Indie / Alternative
524 products
"Real Emo" only consists of the DC emotional hardcore scene and the late '90s Delaware Valley screamo scene.... Frail were at the epicenter of that vibrant straight edge youth gaggle, screaming their throats bloody in baggy pants. Discontent with the metallic hardcore format, the quintet pursued Gen-X's ferocious, noisy rage against everything at San Diego's galloping pace. No Industry—the band's first and only vinyl compilation—includes vital singles for the Yuletide, Bloodlink, and Kidney Room labels, plus rare comp tracks from across their '93-95 run. This 17-song limited run of 300 LPs is housed in a hand-silk screened chipboard jacket and includes a 24-page 'zine chronicling the band in notes, quotes, photos, flyers, and revolutionary literature. Make Your Own Noise.
Luv, pain, the profound, the mundane: nyxy nyx is for the dreamers and true believers. Down the rabbit hole, caught in a snare, the project’s cyclical riffs and self-references blur the lines of time and reality, backing listeners into a deja vu box-trap of uncanny melodies and foggy-eyed double takes.
Known for their temporality, the Philly-based outfit have spent years manipulating their degenerative discography. Tracklistings shift, masters are swapped, and songs re-recorded. In many cases, a release is solely accessible by those with a download or physical copy. For the first time ever, nyxy nyx will commit to contract-backed perpetuity. Cult Classics Vol. 1 is out via Julia’s War records on September 12th, 2025.
Brian Reichert, Tim Jordan (Sun Organ), Benjamin Schurr (Luna Honey), and Alex Ha (ex-Knifeplay) are joined by Madeline Johnston (Midwife) and Josh Meakim (A Sunny Day in Glasgow) for nyxy nyx’s first full-band studio record. Recorded by Dan Angel, Cult Classics Vol. 1 represents the heaviest iteration of nyxy nyx, capturing their sludgy and transcendent live energy–the ideal (re)introduction for heads and new initiates alike.
nyxy nyx began in 2014 as a performance art project between Brian Riechert and Drew Saracco. The duo played noise and underground punk shows, collaborating with countless friends and guest musicians. Home recordings, tapes, and CDs of “nyxy nyx” music have been distributed by labels, but most are DIY: handmade, shared with friends, and found in little libraries. By 2020, nyxy nyx assembled a live band and played consistently, toured the east coast, and then recorded Cult Classics Vol. 1. Every song on this album was performed live, but none played the same twice.
Shintaro Sakamoto's new album ‘Yoo-hoo’, his first release in about three and a half years, reflects his overseas live experiences over the past few years while showcasing a diverse sound incorporating blues, mood songs, 60s soul, surf instrumentals, funk, and more. Furthermore, the lyrics, captured through his unique perspective, are truly one-of-a-kind. The new album, containing ten tracks including the October digital single “To Grandpa” and the November digital single “Is There a Place for You?”, is now complete.
Like the previous work, this album was recorded primarily with members of the Shintaro Sakamoto Band: Yuta Suganuma on drums, AYA on bass & backing vocals, and Toru Nishinai on saxophone & flute. Guest player Mami Kakudo participates on marimba for two tracks. Recording engineer/mastering: Soichiro Nakamura. Artwork: Shintaro Sakamoto.
Shuta Hasunuma Team — consisting of Shuta Hasunuma, Shuta Ishizuka, itoken, Yu Oshima, and Ryosuke Saito — has released their first studio album, 17 years after the group’s formation. The album includes a cover of Tortoise’s “Seneca,” with mixing handled by Tortoise’s own John McEntire and mastering by Dave Cooley.
Majesty Crush are a Detroit based shoegaze band from the 90s, but lightyears ahead of their time. They released their first and only studio album Love 15 on Dali Records, which was a subsidiary label of Warner/Elektra but folded shortly after its release. The album offers listeners a dreamy, guitar-driven sound that blurs the lines between indie rock and pop - something that is a defining feature of Majesty Crush.
Malmo, Sweden’s Sternpost returns to Concentric Circles with “unworld.afterpop.” Following on the heels of the much loved “Ulrika,” the new album from Sternpost (AKA multi-instrumentalist Petter Herbertsson) shimmers with immersive, cinematic arrangements that sound like they could have only come from a dream.
