MUSIC

'Science, Art And Ritual' is a story of ‘process'. Growing up in Harrow (a then quiet suburb of London) in the 70’s and 80’s from the age of about 10, Kingsuk Biswas aka Bedouin Ascent's ears opened up to sound as he scanned the airwaves. The undeniable righteousness of 80’s dub via David Rodigan’s Roots Rockers shows was the first prominent influence he received, and with punk roots —and his burgeoning record collection— became exposed to the breathless post punk experimentation that followed in the early 80’s sweeping up free jazz, noise, dub and much more. Throughout though, he maintained his fascination with Indian Classical music which was a mainstay in his parent’s house and spoke with the same infinite space as Joy Division's 'Unknown Pleasures', and King Tubby’s Studio dispatches. Through those teens he assembled and de-assembled, knocking about with fellow travellers —punk bands, garage, space rock, noise. Something was happening. On-U Sound, ECM, Factory Records kept him plugged in and sane. At that time Kingsuk's core studio setup revolved around his vintage Gretsch, Fender Jazz, Moog, TR-606 and rudimentary FX. He added congas, folk instruments, pipes, hand percussion, gongs, and jammed out shards of funk, noise, jazz fusion, electro and ambience into his hungry Tascam Portastudio. By 1987 these had morphed into what we’d now refer to broadly as techno, but the genre didn't exist beyond the reverberating walls of his bedsit, and he hadn’t yet plugged into the global conversation. 'Science, Art And Ritual' was released in 1994 by Rising High Records and was presented as Bedouin Ascent's debut album, although 'Music for Particles' (released in 1995, again on Rising High) was recorded even before —'SAR' sessions span from 1992-1993, whereas 'Music for Particles' were earlier from 1989-1992, with some older 4-track references from about 1986 too. Weaved in throughout the album are subconscious references to music that Kingsuk heard in the past that still remained within sight as companions. The opening track "Ancient Ocean III", referencing the extinct ocean Tethis, unapologetically channels Tackhead, Colourbox, Mantronix and Lee Perry. The style was also deliberately juxtaposed to the prevailing sound in techno at the time, which had locked onto a rigid form of symmetrical kicks and light snare drums. Elsewhere 80’s soul and funk are frozen and captured in fragile glass lattices. Electric pianos resound throughout, such as in "He Is She", probably a half-memory of 70’s MOR radio from childhood sleepy night drives. A duel between kick drums from three generations of Roland drum machines —TR-808, TR-707 and R-8— is a central theme in "Transition-R", all in conversation, calling and responding. These were not just machines to Bedouin Ascent, but part of an extended family, with heart and soul. Three decades after seeing the light, Lapsus is proud to present a special 30th anniversary reissue of this left-field techno gem in a repackaged and redesigned edition. All pressed on a deluxe 3LP marbled vinyl and including a limited lithographic insert print of the original album cover. All tracks have been restored and remastered directly from the original DAT tapes, and the album also features previously unreleased tracks such as "In the Clouds" and "Thru Water" —regularly performed live at that time and produced in the same period as the album sessions in 1993. 'Science, Art And Ritual’ may refer to esoteric traditions in Indian philosophy, but equally embodies the collision of the science, the art and the ritual that is at the core of being immersed in a deep musical journey.

The new avant-garde isn’t about creating something that doesn’t yet exist, it’s about abandoning and confusing rigid genres. I want to open up, in order to both abolish and reconstruct the musical past.» — Noémi Büchi Noémi Büchi’s album ‘Does It Still Matter’ completes a series of releases whose titles - ‘Matière’, ‘Matter’, and ‘Does It Still Matter’ - place the physicality of music in the center of attention. Büchi’s specific sound structures and aesthetic choices question the state of materiality in a world that is becoming more and more fluid and intangible. From ‘Matière’ to ‘Matter’, Büchi subtly transferred from a focus on substance to questioning the enigmatic core of being, passing from a noun to a verb, and from a single word to an inquiry. ‘Does It Still Matter’ weighs in on the importance of questioning. Her pieces juxtapose multi-layered analog synthesizer textures, crystal clear sounds and almost brutalistic noises, while they unfold in compositional structures akin to pop songs. Driven by an orchestra of myriad parts, her music creates transcendent intonations that resonate deeply with the listeners’ bodies. A daring blend of complexity and accessibility are molded into captivating sound sculptures that challenge and intrigue listeners alike. Deviating from conventional time divisions, ’Does It Still Matter’ immerses listeners in a discordant succession of elements, and guides them towards an eternal present that erases the past with each new revelation, while maintaining it through recurring themes that serve as intimate memories. Büchi’s electronic maximalism questions our linear perception of time, offering a glimpse into a world where the past, present, and future converge into a singular moment. Her avant-garde approach rejects predictability, inviting listeners to immerse themselves fully in the present. Everything starts anew at any given instant. Each musical idea exists for one precise moment, rendering the future unpredictable. ‘Does It Still Matter’ unfolds against a backdrop of collective disaster and biocidal urgency, challenging the very essence of time. Büchi explains: «The world appears to have gone mad. It’s all but impossible to reflect on the meaning of avant-garde in music, considering the future in this sepulchral kind of stability of the human condition.» Her compositions resonate like an infernal machine, questioning the instantaneous dissipation of everything. Finally, echoes and fragments of sounds remain, haunting memories like ghostly companions. ’Does It Still Matter’ is an immersive experience that invites listeners to contemplate the impermanence of our world and the enduring power of sound.

