MUSIC
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Morphing between the sensory and the suppressed, Radwan Ghazi Moumneh and Frédéric D. Oberland’s debut album summons a poetic musical proclamation of transfigured reality and social amnesia. These seven tracks evolved collaboratively over two years, beginning as a series of duets that Moumneh instigated at Montréal’s Hotel2Tango studio in summer 2023. The Arabic title of Eternal Life No End translates more literally as "A dark, cursed night, like the seekers themselves" and the album is an outcry amidst the oceans of injustice flooding the SWANA region, haunting the lives and visions of vast populations.
Like Dante and Virgil in Dante’s Inferno, Oberland and Moumneh’s compositions chart an emotional vortex, as dream-time seeps into trancelike percussion and hypnotic melodies, channeling collective urgencies that ripple through the currents of Radwan’s voice and Arabic lyrics. Oberland’s passages of saxophone and clarineau evoke shamanic exhortations of evil, while Moumneh’s buzuk strums and swarms, often through electronic processing, with tempestuous mourning about unfolding tragedies. An array of instrumentation fleshes out the wider soundscapes: daf (a Middle Eastern frame drum) and bongos, a modified electric rababa, shuddering bass and other synthetic filigree from Oberland’s Buchla and Deckard's Dream synths.
"It's a healing process in a way," says Oberland about the work. "Since the genocide started, I’d had a complete artistic block and the inability to articulate what people are living through" explains Moumneh, who ultimately packed his instruments and gear and flew to Paris in the summer of 2024 to work on the album in earnest with his long-standing friend. The two had collaborated on multiple previous occasions, with Oberland’s primary group Oiseaux-Tempête, and through Moumneh's work as Jerusalem In My Heart and as a producer/engineer on various other projects. Eternal Life No End builds on their abiding allyship as Oberland and Moumneh navigate energies and emotional shifts in newfound ways, merging their sensibilities and uncovering deeper resonances. “We worked day and night together and made clear decisions collectively” states Oberland, who nonetheless also took the lead in positioning Moumneh’s voice to shine through these compositions—there is singing on four of the album’s seven tracks. The duo played reverse roles of a sort and ventured new creative processes, as Moumneh openly took direction from Oberland, setting aside his usual lead-producer role as steward of Jerusalem In My Heart.
"Squeal of Swine" and "Dagger Eyes" open the album with dual gut punch, as hand percussion, low end synth tones, and ricocheting buzuk and rababa set the stage for Moumneh’s keening Arabic singing, reflecting a sea of sickness currently drowning the state of humanity. On the instrumental track "A Dream That Never Arrived", a lo-fi dancehall-inflected beat anchors otherworldly melodic lines set against electroacoustic sound design in spatio-temporal displacement. Eternal Life No End is accompanied by an audio-visual essay for the electronic (and vocal) song "The Serpent", assembled by Oberland and shot on Super 8mm camera in Montréal, Paris and Beirut, including footage of Gaza protests in Paris, and of the Frequent Defect event at Irtijal Festival’s 25th anniversary edition in Beirut. Lebanese graphic designer, printmaker, and calligrapher Farah Fayyad provides talisman-like artwork of entwined serpents, similarly inspired by this centerpiece album track.
On Repetitive Music vol. 1, Misha Panfilov strips things back to synth and piano, threading slow‑turning patterns and hushed harmonies through Tallinn and its outskirts like illuminated loops traced in winter air. Recorded between 2020 and 2021 in Tallinn, Vaskjala and Vääna‑Jõesuu, Repetitive Music vol. 1 presents Misha Panfilov working at his most distilled, circling a small set of ideas until they glow. The title is both a statement of method and a gentle misdirection. These pieces are built on repetition, but not the mechanical, grid‑locked kind; they move like breathing or walking, with small irregularities and shifts that keep the patterns alive. Synthesizers and piano are the only protagonists, yet the music feels quietly orchestral in its emotional range, expanding and contracting around a few carefully chosen motifs. Across the collection, Panfilov treats repetition as a way of listening more closely rather than of zoning out. Short figures on piano or synth are set spinning, then nudged, reharmonised or slightly offset rhythmically, so that over time they seem to change colour without ever quite abandoning their original shape. The electronic timbres tend toward the warm and tactile - rounded oscillators, softly pulsing basses, grainy delays - while the piano provides a grounded, human touch: hammers, pedal noise, the faint resonance of the rooms in which the recordings took place. The combination creates a sense of intimacy, as if each piece were being assembled in real time just a few feet away. The locations matter. Tallinn’s urban stillness, the quieter outskirts of Vaskjala, the coastal air of Vääna‑Jõesuu all inflect the pacing and atmosphere. Some tracks feel like interior meditations, close‑mic’d and introspective, while others carry a wider sense of space, as if written with a distant horizon in mind. Yet the through‑line is consistency of tone: a calm, inquisitive mood that never lapses into sentimentality or pure ambient drift. Panfilov’s background in groove‑oriented and cinematic music is present here only in trace form - a sensitivity to contour, an instinct for when a pattern has yielded enough and needs to be gently retired. Repetitive Music vol. 1 ultimately plays like a sketchbook of focused studies, each track testing how much feeling and movement can be coaxed from limited means. It is experimental in the truest sense: not bombastic, but patient; less about showcasing technique than about seeing what happens when a simple idea is allowed to persist in slightly changing conditions. As the pieces accumulate, they form their own quiet world, one in which time blurs and the distinction between background and foreground listening starts to dissolve.
