Posts Tagged ‘Experimental’

Legendary Italian experimental trio Zu recently announced their return with Ferrum Sidereum (produced by Marc Urselli), a big and bold double album arriving on House of Mythology on the 9th January.

The music combines the complexity of progressive rock, the grit of industrial music, the precision of metal, the spirit and energy of punk, and the freedom of jazz. The result is a sonic journey that is as cerebral as it is visceral, defying easy categorisation while remaining unmistakably Zu.

Today they share the new single and video for ‘Kether’ – about which the band comments,

“Kether is the crown, the halo, the nimbus, the corona. Since it has been symbolically attacked, we symbolically take it back.The golden crown became the sign of kings, but it is a much older and deeper symbol, and it is at anyone’s reach to reactivate the crown.”

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Photo credit: Marco Franzoni

29th November 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s not a good thing to feel nostalgia for something from the recent past which wasn’t even any good to begin with. But on seeing the cover for this split release by Theo Nugraha and {AN} EeL, I’m reminded that Google DeepDream was actually quite fun for about five minutes in 2015. Ah, hindsight… The results DeepDream produced were weird, psychedelic, trippy, and resembled no dream or subconscious thoughts I’ve ever known, its hallucinatory aspects were oft said to share qualities with LSD. But this was part of the appeal: it was novel, silly, with dog faces emerging from inanimate objects, whappy wallpaper, and the like. How many of us knew that it would be a precursor to the AI hell we now find ourselves in? Ten years is not such a long time in the scheme of things, but in the context of the now, it feels like another lifetime. A lifetime when doing daft stuff with digital tools wasn’t annihilating the environment, when it wasn’t stealing the work of writers and artists, when it wasn’t rendering jobs obsolete while creating billionaires at the expense of those losing their livelihood. Arguably, the golden age of The Internet was in the first years post-millennium, when applet-based chatrooms first made it possible to connect in real-time with people around the globe and MySpace was a wild melting pot where people came together through shared interest and communities evolved. This isn’t just some nostalgia wank: these were exciting times, and the world truly began to open up in ways hitherto unseen. These were times when The Internet offered freedom, where, as Warren Ellis’ novel Crooked Little Vein expounded, anything goes and if you could imagine it, you’d find it online. Godzilla Bukkake? You got it.

Everything changed when major corporations realised that they could really, really make on this. But major corporations being major corporations, they didn’t want to participate – they wanted to take over and own it, to wring every penny of profit from every last keystroke. And so now, while Napster and Soulseek were the equivalent of home taping, which didn’t kill music, Spotify and most other major streaming services really are damaging artists’ livelihoods – because unlike small-time peer-to-peer file sharing, this is a multi-billion dollar industry which siphons off pretty much all of the money for owners and shareholders rather than artist – and then you have scums like Daniel Ek using those proceeds to fund war. Something has gone seriously wrong.

Theo Nugraha’s contribution, 1XXTR is a longform work – seconds short of thirty minutes – and while it’s perhaps not quite Harsh Noise Wall, it’s most definitely harsh noise, and there’s not a lot of variation. It may even be that any variation is in the imagination as the mind struggles to process the relentless barrage of sound and seeks tonal changes, details within the texture. It doesn’t so much sound like a cement mixer – more like being in a cement mixer with half a ton of rocks, at the heart of an atomic blast. There are squalls of feedback and mutterings beneath the blitzkrieg, and around ten minutes in, the tempest suddenly begins to rage even harder and it’s like being hit by a train. Twenty minutes in, the relentless roar drops to merely the blast of a jet engine and the sensation is like huge pressure drop, or a fall. It’s impossible to discern what’s going on inside this swirling vortex of noise (there does sound like a vast amount of collaging and random things floating in and out), but it’s a full-on physical assault that vibrates every cell in the body. By the end of this most brutal half hour, you feel battered, bruised, damaged.

