create fully immersive soundscapes. There are breathy stutters amidst the wavering undulations, and sounds which evoke the sound of waves lapping the sides of a small boat. There are gentle ripples, ebbs and flows in these extensive sonic expanses, and it’s not difficult to let go and simply succumb to the drift.

The arrival of some quite smooth sax in the middle of ‘Tidal’ is something of a surprise and feels kind of incongruous at first, but in time it manages to nestle in nicely. ‘Lagoon’ features stronger, busier, percussion and denser, more claustrophobic drones, and is also the most overtly ‘jazz’ of the three compositions due to the more prominent sax work. Over its extended duration, it builds a solid groove, and seems to quicken in pace, although it may only be an increasing density and the tension of eternal repetition. Eleven minutes in, and you really begin to feel it: the relentless rhythm and eternally monotonous drone which underpin all of the additional layers have a cumulative effect. As horns and clients and an array of extraneous sounds from twittering to laser-like bleeps come and go, it becomes increasingly disorientating, and while the experience is by no means unpleasant, it does fully envelop the mind and body.

The combination of sci-fi sounds and weird electronica with urgent polyrhythmic percussion does, indeed, feel other-worldly – of this planet, and not, of the distant past and the equally-distant futures of imagination. And among it all, the listener finds themselves lost, adrift between the two, in time and space unknown.

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6th May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s been fully three years since we last heard from Lunar Twin, and 2023 seems like a long time in terms of the scheme of things. Aurora was a showcase of shimmering blissed-out melancholia. Yes, a contradiction in terms, but one that made sense, with rippling synths, as well as sweeping waves which hinted at Disintegration era Cure paired with elements of sparse electropop and the softer end of the dance spectrum. It was the sound of the beach, but also of the sun setting, and bringing with it a low ebb, a ponderous emptiness, Bryce Boudreau’s vocals evoking the spirit of Mark Lanegan over a shuffling desert electro backing. Before that, Ghost Moon Ritual explored recent bereavements, and plundered particularly bleak terrain.

‘Disappear into the earth’ doesn’t deviate a million miles from this template, and that’s all to the good. It’s a shade more uptempo than much of both Ghost Moon Ritual and Aurora, an undulating bass groove paired with a vintage electro beat reminiscent of The Human League.

But beneath the seeming optimism of the lyrics and the buoyant retro drum rolls – we’re talking circa ’83 pow pow pow pseudo toms here – there’s a certain sense of pessimism, a low-level gloom. As such, this is a song which presents a duality. It’s not quite the quintessential sex and death equation, but most definitely delves into the territory whereby optimism and pessimism, fatalism and euphoria collide at a crossroads that’s both literal and philosophical.

‘gonna lay right down it the dirt disappear in the earth we are forever when it rains when it’s dark the spirits in your heart, we can be anything that we can dream’, Boudreau sort of rasps, sort of rumbles, sort of croons: again, the delivery hangs in some sort of intersectional space.

‘Disappear into the earth’ is a deft slice of dark electropop which captures the vintage vibe to a rare extent, but goes far beyond that. The form and delivery is low-key, understated, but it lands, coming in below the radar and resonating in subtle ways. It’s a welcome return.

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Editions Mego – 1st May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

With absolutely no referencing of that animated Disney movie, the textual contextualisation for Russell Haswell’s latest sonic assault echoes what I’ve been saying – and writing – for some time now. I feel a small sense of elation… but equally a certain tiredness. I’m 50. And while no doubt global history is essentially a tale of innovation and destruction in equal measure, the last quarter of a century has felt truly hellish, as if the exponential pace of progress has run in parallel with an ever-accelerating desire to wipe ourselves as a species from the face of the planet.

It has been twenty-five years since the seismic events of 2001—when twin towers collapsed under terrorist attack and Coventry’s sonic insurgent Russell Haswell launched his inaugural salvo on the original Mego label with Live Salvage 1997–2000. The intervening era has delivered unrelenting turbulence: protracted wars, institutional corruption, a global pandemic, the resurgence of fascist currents, rampant media distortion, and omnipresent surveillance. For Haswell, a lifelong admirer of 1970s and 1980s dystopian cinema, the verdict is unequivocal: “Science Fiction is now!”