Taking inspiration from Paddy McAloon of Prefab Sprout’s “I Trawl the Megahertz” and “A Breath of Life” by Brazilian author Clarice Lispector, with some bits of Van Dyke Parks and Art Bears thrown in for good measure, it is apparent from the start that “unworld.afterpop” is no scrappy DIY affair. The songs are alive with an unbelievably lush and warm production quality, belying their home-recorded origins. Not content to simply rest on his laurels and repeat himself from release to release, “unworld.afterpop” sits at the meeting point between Herbertsson’s more overtly pop structured group Testbild! (four of whose members appear here), and Sternpost’s explorations into harmonic texture and countermelody.
Albums this richly ambitious, detailed and dare we say “mature” feel almost out of step with modern music, having more in common with grand late 60s or early 70s productions, when producers working in a “pop” context were more likely to stack layers in the studio, creating mini orchestras of sound. Most importantly, nothing here feels superfluous or unnecessary, with every detail and instrument simply being exactly where it should be.
Concentric Circles is incredibly honored to present new recordings from Sternpost, with a release that reminds you that sometimes a really good, fully formed album is the best way to experience music. Immersive and transportive yet also inherently catchy, “unworld.afterpop” is ample evidence that we are in the graces of a thoroughly gifted songwriter at the top of his craft.
Following up last year's acclaimed 'Heavy Glory' and collabs with Dean Blunt and Yung Lean, Iceage's Elias Rønnenfelt maxes on Yves Tumor-indebted hyper-sexual '90s indie-isms, trading sniffs 'n sneers with Erika de Casier, Fine and The Congos. RIYL Happy Mondays, Primal Scream or Bar Italia.
Rønnenfelt's always been good at predicting tidal shifts. Even when he was a teen fronting hardcore punk heroes Iceage he repeatedly bucked expectations, choosing to tour with fringe noise operatives like Helm and evolve the band's sound into something more like Spiritualized, augmenting chugging Britpop references with a full gospel choir on 2021's 'Seek Shelter'. So when his solo debut arrived last year, its peculiarity was almost a given; why wouldn't it be a set of country-tinted folk-rock jammers backed up with covers of Spacemen 3 and Townes Van Zandt? 'Speak Daggers', though, is a different beast altogether. Made in his bedroom between tours, it's a thicker, more confidently obstinate album than its predecessor that plays more like a continuation or evolution of 'Seek Shelter'. So after a smirking fake-out with the Nyman-esque 'Intro', 'Crush the Devil's Head' busses us to Manchester via Oxford, juxtaposing its cheeky melodica moans with Rønnenfelt's best Thom Yorke impression.
'Love How It Feels' sounds like Primal Scream reimagined by Yves Tumor, all thick sampled breaks, bolshy doomsaying and clammy glam undertones. There's an era-appropriate jaunt to Jamaica on 'Not Gonna Follow' that repurposes material Rønnenfelt recorded with The Congos and I-Jahbar when he was out in Jamaica a few years ago and sounds as if it could have fallen off the notorious '...Yes Please' sessions. And on 'Mona Lisa', he uses the Bobby Byrd 'Hot Pants' break that The Stone Roses famously twinned with Mani's enduring bassline on 'Fools Gold' - Rønnenfelt's tale of heartbreak isn't quite as toothsome, but it's a good indicator of where his head's at. A duet with Erika de Casier helps bolster highlight 'Blunt Force Trauma', and Rønnenfelt's Escho bandmate Fine - whose voice graces Two Shell's 'Home' - pitches in on 'Kill Your Neighbor', tapping into the seam between Denise Johnson and Hope Sandoval.
Rosacea sounds as strange and demented as all the previous albums by this Norwegian one-man project (on Feeding Tube and Ultra Eczema). But it sounds right. Just like he claimed in a recent interview about his untraditional approach to writing songs: "I just make stuff until it sounds right". It sounds absolutely right in fact.
As puzzling and lunatic as he may seem, yet a sense of order emanates from the idiosyncrasies featured on this album. Ghédalia Tazartès is a cursory reference. Especially on Carmelade. However, the spectrum of sound and compositions on Rosacea manage to actually transcend the late French eccentric composer and singer.