Whitney Johnson, Lia Kohl, and Macie Stewart are a trio who utilize string instruments, voices, and manual tape effect processing to craft compositions from alternately tranquil and disquieting improvised music. The three musicians are individually rooted in deep sound exploration, multi-disciplinary composition, and all manner of cross-genre collaboration. The musical ground covered by their solo practices is correspondingly expansive, and their individual recording and performance credits read as a veritable who’s who, ranging from DIY darlings to household names of experimental avant-garde, electronic, indie rock, and more.
The trio’s collective sound is based in improvisation—automatic, intuitive composition via their three voices and three string instruments (viola, cello, and violin, respectively). Their influences are vast—dispatched with more playful ease than a trio of string instruments is typically approached with, and just as likely to be found in the cloud-obscured mountains of Donegal, the low-rent cacophony of a midwestern basement, or the revelatory expanse of the Nurse With Wound list as in the storied halls of the academy. Touchstones and areas of interest aside, the main thing that Johnson, Kohl, and Stewart engage with in BODY SOUND is listening and reacting.
“Improvisation has a special capacity to facilitate a kind of sonic intimacy,” says Kohl. “We're making choices together in the moment. We're creating time together before thought enters the equation. It's an incredibly intimate and intuitive space to share, and feels like the heart center of this music and this practice.”
The trio’s approach to improvisation is very much embedded in and informed by their Chicago music community. The city’s ongoing improvised music tradition, which can envelop every genre imaginable, is one where a working musician’s ideas can evolve at a near-constant pace and where anything can be explored in the name of sound. And with sound, there’s always space to consider.
Where will the improvisation take place?
How will that space shape the sounds being made?
How will that sound resonate in the dim light of a small neighborhood bar?
How will it sound in the chromatic refractions of an ornate church?
Can it feel different-yet-equally perfect?
For Whitney Johnson, Lia Kohl, and Macie Stewart the answer to the last question is yes, definitely.
Stewart: Our quest as a crew is to explore space and every iteration of what that can mean, be it physical space, emotional space, sonic space, etc. Space is an instrument.
Johnson: It’s more than the acoustic properties of the recording spaces. Our bodies, emotions, and relationships show up in those spaces with affordances and limitations for the music each time. We are vibrating beings, sensitive and expressive, an amoeba of physical and psychic pressures with specific resonances in time and space.
Kohl: The space we’re in always feels like a collaborator in this trio more than in other contexts. I can always feel us all responding to where we are and the resonances that live there.”
On BODY SOUND, the trio worked with International Anthem engineer and album co-producer Dave Vettraino to translate the sonic specificities of three recording locations: International Anthem studios on Iron Street (Chicago), Shirk Studios (Chicago), and Boyd’s Jig and Reel (Knoxville, TN, as part of Big Ears Festival). Vettraino also brought a deep knowledge of tape manipulation and a willingness to experiment. “All it took was for one of us to say, ‘What if that was a loop?’, and he was already setting up the reel-to-reel,” says Johnson of the album’s post-production, which leaned heavily into their shared love of saturated tape sounds.
That trust, it seems, was already there. In addition to the communal criss-cross inherent in sharing their Chicago home base, the trio worked with Vettraino on Stewart’s 2025 solo effort When the Distance Is Blue. It was her debut on International Anthem but far from her first appearance in the label’s catalog as a player. Ditto for Kohl and Johnson, whose collaboration and friendship with the label goes back years. Taken as a whole, we could argue that this most recent collaboration, the tape-manipulated fried beauty documented on BODY SOUND, has been a long time coming.
In the context of this work, tape sound is much more than a mixing treatment or a production tactic. Here Johnson, Kohl, and Stewart are using variations on the medium to edit and reshape the pieces themselves, employing multiple analog tape machines to reimagine their improvised material into meticulously crafted compositions (“another layer of improvisation,” says Stewart). It’s all a response to the spaces they were originally engaged with, and the use of a highly physical medium like analog tape deepens the spatial engagement of the trio’s work to striking, playful, and organically psychedelic effect.
The resultant BODY SOUND is deep, melancholy, and triumphant, coming across like a kind of lost or amalgamated folk music. It’s certainly part of an ongoing creative continuum, even boasting track titles adapted from Yoko Ono’s classic book of text scores Grapefruit.
The album’s opener “dawn | pulse” puts a morning drone at the threshold of their sound world. This undulating slow roller is a free time drift of bowed tonal clusters respiring in long, melodic swells, and unfurling among wordless singing. Despite the time marker in the title, this piece feels suitable for any part of the day—the morning stretch skyward, the afternoon ambling respite, or the late-nite chillout. Both majorly serene and deceptively avant garde, “dawn | pulse” is a perfect entrée into BODY SOUND.
“laundry | blood” begins with a near-waltz percussive tumble created by a tape loop of Kohl’s barrette-prepared cello. Its soft and eerie triplet propels a deep and snarling viola-cello-violin drone forward à la the doomiest moments of the Berlin School canon or the repetitive outsider glory of Tony Conrad & Faust's Outside the Dream Syndicate. It’s a darkly cinematic take on the ambient ideal for the scarcely visible slow-moving night train chug. You can almost see it roll by.
Some moments feel intentionally disconnected from the performance, instead tied more closely to the concept of LP format listenership: the disintegrated melodic pumps and clomps of “chewing gum”, the body shaking radiator hiss come-apart of “snow | touch”, the otherworldly bass and sub-bass of “stone | piece”.
