Posts Tagged ‘instrumental’

Martin Virgo is a composer, multi-instrumentalist and producer who worked with musical luminaries such as Björk and Massive Attack in the early 1990s before going on to enjoy global success with his own band, Mono, later in that decade.

Almost three decades on, Virgo is releasing his debut solo album. Entitled Ghost Piano, it can be seen as a prequel to his hit-making years. Classically trained in composition and piano at the Guildhall School of Music, he had developed a taste for Chopin, French Impressionism, the austere strangeness of Erik Satie and the minimalism of Philip Glass and Brian Eno. However, he then hooked up with Nellee Hooper and began a career in pop music that also led to work composing for cinema and TV commercials. These included an award-winning ad for Help The Aged.

“I came to the point a couple of years ago when I wanted to create something that was completely stripped of all the frippery and distractions of modern production techniques,” explains Virgo. “I wanted to write music that had a sense of lineage, but within a very distilled style. I also wanted to take a break from the world of digital audio production, so all the tracks on Ghost Piano were recorded live by myself on a Steinway model B acoustic grand piano, with the cello on the title track played by Nick Cooper (The Michael Nyman Band).”

Hear the title track here:

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Ghost Piano contains eleven evocative pieces in which the listener can hear the ‘ghosts’ of Chopin, Debussy and Satie playing in the absinthe soaked atmosphere of late 19th century Paris. “You can hear those influences on this album, although I think there are also traces of my time working with Björk on Debut, Massive Attack and Nellee Hooper on ‘Unfinished Sympathy’ and ‘Safe From Harm’, Shara Nelson on ‘Friendly Fire’ and Alanis Morissette on ‘Still’ (from the film Dogma),” Virgo adds. “These were all formative creative experiences for me. By the time I came to write and produce Mono songs like ‘Life In Mono’  and our album Formica Blues, I had embarked on a quest for a more European sounding harmonic and melodic palette.”

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23rd July 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

With Amps Kill’s Avulse EP, we’re in dark ambient territory here, with the emphasis on the dark, at least sonically. In terms of intent and narrative arc, it’s a little more nuanced in hue.

As the accompanying notes outline, ‘Without lyrics, Avulse guides the listener through a story. The track titles on the EP provide some context to the emotional inspiration behind the music… Avulse explores the idea of removing aspects of the self or of one’s life that are holding one back from growing and moving forward just as lizards, spiders, and insects need to shed their skin to grow. It’s a process that is often quite painful but always for the better. That pain is the core of Avulse’.

The EP’s title certainly makes sense in this context, the dictionary definition being ‘to pull or tear something away, especially a part of the body as a result of an accident or surgery’. And so it is that Amps Kill delivers something of a performative purging over the course of the EP’s five compositions.

As is the method when it comes to EP releases in recent years, the four of the five tracks on Avulse have been released individually as singles. I’m still not entirely clear on the wisdom of this approach to promotion: there’s building interest through advance singles, and then there’s emptying the tank. But then I spent a long time being accustomed to one or two singles in advance of an album’s release, and one or two more after to maintain its profile and to extend its trailing sales. Now, everything is up-front – a consequence surely being that anticipation for an EP is diminished because there’s less – if any – new material to look forward to. But I’m 50 and came to music in an era of physical releases and singles chart shows on the TV and radio, and I’m clearly get to grasp the benefits of the new way.

The first four tracks, all released as singles do, it has to be said, work better in succession than as standalone pieces. ‘Slough’, landing with a dense, hard, serrated-edged billow of noise that crashes in like a tidal wave, is heavy and oppressive. There are softer sounds beneath, but overall, it forges a thick, oppressive atmosphere, and ‘Chronophage’ plunges deeper. The title references the Corpus Clock, also known as the Grasshopper Clock, outside the library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, a clock with no hands or numerals and guarded by a metal grasshopper or locust. Amidst scrapes and hums of feedback, electronic insectoid skitterings create texture on the track, creating a scratchy, uncomfortable tension, and ‘Husk’ brings more heavy, sonorous drones and cracking distortion at the edges of dense surges of sound. It’s not entirely ambient, as there are thick, booming beats which land like detonations, and the atmosphere is tense, akin to the sound of low-flying planes and crashes and splashes like shattering metal rupture all about. It’s pretty intense, and comfortable it is not.