Le Jardin des Plantes, in four parts, for cello and electronics. A place in Paris and a novel by Claude Simon. Memory spaces, a source, a scrying of time. – Anton Lukoszevieze

Written, produced, recorded between 2018 & 2022 in France and the United Kingdom. Special thanks to the palace builders, the ones who supported me and generously helped crafting this record ; Florian, Oliver, Madelen, Paul, Joshua, Melek, Igor, Jackmichaelking user on freesound . com, Ulysse, Antoine, Derek, Charles, Ailton, Kristina & Josh. And extra thanks to my loved ones, you know who you are ♡

The entire album is permeated with ethereal, lo-fi sounds, creating a superb ambient/drone masterpiece that is melancholic and introspective, yet filled with sweet, meditative charm!

Tokyo deep house master Soshi Takeda returns with a long-awaited six-song sequel to 2021’s landmark Floating Mountains, surfing deeper into mystery, motion, and liquid dreams: Secret Communication. Recorded across 2022 and 2023 at his home studio with a unique assemblage of 80’s and 90’s hardware, the tracks cruise through a latticework of skyways on lush pads, bubbling bass, and blissed BPMs, dusted in sunrise acid and cosmic piano. His is a dance music of idyllic emotions and inner worlds, yearning for new horizons. Dramatic events overlapped with the album’s creation: “Wars broke out. On the other hand, my child was born. There were sad and beautiful moments in my life.” Secret Communication contains vistas, valleys, glimpses of lives unled, swirling above the grey noise of the city. From the jazzy daydream of “Can Imagination Transcend Distance?” to the sleek starlight house of “Rainstorm” to the farewell ecstasy of the title track, Takeda’s music touches and transports, a portal to places beyond. Fantasy and feeling, intention and inspiration, all become one: “When I listen to beautiful deep house, I feel a mysterious atmosphere. Dreamy scenes come to mind. I aim to create that sound."

Tokyo visionist Soshi Takeda’s second album took shape across eight months of the winter and spring, inspired by an iconic mid-80’s photography book of Chinese landscapes. Scenes of lantern-lit fishing boats on misty mountain lakes seeded a mood of hidden paradise, with ancient waterways snaking secret paths into the past. Recorded at his home studio using hardware synths and samplers from the 1990’s, the six songs of Floating Mountains (plus digital-only bonus track, “Deep Breath,” from the 2nd Life Silk compilation) evoke shrouded vistas of liquid skies and shining lakes, like some Li River twist on Balearic half-light house. Shades of cosmic drift and crystalline electronica ebb and flow within the nocturnal pulse, pagodas and pearls reflecting the waning moon: “I hope you can feel the cool and exotic atmosphere.”