Across the album’s 11 tracks, each piece manages to keep a foot in both worlds. “burning | counting (sleeping)” begins abruptly with massive bursts of heavily-bowed sawtooth strings looping in real time, creating a near-synthetic feeling. Deep stutter-step freneticism, tape-manipulated and rendered into overlapping moments of dense psychedelia give way to an oncoming long-note tranquility—an improvised cacophony evoking some long dissipated storm-paced Irish folk drone more so than a New Music exercise or a study of Kronos / Reich.
And that seems to be the story with all of the material within BODY SOUND. It’s music with inexplicably broad appeal while maintaining a sort of mysterious outsider quality. Johnson, Kohl, and Stewart have created a stunning album—an exquisitely textured, spatially vivid, wordlessly expressive, sonically multitudinous collection—that manages to decode a slew of high level concepts while clearly and directly speaking to the human impulse. BODY SOUND is right.
Lucciole is Silvia Tarozzi’s luminous follow-up to the intimate reflections of Mi specchio e rifletto and the deeply rooted folk dialogues of Canti di guerra, di lavoro e d’amore with Deborah Walker. Here, Tarozzi draws together voices, memories, and musical lineages to create an album where avant-garde composition, personal narrative, and collective resonance exchange freely.
The album opens with a radiant brass ensemble—chosen for its popular, celebratory, spiritual sound—and closes with the Piccolo Coro Angelico, the children’s choir she has worked with for over fifteen years and calls “my best school of composition and a constant gym of hope.” Between these bookends, Tarozzi’s songs trace life’s transitions with a rare tenderness: childhood into adolescence, health into fragility, presence into absence.
Two central songs—her own “Lucciole” and a glowing live-in-studio cover of Milton Nascimento’s “River Phoenix”—honor a beloved friend whose life and presence evoke new horizons. “Corallo e perle,” inspired by a dream her grandfather had after her grandmother’s passing, becomes a gentle, dreamlike meditation on the persistence of love.
The strings, voices, and melodic contours that define Mi specchio e rifletto reappear here with new warmth and depth. Produced by Tarozzi in close collaboration with Marta Salogni, who engineered and mixed the album, Lucciole carries a clarity, intimacy, and sonic generosity that reflect their shared journey through the recording process.
At its heart, Lucciole is an album about small lights carried through moments of transition—an invitation to listen closely to the places where life changes, and to the people, living and remembered, who illuminate the way.
Lucciole is Silvia Tarozzi’s luminous follow-up to the intimate reflections of Mi specchio e rifletto and the deeply rooted folk dialogues of Canti di guerra, di lavoro e d’amore with Deborah Walker. Here, Tarozzi draws together voices, memories, and musical lineages to create an album where avant-garde composition, personal narrative, and collective resonance exchange freely.
The album opens with a radiant brass ensemble—chosen for its popular, celebratory, spiritual sound—and closes with the Piccolo Coro Angelico, the children’s choir she has worked with for over fifteen years and calls “my best school of composition and a constant gym of hope.” Between these bookends, Tarozzi’s songs trace life’s transitions with a rare tenderness: childhood into adolescence, health into fragility, presence into absence.
Two central songs—her own “Lucciole” and a glowing live-in-studio cover of Milton Nascimento’s “River Phoenix”—honor a beloved friend whose life and presence evoke new horizons. “Corallo e perle,” inspired by a dream her grandfather had after her grandmother’s passing, becomes a gentle, dreamlike meditation on the persistence of love.
The strings, voices, and melodic contours that define Mi specchio e rifletto reappear here with new warmth and depth. Produced by Tarozzi in close collaboration with Marta Salogni, who engineered and mixed the album, Lucciole carries a clarity, intimacy, and sonic generosity that reflect their shared journey through the recording process.
At its heart, Lucciole is an album about small lights carried through moments of transition—an invitation to listen closely to the places where life changes, and to the people, living and remembered, who illuminate the way.
Brendan Eder follows up minimalist 70s-jazz concept with new ambient-neoclassical record, Therapy. On March 3, 2023 Eder released his third album, THERAPY; a collection of meditative compositions recorded mostly at a church in Southern California. The self-released album went on to chart at #6 in Billboard's Crossover Classical and was featured in The Guardian's "The Best Albums of 2023 So Far." Following 2021’s Cape Cod Cottage — Eder’s understated-jazz concept album under the guise of Edward Blankman, a retired dentist in the 1970s — for Therapy, Eder drops the alter ego and the drumset and explores more reverberant sounds with his ensemble of woodwinds. The result is a distinctive take on ambient music subtly interwoven with Eder’s affinity for 20th century classical and jazz.