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‘Basilisk’ brings more of the same, in essence, but the thunderous beats are brought to the fore, amidst the flutter of flapping, like the sound of a thousand bats fleeing a bottomless cave. And so there is a clear sense of progression here: dark ambience transitions to throbbing industrial – in the more traditional sense, tracing a lineage to Throbbing Gristle, Coil.

Arriving at the last piece, the only one previously unreleased, there is a significant shift in tone. As Amps Kill intimates, “‘Des Pas Sur Les Cendres’ completes the idea of the group and ties all of them together. That track takes all of its musical thematic material from a piano work by Claude Debussy called ‘Des pas sur la neige’ and expands or explores it’. It sure as hell doesn’t sound like Debussy, but it very much does feel like a composition which brings the EP to a fitting close – altogether more subdued, softer, more delicate, it’s five and a half minutes of mellow ambience, albeit with a few serrated edges – which, while dark, hints at some vague sense of hope, and the sense that once the avulsion is complete, there is the potential to grow anew.

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XASTHUR premiere the track ‘Put You Out of Your Misery’ as the first advance single taken from the forthcoming new album Open to Misinterpretation. This self-made recording of Dark American Folk is chalked up for release through Prophecy Productions on October 2, 2026.

Xasthur comment: “Wherever you go, there you are – and you have to live with yourself”, mastermind Scott Conner writes about ‘Put You Out of Your Misery’. “This song revolves around reaching that inner crossroads where something has to give, and you either confront the issues that make you miserable or you are allowing them to destroy you.”

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The eminent French philosopher and Literature Nobel Prize laureate Albert Camus posed and taught that the key in dealing with the absurdity of life and the universe is acceptance. Xasthur founder Scott Conner, an astute chronicler of the dark side of the American dream, has come to terms with that idea in his own way.

Conner has learned the hard way that his work can confuse people and be misread. He has come to accept that. This notion is clearly expressed in the title of his new work Open to Misinterpretation. This insight has also firmed his resolve to neither change his artistic direction nor to attempt making his music easier for people to access. Conner is just not interested in chasing what has worked for other people or fitting neatly into a genre.

This does not mean that Xasthur are standing still. Open to Misinterpretation represents a deeper and more developed version of what Conner already does. He keeps honing his expression and to find new sounds and moods for his ideas. As a result, his songwriting has become equally more detailed as well as harder to predict at the same time. The bass is used more prominently and also more technical on this album. A greater variety of guitar tunings opens up new possibilities, while the drum programming has become a serious part of how the songs are built.

The production has audibly been cleared up, even though Conner still aims for the recording process to feel live, organic, and real. Open to Misinterpretation probably feels more complete because these songs have already been performed live on stage due to Xasthur’s prior touring activities on both sides of the Atlantic. This means that the reactions of the audience have become a part of the tracks.

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Odd Doo – 12th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

There is something uniquely compelling about the sound of a pipe organ. I’m clearly not alone in this, as there have been many non-religious works which have explored the use of the instrument, ranging from ribcage-rattling drone to the tired groaning wheeze of dilapidated organs in dire need of restoration. Because organs tend to be installed – often designed and built specifically to work with the acoustics of the space – they can’t readily be transported elsewhere, and equally, they each have their own individual sounds, however nuanced the differences may be to the average ear.

After four subsequent albums, O.R.G.II finds Puce Moment – the musical and visual project of Nico Devos and Pénélope Michel, whose choice of name references a short film from 1949 – revisit the inspirations for their 2019 album O.R.G. It was recorded at Saint Joseph Church Armentières, France – a truly remarkable building, with, it would appear, a quite spectacular pipe organ.

They describe the album as ‘an immersive musical work that brings the traditional pipe organ into dialogue with electronic and drone compositions, unfolding within a liminal soundscape — a space of transition and encounter orchestrated by Puce Moment’.

And so it is that they present five compositions constructed around quivering, slow-moving drones which are tonally rich, warm and organic. And immersive they are, indeed. The album begins with the ten-and-a-half-minute ‘Simoon’, which was aired with an accompanying video last month. It’s incredibly textured and nuanced, but to extract those textures and nuances requires a degree of attention. In our overloading, hyperaccelerated, technologically-driven times, where the average attention span is barely three seconds, the idea of sitting down and paying attention to prolonged hums might sound untenable, but the fact is that spending time with the lights down, or off, and the phone in another room while simply feeling the textures, the subtle interplay between the layers and waves is nothing short of a revelation.