If there’s one specific component that grounds “Sky Flesh”, it’s the focus. Italian musician and sound designer Marta De Pascalis flexed her technical muscle on 2020’s “Sonus Ruinae”, layering various sounds and processes in an attempt to touch the sublime. In contrast, “Sky Flesh” is a single thought, composed using just one instrument: the Yamaha CS-60. A slimmed-down sibling to the gargantuan CS-80 – the analog synthesizer used by Vangelis to create his iconic “Blade Runner” score – the CS-60 was released in 1977, a few years before the MIDI protocol was introduced to help standardize production methods. MIDI would change the electronic music landscape completely, offering a level of control that De Pascalis consciously relinquishes, preferring to highlight expressiveness and timbre, elements more readily associated with acoustic instruments. The album arrives as much of the wider experimental scene busies itself with algorithmic composition and AI-assisted modeling; De Pascalis chooses to work instead like an organologist, harnessing the CS-60’s mercurial magic to suggest deeper truths about our evolving relationship with machines. Currently based in Berlin, De Pascalis grew up in Rome, where she was surrounded by atrophied ruins that piqued her interest in decay and memory. Over her last three albums, she used tape loops and advanced synthesizer techniques to create a unique sound world that’s guided by her musical philosophy, rather than a specific aesthetic. As she’s developed her technique and confidence, her music has become even more idiosyncratic, and at this stage in her career, she’s stripped her sound down to its core elements, focusing on emotion, narrative, and mystery. Using timbres that recall a time when electronic music still waved towards the future, De Pascalis’ melodic content is rooted in early and Renaissance music, almost cleaving it from history entirely. Fittingly, “Sky Flesh” is released on acclaimed Italian composer Caterina Barbieri’s burgeoning light-years label, the ideal platform for her labyrinthine, cosmic vignettes. De Pascalis introduces us to the album with a triptych that establishes her sonic landscape immediately. On “voXCS60x”, “The Shapes We Buried” and “Blue to Blue”, she presents the CS-60 in all its malleable glory, running its serrated, ring-modulated oscillations through booming reverb and reducing them to vapors. Despite not working with MIDI sequencing, De Pascalis exerts a remarkable level of command, bending her compositions into abstract shapes without sacrificing their evocative earworms. It’s an almost ritualistic process that centers on a musician who’s not only in dialog with technology but with the cosmos itself, channeling its puzzles through her machines. This soul-searching is most evident in “Yueqin”, a dreamily ornate, moonlit composition that breathes through filigree melodic flourishes and triumphant fanfares, signaling a distant romance in the heavens. De Pascalis takes a brief detour on “Commas Light” and “Cut Off Horizon”, investigating tonality in miniature and coaxing expression out of her delirious runs of notes with uncommon ease. It makes the conclusion of “Làsciati” and “Equal to no Weight” hit that much harder, the former a dissonant dance into psychedelia and the latter an almost ten-minute cloud of obscured harmony. With all traces of the CS-60’s sound humbled by tides of noise, it’s an apt finale, climaxing with suggestive echoes that pointedly disappear into silence. With “Sky Flesh”, De Pascalis doesn’t freeze time, but expands its reach, offering a fresh perspective on cosmic music that’s steeped in riddles and wonder.

The Diskotopia team is excited to announce the debut EP from the new project rush2theUnknown — a pairing of documentary writer and director Nick Dwyer (who helmed the Red Bull Music Academy's Japanese video game music composer documentary Diggin' in the Carts) and producer & musician Devin Abrams (aka Pacific Heights). rush2theUnknown is a project that was born in provincial New Zealand, developed in the hills of Izu Peninsula, Japan, but forged in the fire of potent teenage memories of the future sounds of jungle and drum ’n’ bass that exploded onto dance floors across the urban centres of New Zealand in the mid 90’s. Two old friends, both who played pivotal roles in the development of New Zealand’s own jungle and drum ’n’ bass scenes in the 1990s, estranged for decades, reunited to begin experimenting in an attempt to recapture the feeling of having their heads overwhelmed by sounds they couldn’t quite comprehend as adolescents. They channeled the energy, spirit, and vibes of (specifically) 1995-to-1997 jungle, where the ever-mutating evolution of the sound intersected with the dawning of drum ’n’ bass to create a utopian future vision before the latter genre changed course and moved increasingly darker. By weaving in the influences that the two artists had accumulated over the decades — most notably from ambient, kankyõ ongaku, new age, minimalism, and some of the deepest research into the history of Japanese video game music ever conducted — the pair aimed to discover new terrain from a specific era of dance music that was never fully explored.

Twin heavyweights Kevin Richard Martin (The Bug) and Joseph Kamaru (KMRU) unite for Disconnect, a powerful study of dread, hope, and profound sonics that marries depth-trawling dub with Kamaru’s voice, ambient sensibilities, and negative space. Kevin Martin first became aware of Kenyan ambient musician KMRU “watching the short 2020 documentary Under The Bridge,” he tells us. “Which, aside from immediately finding Joseph's approach to sound and music so instantly impressive, I also found his spoken voice possessed a captivating, lilting, tonal quality, with his soft-spoken accent.” Following this, Martin dug into Kamaru’s records, and found not only a kindred spirit in skillful exploration of sonic space, but also a fan of The Bug. So began a mutually respectful relationship, initially held in Instagram DMs and reciprocal admiration for each other’s work and eventually blossoming into an invitation sent by Kevin to Joseph to collaborate on a new album. The results - debut collaboration album Disconnect - collect a back-and-forth creative dialogue that started life in Martin’s studio. “I think I surprised Joseph by suggesting he contributes vocals,” Martin tells us. This ability to identify, isolate and exploit the nonstandard is a trait shared by both musicians and employed to devastating effect on Disconnect. Its vocals, sitting somewhere between intonation and spoken word, capture the ear and fizz with simmering power. They are indeed a surprise, coming from a musician specialising in instrumental, field recording-laced ambient musics, but tell intensely evocative stories, weaving poetry into the pair’s grandiose greyscale musical architecture. The record is just as deep, expressive, and arresting as we can expect from Kevin Richard Martin, following his acclaimed rescore of Solaris (released in 2021 on Phantom Limb) and a handful of self-released solo albums that explore a sound just as heavy as The Bug but at a menacingly slower pace. And it is just as evocative and unique as Kamaru’s KMRU canon, each object delicately and purposefully placed so the timbral mosaic builds with shimmering and hypnotic beauty.