This is truly unique.
David Lewis was hardly eighteen years old when he and two friends, bassist Nigel Smith and drummer Gordon Barton uprooted themselves from Belfast and set their sites on the Big Smoke. With the move came a record deal with CBS and a rebrand from The Method to Andwella’s Dream. Now known as a cult psychedelic classic, their first and only LP under their full title Love & Poetry touched on just about every genre that was hip at the time, cross-pollinating folk, jazz, progressive rock, united by Lewis’s brilliant songwriting in the form of kaleidoscopic instrumentation and imagery.
Antigone is a chilling look at our already-alternate reality, coming from inside Eiko Isibashi’s own head. Her band brings a wide array of sounds and moods, shading pop, funk and jazz, ambient, electronic and musique concrète in a bittersweet latticework. Interlocking her new songs in seamless long-play flow with the compositional ambitions of her acclaimed soundtrack work, Eiko’s expressions are epic and intimate. 2025 will never be the same!<iframe style="border: 0; width: 350px; height: 406px;" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=507708664/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/artwork=none/transparent=true/" seamless><a href="https://eikoishibashi.bandcamp.com/album/antigone">Antigone by Eiko Ishibashi</a></iframe>
The work of JJJJJerome Ellis lives comfortably in the gaps between silence and possibility. The Black disabled Grenadian-Jamaican-American artist creates atmospheric soundscapes with saxophone, organ, hammered dulcimer, electronics, and their voice. Improvisation is at the core of their artistry – often chipping away at large slabs of recordings to reveal the piece like a marble sculptor. It’s an expansive and interdisciplinary practice that allows JJJJJerome to adapt to any medium or form, including recorded music, live theatrical and performance art, scoring, spoken word and storytelling, and multimedia/visual works that incorporate sound. Living as a person who stutters, using their mouth to express themselves proved difficult growing up. The practice of spelling their performance moniker “JJJJJerome” stems from the realization that the word they stutter most frequently is their own name. Despite a brief placement in speech therapy as a child – Everything clicked when they picked up the saxophone in seventh grade. “I still stutter on the saxophone, but it’s different.” As an artist, their creative ethos now revolves around the exploration of stuttering through music, expounding upon the ability of each to shape time. They honor the stutter through art. Their career began when they started to improvise along with John Coltrane and Billie Holiday CDs on the horn. But as someone drawn to navigating limitations, JJJJJerome has since blossomed into an adept multi-instrumentalist, each instrument being a watershed in paving new avenues of potential sound worlds. Their voice is additionally guided by a reverence for the earth and ancestors – both human and otherwise. With maternal familial ties to the church, and memorable stories of their grandmother performing as a pianist and organist, JJJJJerome’s recent affinity for keyboards holds a meaningful weight. Forthcoming sophomore record Vesper Sparrow (Shelter Press) is born out of this connection to Black religious tradition and inheritance. It is a continuation of the artist’s ongoing study of the intersections between music and sound, stuttering, and Blackness, through the lens of time. The album is comprised of two complete thoughts, and hinges on a recorded stutter. JJJJJerome splits the four-part composition “Evensong” by fading out the stutter in part two, and sandwiches tracks three and four (“Vesper Sparrow” and “Black-Throated Sparrow”) in-between. “The stutter becomes a structuring moment,” they explain, regarding the opportunity to fill the time opened up. Suspension, then, becomes integral to JJJJJerome’s musical language. Both stuttering and granular synthesis can suspend moments in time, and “invite multiple ways of inhabiting, traversing, and connecting with others in those moments.” The artist also pulls in elements of pop production – electronic textures and distortions inspired in part by indie-rock; and spoken word, sampling, and audio manipulation drawn from Caribbean and Black American musics. JJJJJerome’s artistry has been recognized on a wide scale. Their debut record The Clearing (NNA Tapes, 2021) and accompanying book (published by Wendy’s Subway) was awarded the 2022 Anna Rabinowitz Prize for its “restless interrogation of linear time,” as described by esteemed writer Claudia Rankine. Their work has been presented by large cultural institutions, both internationally at the 2023 Venice Biennale and adventurous Rewire Festival; and at home in the US by the Whitney Museum, The Shed, the Center for African American Poetry and Poetics, and National Sawdust. JJJJJerome has additionally been awarded a Fulbright Fellowship (2015), Creative Capital Grant (2022), and several MacDowell residencies (2019, 2022). Recently, they have been commissioned by The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Ars Nova. A Virginia native, JJJJJerome currently lives in a monastery on traditional Nansemond and Chesepioc territory, aka Norfolk, VA. They live with their wife, poet-ecologist Luísa Black Ellis. earned a B.A. in music theory and ethnomusicology from Columbia University, and went on to lecture in Sound Design at Yale University. With childhood friend James Harrison Monaco, they create vast sonic-storytelling productions as James & JJJJJerome. It’s JJJJJerome’s dream to build a sonic bath house.