The individual pieces melt together – which seems appropriate, given that I’m writing this in the middle of a punishing heatwave, and I feel as if my entire body is slowly melting. ‘Pavna’ pulsates in a way which resonates with my own palpating internal organs… and as if in protest, my laptop crashes and I lose three hundred words of my review in progress. But I’m too sapped to panic, and perhaps more pertinently, I’m feeling too zen thanks to the soporific nature of the cinematic dronescape in which I find myself.

The nine-and-a-half-minute ‘Ruach’ rumbles almost subliminally at first, before transitioning into a rippling wave reminiscent of a combination of Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream, a trilling waltz with a distinctly retro feel, which bleeds into the fourteen-and-a-half-minute ‘Ilma’, a piece which truly encapsulates the layering and detail of the album.

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Lawrence English shares a second piece from his forthcoming album, The Rest Is My Ghost arriving on Room40 on 7th August. ‘One Line Sky’ starts uneasy, towering and stuttering before bursting forth into an ecstatic wash of bass heavy, dense harmonics.

About ‘One Line Sky’, Lawrence says, "I spent a good deal of time researching in mega-cities whilst making this record. ‘One Line Sky’ was a term passed to me by a friend in Hong Kong. It has numerous readings, many of which float around the experiences of being at the bottom on these long canyon of buildings. which form the one line sky. The sky then is a slither of something else we can see beyond the immediate towers of architecture. I like the sense of escapism that is promised in that view, that outside of these places we build and sometimes cage ourselves into, a whole other possible life exists."

Hear ‘One Line Sky’ here:

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Photo credit: Traianos Pakioufakis

Saccharine Underground – 9th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

I like my shit weird and experimental, and so it is that AD Ozium’s In the Style of Dead Sparrows is both weird and experimental, and needless to say I like it – but with the caveat that listening to it is an experience akin to being dragged through an near-endless nightmare, and every time you think you’ve woken up, you discover that you’re simply in another level of this multi-faceted anxiety dream.

The pitch is that ‘In the Style of Dead Sparrows is the latest transmission from the outer edge of instrumental music – a fractured, hallucinatory convergence of freak folk textures and no wave dissonance that dissolves the boundary between sound and psyche. Created by Washington D.C.-based solo musician Jeremy Moore (Zabus, Zero Swann, Bell Barrow) under the name AD Ozium, the album operates at the intersection of freak folk, no wave, avant-garde drone and experimental instrumental music.’

But this barely scratches the lumpy, irregular, alien, fog-covered surface of this album. The first composition, ‘Lifespring’ is exemplary in its exploratory nature. It begins subtly, some desert rock twang in a drift of breeze and warping ambience. With tweets and yawns, it feels as if the tape is stretched in places, and there’s a crackle and hiss reminiscent of that old four-track tape noise and plunging synth rumbles. Discord builds as the sound swells, unsettlingly. It continues in this way for the first six minutes or so, until the nerve-jangling tension and suspense breaks into a brief but thunderous rupture.

The ten-minute ‘Tender Loving Seed’ is swampy, straggly, churny, a mangled mess of broken-sounding country guitar and fractured electronics, not so much a whistle of feedback as the sound of circuitry melting amidst a swell of distortion. It sounds like fucked-up flamenco, it sounds like dialling through radio stations and managing to tune into none of them, it sounds like a cerebral spasm. It’s a slow unwinding of discordant chaos.

I’ll take a stab that ‘Whore of Sound’ is perhaps a reference to ‘Whorle of Sound’ by Throbbing Gristle, which appeared on their First Annual Report, and was subsequently reprised in a radically altered but altogether more brutal form as Walls of Sound on DOA: The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle. Certainly, the sonic parallels are apparent: this is seven minutes of gnarly noise which swells to head-shredding intensity with hints of Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music.

‘Faith is a Hole’ brings new layers of discomfort, the overloading low frequencies creating mic distortion and the most hellish vibrations, making for a long seven and a quarter minutes, before ‘Portents of the Terminal Mind’ ripples and reverberates a whirlpool of the wrongest confusion.