Music From Memory are happy to announce the return of Gaussian Curve. Gigi Masin, Jonny Nash and Marco Sterk’s much-loved trio are back for the first time since their 2016 sophomore album 'The Distance', presenting two new tracks entitled 'Winter Sun' and 'Fever Dream'. Both tracks originate from recording sessions that took place in Amsterdam in 2016 for 'The Distance'. Despite not finding a place on the final album and being left as unfinished sketches for six years, the tracks represent an important part of the Gaussian Curve story which the band felt compelled to complete. Coinciding with the decision to perform a handful of live shows in 2022, they finally revisited the sketches, mixing and arranging them with the goal of giving them the full release that they deserve. The trio’s trademark sound hits from first moments of 'Winter Sun'; a lush slow builder with all the classic GC ingredients; Nash’s airy and spacious guitar lines interplay with Masin’s warm rhodes, underpinned by Sterk’s subtle use of electronics and the minimal rhythm of a CR-78 drum machine. On 'Fever Dream', the trio subtly expand their palette; a gently building 303 bass line and 808 rhythm form the foundations of the piece, with Masin’s vocals adding to a slow-burning intensity. Arguably a fuller sound hinting at new areas of exploration for the trio, but unmistakably Gaussian Curve. MFM67 will be released in 12” vinyl and digital format, comes with artwork by Qiu Yang, design by Steele Bonus.

‘2 Sim’ is a phrase the references mobile phones with two sim cards to describe people of mixed heritage, dual nationality or multiple residences. After being called a 2 Sim in conversation with a stranger whilst on a walk through Freetown (a recording of this moment features on the record), Duval began to explore what the 2 Sim experience is in contemporary West-Africa. 2 Sim was created from 2 months of field recordings and interviews with family, friends and peers in Freetown Sierra Leone. These site specific recordings are collaged with solo piano recordings and production recorded in Sierra Leone and the UK. The EP is accompanied by a short film/ music video of the same name which Duval shot and Directed whilst making the record. 2 Sim EP is the second release from Carrying Colour which follows on from 2017’s ‘Sen Am’

One of Poland’s most innovative and singular electronic producers, Hatti Vatti, lands on Belgian giant R&S Records with a new instrumental album filled with unparalleled and experimental jazz electronica. Having released three other full-length albums, most recently 2017’s ‘Szum’, Hatti Vatti aka Piotr Kaliński returns with the breathtaking freeform sounds of ‘Zeit’. Featuring Rafał Dutkiewicz on drums, Paweł Stachowiak on bass and Piotr Chęcki on saxophone, the nine-track long player brings together a collection of eclectic compositions that defies genre classifications, with echoes of the Japanese ambient scene, krautrock, jazz and dubby UK-bass. Prepare to be dazzled with this collection of absorbing and left of centre productions from the label that brought the likes of Aphex Twin, James Blake and Gabriels to international acclaim.