The first resonant space Zosha Warpeha played in was the Emanuel Vigeland Museum in Oslo, Norway. Built as a mausoleum, its walls reach up into a gradual archway, creating an environment where sound expands and reverberates for twelve seconds before decaying into silence. Warpeha was greeted only by dim lights when she entered, and it wasn’t until she had spent several minutes listening that she was able to make out the frescoes that covered every inch of the room: graphic depictions of the cycle of life from conception through death. As the sound of her Hardanger d’amore encountered the walls and these slowly emerging scenes, they obscured its point of origin in both time and space, augmenting its own life cycle. The experience sat in the back of her mind over the next several years as she developed her own patient style of composition and performance, one that comes into full bloom on her new album I grow accustomed to the dark. When Warpeha was selected as an artist in residence at Brooklyn’s ISSUE Project Room in 2025, she saw it as an opportunity to more intentionally explore how her music might fill a room with ample natural reverb. I grow accustomed to the dark documents two single-take solo performances for Hardanger d’amore and voice at IPR, with both pieces composed in a unique tuning system developed to interact with the space itself. Listeners can trace resonance from the contact of the bow on gut strings into the body of the instrument, its five sympathetic strings offering another layer of refraction, before the sound is thrown about the cavity of the room. The echoes emerge like a photographic double exposure, or wisps of smoke that linger in the air, creating ghostly harmonic convergences that blur the line between what is there and not-there. Sound begins to act like light, a synesthetic alchemy that transforms drones into beams and ornamental trills into flickers. Both side-long compositions, “filament” and “visual purple,” exemplify a duality that animates Warpeha’s music: an expressive, individualistic style that draws on extensive knowledge of her instrument’s history in folk traditions, and an austere, devotional quality maintained by focus and precision. Though very different in character and structure, both pieces evolve slowly through numerous repetitive phrases, passages of stillness, and bursts of intensity. “filament” opens with a cycle of delicate melodic fragments played and sung around a drone before blossoming into an outpouring of swooping arpeggios, harmonics flying from the strings like sparks off a bonfire. The disorienting pulsation of harmonic beating forms the core of “visual purple,” the close-tone dissonance building to a swarm of open strings ringing boldly throughout the space. After the knotty tones reach their climax, the piece collapses into studied quietude, hushed, but without any drop in intensity. When Warpeha first visited the Vigeland Museum in 2019, she was in Oslo to deepen her relationship to the Hardanger fiddle through the study of Norwegian traditional music, which is primarily passed down aurally. The experience of learning songs by ear, not only internalizing the tune but also absorbing the techniques and tonalities by listening, was a crucial step in her development as a composer. The years since have seen her sharpen those skills as a prolific member of the New York avant-garde and improvised music communities. Warpeha’s music encourages listeners to join her in this journey, to listen closely with each repeated phrase and through each dramatic shift. Like the frescoes on Vigeland’s walls, with time and intention, the depth of I grow accustomed to the dark comes on like a revelation.
Morphing between the sensory and the suppressed, Radwan Ghazi Moumneh and Frédéric D. Oberland’s debut album summons a poetic musical proclamation of transfigured reality and social amnesia. These seven tracks evolved collaboratively over two years, beginning as a series of duets that Moumneh instigated at Montréal’s Hotel2Tango studio in summer 2023. The Arabic title of Eternal Life No End translates more literally as "A dark, cursed night, like the seekers themselves" and the album is an outcry amidst the oceans of injustice flooding the SWANA region, haunting the lives and visions of vast populations.
Like Dante and Virgil in Dante’s Inferno, Oberland and Moumneh’s compositions chart an emotional vortex, as dream-time seeps into trancelike percussion and hypnotic melodies, channeling collective urgencies that ripple through the currents of Radwan’s voice and Arabic lyrics. Oberland’s passages of saxophone and clarineau evoke shamanic exhortations of evil, while Moumneh’s buzuk strums and swarms, often through electronic processing, with tempestuous mourning about unfolding tragedies. An array of instrumentation fleshes out the wider soundscapes: daf (a Middle Eastern frame drum) and bongos, a modified electric rababa, shuddering bass and other synthetic filigree from Oberland’s Buchla and Deckard's Dream synths.
"It's a healing process in a way," says Oberland about the work. "Since the genocide started, I’d had a complete artistic block and the inability to articulate what people are living through" explains Moumneh, who ultimately packed his instruments and gear and flew to Paris in the summer of 2024 to work on the album in earnest with his long-standing friend. The two had collaborated on multiple previous occasions, with Oberland’s primary group Oiseaux-Tempête, and through Moumneh's work as Jerusalem In My Heart and as a producer/engineer on various other projects. Eternal Life No End builds on their abiding allyship as Oberland and Moumneh navigate energies and emotional shifts in newfound ways, merging their sensibilities and uncovering deeper resonances. “We worked day and night together and made clear decisions collectively” states Oberland, who nonetheless also took the lead in positioning Moumneh’s voice to shine through these compositions—there is singing on four of the album’s seven tracks. The duo played reverse roles of a sort and ventured new creative processes, as Moumneh openly took direction from Oberland, setting aside his usual lead-producer role as steward of Jerusalem In My Heart.
"Squeal of Swine" and "Dagger Eyes" open the album with dual gut punch, as hand percussion, low end synth tones, and ricocheting buzuk and rababa set the stage for Moumneh’s keening Arabic singing, reflecting a sea of sickness currently drowning the state of humanity. On the instrumental track "A Dream That Never Arrived", a lo-fi dancehall-inflected beat anchors otherworldly melodic lines set against electroacoustic sound design in spatio-temporal displacement. Eternal Life No End is accompanied by an audio-visual essay for the electronic (and vocal) song "The Serpent", assembled by Oberland and shot on Super 8mm camera in Montréal, Paris and Beirut, including footage of Gaza protests in Paris, and of the Frequent Defect event at Irtijal Festival’s 25th anniversary edition in Beirut. Lebanese graphic designer, printmaker, and calligrapher Farah Fayyad provides talisman-like artwork of entwined serpents, similarly inspired by this centerpiece album track.