Confusion, contusion… ‘The Nazarene Distortion’ is gentle at first, but again, discord and chaos and blasting lasers reign… and all the while, there is a background rumble, a tape his that never stops. The background noise at times reminds me of Rudimentary Peni’s Pope Adrian 37th Psychristiatric – not because its similar in musical terms, but that endless, nagging background sound gnaws away at your ears and your brain. It’s not the most abrasive or attacking nine minutes of noise, but it’s a heavy slog of the most difficult atonality. It’s stomach-lurchingly messy. At times, you just want it all to stop.

This is challenging. It’s woozy, head-spinning. It simply sounds wrong. It’s not some Beefheart-style cacophony. It’s darker, the lo-fi leanings and atonality only amplifying the tension. Drones and buzzes, hums and fleeting phases are interspersed with annihilative blasts of noise, and the guitar notes simply echo out into the void.

In the Style of Dead Sparrows isn’t simply weird or experimental – it’s harsh and abrasive, and it will assail your intestines and hollow you out.

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MISSOULA return with their latest single, ‘Ted Dollop’. The track is the third preview of the band’s upcoming debut album, Death Doula, due June 26 via Org Music.

Featuring drummer Brooks Wackerman (Avenged Sevenfold, Bad Religion), guitarist John Konesky (Tenacious D), and bassist/keyboardist John Spiker (Tenacious D, Beck), MISSOULA have quickly established themselves as a unique instrumental force, blending cinematic composition, heavy grooves, and adventurous musicianship into something that feels both technical and wildly imaginative.

If previous singles ‘Love Bombs’ and ‘Crimson’ introduced listeners to the band’s dynamic range, ‘Ted Dollop’ showcases another side of the project—playful, unpredictable, and driven by an irresistible rhythmic pulse.

Konesky explains:

“Much that was known of the legend of Ted Dollop is lost to the annals of history, but those that still speak to his glory will often hear his name in the rustling leaves and fields of wheat as the wind calmly blows rhythms of 7/8 o’er this great land. On June 3rd Missoula releases Ted Dollop in honor of the best to ever do it.”

Like much of Death Doula, the track balances virtuosic musicianship with a sense of fun and exploration. Rather than treating instrumental music as an exercise in technical excess, MISSOULA focus on memorable compositions, unexpected turns, and the chemistry between three accomplished players who know exactly when to push forward and when to leave space.

The forthcoming Death Doula expands on that approach across eleven instrumental tracks that move between crushing riffs, melodic passages, and cinematic arrangements. Built around Wackerman’s powerful and precise drumming, Konesky’s expressive guitar work, and Spiker’s inventive low-end foundation, the album feels less like a side project and more like a fully realized artistic statement.

As Konesky previously described the band: “Missoula is what happens when you take the reins off and let yourself run free, naked and fearless, thru an infinite universe.”

Hear ‘Ted Dollop’ here (click image to play):

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Futura Resistenza – 9th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

23 minutes is, of course, about the most music that it’s possible to fit on one side of vinyl without risking loss of fidelity, but the number 23 is also the locus of the so-called ’23 enigma’ popularised by William S. Burroughs, which suggests that the number 23 appears with unusual frequency in various contexts and may have a larger, hidden significance. Of course it’s likely a coincidence, but the fact that Cold Shoulder contains two pieces, each just over 23 minutes in duration, and thus occupying a side of the LP is undeniably an instance of the recurrence of the number 23. Did they compose the works specifically to the end of fitting as much music onto each side, or were they edited to fit for the vinyl pressing? Perhaps you need to have been at the show to know – for Cold Shoulder is a document of a live performance, recorded live in Berlin in late 2024.

Ambarchi and Guthrie have been collaborating for more than twenty years now (maybe even 23, who knows?), and Cold Shoulder showcases an evolved level of intuition: as their bio summarises, ‘Their musical dialogue, which previously moved through abstraction and volatile electro-acoustic experimentation, now unfolds with relaxed confidence, melding drifting Leslie tones, shimmering percussion, and fluid pulses that emerge and dissolve’, adding ‘It’s a document of experience; music that feels freer, more direct, perhaps quietly fearless’.