When the world's chatter is hushed to a whisper and emptiness replaces clutter, time falls away completely, exposing a vast, open canvas for the imagination fill with reflection, contemplation and abstraction. On their first collaborative album, released via Caterina Barbieri's light-years label, Grand River and Abul Mogard gaze longingly into the abyss, capturing atemporality, splendour and tranquility with confident, impressionistic sonic strokes. Dynamic and poignant, 'In uno spazio immenso' balances on a knife-edge between booming, operatic grandeur and soft-focus simplicity, casting as much light on the subtle outlines and illusory rhythms as it does its dense, almost overpowering textures. Berlin-based Dutch-Italian composer and sound designer Aimée Portioli, aka Grand River, has been evolving her unique musical language since she released 'Crescente' on Donato Dozzy and Neel's Spazio Disponibile imprint in 2017. A trained linguist, she uses her instrumentation and advanced processes to challenge cultural perceptions, portraying emotions and moods rather than fixed, visual images. Abul Mogard meanwhile is just one of veteran Italian producer Guido Zen's many aliases, and over a series of acclaimed albums for labels like Ecstatic, Houndstooth and VCO, he's muddled fiction with stark reality, shaking kosmische synth fantasies into post-industrial ambience and blissful shoegaze memories. Working together, Portioli and Zen find unity in intensity, freezing their discrete concepts and techniques into a glacial emotional expanse. On opening track 'Dissolvi', they peer out hand-in-hand over a colossal, reverberant landscape, conducting booming basses, evaporating voices and brassy synthetic swells that pick out the formidable topography. Beatless but not without rhythm, the composition moves at its own pace, twisting time and form to suggest the duo's obliquely hypnagogic narrative. And with each action, there's inevitably a reaction: 'Frantumi di luce' is a hushed refraction that simmers with intrigue, decorating its subtle, flickering pulse and dazzling rays of thoughtful ambience, while 'Altrove, lontano' transports listeners into a different locale entirely, cloistering its meditative mood with angelic choral echoes and evocative strings. The album's most devastating track, 'Archi' is an apex of sorts, a collision of widescreen electroid oscillations and overdriven drones that careens into a grinding industrial beat, and 'Sulle barcane' is its serene inverse, a breathy exhalation fashioned from cryptic environmental recordings, static washes and weightless pads. But 'In uno spazio immenso' isn't a story about Portioli and Zen, exactly, it's an invitation to listen to an inner voice that's different for each listener. Space is whatever we want it to be, and how we decide to fill it is a choice that's dependent on the depth of the imagination.

Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri’s partnership unfolded serendipitously at the sold-out opening of the SoundSet Series at Madrid's Condeduque cultural center in 2023 - a program that featured performances by legends such as Autechre and younger artists like Caterina Barbieri and KMRU. The duo's encore that evening, recorded for Spain's Radio 3, resonated deeply with the audience, igniting a creative spark that propelled them to work remotely in their respective studios. At the heart of their effort lies a delicate balance of restraint and innovation, evident in the live concert track "Waking Up Dizzy on a Bastion." This piece, inspired by their musical sensibilities, serves as a testament to their shared vision and mutual respect. Utilizing a familiar parallel chord progression, the track builds from a simple melodic motif played live on synths that transforms into a call-and-response interplay between Mogard's synth lines and Irisarri's bowed guitar loops, creating a dialogue-like interaction between the musicians. As the piece moves forward, we are greeted by melting guitar patterns (recalling Kevin Shields most lysergic moments on Loveless), followed by an intense subsonic full body massage - the visceral physicality of the Ampeg bass amps and cabinets stacks on full display. Building upon the energy of that live performance, Mogard and Irisarri crafted "Place of Forever," a companion piece that combines Mogard's Farfisa organ and modular synthesizers with Irisarri's signature guitar tones and looping techniques at his Black Knoll studio in New York. Starting with a somber and minimal tone, the track gradually evolves, unfurling layers of deep bass tonalities draped in blissful gauze as it progresses during its 17-plus minute duration. The resulting album exudes a profound sense of alchemy, effortlessly weaving intricate soundscapes that feel simultaneously faraway and intimate. The cover artwork, by Marja de Sanctis, depicts a vase sculpture made of unfired clay. Created and photographed by herself, it reflects lights and shadows of fragility. The rawness of the material mirrors the purity and the delicate nature of the improvised duet’s performance. Daniel Castrejón’s design responds to the image transforming the shape of the vase into lines and empty spaces. His typography on the vinyl jacket features a spot varnish, creating a tactile reflection. Through these joint pieces, Mogard and Irisarri have created a work that encapsulates the dichotomy inherent in its title: impossibly distant, impossibly close.

A more conceptual Mallsoft work that combines a unique mellowness with a psychedelic, surreal atmosphere, digital psychedelia, and nostalgic sentimentality to create a bittersweet, mysterious worldview.