‘TRXX1’ by {AN} EeL, which runs for a second over the half-hour mark, is altogether less abrasive, but it’s no more comfortable. At first, it’s a clattering, metallic rattle, like an aluminium dustbin rolling down the street in a gale, accompanied by rattles and chimes. Extraneous noises – twangs and scrapes – enter the mix, and the sound starts to build, like the wind growing stronger at the front-end of a storm. But soon, from nowhere, a squall of static – or rainfall – begins to swell and while off-tune notes reverberate in the background, and a scan of radio stations yields alternately cut-up fragments and random noise, and while it may not possess the same physical force as Nugraha’s piece, ‘TRXX1’presents a disturbing array of frequencies and makes for a particularly tense listen. There’s a thunderous ripple like a freight train a mile long barrelling along, while disjointed voices echo here and there, and as bhangra and old-time brass fade in and out, the collage approach to the track’s creation, harking back to William Burroughs’ tape experiments, and early Throbbing Gristle become increasingly apparent. The Police’s ‘Can’t Stand Losing You’ cuts through what sounds like a snippet from lecture or interview. The repetition of the same fragments becomes difficult to deal with after a time, and you begin to feel like you’re cracking up. The it’s back to the sound of metal buckets being dragged down a cobbled street, with random busts of discordant noise jabbing in for extra discomfort. The final segment is a cacophony of abstract drones and crashing, calamitous racketry – a combination which is uncomfortable and unsettling.

The two pieces are quite different, but equally difficult in their own ways, and as such compliment one another. And if you’re seeking an album that really tests your capacity for abrasion and nauseating noise, 1XXTR / TRXX1 hits the spot like a fist to the stomach.

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12th November 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

While the approach to recording his latest album is pretty much standard for Lithuanian sound artist Gintas K – that is to say, ‘recorded live, without any overdubs, using computer, MIDI keyboard, and controller’, the inspiration and overall concept is a little different this time around, with Gintas explaining that ‘The album is a subtle allusion to Flann O’Brien’s absurdist novel The Third Policeman, reflecting its surreal and enigmatic atmosphere through sound. In itself, this is quite ambitious – not quite the musical equivalent of interpretive dance, but nevertheless.

And, in contrast with many of his other albums, which tend to be relatively concise and often contain some shorter, almost fragmentary pieces, this one is a whopper, with thirty-one tracks and a running time of over two hours.

Initially, it’s display of K at his most manic, with ‘black box#1’leading the first four-track suite more frenzied and kinetic than ever, the sound of an angry hornet the size of a cat trapped in a giant Tupperware container. There aren’t always discernible spaces between the individual pieces, and after just the first eight minutes of wild bleeps and buzzes, I’m already feeling giddy. ‘black box#1 – 4’ is a quintessential Gintas K blizzard of noise which starts out like trickling digital water tinkling over the rim of a virtual glass bottle and rapidly evolves into an effervescent froth of immolating circuitry.

The second suite of pieces, ‘black box inside#2 Dog Hoots’ is made up of eight chapters – compositions feels like a bit of a stretch – and while there are a couple of sub-two-minute blasts, the fifth is a colossal nine minutes and forty in duration. This marks distinct segment of the album, in that it sounds a little more structured, like the sounds of a toy keyboard or a mellotron, rewired and then tortured mercilessly. It grinds and drones, hums and yawns, it bubbles and glitches and whirrs and it fucking screams. Before long, your brain will be, too.

The third segment, a set of six pieces labelled ‘black box inside… Calmness’ is anything but calm: in fact, it’s more likely to induce a seizure, being more of the same, only with more mid-range and muffled, grainy-sounding murk. There are more saw-like buzzes and crackles and pops and lasers misfiring in all directions. It’s not quite the soundtrack which played in my head as I read the book, but the joy of any art is that it affords room for the audience to engage and interpret on a personal, individual level.

The nine-part ‘rolling’ (or, to give it’s full title ‘black box iside#4 Rolling’ is more fragmented, more distorted, more fucked-up and broken. The pace is slower, the tones are lower, and it’s the sound of a protracted digital collapse. It’s unexpected to feel any kind of emotional reaction to messy noise, but this conveys a sense of sadness. By ‘Rolling – 4’ it feels like the machine is dying, a breathless wheeze of a thick, low-end drone, an attempts to refire the energy after this are reminiscent to trying to start a car with a flat battery. It’d messy and increasingly uncomfortable and wrong-sounding as it descends into gnarly distorted mess. ‘Rolling 7’ is creaking bleats, woodpecker-like rattles. and warping distortion, with additional hum and twang. The last of these is no more than roiling, lurching distortion, without shape or form.

Arriving at the four pieces tagged as ‘omnium – The Fourth Policeman’, its feels like you’re surrounded by collapsing buildings and the exhaustion is not just physical. Gintas K has really pushed the limits with this one. The is an arc, a trajectory here, which can be summarised as ‘gets messier and more horrible as it progresses’. Artistically, this is a huge work, a work of patience, and a work of commitment and focus. As a listening experience, it’s intense, and will likely leave even the most adventurous listener feeling like their head’s been used as a cocktail shaker and that their brain has been churned to a pulp. Outstanding.