Jeux d’eau is the result of an exploratory collaboration between the experimental ensemble Copenhagen Clarinet Choir and Danish composer and performer Anders Lauge Meldgaard. At the heart of the project is Meldgaard’s compositions and performance on New Ondomo—a Japanese instrument modeled on the pioneering French electronic instrument, the ondes Martenot, but what makes the music truly shine is the Copenhagen Clarinet Choir’s vibrant energy and adventurous spirit, bringing Meldgaard’s vision off the page and into a living, breathing soundscape through their playful and imaginative ensemble performance.
The initial spark for Jeux d’eau was struck during Meldgaard’s visit to the gardens of Villa d’Este in Tivoli, Italy—a place animated by fountains that once inspired Franz Liszt and Maurice Ravel to compose piano works of the same title. Echoing these earlier musical impressions, the project channels that lineage into a new sonic journey. Where some composers of the past often sought to define strict structures, Meldgaard’s work on Jeux d’eau instead offers an open framework—one that invites playful interaction and improvisation among the musicians. Recorded at The Village in Copenhagen, the album is a sonic experience where the organic resonance of the clarinet choir intertwines with the unpredictable textures of the New Ondomo and electronic landscape.
The work Jeux d’eau is open yet structured, forward-moving yet richly repetitive, drawing clear inspiration from American minimalists such as Terry Riley and Steve Reich, but rather than simply echoing the work of these pioneers, the music explores fresh terrain infused with a lyrical touch of late-romantic European sensibility, where flowing melodies and rich harmonies soften the rigor of repetition. At the same time, the music resonates with the clarity and delicacy that could be associated with Japanese composers such as Jo Kondo or Sueko Nagayo. The result is a sound world that is playful yet profound, one that continually shifts between pulsating momentum and delicate stillness. With each piece, the ensemble invites listeners into a captivating journey where tradition meets experiment, and where collective performance transforms composition into something vividly alive.
Conceived as a tribute to water and a reflection on the fragile bond between humans and the natural world, Jeux d’eau is both a sonic meditation and a quiet call to action. Through fluid forms and open notations, the work draws listeners into a space where music mirrors the dynamics of nature—demanding real-time awareness, collective sensitivity, and respect for balance. Like flowing water, the music adapts and transforms, reminding us that our environment, too, is ever-changing and in need of care. In this way, Jeux d’eau does more than celebrate nature’s beauty: it asks us to recognize our responsibility to protect the living systems that sustain us, and to pay caring attention to the world we live in.
In Osni the Flare, the second chapter of Tristan Allen's mythic trilogy, the composer, producer, and puppeteer follows a mortal’s transformation into deity through the discovery of fire. Recorded over four years using wordless vocals, organs, ocarinas, an arsenal of toy instruments, and intricate sound design, Osni the Flare unfolds the origins of flame and temporality across four acts. Weaving a creation myth that shifts between beauty, shadow, and wistful embers, Allen provides a portal to meticulously crafted, emotionally potent sound and story that echo through a fantastical realm.
At the end of June 2025, the Krakow-based label Instant Classic will release the album "Bura" by Raphael Rogiński and the group Ružičniak Tajni, which includes Serbian artists: Svetlana Spajić, Marina Džukljev and Tijana Golubović. The album also features guest appearances by Piotr Zabrodzki (LXMP, Mitch & Mitch) and Mila Gavrilovič. Ružičniak Tajni is a unique meeting of Polish and Serbian musical traditions, the result of cooperation between artists seeking new forms of expression based on the cultural heritage of Central and Eastern Europe. The initiator of the project is Raphael Rogiński - a Polish guitarist, composer and researcher, known for his experimental approach to traditional music and his love of improvisation. In the project, he is accompanied by three outstanding Serbian artists whose work is a conscious combination of local traditions and modern expression: Svetlana Spajić – a renowned ethnomusicologist and singer, specializing in old vocal techniques and archaic song forms. Her interpretations combine authenticity of message with sensitivity to the contemporary context. Marina Džukljev – a pianist moving in the area of improvised and experimental music, known for deconstructing harmonic and rhythmic structures. Tijana Golubović – a violinist and vocalist, drawing from folk performance practice, while simultaneously exploring new sonic narratives. Their collaboration resulted in the album “Bura”, recorded in Serbia in November 2024. The title refers to the characteristic wind from the northern Balkans, symbolizing both the forces of nature and the cultural tensions shaping the identity of the region. The album is a musical encounter of traditional Serbian songs – reconstructed on the basis of oral traditions and archival materials – with modern means of expression. Another key element are Raphael Rogiński’s original compositions, inspired by Sufi poetry, which was translated into Serbian in the 19th century. The sound layer of the project is based on the dynamic interaction of voice, stringed instruments and piano. Spajić brings the depth of archaic vocal techniques, Golubović combines the violin idiom with the vocal one, Džukljev creates complex harmonic structures, and Rogiński transforms the guitar tradition, enriching it with microtonality and modality. The Ružičniak Tajni concert tour will take place in May and June 2025, covering five Serbian cities. The inaugural concert is scheduled for May 16 in Belgrade. The project was created with the support of the Polish Institute in Belgrade. The concert tour is carried out in cooperation with the Adam Mickiewicz Institute as part of the cultural programme accompanying the Polish Presidency of the Council of the European Union in 2025.