While Duster went into hibernation in the year 2000, Clay Parton’s four-track never stopped rolling. Recorded alone at home over several years, Birds To The Ground is an album of 30-something, post-9/11 malaise. Under his Eiafuawn (Everything Is All Fucked Up And What Not) acronym Parton hides beneath layers of fuzzy and clean guitars, his hesitant, cottony vocal disappear into noise. “I’ll be a ghost, you’ll go out dancing,” he confirms.
Released on Parton’s long-running The Static Cult Label in 2006, the album was ignored upon release, though managed to get a one-time pressing on the Swedish Pillowscars imprint a couple years later. An album’s worth of songs were dribbled out on a few Internet forums but a follow up never materialized. “That sweet studio deal never worked out, and the tape machines are just collecting dust in the garage,” Parton last wrote of the project.
Musically, first of all, 1991's second album, "loveless," was more advanced and unexpected than anything else released at the time. Kevin Shields and band thoroughly pursued a sound based on pure sensuality, resulting in a work that overwhelmed the listener's senses. 1990's representative work was hailed as a perfect masterpiece that pushed the possibilities of studio recording to the limit, and has been featured on The Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds" and It has been hailed as a milestone on par with The Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds," Miles Davis' "In A Silent Way," and Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions.
Japanese obi included.
Mastered from 1/2" analog tape using Studer A80 VU-PRE and Neumann VMS 80
180g vinyl weight
Standard gatefold outer sleeve
Six 300 x 300 mm art prints enclosed
Includes DL code (24-bit | 16-bit | mp3)
Adrian Sherwood delivers a brand new full-length work for 2025, The Collapse Of Everything. A meticulously constructed album from the master mixologist, pushing his ever adventurous sound into new frontiers.
Although underpinned by a natural dub sensibility, the music presented on The Collapse of Everything fluidly crosses genre borders and seamlessly fuses a wide range of influences from a lifetime of listening and producing.
Featuring Brian Eno, Doug Wimbish, Keith Le Blanc, Cyrus Richards, and more. Mastered and cut by Frank Merritt at The Carvery. Artwork by Peter Harris.
The Demise of Planet X is Andrew Fearn and Jason Williamson’s most expansive and ambitious release to date as Sleaford Mods. Boasting the duo’s most varied and expressive musical approach so far, it charts, critiques and satirises our times, while offering a universal cry of anger and release of energy that pushes against the encroaching cultural darkness.
Contemplating the world coming to an end not with a big bang but in slowly rising tide of irritating mundanity, The Demise Of Planet X strikes back with vivid sonics, acerbic words, enveloping atmospheres and a engaging wit across 13 tracks that will move hearts, minds and feet.
The album features a rare guest appearance from former Life Without Buildings frontwoman Sue Tompkins, plus collaborations with Aldous Harding, soul singer Liam Bailey and grime MC Snowy, the latter two both hailing from band’s hometown Nottingham. In her first foray into music, actress Gwendoline Christie (Wednesday/ Severance/ Game Of Thrones) also joins Midlands band Big Special on Sleaford Mods new single The Good Life, which is released today accompanied by a video directed by Ben Wheatley (The Kill List/A Field In England/Bulk).
‘“The Demise Of Planet X’ represents a life lived under immense uncertainty, shaped by mass trauma,” declares frontman Jason Williamson. “When we wrote the last album, it was about stagnation, a country that felt like a lifeless corpse. Three years later, that corpse has been split open by war, genocide, and the lingering psychological fallout of Covid whilst social media has mutated into a grotesque, twisted form of digital engineering. It feels like we’re living among the ruins. A multi-layered abomination etched into our collective psyche.”