Constructed using layers of drones which hover and hum, trilling tones which stretch out over expansive minutes with barely minimal shift, subtly melodic elements gradually reveal themselves. Ambarchi’s guitar doesn’t sound like a guitar for the most part, as he coaxes and teases the subtlest of ambient strains of feedback and quivering sustain from his instrument, and Guthrie’s percussion is restrained beyond restraint, consisting primarily or the most delicate cymbal work, and the most occasional muted punctuatory thuds. Around ten minutes into the first part – ‘This Cold Shoulder’, some misty forms emerge, a vague rhythm, and organ-like drones, an evolving atmosphere that swirls skywards, a melting together of space-rock and ambient jazz. Notes warp and time twists, as the percussion becomes more complex and more prominent, yet still subtle, restrained. Further on, there is a slow, stuttering wind-down, during which the sounds become increasingly fractured and hazy.

The second part, ‘That Cold Shoulder’ finds Ambarchi’s feedback drones splitting into shuddering whines which call to mind Metal Machine Music, but gradually folds into a more gentle interlacing of quavering notes, while the drumming, still muted, gathers pace if not volume. Time simply hangs in suspension at this point… and gradually flakes into pieces, along with any semblance of structure.

It’s a wonderful experience to simply lose oneself in this ever-transitioning, eternally-shifting work, which ultimately comes to drape the listener’s ears with mellow tones, concluding with a segment which evokes something between space and the sounds of a tropical forest at dusk. But none of it explains the bizarre George Michael portrait on the cover…

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17th April 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Since emerging as The Sunken Land not so long ago, David Martin has focused on his consistent push forward, and his systematic output. One gets the impression that this is much more driven by a desire to render new sonic art, than the capitalist compulsion, now being pushed by streaming sites, to continuously create ‘content’. And for that, I say ‘good’: content creation as a goal in itself is as anathematic to art as AI itself: creation for the pleasure of the act, however, is an entirely different matter.

This, the third release by The Sunken Land – and the third in four months – is perhaps the most ambitious yet, making deeper explorations into texture, tone, and contrast.

Admirably, there is no information about this release: it’s left for the listener to unravel. And why shouldn’t it be? While it can be interesting to learn where there’s a specific back-story, motivation, meaning, or method which is vital to a work, more often than not, the endless explication given by some artists gets to be a drain after a while. It can also make the writing of a review feel somewhat futile, as if half the job’s already been done.

As the title perhaps suggests, there’s a sense of ephemerality to the three compositions on up close everything melts into air. The first, ‘scoria bricks’ is an eight-minute piece which overlays a heavy, pulsating drone, dense with distortion, with soft, comparatively clean notes, which at times sounds like Earth attempting to cover Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Albatross’. The contrasting parts, while distinctly separate, form a full-spectrum sonic flow, which is both immersive and strangely soothing.

Some cursory research, meanwhile, reveals that a scoria brick is a type of blue-grey brick made from slag, originally manufactured from the waste of the steelworks of Teesside, common across the North-East of England, and that ‘the word Scoria originally comes from Greek, meaning “Excrement”, but came to be used by the Romans for a kind of volcanic rock’. It’s more than I can manage to avoid making some reference to ‘shit bricks’ here. However, I also discovered that these are precisely the bricks, manufactured in the late nineteenth century, used in the back alleys in the part of York where I live, which, on a personal level, brought an additional dimension to listening back to the track, a sense of connection with a part of the local history I had hitherto been unaware of.

Arriving with a tearing detonation of a chord, ‘into air’ is again simultaneously heavy yet delicate, even light. The experience is perhaps evocative of waves crashing against rocks, and observing rainbows amidst the spray – something rare and special, and so fleeting and impermanent – barely even tangible, and completely without substance – that it hardly seems to exist at all. In a blink, the phenomena has passed, as if evaporated, quite literally ‘into air’.

The third and final piece, ‘white sike’, is both the briefest and the gentlest of the suite, and given the voyage of discovery inspired by ‘scoria bricks’, it’s perhaps most likely in some way connected to White Sike Wood, a forest some way west and a shade north of Harrogate, rather than the White Sike in Dumfries And Galloway. Its picked notes and slow movement is the sonic equivalent of dappled sun – rather than Sunn O))) – through leaves, and over its duration, a tranquillity descends.

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