Posts Tagged ‘electronica’

Christopher Nosnibor

13th September 2025

It is impossible to escape AI now, and its ubiquity has arrived at a shocking pace, its acceleration seemingly exponential. You can avoid social media, but can you avoid computers or mobile phones for even more than a few hours? The news – beyond the main headlines, at least – is abrim with reports on how it’s affecting us as individuals, as a species, and the environmental impact. I watch a training video at work: it’s presented by AI actors who move their arms in strange ways and occasionally mispronounce a word in the worst way. Meanwhile, management want us to save time on report-writing by using Copilot. Drained by all of this, I go to the pub for soe decompression time, and the talk is of how jobs are being undermined by AI, and some guy’s got a video AI made using just a photograph. Why? Why do we need this? We don’t, of course, but it’s novel, mindless entertainment that can be created in seconds. Increasingly, it feels like we’re volunteering ourselves for virtual lobotomies. Despite the fact that the current technoscape is every sci-fi dystopia playing out exactly as told in real-time, it seems the majority of people are more than happy to embrace AI. Even writers, artists, and the like, present themselves as ‘curious’ and will engage with AI for prompts or to brush up something they’ve done. But the fact it that it’s a slippery slope, which gets steeper and steeper and further down is an abyss that plunges straight to hell. The worst of it is that it’d becoming increasingly difficult to separate real life.

One of the issues I have personally is that just as every significant technological advancement since the Industrial Revolution brought the promise of more leisure time by making work lighter, the opposite is true – unless you consider unemployment and life on the breadline to be leisure. AI isn’t saving time by vacuum cleaning the house, hanging up the laundry, putting the bins out or doing the school run: it’s simply devaluing creative skills. Anyone who has read an AI-generated article, heard an AI-assisted song, or seen some AI-created art will know that there’s something ‘off’ about it, that it’s soulless and vaguely alien. Meanwhile, the world seems to be spiralling into a cesspit of animosity, hatred, and division. Something happened during the pandemic which meant that when we all emerged from lockdown, war and rage and unspeakable cuntiness exploded on a scale beyond articulation. It’s no wonder people are struggling with life right now.

Now After Nothing is, in some respects, a therapeutic escape from all the shit. Multi-instrumentalist Matt Spatial paired with Michael Allen after what he describes as ‘a relatively difficult time in my life [where] I had become lost and depressed without a creative outlet with which to express myself’. There’s much to say that creativity – and exercise, both physical and mental – are the best self-maintenance. Listening to this EP, it’s clear that Spatial is really pouting everything into this.

His comments on the EP are worth quoting: “Artificial Ambivalence, as a concept, to me represents the state of feeling lost and/or the ‘shutting down’ from the negativity and toxicity around each of us,” Spatial explains. “They say ‘ignorance is bliss’, but in the (mis-)information age we seem to have reached a point of being pummeled into exhaustion from the constant barrage of negativity. For some, while the desire is stronger than ever to make positive change in the world, we might get derailed by feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and being powerless in a society that seems to increasingly favor only one set of values. For others, it’s the choice to conveniently ignore the inhumane atrocities happening in our society when those atrocities don’t directly impact that individual.”

Of the music, there are references to ‘goth-glam grooves slick with sweat, raw enough to leave a mark’ and a nod to the fact that ‘fans have called it “S&M disco,” a sinister shimmer of punk, industrial grind, and nocturnal new wave.’

The first thing that strikes on the first listen of this EP is the energy. Everything is up-front and it lands like a proper punch in the face. Big, gutsy riffs underpin some sinewy lead guitar parts, driven by some explosive percussion and sturdy, throbbing bass. Straight out the traps, ‘Sick Fix’ blends post-punk and grunge to create a hard-hitting blast, and one that’s got hooks and melody in spades, too, with hints of Big Black in the background. It sets the bar high, but ‘Criminal Feature’ hurdles it effortlessly.

Slowing the pace and changing not only the tempo but the mood, the piano-led ‘Holly’ broods hard and is unashamedly mid-80d goth in its vibe, but also incorporates more post-millennial post-punk and goth in its genetics. The result is – to wheel out a cliché – anthemic. And it is, of course, the perfect mid-set slowie, which sets things up for the chugging, bass-driven beast that is ‘Fixation Fantasy’, a track that’s more 90s alt-rock than post punk or goth. More than anything, I’m reminded of psychedelic grunge also-rans Eight Storey Window in the ear for melody and the emotional heft delivered by some achesome riffs delivered at an intense volume.