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25th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

As the blurbage explains, ‘The Third Side Of The Coin is a split, 2 part album which includes 2 sides of one coin, Anima and Animus. They are separate entities but together they create a bridge between dark and light, outer identity to inner truth and form a union of opposites that gives birth to universal truth. They are the gatekeepers of transformation.’

Well that’s two sides, but what about the third? Of course, this is where the truly conceptual aspect of the work comes in – the part which goes beyond the recordings themselves – and which only really makes sense in context of the following explication:

The Third Side Of The Coin is about the natural but paradoxical dualistic state of the universe. This split album explores both sides of a polarized world by peering over the precipice of the coin only to see a reflection staring back from the other side. It is a surreal mirror showing that what you fear and what you hate is living within the unconscious parts of yourself, both sides being parts of a whole. As you look into the familiar and uncomfortable reflection the coin spins, dissolving duality and revealing a clear image of the third side.
Dissolve the duality! The magic is in the middle!’

Taken literally, this suggests that the magic resides in the space between track five and track six, but I don’t think that’s what they’re meaning. Similarly, although I’m reminded of how William Burroughs and Brion Gysion expounded the concept of ‘the third mind’ as how two minds in collaboration can create a work greater than the sum of the parts, as if there’s a ‘third mind’ at work between them, I don’t feel that this quite first with the concept Moons in Retrograde are offering here.

To delve into the album itself is to venture into a world of thumping beats and deep emotional exorcism: single cut ‘Mirror Obscura’ launches the set in classic style, forging a dark, industrial-infused, goth-hued slice of dark electropop – mid-tempo, atmospheric, anthemic, and completely enthralling. The tracks which follow feel rather more generic, particularly ‘Eternalgia’: it’s a solid electrogoth stomper, and while the synths are sweeping, layered, rich in texture, everything is centred around the hard kick drum, which cuts through it all and really slams. The final song on the ‘Anima’ side is a supple exercise in dreampop, with the emphasis on the pop, a quintessential anthemic mid-tempo ballad.

While the atmosphere is overtly darker during the second half of the album – the ‘Animus’ side – it doesn’t seem so radically different at first. ‘The Edge of Entropy’ very much employs the same instrumentation and approach to composition, and ‘The Rotten Tree’ is a classic, processed dark pop cut. But closer listening reveals more twangy guitar in the mix, and a more claustrophobic and subdued style of songwriting. ‘Taxidermy Mouse’ may sound like a rather humorous title, but it’s a slow, deliberate pulsating piece which goes full aggrotech stomper at the mid-point, drawing on elements of metal while pumping out technogoth grooves. And by the time we arrive at the heaving churn of ‘Biological’, with its rampant, frenetic nu-metal percussion and gargling noise, it’s clear that this is very much an album of two halves, and at times the second half feels like a goth Prodigy.

For the most part, The Third Side Of The Coin feels a shade too clinical to really hit the mark on the emotional scale. It packs some bangers, for sure, but there’s some distance between pumping beats and emotional intensity which has a resonant, moving impact. And perhaps, stripping away the concept and taking the album as it is is the best way to approach this…

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Constellation welcomes Montréal-based jazz ensemble Bellbird to the label.

Meanwhile Bellbird celebrates with new track ‘The Call’ and will kick off 2026 playing a half-dozen shows on a winter tour of Western Canada in January.

Bellbird features tenor saxophonist Claire Devlin, alto saxophonist and bass clarinetist Allison Burik, bassist Eli Davidovici, and drummer Mili Hong. The players hail from various countries and backgrounds: rooted in modern jazz, Bellbird’s music also channels influences from the players’ wide range of influences steeped in Montréal’s genre-mashing experimental undergrounds, including punk/rock, drone/minimalism, electroacoustics and more. (Constellation has previously worked with Hong via her terrific drumming on The Obsession With Her Voice by Erika Angell and for Angell’s smouldering live shows).

Bellbird’s first album Root In Tandem was self-released in 2023, garnering some well-deserved critical accolades, and acclaimed live appearances on the Avant/Jazz circuits in Canada ever since.