'Imerro' is a collection of song odes to both heat and desire, closely felt. Its title literally presented itself to Diab from a random page contained in a poem by Ezra Pound found in the book ‘The Imagist Poem’. Searching for its meaning, Diab discovered that Imerro is “a Greek word for ‘desire for, I desire you’, yet nothing could substantiate its truth. “It made sense, almost like it had chosen me. An obscure word for Desire, one that might not even exist, or is so ancient that nobody really remembers it meaning anything. It's just a sound, like an album.” Imerro finds Caton at his most expressive and free-spirited. Inviting the music to find him, almost by osmosis, foregoing any preconceptions of playing any instrument he is unfamiliar with or regrets not learning during adolescence. This is music for wide screens: the result is an undeniably evocative, moving and mysterious voyage. Imerro was recorded in late July and August of 2021 at Risque Disque Studio in Cedar, BC, during the summer’s unprecedented second “heat dome”, which saw temperatures soaring to over 40 degrees. Recorded with regular collaborator and engineer Jonathan Paul Stewart, the pair journeyed by boat to the studio to a place with minimal distraction with a plan of “simple ecstatic improvisation.” Diab explains: “I wanted to place myself in a space for creation with little thematic pretence, with the belief that music ‘shows its face’ as you move along. I would pick up an instrument, whether I had experience playing it or not, and make a sound. If it wanted to be played, it would play.” ‘Ourselves At Least’, the rhythmic album opener gracefully leaps and bounds with a human-like metronome at its core, capturing a rush of elatedness felt by Diab over the course of its late night creation. ‘Lunar Barge’ bursts into life with tone-bending bow strikes that glide across Diab’s guitar towards a climatic peak before the track drops into an electronic/acoustic trance. Inspired in part by the rhythmical works of Huun-Huur-Tu and the animated cello play remindful of Arthur Russell. “Lunar Barge is a track for a dry, hot night in the forest (which it quite literally was.). I roamed around the floors of the studio picking up any instrument standing out in the moment, and tried to see if it had anything to say.” ‘The Excuse of Fiction’ sees Diab return to free-flowing guitar play, the chosen instrument of his youth. He loops layers to form an ethereal backbone before plucking further melodies from the air on top. The result is a cinematic guitar-laden expanse brimming with optimism and nostalgia. The title references a quote by Zizek: “We need the excuse of a fiction to stage what we really are.” Themes of remembrance, yearning and desire pervade the album's 9-tracks with a palpable presence as we reach ‘Quatsino Sound’, named after an inlet on Northern Vancouver Island where Diab grew up. It features hoopoe birdcalls which were sampled from a found cassette tape of African sounds before being randomized until it became rhythmic, then embellished with synth lines, bass drops, and bowed layovers. The album centres around the nocturnal ‘Crypsis’ with Diab sleepily playing notes on a switched-off Wurlitzer before dampened piano chords, bow scrapes, and noisy glitches reverberate. ‘Erratum’ erupts with untamed force from a war cry of screaming saxophone layers reminiscent of Colin Stetson. Its visceral thirst and energy seem to be a response to the heat of the night and Diab’s urge to play the instrument he loved but had yet learnt. ‘Tiny Umbrellas’, an improvised pass of banjo, bowed guitar and ethereal modular synths breathes a contemplative pause before ‘Surge Savard’ chimes in. This whirlwind closer started life as a longform jam under the influence of psychedelics; its modular synth, air organ, guitar and sax lines were initially improvised with final touches made at Watch Yer Head studio.

Delphine Dora is a prolific composer, improviser and musician who has released on a plethora of labels including Recital, Morc, Sloow Tapes, Feeding Tube, Okraïna and more, and ‘Le Grand Passage’ is her Modern Love debut, a stunning set of songs for piano and voice, recorded in one take without overdubs or edits. We don’t think theres much, if anything, quite like it, but if you’ve been snagged by transcendent, advanced and amateur music by Andrew Chalk, Virginia Astley, Dominique Lawalrée, or Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru, we think this one might just be for you. In an act of pure expression, Delphine Dora recorded the 8 songs of ‘The Great Passage’ in a single take, succumbing to a whirlwind of inspiration that transported her beyond the material world. Baroque paradigms bleed into fragile, introspective mantras, expressed through a made up language of existential yearning and channeled through piano and voice. It’s music that caresses the sublime, made without any premeditation. Delphine was nearing the end of a three-day prepared piano residency when an technician stepped in to tune her grand piano for her final performance. He removed the objects from the strings and fixed the pitch, leaving Dora with a freshly tuned instrument. Mesmerised by its new sound, she proceeded to switch on her recorder and pour out her soul, channeling, in her own words, "something greater than myself". The result is some of the most unusual but elevated material the prolific composer, improviser and multi-instrumentalist has ever recorded, rooted in a deep understanding of European musical history but willing to push at its boundaries, questioning the earthly logic of life and death, asceticism and impiety. Glistening imperfections lash 'The Great Passage' to the physical world, but Dora - seemingly possessed as she quivers in a fictional dialect - lets her fantasies intensify her spirit, lifting the music towards the heavens. It's not sacred music, per se, but it is unashamedly mystical. On the luxurious, languid opening, Dora dissolves eerily familiar romantic piano motifs into an attentive ceremony, singing with charged emotion. Her words aren't really decipherable, but their resonance vibrates beyond language; it's striking to hear how confident she is in vulnerability. She lets the piano wrap into her voice, connecting us directly to a unique mode of emotional expression by urging us - the listener - to project our own meaning onto her abstracted words. Dora refers to the act of improvisation itself as a way to indicate "the fragility of being”, and as her words blur in and out of focus, dipping from a hoarse croak to a choking wail, she places herself at the very edge of musical formality, questioning strictures put in place to suffocate self-expression. Her music has often been labeled "outsider", but here she sounds intimate and interconnected, more self-consciously candid than anything traditional might have allowed. She conjures affecting, plainspoken poetry, like a bedside diary written in a hypnagogic, delirious state: a stream-of-unconsciousness, channelling the beyond. The album title connects to a book dedicated to French philosopher and activist Simone Weil, who famously pored over global religions to ascertain spiritual truths. To Weil, meditation was a passage to access mystical experience, or a bridge between humanity and divinity. In Dora's hands, this idea is a corridor between herself and the listener, a liminal place where she's able to address feelings without making anything explicit. The title, of course, also refers to life, its impermanence, finitude, and fragility, presenting the complex, multi-dimensionality of being through one of the most undiluted, unbridled set of songs imaginable.