‘Dare’ brings some dark pop intimations paired with some searing guitar work which lands like a post-rock Placebo crossed with Salvation – that is to say, it’s richly immersed in that mid-80s Leeds sound. It’s inspired stuff, and then some. Closing off, single release ‘Entangled’ offers glorious shoegaze gentility before breaking into a magnificent slice of synthy post-punk with some massive guitar. Artificial Ambivalence is better than ‘all killer’ (which it is) – it’s next-level solid quality and absolute gold.

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Sinners Music – 1st October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Sinners Music – the label established by electronic music maestro and one-time music shop owner, Ian J Cole, continues to offer up new music that’s interesting and unusual. There are some context where ‘interesting’ is somewhat dismissive, diminishing, and people of a certain age will remember snooker legend Steve Davis being given the nickname of Steve ‘Interesting’ Davis ironically… although the double irony emerged that he was genuinely interesting, as his work with The Utopia Strong abundantly attests. Here, my use of ‘interesting’ is neither ironic nor dismissive: it’s meant sincerely, as there is no specific ‘house’ style or overt genre specificity evident. This is one of the reasons why boutique microlabels can be worth following – you never know quite what you’re going to get from them, but you can guarantee if won’t be ordinary. And this release by no means ordinary.

As for The Azimuth Tilt, their bio informs us that this is the work of ‘a solo ambient electronic project exploring the liminal spaces between sound, memory, and landscape. With a name drawn from the alignment of a real to reel tape head, the project orients itself toward the unseen—subtle shifts in perception, emotional resonance, and the hidden geometries of the natural world… Blending atmospheric textures, glacial rhythms, and immersive sound design.’ There are no clues as to who this is the project of, but it matters not, and in fact, the less we know, the better. This is the joy of abstract ambient works: all you need is the sound, and all you need from the sound is to let it drift, to carry you away. And this is what Alignment does.

On a certain level, it does very little. On another, it is a quintessential deep ambient album. Alignment features just six compositions, but has a running time of some fifty-seven minutes. The soundscapes which define it are sonically rich, with soft, drifting, cloudlike contrails merging with lower drones and contrails. In combination, filling the entire sonic spectrum, Alignment does a lot.

From nowhere, halfway through ‘An Unqualified Person’, a raucous sax breaks out.

And the layers build. Against scrawling spacious drift, it’s quite a contrast. And then there’s some subtle piano intervention, and from hereon in, the piano and sax alternate in leading. It’s nice… and not in a turtle-neck top kind of way. It’s nice but… a little strange. But ‘The Exquisite Space’ crackles and swirls abstractedly, with some supple motifs rippling and intertwining with a mellow mood exploration which arrives at more sax. Always more sax.

This seems to be a dictum The Azimuth Tilt are happy to follow, although it’s melted into the echo-soaked atmospherics of the final track, ‘And the Band Played On’. Alignment is not a dark album, but it’s one which feels unsettled, uncomfortable, unsure of its destination – and whatever it may be, the journey is worth the exploration.

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OMEN CODE reveal the pulsating and vibrant new SF-track ‘Tensor’ as the sinister final advance single taken from their forthcoming album Alpha State. The debut full-length has been announced to be released on December 5, 2025.

OMEN CODE comment on ‘Tensor’: “This was the second Omen Code track that I have recorded as a vocalist”, frontman Agi Taralas reveals. “Everything about it came very natural to me and exactly in the way that the vocals turned out in the end. As far as I am concerned, this track includes a few Nitzer Ebb tribute moments, which is hardly a surprise as they have largely shaped my personal preferences in electronic music.”

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With their debut album Alpha State, OMEN CODE deliver the sound of the future – and the future is grim and dark! Their future is also firmly built upon the remains of the past. Certainly constructed to fill the dance floor, the international duo channels the bleak, cold precision of mid-tempo FRONT LINE ASSEMBLY and the cinematic story-telling soundscapes of John Carpenter electronics into a thrilling sound that is both resurrecting a classic 80s vibe and also fresh at the same time.

OMEN CODE are the new rising star on the EBM firmament. Deep, dark, and gritty industrial sounds are channelled into captivating mid-tempo tracks that create the atmospheric feeling of a dystopian future ruled by technology and marked by social decline.

This grimdark science fiction approach is not meant to indicate that OMEN CODE embrace any political agenda or message. Rather the international duo took inspiration from the writings of Philip K. Dick and Alfred Bester as well as cinematic masterpieces by British director Ridley Scott such as Alien and Blade Runner among others. 
OMEN CODE were originally intended as a one-time project by Kevin Gould. The engineer, programmer, and lyricist was a member of the English Industrial EBM trio JOHNSON ENGINEERING CO. together with Sean Bailey and Ian Hicks, which released the album Unleash in 1988. He went on to found the electro-industrial act ELECTRO ASSASSIN with Ian Taylor. Following the release of Jamming the Voice of the Universe (1992), Taylor was replaced by Richard McKinlay with whom the next albums Bioculture (1993) and The Divine Invasion (1995) were recorded.

When vocalist and lyricist Agi Taralas was hand-picked from a stack of applications for the frontman position, the chemistry between the two artists proved so productive and strong that Gould and Taralas decided together to turn OMEN CODE into a permanent project that would also aim to perform live. The vocalist had already left his mark on the scene in a joint project with German electronic musician Stefan Böhm under the moniker OUR BANSHEE that released an album entitled 4200 in 2017.

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Ahead of the release of her forthcoming self-released, crowdfunded album, Mosswood – which we absolutely love – minimal electronic pop artist Mayshe-Mayshe has released a third single by way of a taster.

‘Little Yeah Whatever’ encapsulates the spirit of Mayshe-Mayshe perfectly – subtle, understated, shy-sounding, but with an unexpected strength at the core.

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OMEN CODE unveil the new track ‘Ultra Fear’ as the next single lifted from their forthcoming debut album Alpha State, which has been scheduled for release on December 5, 2025.

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OMEN CODE comment: “I had orginally planned to use ‘Ultra Fear’ for my previous music project”, mastermind Kevin Gould reveals. “The pace is quite low key again, but the sequence layers fill it out nicely. The lyrics have an abstract but also quasi religious feel. Back then, I had put some angry, shouted vocals over the track. Then Agi came along and did his ‘new vocalist’ thing. He basically rescued the track. We wanted the chorus to have a distant and alien tone so used a lot of treatments and vocoder. There is nothing like a machine telling you that ‘God is near’.”

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Ultra Fear

16th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Does the constant flood of bile on social media, the relentless flow of horrible, horrible news, and the general shitness of both people and society make you want to run away, hide, live in the woods? It seems that during the lull that was lockdown – a weird period which threw so many people into a spin of confusion that we really need to accept that there have been long-lasting repercussions from what amounted to a collective trauma – something changed, as if the world shifted on its axis. Some of us were more traumatised than others, it’s true, and that’s for wide-ranging reasons.

Alice Rowan – aka Mayshe-Mayshe – has documented her own post-lockdown issues with long Covid via her social media, and how it’s impacted her ability to maintain her work-rate. But here she is, finally bringing her third studio album, Mosswood to the world, and it’s the perfect antidote to all the stress and strain of modern life.

She describes it as ‘a dreamy art-pop exploration of mossy woodland and Tove Jansson’s final two Moomin novels… Her music blends dreamy art-pop and electronica with rich storytelling and infectious melodies, with organic elements woven into all aspects of her music.’ You may ask why – why would an adult be so invested in a fantasy world which has such strong connotations of childhood? A reasonable response would be ‘why not?’ In the face of the horrors which surround us everyday, retreating to the comforts of those peaceful, simpler times is the ultimate escapism. And what’s more, there is a strong connection with all things natural here, evoking the woods so many of us yearn to escape to.

Mosswood is introspective and personal, but also a passage to perfect escapism, and Mayshe-Mayshe balances breeziness and an air of naivete with anxiety and inner turmoil. And the result is so, so magnificent, magical, a balm to all of the noise. It’s the twitter of birds, the scratching of bugs, the tinkle of streams. Incorporating field recordings for the first time, on Mosswood Mayshe-Mayshe really brings nature in. Single release ‘Mycelium’ is exemplary: the percussion is more like the footsteps of overgrown insects – I’m reminded of Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach in soe ways. But songs like ‘Tiny Disasters’ push to the fore the tensions and the darker aspects of the creative psyche, and reminds us that sometimes, life is simply difficult to process. ‘I’ll be afraid again…’ she repeats, twitchily, capturing perfectly exactly what it’s like to fret, chew and churn., against a glitchy, flickering beat and buzzing sound backing.

In the main, Mosswood is the sound of dappled shade, of gentility and deep breaths – and the big reverb which surrounds Alice’s voice is less like a cloak and more like a comfort blanket as the listener is led into a soft, gentle soundspace, which evokes snuffling and scuffling, and, more importantly, pure escape. On ‘The Little Things’, she sings in breathy, introspective tones of worries – but the immersive waves wash those worries away.

What Mosswood really tells us is that happy, skippy tunes do not instantly equate to effusions of joy, or endless happiness. That said, Mosswood is the sound of freedom, of connecting with nature, feeling the textures of grass, of bark, of moss. Utilising an array of instrumentation, Mosswood is understated and so, so uplifting. There are so many layers, there is so much detail to absorb. But ultimately, Mosswood reminds us that nature is there, all around, and it’s beautiful and our lives are richer if we engage with it. Look at the trees. Touch the bark. Breathe the air. This is life. Live it. Celebrate it.

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Mosswood cover art for digital v2Mayshe promo bug - credit Isobel Naylor

Mayshe-Mayshe has released new single ‘Mycelium’, and an accompanying video.

This is a song is about autumn and decay, rainy woodland walks, lonely adventures, and setting off on a journey at nightfall. (Snufkin setting off on a journey to be specific.)

It’s mellow, and we rather like it…

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Editions Mego – 10th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

This is a monster. A monster that’s been roaring and raging for twenty-three years now. The appropriately-titled noise classic, Sheer Hellish Miasmah, was first released in 2002. It remains a pinnacle of abrasive noise after all this time. To say that Kevin Drumm has released a lot of albums would be an understatement: as is the case with many experimental / noise artists, the likes of Merzbow, and myriad lesser known underground noise acts he’s cranked out multiple albums per year, and the question of quality versus quantity becomes an obvious point of debate, or even potential friction. But when it comes to Sheer Hellish Miasmah, there’s no real debate: the consensus is that it’s a classic in its field.

I step back for a moment to present the summary offered in the press release: The history of Drumm’s Sheer Hellish Miasma is one of resilience to the twists of underground trends that have come and gone since its initial release. Using guitar, tape manipulation, microphones, pedals, analog synthesizers, and subtle computer processing, Sheer Hellish Miasma is an overwhelming experience: a sonic onslaught of storming feedback, fractured textures and an unrelenting energy. At once brutal and meticulously composed, the album offers a singular vision at the outermost edges of sound art.

And here it is, reissued on four sides of vinyl. I assume it’s nice and black and heavy and shiny, because I’m working from an MP3 download, as is the way these days. Does vinyl sound better? It depends on your kit. And your ears.

A lot of extreme noise albums are mercifully brief, presenting a short, sharp shock. Not so Sheer Hellish Miasma, which presents a sustained and truly brutal assault, with five tracks stretching out for well over an hour, some sixty-six torturous minutes. The track sequencing has been altered, with the two longest tracks first, and ‘The Inferno’ is split over sides B and C.

The first, ‘Hitting the Pavement’ is a twenty-minute blast of oscillating, pan-heavy drone and distortion. As grating sinewy nose and distortion riven with feedback hard enough to annihilate even the toughest eardrum, the discomfort levels are high. Sunn O))) may be hailed as pioneers of heavy drone, but Drumm’s activity is contemporaneous, taking electronica to the same extremes and over the same epic durations. The first couple of minutes of ‘The Inferno’ are gnarly, overloading crackle and pop, stutter and static that give you cause to wonder if your speakers are fucked or there’s something wrong with either the recording or your equipment (something I genuinely experienced when I first heard Whitehouse – having downloaded a couple of tracks via Napster back in the day, I deleted the files and searched elsewhere as I assumed the files were corrupted). But no, it’s supposed to sound this fucked-up, and it burrows into your skull in the most intense and uncomfortable way. Over the course of twenty-four minutes, he gives the listener’s ears a proper kicking, and more, seemingly conjuring new frequencies and discovering infinite new angles from which to deliver a truly brutal sonic assault.

At times, it’s like having a road drill applied directly to the head. Full-on doesn’t even come close. It’s not just the frequencies, either: it’s the jagged, abrasive textures that graze hard enough to draw blood. And there is absolutely no respite. Glitching laser bleeps shoot across grinding earthworks. It’s the sound of total annihilation. The album’s title provides the perfect summary of its content: it is absolutely, mercilessly, hellish.

If ‘Cloudy’ offers a momentary pause to breathe and feel the tinnitus, the sawing oscillations of ‘Impotent Hummer’ hit with all the more impact, a persistent buzz that grates away at every sense. The effect is cumulative, and the reaction is physical. The track’s thirteen minutes is a test of endurance. ‘Turning Point’, which now closes the album, leaves the listener with an obliterative thrum, which, while comparatively mild in terms of its attack, is insistent, and again feels like a considered, targeted sensory assault.

Sheer Hellish Miasma is a hard listen – but it’s not hard to understand how it’s come to be considered an outstanding noise album. It’s not for the feint of heart.

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Mortality Tables – 25th September 2025

Bryan Alka’s brief post on Facebook sharing the news of his new release, is revelatory: ‘Today we release my 5th full length on Mortality Tables. After a series of breakdowns… The Magnitude Weighs Heavy.’

The Magnitude Weighs Heavy is the third and final instalment of a of dark and brooding albums, the first two parts of which – The Colour Of Terrible Crystal and Regarding The Auguries – were released by Vince Clarke’s VeryRecords. Alka, and particularly Bryan Michael, has no small back story: ‘a Philadelphia-area artist who has collaborated with Vince Clarke (Depeche Mode / Erasure / Yazoo), Roger O’Donnell (The Cure), Christian Savill (Slowdive / Monster Movie) and Michael Textbeak (Cleopatra Records). alka was formed around 2000 as a return to his bedroom producing days, and as a cleansing of his disappointing experience within the Philadelphia indie rock scene.’

This thirteen-track album is epic, grand, expansive. It’s also an exercise is taut electropop with a decidedly early 80s bent. Because what goes around comes around, the whipcrack snare and noodly electronic drift which defines many of the tracks, despite being pure 1989, have a contemporary feel, too.

‘Soliloquiy’ drifts into dreamy electro shoegaze, mellow and atmospheric, rippling, and soaked with a certain sadness, however sturdy the beats remain. Elsewhere, as on ‘Creeps; its clearly an attempt to lock things down with pinging robotic beats

This feels like quite departure for Mortality Tables, given their learning toward abstraction an ambience, but they’ve always leaned toward the different, and this is a work which is unashamedly different. ‘Unravel’ is exemplary here: it’s got groove, and is ostensibly a bopping dance cut, and a far cry from the implications of the album title. But everyone deals with trauma, grief, and distress differently, and we all articulate our internal strifes by different means. ‘enchanté’ locks into a hypnotic groove, the likes of which I haven’t been so immersed in since I discovered The Dancing Wu Li Masters by 25 Men back in 2008.

For all that, there are large, ambient expanses, passages of stuttering electro which draw together elements of industrial alongside the layered dance beats. The ten-minute ‘an attempt to conjure quiet’ feels like it’s quite willing to delve deeper into noise, the very opposite of the quiet it claims to seek, and the duration of this album feels like a teetering on edge. I’m reminded of how my late wife would hassle an and harangue over details, over chores, and the tense, jittery tone which leads n this album at times tales me there. But if the dark mutter of ‘thee individual visions ov jhonn’ is dark with resonating melancholia, The Magnitude Weighs Heavy brings things back to the light. ‘Whatever Will Become’ is a hybrid of pop and bubbling electronica, busy but mesmerising in its concentric circles of sound, its abrupt ending jolting the listener back to the moment.

The magnitude may weigh heavy, but this album has a remarkable lightness, delivered with a deftness of touch.

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Nocturnal Rainbow Recordings – 5th September 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

One significant downside to digital music formats is that is reduces the dimensions of the experience. With a record, and even a CD, there is a physicality which is in many ways integral to the experience. I’m not here to sell the whole multi-sensory experience and tactility of vinyl line: yes, I grew up with vinyl, and in the 90s, a new LP was maybe £7.50 while a CD was £11, so I would often buy vinyl simply because I could get more music for my money. And records do scratch, sleeves get bent, and generally, vinyl requires more care than a CD, so I’m as much a fan of 5” silver discs as I am 12” black ones. And now, vinyl has become something of a fetishised luxury item: as much as there’s still pleasure to be had from sliding a thick chunk of wax cast in whatever hues from a glossy, heavy card sleeve, there’s sometimes a sense that they’re all trying too hard, and the £30 price tag takes some of the shine off the experience. There are a few exceptions – recent Swans releases have been works of art in every sense, and the physical formats have added essential dimensions to music which is something more than just some songs, recorded.

Had Ran Slavin’s latest offering been given a vinyl release, it would have been a triple LP, containing as it does thirty tracks, with a running time of almost two hours. It would have been epic. But despite having released previous albums on esteemed labels including Mille Plateaux, Cronica, and Sub Rosa, it’s unlikely that Ran Slavin has the kind of fan base that could justify, from a label perspective, a triple-vinyl release. But what Nocturnal Rainbow Recordings have done here is interesting, and utilises the digital format in a novel way, by offering alternative artwork in recognition of the album’s multi-faceted nature. Yes, it’s been done by major artists who’ve released physical albums with variant covers, with a view to enticing hardcore fans to buy multiple copies and thus increase sales and enhance the chart position (The Rolling Stones’ Hackney Diamonds probably wins the award for the pinnacle of pisstake on this score), but the idea of buying an alternative digital cover for a nominal price isn’t something I’ve seen before.

As the notes on the Bandcamp page explain, ‘Just as the music migrates across genres, the visuals migrate across states of being, extending the album into a network of parallel identities. Together, they construct a fragmented yet coherent cosmos, where each image is both an entrance and a deviation, multiplying the ways Neon Swans can be seen, heard, and inhabited.’

Appropriately, Neon Swan doesn’t quite sound like anything I’ve heard before, either. To unpack that, it contains many elements which are common and familiar. There’s sparse techno, minimal dance cuts with sped-up vocals and swathes of space between low-key beats and glitchy grooves, as represented by single release and album opener ‘tell///me///now’ – one of many titles which reflect the sense of fragmentation and juxtaposition which define the album (‘s4dert1ac’ and ‘d3xr3rity’ provide other examples, but then there are the likes of which also disrupt the conventions of language in the same way Slavin disrupts the language of genre tropes).

‘audio ease my pain’ plunges into darker territory, while introducing rap vocals atop heavy hip-hop beats (although there’s an instrumental version as well further on, which offers a different perspective again on the same material). Elsewhere, ‘c-r-i-m-s-o-n-schema’ brings spacey, spaced-out bleeps, heavy percussion that has a late 90s feel, a blend of The Judgement Night soundtrack’s melding of rap and rock, and the Wu-Tang Clan.

For all of the space, the reverb, the minimalism, something about tracks like ‘searching_heart’ is quite claustrophobic: the intense repetition and synthetic feel, paired with crackling fizz, brain-melting glitches and some grinding bass tones. It may be constructed using the fundamental elements of dance music, but this is not dance music. Electronic music to induce uncontrolled spasms and twitches isn’t a genre, but if it was, Ran Slavin would be a leading exponent.

It’s a long album, with a lot to digest, and as it thumps and wobbles and glitches away, snippets and fragments collaged across one another, there are times it all feels a but much, a bit bewildering. At times it’s draining, exhausting, at times you simply zone out, and often, I find myself questioning the wisdom of persisting with it. The vibe is that of the kind of underground clubs I never got on with in the 90s and early 00s, and I’m particularly reminded of the time Whitehouse played an Optimo night in Glasgow in 2003: I was there for Whitehouse, who played for forty minutes starting around midnight, and the music being played was rather in the vein of the more groove-centric cuts on here. The people there for the DJs weren’t happy for the low-key electro pulsations to be paused for the noise and antics of Bennett and Best, but for my part, I struggled to get into the low-key electro pulsations. But the other reason I recount this experience, challenging in its incongruousness, is that in places, Neon Swans feels incongruous with itself, an album riven with unreconciled contradictions.

The execution of Neon Swans is hard to fault, and it does cover considerable ground, with range, over its expansive duration. But it is sprawling in its scope, its focus is variable, and it is very long. And it’s maybe better with drugs.

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