It’s hard to argue that the moment in which we find ourselves has all the hallmarks of every dystopian fiction ever imagined rolled into one unimaginable fusion, and that we are inching closer by the second to the end of days.

Haswell has long used sound to articulate the horrors of the 21st century, both as a solo artist and in collaboration, notably bringing additional layers of abrasion to Consumer Electronics, and while the accompanying notes detail quite extensively the equipment used, the influences, and the creative aims of Let it Go, my focus here is more on what it actually sounds like and the listening experience.

The first few seconds of the first track, ‘Exit Downwards’ are innocuous enough: a drone, nondescript, smooth – but within seconds its rent with shuddering glitches, squelches, and discordant clanks, not to mention the stammering thud of a particularly sharp kick drum. And over the course of seven minutes, it pumps and pounds blasts and bleeps like a circuit in meltdown. It’s pretty tense stuff, and descents, tension, and anxiety are recurrent themes not only in the titles, but in the formations of the compositions themselves.

‘Fall 3’ and ‘Fall 2’ follow the theme of descent, and manifest as wibbly collage works, while ‘The anxieties of our time’ is fairly straightforward in its implications and manifests as a head-swimming, dizzying panic attack, a meltdown in musical form, the crackling industrial glitch monster that is ‘Stress Testing’ functions on numerous levels. As much as the phrase relates specifically to financial, economic, and societal systems, there is also the stress test as it relates to the effects of physical activity on the heart, and, by association, it feels like an implicit hint of the stress we as individuals find ourselves subject to on a daily basis: how far can we – individually, and collectively – be pushed under the late capitalist model? At this moment in time, it seems like we’re close to finding out. And through swooshing sweeps and rippling fractures in sonic fabrics which twist and flare, Russell Haswell renders an aural replication of the overwhelming experience of life right now.

In comparison to some of Haswell’s releases, Let it Go is not particularly noisy or abrasive, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less intense. Even the ambient hums of ‘Curated narrative’ bring a hovering tension which is difficult to step away from.

Christmas is a difficult time for many, and while there’s no indication of what inspired ‘Thu 25 Dec 2025’, it buzzes and throbs for a relentless six and three quarter minutes like an angry hornet, trapped in a greenhouse which is slowly collapsing in on itself. The final track, the thirteen-minute ‘There’s always a bit of light somewhere’ seems to offer a thin ray of hope in its title, but the fine metallic scrapes and glistening edges which intertwine ominously and with no discernible form are far from comforting, and you find yourself on edge, sensing darkness visible and encroaching from all sides. Yes, There’s always a bit of light somewhere, but that somewhere isn’t here.

Let it Go is varied, exploratorily, and an artistic success, but it’s by no means the easiest listen. And for that, I say ‘good’. Embrace the challenge.

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Prior to the release of FLESH FIELD’s stunning new album’s physical edition, the US-industrial act drops the bonus track ‘Hegemony’ featuring ASSEMBLAGE 23 frontman Tom Shear.
’Hegemony’ is available as part of the album premium download and on the bonus CD of the lavish ltd. 2CD artbook deluxe edition, which will hit stores on May 22, 2026.

FLESH FIELD comment: “I wanted to have some cool remixes but also exclusive tracks for the deluxe edition of On Enmity”, mastermind Ian Ross explains. “As I had already received the fun remixes by Mildreda, Omen Code, Lost Signal, Schneider, and 16 Volt, I contacted my old friend Tom Shear from Assemblage 23 about adding his voice to a track that had not made it onto the album as I was kind of lost for fitting words. Tom did not ‘only’ come up with excellent lyrics but he also contributed his awesome voice to our track – which makes it a really special bonus for the collectors’ edition.”

The album On Enmity was digitally released on February 20, 2026. Hear ‘Hegemony’ here:

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