At the end of June 2025, the Krakow-based label Instant Classic will release the album "Bura" by Raphael Rogiński and the group Ružičniak Tajni, which includes Serbian artists: Svetlana Spajić, Marina Džukljev and Tijana Golubović. The album also features guest appearances by Piotr Zabrodzki (LXMP, Mitch & Mitch) and Mila Gavrilovič. Ružičniak Tajni is a unique meeting of Polish and Serbian musical traditions, the result of cooperation between artists seeking new forms of expression based on the cultural heritage of Central and Eastern Europe. The initiator of the project is Raphael Rogiński - a Polish guitarist, composer and researcher, known for his experimental approach to traditional music and his love of improvisation. In the project, he is accompanied by three outstanding Serbian artists whose work is a conscious combination of local traditions and modern expression: Svetlana Spajić – a renowned ethnomusicologist and singer, specializing in old vocal techniques and archaic song forms. Her interpretations combine authenticity of message with sensitivity to the contemporary context. Marina Džukljev – a pianist moving in the area of improvised and experimental music, known for deconstructing harmonic and rhythmic structures. Tijana Golubović – a violinist and vocalist, drawing from folk performance practice, while simultaneously exploring new sonic narratives. Their collaboration resulted in the album “Bura”, recorded in Serbia in November 2024. The title refers to the characteristic wind from the northern Balkans, symbolizing both the forces of nature and the cultural tensions shaping the identity of the region. The album is a musical encounter of traditional Serbian songs – reconstructed on the basis of oral traditions and archival materials – with modern means of expression. Another key element are Raphael Rogiński’s original compositions, inspired by Sufi poetry, which was translated into Serbian in the 19th century. The sound layer of the project is based on the dynamic interaction of voice, stringed instruments and piano. Spajić brings the depth of archaic vocal techniques, Golubović combines the violin idiom with the vocal one, Džukljev creates complex harmonic structures, and Rogiński transforms the guitar tradition, enriching it with microtonality and modality. The Ružičniak Tajni concert tour will take place in May and June 2025, covering five Serbian cities. The inaugural concert is scheduled for May 16 in Belgrade. The project was created with the support of the Polish Institute in Belgrade. The concert tour is carried out in cooperation with the Adam Mickiewicz Institute as part of the cultural programme accompanying the Polish Presidency of the Council of the European Union in 2025.
5-CD box set presenting virtually all of Morton Feldman'smusic for solo piano. Performed by Philip Thomas, who also writes a 52-page booklet that is included in the box (and a pdf of the booklet is included with download sales)
Artwork by David Ainley
Morton Feldman's three long pieces for flute, piano and percussion, played by the GBSR Duo (Siwan Rhys & George Barton) with Taylor MacLennan on flutes. Why Patterns? (1979) 30 minutes, Crippled Symmetry (1982) 90 minutes and For Philip Guston (1984) 280 minutes.
"The works contained in this box set occupy a special place within the context of Morton Feldman’s oeuvre, written as they were for Feldman’s ‘house ensemble’ at the University of Buffalo from the late 1970s onwards: Morton Feldman and Soloists. Flutes, piano/celesta and percussion is an idiosyncratic combination of instruments that Feldman came ultimately to favour. Indeed of Why Patterns? he said in 1983 “I never dreamt to write one of my most important pieces with that combination”; but in his last decade Feldman wrote multiple chamber works for identical forces only twice: the two string quartets, and the three trios presented here.
What a contrast – where the string quartet offers an abundance of woody timbres, this ensemble is glacial, dominated by simple, almost sine-tone-like sonorities. Percussion could be anything, but the pure metallic sounds of the vibraphone and glockenspiel dominate, with tubular bells and marimba introduced in Guston but rarely used. The ensemble seems almost an embodiment of Feldman’s spectacular statement from 1984’s The Future of Local Music “I’m not interested in colour”.
Yet in exploring the timbral etiolation this unusual trio affords, Feldman discovers an unexpected world of delicate tinctures where harmony and colour interact and become almost indistinguishable. Notably, immediately after stating “I’m not interested in colour,” Feldman continues by remarking on Schoenberg’s observations about the interaction between pitch and timbre: “he says that timbre is the prince of the domain, that the resulting timbre is to some degree more important than the pitch itself, as we think of pitch. That’s a very important idea.”
Perhaps it’s no surprise then that this ensemble, with its uniquely refined timbral combination, held the role of crucible for Feldman’s important compositional ideas in the transition into his fully-fledged late period.
For Philip Guston: The close friendship between Morton Feldman and the painter Philip Guston collapsed in 1970, an estrangement that would endure until the painter’s death in 1980. Four years later Feldman would dedicate this contemplative epic to his late friend and to their lost friendship; a work that conjures an emotionally complex world of hazy perceptions and hazier reflections.
As the hushed tones of piano, flutes, celeste and metallic percussion cluster in complex soft-focus rhythms, at some points cohering around snatches of melody, at others scattering to explore seemingly unrelated ideas, Feldman explores the limits of memory and half-recollection – traversing and re-traversing the same terrain, but with deceptively sure tread leading the listener towards a poignant, perhaps devastating, conclusion."
Young Anglo-German composer Eden Lonsdale returns to Another Timbre with this startling double-album, writing immersive, long-form experiments that question instrumentation, space and harmony in collaboration with Apartment House, Oerkal and Ensemble Ipse. RIYL Arvo Pärt, Morton Feldman or Gavin Bryars.