Forthcoming 7" from Tokyo's TAMTAM.. Including a favorite of Kuro's, "花を一輪 - Hana Wo Ichirin" which was featured on Dublab Japan's -resilience- A Charity Compilation in Aid of the 2025 LA Wildfires. Also available at Dublab.jp digitally. Flip for the Magic Hour DUB version.
The songs on Touch, the first new Tortoise music in nine years, are dramas without words. They’re elaborately appointed and carefully mixed to enhance a familiar feeling — a distinctly cinematic uneasiness. Close your eyes and you might see cars swerving around unlit rural roads, or cityscapes at night with bells clanging in the distance, or some abandoned warehouse where spies chase each other between towering stacks of boxes.
The making of Touch is an entirely different kind of film — a heartwarming story of musicians adapting to life circumstances.
Tortoise operates as a collective; the five multi-instrumentalists make records by committee, seeking input on creative decisions large and small. All ideas are considered, and for most of the band’s influential three-decade run, the process has been straightforward: Each musician brings in songs or sketches, and as the group absorbs them, the players exchange ideas about the structure, instrumentation, different grooves or (more frequently, because they’re Tortoise) odd metric divisions that might stretch the initial conception of the song.
These discussions have always happened in real time, face to face. Until Touch. As guitarist and keyboardist Jeff Parker explains, over the last decade, the members of Tortoise scattered geographically, making the pre-production rehearsal sessions if not impossible, at least more complicated.
“It’s the first record we’ve done where everything wasn’t based in Chicago,” says Parker. “Two of us are in Chicago. Two of us are here in Los Angeles and John [McEntire] is in Portland, OR. We recorded in several different places. But the strange thing is, in a way it’s kind of the most cohesive session that we’ve done.”
McEntire, who plays drums, percussion, and keyboards and serves as mixing engineer, had little doubt that the actual recording would be fine. His apprehension was about those more open-ended development sessions leading up to the recording, which, he says, have been known to yield moments of peak Tortoise inspiration. “We don't work remotely, unfortunately. We kind of all have to be in the room together. For me the trial-and-error stage is very important. I didn’t want to lose that.”
The percussionist and multi-instrumentalist John Herndon explains one reason why: The path to a “final” version of a Tortoise tune is not a straight line. “It becomes writing and arranging and editing and orchestrating and sort of getting things into a sonic space that feels good, all at the same time.”
There was consensus about that; each of the musicians has a story about songs being transformed by the collaborative dynamic. Percussionist and keyboardist Dan Bitney recalls a session when they were working on one of his tunes. He wasn’t happy with it and promised to come up with a countermelody. “Right away somebody just asked “Does it need a melody? Like, why does this need a melody? And I’m like, “Yeah!” That’s the kind of thinking that can open your eyes.”
In the initial planning for the new record, the band arrived at what seemed like a reasonable geographic compromise: They’d set up shop at studios in three different areas — Los Angeles, Portland, and Chicago. They scheduled sessions with sometimes months in between, so that everyone could sit with the material and refine it further. The plan: To shift some of the wild idea-chasing of those development sessions from group work to individual work, building on Tortoise’s deep and iconoclastic lexicon of sounds — and on the trust between musicians that’s accrued over decades of music-making.
“It’s like, humans adapt,” Herndon says flatly. In order to keep making music as a group, he explains, everyone needed to be flexible then and remain so now. “If you’re used to doing something one way, and then it flips, well, you have to adapt to another way of working. I think that that's what we all were aspiring to do with this, endeavoring to kick in our adaptation skills.”
Still, it wasn’t smooth sailing. “I’m going to be honest, I think that we had some doubts” after the first set of sessions, McEntire recalls. Noting that four years elapsed from the beginning of Touch to its completion, he adds that “it took a long, long time for the music to coalesce. There was some ‘what are we doing?’ questioning going on along the way.”
Douglas McCombs, who plays guitar, bass, and the deep-voiced bass VI guitar that adds a noir luster to “Night Gang” and other Touch songs, believes that questioning would have happened regardless of the geographical challenges. “In the best circumstance, there’s a flow when we’re working on a tune. Everyone’s sparking ideas and inspired. It’s not work.” He adds, “In the worst moments, when we just absolutely don’t know what to do with something, it’s torturous.”