Hear ‘The Call’ here:

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BELLBIRD LIVE

January 2026 • Canada

January 15 – The Esplanade (Medicine Hat)
January 16 – Yardbird Suite (Edmonton)
January 17 – Buckingjam Palace (Calgary)
January 18 – ArtsPlace (Canmore)
January 23 – Alliances Français (Vancouver)
January 24 – The Bassment (Saskatoon)

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Bellbird photo by Marc Etienne Mongrain

27th November 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Richard Rouka is… an unusual man. He’s existed around the Leeds scene since the emergence of the goth scene, and he documented it back in the day, in real time, but to describe his own musical output as ‘adjacent’ would be generous, to say the least. The mid-to-late eighties saw his label, Rouska, release a stack of stuff, predominantly by The Cassanda Complex and Dustdevils, bands with strong Leed connections.

His own works, released under the guise of WMTID aka Well Martin This Is Different! draws on the post-punk vibe of that period, but is predominantly primitive electropop with a distinctly bedroom / four-track vibe. WMTID has been a thing for over forty years, but Rouska’s output has skyrocketed in recent year.

One way of pitching it would be early Depeche Mode as performed by Young Marble Giants, but this wouldn’t really convey the ways in which these elements – played and tossed together in the most ramshackle of ways coalesce. But what it hopefully would convey was the fact that this is steeped in early eighties analogue experimentalism, the time when synths were breaking through as emerging technology and the Musician’s Union was shitting itself about how this would herald the death of ‘real’ music – particularly on account of the increasing popularity of drum machines, which they feared would end the need for drummers. Just as home taping didn’t kill music – and if anything it meant that music sharing exposed more people to new acts (I know I discovered countless new bands because people gave me mix tapes), so synths and drum machines broadened musical horizons instead.

Silica Bombs revels in the primitive: ‘Fool Moon’ is simple, sparse, in its arrangement, synths quavering around a persistent piston-pushing drum machine beat. With its stark, minimal production, paired with a fairly flat, monotone vocal delivery, ‘If It Happened Anywhere Else’ very much channels the spirit of Joy Division. The bleak, synth-led ‘Walk With Me (Into the Sea) sounds like a demo for New Order’s Movement. And yes, the recording quality is pretty rough, and it very much captures the spirit and sound of the late 70s and early 80s.

It’s different, alright, but above all, it feels like a magnificent anachronism. The eighties revival had been ongoing for at least a decade now, and so many acts have sought to replicate the sound and feel they’ve largely failed. Maybe you needed to there. Maybe you need the right kit.

But the weird, trilling organ sound of ‘Good Mourning’ brings a dark weight and fizzed-put production which are incompatible with contemporised production values. ‘Crushing Bore; brings a certain humous to proceedings, while coming on like Cabaret Voltaire. ‘Opposites Attract’ brings some heavy drone which contrasts with the sing-song vocal melody, and in may ways this is typical of the way in which WMTID explore polarities with a shameless eighties naiveté. By this, I mean that the 80s was really the last decade of real innovation. The 90s were exciting, and that’s a fact – I was there – but the 80s witnessed the arrival of synths, of electronica, and marked a real turning point in the trajectory of music. And Silica Bombs doesn’t replicate that era so much as live there. With its thumping beats and swirling synth sound, ‘Rouge Planet’ has a strong club vibe. That vibe gets stronger and harder, with the pulsating groove of ‘Sweet Jesus’, which Rouska tells us ‘I’ve got a friend in Jesus’. Yeah. The Jesus and Mary Chain, perhaps. ‘Personal Jesus’ maybe. It drives hard fir a relentless five and a half minutes.

This is an album which wears its influences on its sleeve and shows no signs of shame in that. And why should it? Rouska is very much of that era and played a part. The fact that his musical output over the last few years is indicative of a person who doesn’t go for meetups with former colleagues. More than its predecessor, Finding the A.I. G-Spot, Silica Bombs feels significantly beat-orientated, and more hard-hitting. It’s retro, and its catchy. It’s retro and it’s weird in that it has no specific identity… it’s just what it is. And it’s a groove.

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22nd November 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

The second collaborative release of the year by Deborah Fialkiewicz & {AN} EeL (aka Neal D. Redke) lands amidst a blizzard of output from two musicians who are both insanely prolific – by which I mean prolific on a scale which isn’t far off Merzbow or Kenji Siratori: they each release more frequently than the average person has time to listen to it. I don’t in any way consider myself to be an average person – and we’ll not go there – but writing about music means that having something play in the background while I do other stuff, like changing the cat litter or whatever, isn’t always something I fancy, and certainly isn’t my way of hearing a release for the first time. Ok, so this is not how, say, my daughter, who’s fourteen, or her generation, or even some of my peers take in new music, but my formative experience of new music involved sitting down and setting a new album to spin and giving to my undivided attention for its entire duration. Sometimes twice in succession, or more on a weekend.