There's a softly-spoken quality to Lonsdale's compositions that we identified immediately when we copped his brilliant debut, 'Clear and Hazy Moons', last year. He pares his sound back even further on 'Dawnings', that's conceptually rooted in its three string pieces: 'Aura' (for solo cello), 'Cloud Symmetries' (for four violins) and 'Shedding' (for seven violas). Each piece is minimal in its own way, but pushes the instrumentation to its limits by extending the harmonic versatility; 'Aurora', for example, is performed by (and written especially for) Anton Lukoszevieze and uses an experimental technique for a cello tuned in just intonation, where the player can extract resonant chordal sounds just by varying the pressure in their left hand. And for a solo piece it's strikingly rich, even when compared with the ensemble pieces, its fictile, scraped moans splitting the difference between archaic Northern European folk and intimate chamber music.
Lonsdale's motions are clearer though on 'Shedding', a collaboration with Brooklyn's Ensemble Ipse that queers a simple three note melody with microtonal alterations that create justly tuned intervals. It's clever stuff on a formal level, and to our ears just works so beautifully, widening the aspect ratio and deepening the sense of longing with its poignant, gentle phrasing and obscured harmonics. Lonsdale intersperses the string pieces with more varied orchestrations: 'Dawnings' (for clarinet and piano), and 'Constellations' (for organ, with flute, clarinet, percussion and strings). The latter is particularly startling; Lonsdale imagined the composition as a spacialized installation of sorts, with the players scattered in small groups around the venue. Even in stereo, the concept comes to live as he layers the various sounds, using the organ's powerful tones to anchor the additional instruments as they overlap and create distinct tonal clouds.
It's a magical listening experience, honestly - one that shows Lonsdale's full range as a composer and has our heads spinning. Quite how he manages to balance the drama and restraint without sounding repetitive or schmaltzy is a genuine achievement, it's music that prioritizes texture and space, but still sounds harmonically captivating.
A defiant new recording of one of Morton Feldman's most disarming compositions, Apartment House's 'Violin and String Quartet' captures the icy character of the instruments, melting time into fuzzed memory. When Feldman began producing durational works in the late 1970s, he managed to confound even his most dedicated friends and followers. Steve Reich famously lost touch with his cohort during this period, later regretting it when he gave the compositions time to sink in - he eventually conceded that 1985's 'Piano and String Quartet' was "the most beautiful work of his that I know." 'Violin and String Quartet' was written the same year, only two years before Feldman died, and evolves slowly, lasting two and a quarter hours. This fresh interpretation from Apartment House is different from previous recordings, close-miking each instrument to emphasize the tiny variations in sound: the little earthquakes that lend drama to the composition's watery flow. One of Feldman's prettiest pieces, it's aptly elevated by Apartment House's refined technique. If you heard the ensemble's rendition of 'Piano and String Quartet' from 2021, 'Violin and String Quartet' is a worthy follow-up. Their expertise with NYC minimalism is well documented at this point, and feeds into the effortlessness they exude while soldiering through the piece's duration. Billowing clouds of harmony replace any expected "vocal" themes, and the piece hangs in the air, reshaping time rather than commanding attention. Apartment House use microscopic magnification to help us perceive Feldman's original vision; the composer was obsessed with natural reverb and the physical decay of his instrumentation, and gave the composition plenty of negative space for these elements to bleed into the foreground. Here, Apartment House treat the pauses with reverence, leaving the echoes and traces to imprint themselves into the recording. Melodies and phrases twist into bubbling whirlpools of bowed fluctuations that appear and reappear throughout the piece, rhyming with previous segments and creating disarming pockets of sonic deja vu. Feldman asks us to reconsider the act of listening, lulling us into an elevated state. Apartment House give us the experience of hearing the music as if in the same room, concentrating on the bows on the strings and how they interact with the environment. It's a form of meditation that requires focus, but also an ability to release yourself from temporal concerns for a couple of hours - right now, that's never been more important.
Two Pianos and Other Pieces 1953-1969 collects the most experimental and beautiful works for multiple pianos from Morton Feldman’s formative years, exhuming scores rarely captured before - including “Two Pianos,” “Piece for Four Pianos,” “Piano Four Hands,” “Piano Three Hands,” and “Two Pieces for Three Pianos.” Led by pianists John Tilbury and Philip Thomas, the ensemble expands with strings, brass, and percussion, depending on the piece. This collection shines during passages of radical quietness, microscopic shifts in texture, and dramatically suspended time - hallmarks of Feldman’s search for an elastic music both shorn of narrative and dense in acoustic intrigue. Each piano work in the set privileges the instrument’s decay, color, and afterlife, using soft dynamics and open textures to lead performers into a phenomenological engagement, “as much about listening as playing.” Notes hover in limpid suspension; chords and clusters bloom and vanish in reverberant spaces. Feldman’s notational experiments with time - free durations, coordinated ensemble decay, unorthodox alignments - led him to invent forms where narrative is replaced by attention and depth is measured in the smallest changes of sound. Quietness is essential, but not the subject: the focus is on what sound does in space, how it transforms under touch, and how ensemble musicianship can dissolve boundaries between performer, score, and environment. The album stands as an essential addition to Feldman’s recorded legacy - a chamber adventure where collective listening, spectral nuance, and compositional radicalism shape every gesture. The performances are supremely sensitive, satisfying Feldman’s still-radical aims with restraint, clarity, and palpable intimacy. In these pieces, piano music reaches its apotheosis as exploration - of instrument, ensemble, and the outermost edge of musical time.
Seven beautiful, melancholic motets and a chanson by Renaissance composer Nicolas Gombert, arranged for instruments by James Weeks, who also composed the interludes. "One of the least expected and most beautiful records we are likely to hear this year." (Clive Bell) Gombert's music was renowned for the complexity of its polyphony, and these realisations, played by leading experimental ensemble Apartment House, emphasise the layered density of the music, while trying to take it as far away as possible from its origins as choral church music. The album is a personal project initiated by label owner Simon Reynell, a long-term fan of early music. Composer James Weeks also straddles the worlds of both early and contemporary music, and his 'media vita' interludes act as resting points between Gombert's intricate pieces. One of the bonus items which comes with the music is a pdf of an extended discussion about the project between Reynell and Weeks in which they discuss different approaches to the performance of early music, the brutal world of 16th century Europe from which the music sprung, and the ethics of promoting the music of a composer who did awful things. You can also read Clive Bell's excellent feature article about the album on another of the bonus items.
A 72-minute realisation of 'Intermission 6' (1953), one of the most open of Feldman's piano works. The piece was realised in October 2024 by Antti Tolvi.
The score consists of a single page with 15 events (chords or single notes) which can be played in any order, and can be performed by one or two pianists. Feldman writes that “The pianist, or pianists, begins with any sound on the page, will hold until barely audible, then proceed to whichever other sound he may choose. Sounds may be repeated.”
Most performances of 'Intermission 6' are between 4 and 10 minutes, but Antti Tolvi extends the piece to a duration more typical of Feldman's later music.
Catherine Lamb works at the boundary between perception and illusion. In Curva Triangulus (2018/21), the American composer takes Bridget Riley's geometric forms as starting point for "warping" Renaissance materials through geometric musical figures. The result is a 41-minute composition for eight instruments where the distinction between melody and harmony dissolves: one generates the other, rather than existing as separate entities. The score demands an exceptional ensemble. Bern's Ensemble Proton has access to extremely rare instruments: the arciorgano (Vicentino's 16th-century microtonal organ), a baroque triple harp (Barberini model), lupophone, contraforte, and clarinet d'amore. These combine with flute, cor anglais, bassoon, violin, and cello in an asymmetrical octet. The absence of piano and presence of the bellows-driven arciorgano subverts the ensemble's traditional balance, with the organ supporting the entire score from below. Lamb imagined a late Renaissance position of musical perception, warped by Riley's triangles and shapes in multidimensional space. Italian composer Zarlino hovers as phantom presence (with echoes of Marc Sabat's Gioseffo Zarlino surfacing), while Rameau's intuition about the sounding body remains just beyond the historical horizon. The baroque triple harp acts as "free flowing agent," articulating the progression of clearer contrapuntal triadic material in the foreground. Ensemble musicians alternate roles as active generators and passive harmonizers, always in relation to one another. In the revised version (completed winter 2020/21), these roles are distributed more evenly, adding timbral and intentional diversity. Richard Haynes introduces clarinet d'amore, while Elise Jacoberger contrasts bassoon and contraforte more distinctly. The ensemble includes Bettina Berger (flute, alto flute), Martin Bliggenstorfer (cor anglais, lupophone), Vera Schnider (triple harp), Coco Schwarz (arciorgano), Maximilian Haft (violin), and Jan-Filip Ťupa (cello). Recorded at Guebwiller Cathedral, France in May 2023 by sound engineer Ingo Schmidt-Lucas, Curva Triangulus is the latest in Lamb's extensive Another Timbre catalog, following parallaxis forma, Prisma Interius VIII, string quartets with JACK Quartet, and earlier works. Dusted Magazine notes the composition possesses "undeniable and immediate beauty" with "leisurely pace allowing room for experiments," offering both deep listening challenges and accessible pleasure.
Apartment House's latest set is a hypnotic rendition of Morton Feldman's towering late-period masterpiece, originally recorded in 1991 by Kronos Quartet and Aki Takahashi and here performed by Mark Knoop (piano), Mira Benjamin & Gordon Mackay (violins), Bridget Carey (viola) and Anton Lukoszevieze (cello). When Morton Feldman wrote "Piano and String Quartet" in 1985, only two years before he died of pancreatic cancer, he had Kronos Quartet and Aki Takahashi in mind, but the piece has been recorded many times since it was released in 1993, and has been endlessly influential, like much of Feldman's work. On this rendition, the dynamic range is tempered with piano and strings fluttering delicately like a whisper over a silence that feels omnipresent. When notes appear from the void, they do so with purpose, hanging like ghosts before slipping away into the aether. Anton Lukoszevieze, leader of Apartment House, explains why he chose to record the piece: "Piano and String Quartet, one of Feldman’s final works, is a seemingly simple work and yet it isn’t. As Philip Guston, a great friend of Feldman, wrote ‘Frustration is one of the great things in art; satisfaction is nothing.’ The length of the work (nearly 80 minutes) and the erasure of musical memory (What did we just hear?) is in fact its identity. Feldman makes simple statements, a piano arpeggio or a sustained string chord, holds these things and examines them over time. Gradually, as the sun’s light moves across a still life through the day, like a drawn out Morandi painting, the work evolves and indeed dissolves in some sense. Using different transformative processes, Feldman illuminates his basic material and achieves the miraculous, an extended work of great beauty and enigmatic wonder. There are ghosts there, tinctures of late Schubert, Brahms and even Janaček, where beauty is a signature of passing time and an ephemeral focus on hearing and disappearing."
Feldman’s late-style aesthetics distilled to their purest form in the chamber work Piano, Violin, Viola, Cello. A quiet labyrinth of abstraction, like an aural equivalent of abstract painting.