"Snapshots of the myriad moods that populate trajectories of one’s most intimate bonds with friends, lovers, the body, the self, and immediate surroundings. Glimpses of providing care for oneself, sparking romance, splintering, daily drama, and embarking through an inner desert. Intersections at a certain place in time, in softness and compassion. There is much pain in suspension, much anger in grief. Seek nourishment— Wide open space, endless horizon road.” — Naemi

Dettinger’s Intershop and Oasis have long been held, by many fans of ambient and electronic music, to be some of the finest albums in their field. Produced by the mysterious Olaf Dettinger, about whom not much is publicly known, they were some of the earliest full-lengths released by the then-nascent Kompakt, and in many ways, they both articulated and defined the sound that would come to be known as Pop Ambient, while also existing, somehow, to the leftfield of any clearly recognisable genre. Beautiful, sui generis works, it is a rare pleasure to see them being reissued on vinyl for a new generation of listeners to embrace. Originally released on CD only in 1999, Intershop was Kompakt’s first artist full-length. The music here simmers and broods, with opulent banks of tone marking out territory for rhythms that seem to be built from the clacking detritus of technology – hisses, thunks, knocks. Bass is deployed carefully, each drop a dubbed-out depth charge; drones spin and spiral, warping and weaving between the beats. Oasis, released in 2000, refined the palette that Dettinger had explored on its predecessor. A blurred crusade of ambient texturology, its unassuming patterns, and subtle, incremental dynamics, admit to real beauty, and a kind of abstract sensuality that you don’t often experience with music that is, perhaps, similarly tooled, but not as poetic. Through seemingly simple gestures – whether lushly expansive repetitions, hyper-acute tremolo tones, or ear-tickling rhythms – it builds complex emotional resonance. It’s no surprise to discover Oasis is held in high esteem by artists like Panda Bear of Animal Collective, who once said of Dettinger, “For us, he was the dude.” There is, of course, other music to know Dettinger by, too – his three excellent EPs for Kompakt, Blond (1998), Puma and Totentanz (1999), the latter of which, Michael Mayer once argued, “invented dubstep.” There is also a small, yet graceful run of compilation contributions, many of which can be found on Kompakt’s Total and Pop Ambient series. All this music has plenty to recommend it, sharing a clarity of purpose, and a rare, human warmth and depth. But Intershop and Oasis are the releases that distil Dettinger’s singular vision, and allow him, should he wish, to claim his place as a modern master of ambient and electronic music.

Nexcyia’s inaugural project delicately explores the realm of sound design, eschewing the over-visited constraints of a tempo grid. Upon immersing yourself, the immediate departure from conventional song structures becomes apparent. Instead, it feels as though the artist fills the silence with disruptive yet evocative sonic experimentation. The compositions appear to surrender to the ebb and flow of textures, revealing a musical journey driven by spontaneity rather than a predetermined destination. The musical endeavor of the London-based sound artist revolves around the essence of sound itself, transcending the pursuit of memorable melodies. It invites listeners into a realm of moods and atmospheres that both surprise and elicit a deeper connection to one’s inner realities. Given Adam Dove’s background in sound art practices, it’s no surprise that his inaugural full-length release is a rich soundscape, weaving through the realm of harsh sampling and gentle synthesis. Requiring the listener to explore with him the boundaries between reality and illusion, he neatly manipulates granular synthesis, and interweaves a library from his own archived audio, while pondering the very essence of our universal desire to belong. “Endless Path of Memory” delves into themes of otherness, skilfully arranging a tapestry of reflections and existential exploration, his use of samples mirrors a forest stream winding through a lush environment, blending field recordings, creating a sonic world where grains pan circularly, engulfing you. Some compositions echo the universal tones of despair, while others emphasize bliss, encapsulating elements of memory with innovative recording techniques. A track featuring Racine emerges as a poignant commentary on modern anxiety, challenging the very ontological questions that define our human limits, in its essence, it invites listeners to embark on a journey into the intricacies of the human experience. The full-length extends a sonic embrace to those who have experienced the weight of otherness, confronting haunting memories while simultaneously crafting a narrative that foretells the sonic contours of the future.