Attention, in 2025, is, it would seem, in short supply. And yet, flying in the face of this, albums with long tracks seem to be becoming increasingly more common. Perhaps it’s a sign of artistic rebellion. Perhaps it’s that artists feel a need to reclaim the focus and concentration associated with longer works. Whatever the reason, it’s welcome, and Purple Cosmos contains three compositions spanning a solid half an hour.

This is a thoughtful, delicate trilogy of compositions, which build from hush to tumultuous tempests of sound incorporating powerful space rock and progressive elements within their protracted ambient forms.

‘The Floating Monk’ is centred primarily around a thick, earthy drone that has the texture of soil, and it’s enmeshed with dark layers of serrated tones and thunderous rumblings. It’s dark and it’s dense, and it’s uncomfortable. The rest of the album doesn’t offer much by way of light relief.

Yes, the title track strays more toward bleepy electronic experimentalism –a different kind of space rock, if you will – and the final track combines wailing synth overload with some persistent beats… but first and foremost this is an unashamedly experimental work.

Purple Cosmos is a work which reflects a rare attention to detail, and it possesses a certain persuasive relentless in its marrying of dark noise, analogue undulations, and insistent beats. There’s more than a hint of Throbbing Gristle about it, and perhaps a dash of Factory Floor. It gets inside your head, and at the same time enwraps your entire being with its otherworldliness. It sure is a far-out groove.

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Mortality Tables – 17th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Among their ever-expanding catalogue, Mortality Tables have put out a number of releases which are essentially singles or EPs, with this being one of them: with a running time of just over eleven and a half minutes, this single longform composition is only marginally longer than its title, but its creator, Michael Evill, has condensed a considerable amount of material and experience into this space.

As he writes, ‘I have created a movement which includes the last breaths of my beloved dog Watson. It also includes the last time I recorded with my most talented and wonderful best friend Gustaf in 2001, which I have slowed down so I (and you) can spend more time with him. There are the sounds of new stars being born – my own interpretation and ones ripped off from NASA through this modern internet connection we all have. Surely we own the stars still?

‘We have Aztecs having fun with drums. These were recorded live in Mexico, sadly not from the 14th century before we invaded. We have the hourglass from our kitchen, which Mat inspired me to sample. This was the first idea of this piece and everything else fell in to place very quickly as it’s been swimming in the back of my mind for a while.’

Clearly, some of these elements have deep emotional significance for Michael, but this isn’t conveyed – at least not overtly or explicitly – in the work itself. It’s a collage-type sonic stew, where all of the myriad elements bubble and roil together to form a dense soup, in which none of the flavours are distinct, but in combination, what he serves up is unique, and provided much to chew on. That this protracted food-orientated metaphor may not be entirely coherent is apposite, but should by no means be considered a criticism.

As Evill goes on to write, ‘this was the beginning, and I didn’t spend much time thinking about it and just coalesced those ideas.’ Sometimes, when seeking to articulate life experience, it doesn’t serve to overthink it. Life rarely happens that way: life is what happens when you’re busy thinking and planning. And just as our experiences aren’t strictly linear, neither are our thoughts and recollections. Indeed, our thoughts and memories trip over one another in an endless jumble of perpetual confusion, and the more life we live, the more time we spend accumulating experience – and absorbing books, films, TV, online media, overheard conversations and dreams, the more everything becomes intertwined, overlayed, building to a constant mental babble.

William Burrroughs utilised the cut-up technique specifically to bring writing closer to real life, contending that ‘life is a cut-up… every time you walk down the street, your stream of consciousness is cut by random factors… take a walk down a city street… you have seen half a person cut in two by a car, bits and pieces of street signs and advertisements, reflections from shop windows – a montage of fragments.’

This encapsulates the artist’s quest: to create something which conveys the thoughts in one’s head, to recreate in some tangible form the intangible nebulous inner life, if only to help to make sense of it for oneself.

‘Even Though It Was The Blink Of An Eye’ is a woozy, disorientating churn of noise, which is, at times, dizzying, unsettling, nausea-inducing. But then again, at other times, it’s gentle, even melodic, reflective, contemplative. There are some passages where it’s all of these things all at once. It very much does feel like a scan of the artist’s memory banks, the human brain equivalent of skipping through the RAM files and pulling items seemingly at random. It does feel somewhat strange, even awkward, being granted access in such a way, but at the same time, it feels like ‘Even Though It Was The Blink Of An Eye’ is more than an insight into the mind of one individual, but an exploration of the human psyche.

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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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