Herdon points to the early versions of “Vexations,” which became the new album’s opening track, as one such slow-torture situation. “We were confounded as to figuring out an arrangement, and things were just stuck,” he recalls. During one of the long lulls between the studio sessions, Herndon says, he got an idea for the tune. “I asked John if I could have the stems [the individual track files] for the song, and then I kind of did a reworking in the garage. Re-did the drums completely and made a breakdown section in the middle. I sent it and was like, ‘I don't know if this is anything, but here.’ And those guys seemed really excited about it.”
Herndon quickly adds that every Tortoise record has benefitted from similar experimentation. In fact, it’s the key thing, a defining characteristic: “Sometimes doing an edit will leave a space open for something else, and we’re all into that idea of, ‘What happens next?’ It’s this attitude of ‘Let’s make some music together and see what happens.’ We're all comfortable with the not knowing, with letting an idea go through many permutations.”
Along with that is the knowledge that this open-ended exploring can be time-consuming. And might possibly end in futility. McCombs says that though the band’s approach changed with Touch, the players still needed the mindset they’d used in those brainstorming rehearsals. “When I get frustrated or when we seem like we're stalling out a little bit, I just have to remember that patience is one of the things that makes this band work.”
Asked to recall a moment that required patience, McCombs doesn’t hesitate. “It seems to happen a lot with the drummers,” McCombs says. “Somebody will be like, ‘Hey John [McEntire] why don’t you play this?’ And he’ll be like, ‘I don’t wanna play it cause I hear Herndon here.’ It’s like McEntire hears Herdon and Herndon hears Bitney… That happens a lot, and then they’ll come to a consensus. Sometimes half the song will be one drummer and half the song will be another drummer. That’s kind of the way it works.”
**
It must be said: When things click into place, Tortoise is a rare force. Whether cranking out a foursquare rock backbeat or chopping time into polyrhythmic shards that defy counting (and logic), the band challenges accepted notions of what rock music can be, what moods it can evoke — that’s part of the reason the band is revered so widely, among musicians working in many genres.
Tortoise’s indescribable sonic arrays have grown more intense — and more influential — over time. Early works — the 1993 debut and the 1996 Millions Now Living Will Never Die, which opens with a twenty-one-minute suite — contrast the thick harmonic schemes of Krautrock with the similarly impenetrable densities of musique concrete, adding jarring spears of electric guitar as spice accents. The commercial breakthroughs that followed, TNT (1998) and Standards (2001) found Tortoise further expanding its toolkit: Rather than orient each piece around declarative single-line melodies, the musicians let the vast, lush, inviting scenes become a hypnotic wordless narrative, built from overlapping layers and interlocking rhythms.
Each step in the discography underscores a truth about Tortoise: The questions about arrangement and orchestration are foundational, defining the scope of the canvas and the density of the band’s exactingly precise soundscapes. There can, as McCombs notes, be multiple drummers on a track, and their beats can be supported by acoustic percussion or random electronic blippage. Likewise, on any given track, there can be multiple mallet parts, sometimes sustaining gorgeous washes of color, at other times pounding out intricate Steve Reich-style interlocked grids of harmony. There can be multiple guitars, each with its own earthshaking effects profile. (Parker laughs when he says “I’m kind of like the straight man with the guitar sounds.”) There can be multiple synthesizers — darting squiggles of lead lines crashing into asymmetrical arpeggios, or bliss-toned drones hovering in the upper-middle register like a cloud in a landscape painting.
And there can be noise, all kinds of it: While the working method of Touch meant Tortoise sacrificed some spontaneous sparks, it encouraged the musicians to explore the thickening textural possibilities of different flavors of noise (white, pink, etc). The band recently issued a set of remixes for the single “Oganesson.” The more austere, stripped-down interpretations offer telling insights about the deployment of noise as well as the track-by-track assembly process, the ways Tortoise uses open space, textural layers, and dissonances to create drama.
McEntire believes those little devices are essential to the sound. “Because we don't have a singer, we have to have a different vocabulary for creating interest. So we use all the little things, like dynamics, texture, orchestration.”
Given the intricacy of the music, McEntire explains, every little sound starts as a decision in the recording studio, and then, subsequently, becomes a logistical decision for live performance — after all, the many parts have to be executed by the five players.
The songs on Touch, the first new Tortoise music in nine years, are dramas without words. They’re elaborately appointed and carefully mixed to enhance a familiar feeling — a distinctly cinematic uneasiness. Close your eyes and you might see cars swerving around unlit rural roads, or cityscapes at night with bells clanging in the distance, or some abandoned warehouse where spies chase each other between towering stacks of boxes.
The making of Touch is an entirely different kind of film — a heartwarming story of musicians adapting to life circumstances.
Tortoise operates as a collective; the five multi-instrumentalists make records by committee, seeking input on creative decisions large and small. All ideas are considered, and for most of the band’s influential three-decade run, the process has been straightforward: Each musician brings in songs or sketches, and as the group absorbs them, the players exchange ideas about the structure, instrumentation, different grooves or (more frequently, because they’re Tortoise) odd metric divisions that might stretch the initial conception of the song.
These discussions have always happened in real time, face to face. Until Touch. As guitarist and keyboardist Jeff Parker explains, over the last decade, the members of Tortoise scattered geographically, making the pre-production rehearsal sessions if not impossible, at least more complicated.
“It’s the first record we’ve done where everything wasn’t based in Chicago,” says Parker. “Two of us are in Chicago. Two of us are here in Los Angeles and John [McEntire] is in Portland, OR. We recorded in several different places. But the strange thing is, in a way it’s kind of the most cohesive session that we’ve done.”
McEntire, who plays drums, percussion, and keyboards and serves as mixing engineer, had little doubt that the actual recording would be fine. His apprehension was about those more open-ended development sessions leading up to the recording, which, he says, have been known to yield moments of peak Tortoise inspiration. “We don't work remotely, unfortunately. We kind of all have to be in the room together. For me the trial-and-error stage is very important. I didn’t want to lose that.”
The percussionist and multi-instrumentalist John Herndon explains one reason why: The path to a “final” version of a Tortoise tune is not a straight line. “It becomes writing and arranging and editing and orchestrating and sort of getting things into a sonic space that feels good, all at the same time.”
There was consensus about that; each of the musicians has a story about songs being transformed by the collaborative dynamic. Percussionist and keyboardist Dan Bitney recalls a session when they were working on one of his tunes. He wasn’t happy with it and promised to come up with a countermelody. “Right away somebody just asked “Does it need a melody? Like, why does this need a melody? And I’m like, “Yeah!” That’s the kind of thinking that can open your eyes.”
In the initial planning for the new record, the band arrived at what seemed like a reasonable geographic compromise: They’d set up shop at studios in three different areas — Los Angeles, Portland, and Chicago. They scheduled sessions with sometimes months in between, so that everyone could sit with the material and refine it further. The plan: To shift some of the wild idea-chasing of those development sessions from group work to individual work, building on Tortoise’s deep and iconoclastic lexicon of sounds — and on the trust between musicians that’s accrued over decades of music-making.
“It’s like, humans adapt,” Herndon says flatly. In order to keep making music as a group, he explains, everyone needed to be flexible then and remain so now. “If you’re used to doing something one way, and then it flips, well, you have to adapt to another way of working. I think that that's what we all were aspiring to do with this, endeavoring to kick in our adaptation skills.”
Still, it wasn’t smooth sailing. “I’m going to be honest, I think that we had some doubts” after the first set of sessions, McEntire recalls. Noting that four years elapsed from the beginning of Touch to its completion, he adds that “it took a long, long time for the music to coalesce. There was some ‘what are we doing?’ questioning going on along the way.”
Douglas McCombs, who plays guitar, bass, and the deep-voiced bass VI guitar that adds a noir luster to “Night Gang” and other Touch songs, believes that questioning would have happened regardless of the geographical challenges. “In the best circumstance, there’s a flow when we’re working on a tune. Everyone’s sparking ideas and inspired. It’s not work.” He adds, “In the worst moments, when we just absolutely don’t know what to do with something, it’s torturous.”
Herdon points to the early versions of “Vexations,” which became the new album’s opening track, as one such slow-torture situation. “We were confounded as to figuring out an arrangement, and things were just stuck,” he recalls. During one of the long lulls between the studio sessions, Herndon says, he got an idea for the tune. “I asked John if I could have the stems [the individual track files] for the song, and then I kind of did a reworking in the garage. Re-did the drums completely and made a breakdown section in the middle. I sent it and was like, ‘I don't know if this is anything, but here.’ And those guys seemed really excited about it.”
Herndon quickly adds that every Tortoise record has benefitted from similar experimentation. In fact, it’s the key thing, a defining characteristic: “Sometimes doing an edit will leave a space open for something else, and we’re all into that idea of, ‘What happens next?’ It’s this attitude of ‘Let’s make some music together and see what happens.’ We're all comfortable with the not knowing, with letting an idea go through many permutations.”
Along with that is the knowledge that this open-ended exploring can be time-consuming. And might possibly end in futility. McCombs says that though the band’s approach changed with Touch, the players still needed the mindset they’d used in those brainstorming rehearsals. “When I get frustrated or when we seem like we're stalling out a little bit, I just have to remember that patience is one of the things that makes this band work.”
Asked to recall a moment that required patience, McCombs doesn’t hesitate. “It seems to happen a lot with the drummers,” McCombs says. “Somebody will be like, ‘Hey John [McEntire] why don’t you play this?’ And he’ll be like, ‘I don’t wanna play it cause I hear Herndon here.’ It’s like McEntire hears Herdon and Herndon hears Bitney… That happens a lot, and then they’ll come to a consensus. Sometimes half the song will be one drummer and half the song will be another drummer. That’s kind of the way it works.”
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It must be said: When things click into place, Tortoise is a rare force. Whether cranking out a foursquare rock backbeat or chopping time into polyrhythmic shards that defy counting (and logic), the band challenges accepted notions of what rock music can be, what moods it can evoke — that’s part of the reason the band is revered so widely, among musicians working in many genres.
Tortoise’s indescribable sonic arrays have grown more intense — and more influential — over time. Early works — the 1993 debut and the 1996 Millions Now Living Will Never Die, which opens with a twenty-one-minute suite — contrast the thick harmonic schemes of Krautrock with the similarly impenetrable densities of musique concrete, adding jarring spears of electric guitar as spice accents. The commercial breakthroughs that followed, TNT (1998) and Standards (2001) found Tortoise further expanding its toolkit: Rather than orient each piece around declarative single-line melodies, the musicians let the vast, lush, inviting scenes become a hypnotic wordless narrative, built from overlapping layers and interlocking rhythms.
Each step in the discography underscores a truth about Tortoise: The questions about arrangement and orchestration are foundational, defining the scope of the canvas and the density of the band’s exactingly precise soundscapes. There can, as McCombs notes, be multiple drummers on a track, and their beats can be supported by acoustic percussion or random electronic blippage. Likewise, on any given track, there can be multiple mallet parts, sometimes sustaining gorgeous washes of color, at other times pounding out intricate Steve Reich-style interlocked grids of harmony. There can be multiple guitars, each with its own earthshaking effects profile. (Parker laughs when he says “I’m kind of like the straight man with the guitar sounds.”) There can be multiple synthesizers — darting squiggles of lead lines crashing into asymmetrical arpeggios, or bliss-toned drones hovering in the upper-middle register like a cloud in a landscape painting.
And there can be noise, all kinds of it: While the working method of Touch meant Tortoise sacrificed some spontaneous sparks, it encouraged the musicians to explore the thickening textural possibilities of different flavors of noise (white, pink, etc). The band recently issued a set of remixes for the single “Oganesson.” The more austere, stripped-down interpretations offer telling insights about the deployment of noise as well as the track-by-track assembly process, the ways Tortoise uses open space, textural layers, and dissonances to create drama.
McEntire believes those little devices are essential to the sound. “Because we don't have a singer, we have to have a different vocabulary for creating interest. So we use all the little things, like dynamics, texture, orchestration.”
Given the intricacy of the music, McEntire explains, every little sound starts as a decision in the recording studio, and then, subsequently, becomes a logistical decision for live performance — after all, the many parts have to be executed by the five players.