Uncle Reed In The Purple Mine is the debut record by a new duo, Amkarahoi. Uncle Reed In The Purple Mine conjures ghosts of 90s chill out tents, aqueous ambient, exploratory turn of the century IDM and echoes of jammy dub. Amkarahoi is named for a remote region of Eastern Siberia an intimidating car and boat journey from the nearest city - several songs are named after rivers - and the record was borne from a largely improvised show in Saint Petersburg, later overdubbed and mixed down in the studio. The combination of heady, melancholic synthscapes, unexpected samples and the loose, spontaneous nature of it’s genesis make for a unique, compelling proposition. Kirenga alternately swells and submerges ravey pads and shifting kicks, coming up midway for air before plunging again, and Cutima peppers the stereo field with foreboding stabs, collapsing drums and faintly nightmarish ambience before emerging from the darkness with gently plucked erhu. Handa’s simple four note piano loop and cuckoo vocal sample lament blooms into an engulfing E rush, before Mogoul threatens serotonin syndrome with it’s loved up lead and stuttering morning after nostalgia. Chininga ekes out a gentle groove over which is laid a hazy, head nodding shimmer, and on Djegda they finally submit and throw down a speedy breakbeat for some more classically vintage fire twirling shapes. Amkarahoi is Nikita Chepurnoi and Sergey Dmitriev. Chepurnoi has released records as Minereed on his own Echotourist imprint, and as part of The Patience and Copacabana on Hair Del. Dmitriev has made music as Purple Uncle for Echotourist, Hair Del and Nazlo. They’re currently based in Armenia (Dmitriev) and Europe (Chepurnoi). RIYL - Vladislav Delay, The Orb, GAS, Global Communication, Biosphere, Seefeel.

Tucked in the heart of Koreatown lies The Libra Hotel—the titular architecture of Nick Malkin’s new album and site of his musical and psychogeographic exploration. Unlike most musical “site-specific” studies, Malkin remains wholly ambivalent to the documentarian approach, instead sharpening an auteur-like focus on the site as a conceptual and highly expressive backdrop. The Libra is musically explored as a space that houses a noir fragmentation of identity—the exhausted trope of a complicated protagonist walking through rain-soaked street corners and fumy neon lights—where an inner monologue is rendered in both miniature and at a cosmic scale. Casting aside stifling tropes around field recording, ambient, and improvised music, Malkin’s work finds its own unique fidelity and emotional core through the assembly and reassembly of memory. Nearly every sound on the album—from frayed saxophones, lambent pianos, and dissected jazz drum kits—are multiplied, shattered, and reconstituted into shapes that adorn The Libra in a motion-blurred fog. The narrative of the Hotel suddenly appears as if out of the mist, with intersecting characters interacting within its walls by happenstance. Adminst the languid set pieces, wraith-like sonic grains gravitate around wide subbass beams that give structural form to The Libra, a narrative tension like when a scene is shot from hundreds of different perspectives: an image both luminous and veiled. Much like Sinatra’s own spatial residency immortalized on “Live at The Sands,” “At The Libra Hotel” showcases an exuberant view of entertainment, hospitality, and a form of masculinity, one that can quickly detourn into darkness. Knowing this, Malkin extracts a melancholic core out of The Libra locale. The flickering shadows of American decadence are shown in their ephemeral honesty, lines that trace how even in everyday life virtue is tested, sanity is tested, even reality is tested within the confines of desire, within the night. The album is draped in fleeting textures, carefully arranged with a trance-like microtonality, the faint inflections and articulations of a jazz band cascading into dissipated stillness. Voicemails about changed locations and covert eavesdropping on guests' whispered conversations provide an atmosphere of missed connection and voyeurism—a purloined letter of desire receding into a vanishing point. Like the music itself, The Hotel, a chapel perilous at the intersection of desolation row, the center of it all, yet simultaneously at the edge of town, becomes a structure between libidinous virtuality and actuality—our inevitable half-light. Ultimately, the pensive atmosphere of “At The Libra Hotel,” powerfully asserts a plea for the kinds of intimacy only possible in transient spaces. Here, memory cascades into a force that feels like something supernatural, perhaps even religious, yet always subject to the infidelity of our imagination. Here, the album opens into its primary psychodrama, the transient nature of subjectivity itself and how this becomes fractured in the tumult between our commitments and desires. Within this nocturnal space, to quote Louise Bourgeois, "you pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture.