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A collection of transfixing, storm-like compositions, "Drifts” draws you into its heightened sense of quiet. The album’s twelve tracks revel in elegant, tranquilized vapors — one part ambient Classical, one part Club-adjacent ambience.
Pitched, reduced, sampled and re-sampled, the album’s glowing, elliptical abstractions — using piano, harp, strings & modular synthesizer — explore the emotional terrain between aftermath and renewal, blending the unstructured immediacy of improvisation with the elegant sculpture of composition.
Featuring collaborations with Patrick Belaga, Marilu Donovan (LEYA), and Takuma Watanabe, the album’s cinematic suite of impressionistic, ambient works invite the listener into a vast, mapless space of dreamlike non-linearity where interior and exterior landscapes bristle with intimacy and electricity.
Unfolding is Jessica Moss’s most meditative and plaintive solo album, and perhaps the first in the Montréal violinist/composer’s decade-spanning discography that could properly be called ambient. The ex-Silver Mt Zion member and Black Ox Orkestar co-founder draws from post-classical, drone, minimalism, industrial/metal, power electronics, Klezmer and other folkways: this is not abstract ambient music. Layers of violin melody, electroacoustic processing, intermittent voice, and percussion from The Necks drummer Tony Buck, yield deeply emotive genre-defying compositions, guided by a spirit of searching and summoning that unfolds in a prevailing atmosphere of incantation and mournful restraint. Working closely with producer Radwan Ghazi Moumneh (Jerusalem In My Heart), Moss notes "Unfolding was made slowly, over the last 12 months, the second full year of genocide in Palestine, in direct response to our collective witnessing, our collective grief, as a portal to collective mourning, as a searchlight through our internal weather systems, seeking one another out in the dark." The inseparability of the personal and political has wrung ever tighter for Moss these past two years, as for so many. She’s co-organized and played several benefit shows as a core member of the Montréal chapter of Musicians For Palestine, and she released the solo album For UNRWA in spring 2024 (garnering over 800 supporters and raising thousands of dollars). Moss’s music was already moving towards heightened fragility and deep listening, becoming increasingly durational and ceremonial. Despite the plummeting financial viability of touring, her devotion to holding space, conjuring entanglement, and connecting with intimate live audiences has become her creative lodestar, especially following lockdown. With her solo praxis shaped by committing to and communing in these rooms, recent political and personal upheavals have only intensified her ritualistic, reparative musical processes. The two longform tracks on Side One of Unfolding embody this sensibility. "Washing Machine" weaves layers of string drone and filigree, gently noised by distortion pedals and amplification, with indecipherably blown-out spoken voice intermittently enveloping the mix as fragmentary palimpsests of shrouded recitation and ineffable feeling. The piece traces its origins to a phone recording of a European laundry machine, captured by Moss as she sat next to it, heartbroken on the bathroom floor, finding solace by humming a melody along to the mechanical harmonics of the washer working through its cycles. Album centerpiece "One, Now" begins as a delicate invocation, with bass pulse, chimes and bells, plucked strings, and doleful lead violin lines influenced by Jewish and Arabic modes. Ambient noise, field recordings, and wordless vocals are added to the brew, as violin melodies layer and coalesce towards a mesmerizing dronescape: a semi-improvised living composition further vitalized by Tony Buck’s paintbrush drumming throughout, and Moumneh’s "yell into the void" at the end.. Side Two is a work in four parts titled "no one / no where / no one is free / until all are free" that moves through ambient noise, elegiac post-classical strings, and distorted harmonic drones, towards a denouement of liturgical organ, ritual bell, and shimmering electronic tracers that set the stage for the album’s closing song: the devastating choral composition "until all are free", a secular hymn comprised of Jessica’s multi-tracked vocals (but which she looks forward to singing with others in concert). Unfolding is dedicated to "a free Palestine in our lifetime." Thanks for listening.
Unfolding is Jessica Moss’s most meditative and plaintive solo album, and perhaps the first in the Montréal violinist/composer’s decade-spanning discography that could properly be called ambient. The ex-Silver Mt Zion member and Black Ox Orkestar co-founder draws from post-classical, drone, minimalism, industrial/metal, power electronics, Klezmer and other folkways: this is not abstract ambient music. Layers of violin melody, electroacoustic processing, intermittent voice, and percussion from The Necks drummer Tony Buck, yield deeply emotive genre-defying compositions, guided by a spirit of searching and summoning that unfolds in a prevailing atmosphere of incantation and mournful restraint. Working closely with producer Radwan Ghazi Moumneh (Jerusalem In My Heart), Moss notes "Unfolding was made slowly, over the last 12 months, the second full year of genocide in Palestine, in direct response to our collective witnessing, our collective grief, as a portal to collective mourning, as a searchlight through our internal weather systems, seeking one another out in the dark." The inseparability of the personal and political has wrung ever tighter for Moss these past two years, as for so many. She’s co-organized and played several benefit shows as a core member of the Montréal chapter of Musicians For Palestine, and she released the solo album For UNRWA in spring 2024 (garnering over 800 supporters and raising thousands of dollars). Moss’s music was already moving towards heightened fragility and deep listening, becoming increasingly durational and ceremonial. Despite the plummeting financial viability of touring, her devotion to holding space, conjuring entanglement, and connecting with intimate live audiences has become her creative lodestar, especially following lockdown. With her solo praxis shaped by committing to and communing in these rooms, recent political and personal upheavals have only intensified her ritualistic, reparative musical processes. The two longform tracks on Side One of Unfolding embody this sensibility. "Washing Machine" weaves layers of string drone and filigree, gently noised by distortion pedals and amplification, with indecipherably blown-out spoken voice intermittently enveloping the mix as fragmentary palimpsests of shrouded recitation and ineffable feeling. The piece traces its origins to a phone recording of a European laundry machine, captured by Moss as she sat next to it, heartbroken on the bathroom floor, finding solace by humming a melody along to the mechanical harmonics of the washer working through its cycles. Album centerpiece "One, Now" begins as a delicate invocation, with bass pulse, chimes and bells, plucked strings, and doleful lead violin lines influenced by Jewish and Arabic modes. Ambient noise, field recordings, and wordless vocals are added to the brew, as violin melodies layer and coalesce towards a mesmerizing dronescape: a semi-improvised living composition further vitalized by Tony Buck’s paintbrush drumming throughout, and Moumneh’s "yell into the void" at the end.. Side Two is a work in four parts titled "no one / no where / no one is free / until all are free" that moves through ambient noise, elegiac post-classical strings, and distorted harmonic drones, towards a denouement of liturgical organ, ritual bell, and shimmering electronic tracers that set the stage for the album’s closing song: the devastating choral composition "until all are free", a secular hymn comprised of Jessica’s multi-tracked vocals (but which she looks forward to singing with others in concert). Unfolding is dedicated to "a free Palestine in our lifetime." Thanks for listening.
Land Back!
An unadulterated opening statement intoned by Saul Williams three times, as he joins Carlos Niño & Friends in sound ceremony underneath oak and black walnut trees in Coldwater Canyon Park, Los Angeles, on December 18, 2024.
The performance, which was organized by Noah Klein of Living Earth on the grounds of longstanding conservationist organization TreePeople, was the first of its kind for longtime friends and collaborators Williams and Niño. The two have been in contact since 1997 and have worked on a variety of projects together, but had never been moved to present in this way. For the occasion, Niño assembled and directed an ensemble of frequent collaborators including Nate Mercereau (Guitar Synthesizer, Live Sampling with Midi Guitar, Sample Sources), Aaron Shaw (Flute, Soprano Saxophone with Pedals, Tenor Saxophone), Andres Renteria (Bells, Congas, Egyptian Rattle Drum, Hand Drums, Percussion), Maia (Flute, Vibraphone, Voice), Francesca Heart (Computer, Conch Shell, Sound Design), and Kamasi Washington (Tenor Saxophone).
Williams’ inspired poetics both fit seamlessly and guide clairvoyantly the electro-acoustic ecosystem created by Niño & Friends – a constellation of deep connections and intersecting linkups from complementary sound makers. There’s the dialogue between not just Niño & Williams but Niño and Renteria’s reciprocal percussions; the intergenerational woodwind counterpoint between Washington and Shaw; the hovering harmonics of Maia’s vibraphone in aerial resonance with Heart’s digital designs. Heart’s sounds also make a beautiful analogue to synth-guitarist Nate Mercereau, whose live sampling and manipulation techniques turn fleeting moments of sonic presence into musical architecture in real time. Deepening the dimensionality of this constellation, Mercereau and Niño are several years into a shared musical simpatico that has yielded dozens of powerful collaborations, making their particular interaction on this recording as spiritual and transcendent as it is subtle and implicit. And there is yet another connection to be highlighted still.
Late in the set, Williams shares an extended reflection on the Dutch East India Trade Company, the indigenous Lenape people on the island of Manahatta, the origins of Wall Street, and a prayer for the end of empire as he incites an epic crescendo from the ensemble, swirling behind the twin winds of Shaw and Washington, spirited by his repeated call “I’ve seen enough.” The smoke has only begun to clear from this emotional apex as Williams passes the torch to poet Aja Monet, who arrests the atmosphere with a soft apocalyptic reading of a piece from her notebook, “The Water Is Rising.”
As Monet finishes her poem and steps aside, Williams follows her foreboding words with a solemnly hopeful return – closing the ceremony with a parable about a firing squad, where one member's dilemma is a "system of belief" allowing for humanity in the heart of an oppressor.
2025 repress, gatefold sleeve, gold pantone print, incl. hot foil stamping. Edition of 500 ** After more than two decades, one of experimental noise music's most uncompromising statements returns to vinyl. Mego presents the long-awaited reissue of Kevin Drumm's Sheer Hellish Miasma, first released on CD in 2002 on the original Mego label. This 2LP edition marks the return of a landmark album that has remained a ferocious document of Drumm at his most inventive and unrelenting. The history of Sheer Hellish Miasma is one of resilience to the twists of underground trends that have come and gone since its initial release. Where lesser works have faded into obscurity or been absorbed by the zeitgeist, Drumm's vision has only grown more singular and essential with time. This is not music that seeks to comfort or accommodate - it is an artifact of eternal power that demands confrontation on its own uncompromising terms. Using guitar, tape manipulation, microphones, pedals, analog synthesizers, and subtle computer processing, Sheer Hellish Miasma constructs an overwhelming sonic architecture. This is an album that exists at the intersection of brutal physicality and meticulous composition - a careful orchestration of storming feedback, fractured textures, and unrelenting energy that reveals Drumm's mastery of extreme electronic sound. The album offers a singular vision positioned at the outermost edges of sound art, where conventional musical structures dissolve into pure sonic phenomenon. Each element - from the carefully manipulated guitar feedback to the processed analog textures - contributes to a cohesive statement that transcends the sum of its abrasive parts. For seasoned noise veterans, Sheer Hellish Miasma offers a bracing soundscape filled with exquisitely abrasive textures and hidden details that reward deep, repeated listening. In an increasingly homogenized world of abstract electronic noise, Drumm's work maintains a distinct voice that refuses easy categorization or imitation. For the uninitiated, Drumm's journey through the noisy underworld represents something more challenging - a confrontation with sound pushed to its absolute limits. This is music likely to inspire fear, or in the most optimistic case, a fearful admiration for the composer's uncompromising vision. Sheer Hellish Miasma stands as an abstract noise classic precisely because it refuses the comfortable compromises that allow underground music to be easily absorbed by mainstream culture. This 2LP reissue presents the work in its full, unmediated power - an artifact that has lost none of its capacity to challenge, disturb, and ultimately transform the listener's relationship to sound itself. In an era of endless digital reproduction, the return of Sheer Hellish Miasma to vinyl represents more than mere nostalgia. This is music that demands physical presence, that requires the listener to commit to its durational extremes, and that rewards those willing to submit to its particular form of sonic discipline.
Marionette presents Mélodies pour Clairons, the debut album by multidisciplinary artist Ioa Beduneau. Based in the South of France, Ioa’s world is rooted in creation - building intricate self-playing installations and handmade DIY electronics. His practice is driven by a desire to connect, challenge, and open up dialogues around disability and other social constructs. Proudly identifying as a disabled artist who is attuned to how our bodies interact with the world, Ioa brings a fresh and inimitable perspective to electronic and electroacoustic music.
On Mélodies pour Clairons, Ioa contemplates lifeforms using modular synths, channeling principles of physical modeling and bioacoustics. Ideas begin on paper and evolve into sound, forming an abstract yet intentional sonic ecosystem. Clairons refers both to a musical instrument and to a loved one with whom this music was shared, serving as a kind of sound diary during the stillness of the pandemic. The movement of air, pressure, resonance, and the physical properties of the clairon (a medieval trumpet) are reimagined and manipulated on this album, resulting in impressionistic and deeply moving compositions with poetic sensibility. Organic ASMR tones, synthesized bird calls, and pirouetting melodies of pipes and bells score an imaginary biodome where chaos and harmony coexist. Striking and singular, these works embody the kind of boundary-pushing music that defines Marionette.
"Special thanks to my parents, my brother Saty, and Clairon for their unconditional support. And to Jean Love for the music research we used to share. " - Ioa Bedunea
The road is a wrinkled timeline. Uncanny flatness conceals unfolding textures, transparent layers and open tabs. The truck cuts the landscape, tracing the road with a line of mad logic that composites time, space, thought. On “Le Camion de Marguerite Duras,” French duo Jean-Marie Mercimek have returned with a road movie for the blind. Composed and recorded by Marion Molle and Ronan Riou over six years across France and Belgium, this unlikely distillation of microtonal MIDI composition, French B.O., and post-punk chansons brazenly expands the duos’ penchant for lowkey narrative spectacle.
Across “Le Camion,” sounds form a theatrical screen. Our ears are the curtains drawn wide and listening with a look that pans across the shot. No title cards, they cut straight to action. The truck is a camera, zooming and framing the tracks as scenes. Songwriting and sound design blur in a tangle of delicate economy. The balance of mutant music-boxes and dewy miniatures recalls otherworldly hits from Gareth Williams’ Flaming Tunes, Residents, and catchier corners of the Lovely Music catalog. Strange, sure, but this flick is never quite a cartoon. Molle and Riou’s vocals dilate into a cast of very human characters. Voices sing borrowed texts like untrained actors (playing themselves, in fact) stepping into the frame once before disappearing forever. And when they’re gone, you miss them. But here in the truck, it all comes back again under the cyclic spell of repose in perpetual motion. Turn up the radio and appuyez sur le champignon.
Shadowing the swarming, boiling liminality of 'Croon Harvest' and 'Sub', 'The Vestige' unbalances Italian electroacoustic veteran Guisseppe Ielasi's subtle guitarwork with Manchester-based composer Jack Sheen's phantasmic post-'Automatic Writing' room tones and temporal irregularities.
Good one, this. It doesn't work on paper; the two artists' methodologies diverge significantly, with the Italian guitarist working in a more isolated fashion, while Sheen is best known for his ensemble work. But they're both drawn to sounds and forms that drift just out of focus - "mysterious, liminal musical material" in Sheen's own words - and that's the starting point for 'The Vestige'. They began by shuttling recorded material back and forth, Sheen using acoustic stems from his recent projects and Ielasi dubbing sketches with his guitar, and then polished up the ideas at Ielesi's studio in Monza, just outside of Milan. And there's an intentionality to this material that followers of either artists will recognize. Engineering the material so it's almost unrecognizable, the duo create a sequence of thirteen untitled tracks that represent the purity and allure of sound itself. Attempting to imagine this sonic liminality - a sound that's between realms, not quite music, not quite noise, not quite acoustic, not quite electronic - they blur the spectrum, creating a depth of field that's constantly captivating.
And although the album won't surprise anyone who spent time poring over 'Croon Harvest', the inclusion of Ielesi's delicate instrumentation widens the material and crumples some of its textures. On 'V7', we can hear those same Sheen-patented steam hisses and boiling whistles, but 'V9' sounds like that baton's been passed to Ielesi when his string-powered microsounds get treated with the same lopsided EQ processes. Both artists manage to mold their sources into impressions, where the texture of the sounds is more important than the aesthetic character. Just clap yr ears around the gamelan-like mid-range guitar twangs on 'V11', or the decaying brass that animates 'V12'. If you're fascinated by sound's plasticity, this one's for you.
Music From Memory is delighted to announce a new album from Son Of Chi entitled ’We Carry Eden’, an immersive long-form composition in two parts that seamlessly blends a collage of spoken word, field recordings and drones with elements of dub, jazz, fourth world and ambient music.
Son Of Chi is the latest project of Rotterdam-based multi-instrumentalist, composer and producer Hanyo van Oosterom. Van Oosterom’s prolific career spans multiple decades and genres; among countless projects he has been involved in, he is known for founding the Dutch ambient collective CHI in the early eighties, and in recent years for his prolific collaboration with CHI co-founder Jacobus Derwort as Chi Factory. Following Derwort’s passing in 2019, van Oosterom decided to close the CHI circle with the birth of Son Of Chi.
Sonically, the world of ‘We Carry Eden’ is fully immersive; it ripples with depth and shimmers in detail. Motifs, ideas and fragments, arise and disappear like passing thoughts, drawing the listener deeper and deeper inwards. For those familiar with Oosterom’s work as Chi Factory, the depth and meditative nature of the work will come as no surprise; however it is Oosterom’s skill with grooves that shines equally bright here; his infectiously dubby basslines and percussion rise up from the ether, grounding the listener to the earth. ‘We Carry Eden’ at times invokes the fourth world landscapes of Jon Hassell, (with whom Oosterom has collaborated) but as a whole, it remains the unique work of an artist fully in tune with their vision.
Thematically, storytelling traditions lie at the heart of ‘We Carry Eden’, with van Oosterom’s long-time collaborator Omar Ka playing a central role. Ka, who hails from the West African nomadic Fulani tradition of storytelling, responds to the collage of field recordings and sounds collected by Oosterom. His voice is woven throughout ‘We Carry Eden’, creating a narrative that binds the multiple sound sources of the album together.
As with much of van Oosterom’s musical output, inspiration is drawn from the Greek Island of Patmos and the wisdom and prophecies of the Native American Hopi Tribe. Since his work with CHI in the early eighties, van Oosterom has often incorporated quotes from Hopi Elders into his music. Gods, spirits, animals and humans, all existing in one unchangeable relationship tied to nature; ‘We Carry Eden’ is rooted in this philosophy, serving as a peaceful message of beauty, harmony and respect for the wisdom of the Elders and ancient traditions.
‘We Carry Eden’ will be released on LP and digitally on May 16th 2025. Sleeve art and design by Michael Willis.
Shutting Down Here is a special work. Symbolically, it covers a period of thirty years, between two visits by Jim O'Rourke to the GRM, the first, as a young man fascinated by the institution and his repertoire, the second, as an accomplished musician, influential and imbued with an aura of mystery. Shutting Down Here is a piece shaped like an universe, a heterogeneous world in which collides the multiple musical facets of Jim O'Rourke: instrumental writing, field recordings, electronic textures and cybernetic becomings, dynamic spaces, harmonic spaces, silent spans . This variety of approach, strangely, does not in any way weaken the coherence of the whole and this is the talent of Jim O'Rourke, a talent, properly speaking, of composition, where all the sound elements compete and participate to stakes that exceed them and of a common destiny, that is to say of an apparition.
The visionary Walter Maioli (Futuro Antico, Aktuala) and the eccentric electronic musician John Zandijik first met in 1984 when they both gravitated toward the experimental Sound Reporters collective, participating in the release of Ethnoelectronics (1986). Shortly afterward, the two met at Zandijik's studio in Rotterdam, where they completed their journey of exploration to the edge of the Universe in just three nights. The recordings were made only after 3 a.m., when psychic energy is at its peak, and inspiration belongs solely to the realm of dreams. It was a ritual of long galactic fluctuation, where the mystical sound of the flute was filtered and expanded by the Aureal system, a device capable of breaking it down into cascades of aureal harmonies. Through its extemporaneous approach, the music transforms perceptions of ancient pyramids or tropical forests into phosphorescent nebulae, luminous fountain openings, and unprecedented planetary interstices—interstellar portals leading to new archetypal-ancestral visions. It feels like sailing through colored orbits in the red gases of Jupiter and Mars, lost and dissolved forever in the engines and gears of the most secret cosmos. Between Pink Floyd-esque psychedelic flashes and Tangerine Dream-inspired sidereal architectures, Maioli and Zandijik reveal the most phantasmagoric and unknown side of Sound Reporters.
Pierre Bastien’s "Tools" pays tribute to the Meccano screwdriver, the origin of his mechanical instruments. Using self-made devices, Bastien explores sound’s raw materiality, embracing chance and discovery, and inviting listeners to experience new musical worlds.
“On my end, I had to sooner or later pay a similar tribute to the tool that allowed for the crafting of the Mecanium, from 1976 to this day. [...] Origin of origins, which even preceded the shaping of the sound-generating device, the Meccano screwdriver stands out from the regular screwdriver because of its singular shape: a simple metal rod flattened at one end, and rounded into an oblong loop at the other. [...] This all-new, streamlined, purposeful design helped me, once more, to compose the current record.” - Pierre Bastien
In Tools, Pierre Bastien explores his long-standing fascination with the concept of “elsewhere” from a new perspective. The title echoes an article by René Van Peer, which opens with this concise formula: “I compose with a screwdriver”. Bastien performs on instruments of his own making —mechanical assemblages built primarily from Meccano parts— which structure not only the music itself but also an image of music. Rather than seeking narrative or metaphor, let’s not imagine anything just yet, Bastien invites us first to observe the raw materiality of his mechanisms: the clash of gears, the hum of rotation, the tension between precision and accident.
The machine-instrument at the origin of this record was composed of a rhythm section, a harmonic section with six valves playing six major chords, a rotating nail violin, eight rotating flute mouthpieces, and an automated skeleton of a record player. The device holds its hidden secrets. What emerges, unplanned, carries the essence of discovery. The unexpected remains invisible until it materializes. To discover something is to understand that the world we knew has widened. As such, Bastien’s creative process is a precious reminder that “elsewhere” (and its multitude of worlds) is always lurking around us.
The tenth and final anthology from Blank Forms explores the early electronic work of French composer Éliane Radigue, whose radical approach to feedback, analog synthesis, and composition on tape has long evaded historical and technical interpretation. Combining key texts, newly translated primary documents, interviews, and commissioned essays, this compendium interrogates the composer’s idiosyncratic compositional practice, which both embraces and confounds the iterative nature of magnetic tape, the subtleties of amplification, and the very experience of listening.
Among these entries is an in-depth overview by cellist Charles Curtis, a close collaborator of Radigue’s, examining the composer’s earliest experiments with feedback techniques and analog synthesis, her eventual shift to composing for unamplified instruments and live performers, and her unique aesthetic configurations of time and presence. A number of detailed conversations between the composer and researchers Georges Haessig, Patrick de Haas, Ian Nagoski, and Bernard Girard provide crucial insights into her working methods at different points throughout her career. Religious studies scholar Dagmar Schwerk reflects upon Radigue’s profound synthesizer work Trilogie de la Mort (1988–93) in the context of Tibetan Buddhist thought and its history, while texts by musicians Daniel Silliman and Madison Greenstone examine, in notably different ways, the technical characteristics of Radigue’s sound practice. Sketches for unrealized work, contemporary reviews, concert programs, and other ephemera mapping the performance history of Radigue’s early work are presented together for the first time. The anthology concludes with a roundtable discussion between Curtis, Greenstone, and Anthony Vine, untangling the knot of paradoxes at the center of Radigue’s artistic practice to trace the thread of her continued “ethos of resistance.”
A new longform commissioned work for any ensemble of four similar instruments. The definitive string quartet version of 'Long Gradus' is available as a 2LP and CD, and the collection of all four arrangements (strings, woodwinds, brass & organ, choir & electronics) is presented as the 'Long Gradus: Arrangements' 4CD set.
'Long Gradus' began in 2020 when Sarah Davachi was selected to participate in Quatuor Bozzini’s Composer’s Kitchen residency, which was to be a joint production with Gaudeamus Muziekweek in the Netherlands. With the postponement of the residency to the following year, the composer was given the opportunity to take a step back and look at the piece over a much longer period of time than would have ordinarily been possible. The resulting longform composition in four parts, written in its initial form for string quartet, was developed as an iteration of an ongoing preoccupation with chordal suspension and cadential structure. In this context, horizontal shifts in pitch material and texture occur on a very gradual scale, allowing the listener's perceptions to settle on the spatial experience of harmony. A system of septimal just intonation helps to further the production of a consonant acoustic environment. 'Long Gradus' uses a formalized articulation of time-bracket notation alongside unfixed indications of pitch, texture, and voicing that allow the players some discretion in determining the shape of the piece. A sense of pacing that is markedly different from that of mensural notation emerges accordingly, while the open structure of the composition results in each performance having a unique and unpredictable configuration.
The piece may be arranged in a quartet format for any instrumentation that can alter its intonation with some degree of accuracy or produce a natural seventh harmonic. Substitution of the string quartet with other instruments as desired or imagined, both acoustic and electronic, is entirely acceptable and indeed encouraged. To this end, Davachi has also offered the 'Long Gradus: Arrangements' 4CD set, which includes the string quartet version as well as arrangements for woodwinds, brass and organ, and choir and electronics. A 'gradus' is a sort of handbook meant to aid in learning a difficult practice; in this case, 'Long Gradus' is designed to considerably slow the cognitive movements of both listener and player, and to focus their attention on the relationships between moments. A rich harmonic landscape that is constantly shifting and which changes with each engagement is the listener’s return. For the player, 'Long Gradus' is an invitation to practice active listening and to immerse oneself in the stillness of psychoacoustic space and time.
Davachi comments: “I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Quatuor Bozzini for the opportunity to go through this process together, which is exceedingly uncommon in the context of chamber music. Typically, when writing for an ensemble or orchestra, the composer is given very few, if any, occasions to actually adjust their work in a meaningful way outside of perhaps one or two brief rehearsals of an essentially final score. It is extremely rare and an enormous luxury to begin with simple sketches or ideas and to actually construct a piece over a period of several months or more from a place of sonic assurance – that is, being able to listen and to explore and to continually fine tune in response to the sound itself, in conjunction with the performers. Part of the reason that my earliest compositional efforts arose within the domain of electroacoustic and acousmatic music is because of the control that it offered, to intuit sound in real time rather than through the indirect interpretation of future sound in the form of a score. Even now, when I compose work for chamber ensembles, I typically always start from a recorded version or from a demo – from the sound itself – and then work backwards to generate the score that will result in that music. It seems to be a vestige of conservatory thinking to view music performance, even in relation to new music, as a kind of reading of notes on the page that simply results in things just falling into place as expected. But, when the music goes beyond what’s on the page to include a dialogue with the acoustic space of the performance, and to require a certain patience and concentration on part of the performers, there needs to be a different approach; the Composer’s Kitchen residency offered that respect and curiosity.”
how it thrills us, the bird's clear cry...
any cry that was always there.
children, playing in the open air,
children already go crying by
real cries. cry chance in. through crevasses
in that same space whereinto, as dreaming
men into dreams, the pure bird-cry passes
they drive their splintering wedge of screaming.
where are we? freer and freer, we gyre
only half up, kites breaking
loose, with our frills of laughter flaking
away in the wind. make the criers a choir,
singing god! that resurgently waking
may bear on its waters the head and the lyre.
The seven compositions on this album, written between 2022 and 2024, form a conceptual suite and an observance of the mental dances that we construct to understand acts of passage; the ways that we commune and memorialize and carry symbols back into the world beyond representation.
To this end, THE HEAD AS FORM'D IN THE CRIER'S CHOIR engages two references to the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus: Rainer Maria Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus, a collection of poems from 1922, and Claudio Monteverdi’s l’Orfeo, an early baroque opera from 1607. The myth of Orpheus tells the story of a musician who, grief stricken by the passing of his wife, Eurydice, descends to Hades to persuade the deity of the dead for her return. Along the way, Orpheus seduces those who would block his passage with the deeply lamenting music he conjures from his lyre. Hades agrees but with one condition: Orpheus is not to turn around and look at Eurydice until the pair once again breach the world of the living. Not surprisingly, as they approach the surface, Orpheus grows anxious and turns around to confirm Eurydice’s presence behind him, therein sending her back to the underworld forever. As the story goes, Orpheus then sings for death to take him away; with his wish finally granted by a group of maenads, Orpheus’ detached head and his lyre float down the river, continuing their mournful song.
For many years, I sought to largely separate my studio practice from my live performance practice, with the awareness that the unique limitations and possibilities of each domain were almost sacred to their individual characters. THE HEAD AS FORM'D IN THE CRIER'S CHOIR is a supplement of sorts to TWO SISTERS (2022) and ANTIPHONALS (2021), which were attempts to begin bridging this gap between the fixed electroacoustic pieces that emerge in the studio context and the somewhat open and slow-paced chamber writing that I do, in which each performance presents a new structure and in which each iteration offers the path to a new composition and deeper meaning. I am, as always, greatly indebted to the talented and incredibly sensitive musicians who appear on this album, many of whom are regular interpreters of my music: Andrew McIntosh (viola, Los Angeles), Mattie Barbier (trombone, Los Angeles), Lisa McGee (mezzo-soprano, Los Angeles), Pierre-Yves Martel (viola da gamba, Montréal), Eyvind Kang (viola d’amore, Los Angeles), and Rebecca Lane (bass flute, Berlin), Sam Dunscombe (bass clarinet, Berlin), Michiko Ogawa (bass clarinet, Berlin), M.O. Abbott (trombone, Berlin), and Weston Olencki (trombone, Berlin) of the Harmonic Space Orchestra (Winds). For my part, I again return to my favourite keyboard instruments on this album: Mellotron (in particular, the brass and woodwind samples that I so adore), electric organ (the Korg CX-3), synthesizer (the Prophet 5 and Korg PS-3100, which are both extremely useful in their tuning capabilities), and, of course, pipe organ.
There are four pipe organs featured on this album: a mechanical-action instrument built by Tamburini in 1968, located in the Basilica di Santa Maria dei Servi of Bologna, Italy; an electric-action instrument built by Veikko Virtanen in 1969, located in the Temppeliaukio Church of Helsinki, Finland; a meantone mechanical-action instrument built by John Brombaugh in 1981, located at Oberlin College’s Fairchild Chapel in Oberlin, Ohio, USA; and, a mechanical-action instrument built by Aristide Cavaillé-Coll in 1864, located in the Église du Gesù of Toulouse, France. The organ pieces on THE HEAD AS FORM'D IN THE CRIER'S CHOIR focus more heavily on the instruments’ pedals as well as the textural variations made possible by the mechanical tracker actions that most possess. The Brombaugh organ at Oberlin College offered a particularly meaningful compositional opportunity both in its use of the meantone temperament that was typical of the early seventeenth-century organ designs it’s based on, and in its use of split accidental keys, which accommodate for the lack of enharmonic equivalence in an extended meantone system. ‘Possente Spirto’ is a loose conceptual reference to the aria ‘Possente spirto, e formidabil nume’ in l’Orfeo. As in Monteverdi’s version, my piece also emphasizes the use of strings and brass and observes a particular order in which they enter and exit, and also incorporates a sort of continuo framework. I depart from there to focus on a slow-moving chord progression and its variations in voicing, inspired by renaissance concepts of harmony as a vertical structure, set within a standard quarter-comma meantone temperament. The piece employs the same structure that I use in most of my chamber writing, where each iteration of a performance is slightly different, calling on players to respond in real time and engage in a more direct form of listening. Several different colours of interval are heard throughout: the typical meantone minor third of 310 cents, the wolf minor third of 269 cents, the wolf fifth of 738 cents, and finally the standard meantone major third of 386 cents, which is one of a few intervals that this tuning system shares with just intonation. As with essentially all of THE HEAD AS FORM'D IN THE CRIER'S CHOIR, this piece is also quite variable in duration. ‘Trio for a Ground’ continues this feeling of partitioned instrumentation, with the organ providing the continuo throughout and the choir handing off to a duo of strings. In this recording, I chose to work with baroque strings – the viola da gamba and the viola d’amore, the latter of which incorporates a set of sympathetic strings that exist entirely for resonance. ‘Res Sub Rosa’ was composed specifically for a wind quintet formation of Berlin’s Harmonic Space Orchestra, and employs a system of septimal just intonation as well as a similarly variable structure that allows the players some discretion in how the piece is shaped at any given moment and which encourages different harmonic and acoustic encounters in each performance. ‘Constants’ functions as an electronic counterpoint to ‘Res Sub Rosa’, substituting human decisions with the natural interruption and decay cycles of sound-on-sound tape delay to achieve a similar sense of pacing and unpredictability.
- Sarah Davachi, 2024
Like on the early solo Haino album that shares the group’s name (released on P.S.F. in 1993), the instrumentation swims in reverb (the use of which Akiyama recalls as ‘a kind of point of the band’), often obscuring the instrumental sources. On the short opening piece, a distant reed instrument arcs long buzzing melodies over a bed of cymbals and gongs, like a psychedelic take on Tibetan music. The epic second part, occupying almost 50 minutes, begins as a splayed, near-formless cloud of electric guitar and bass, shadowed by bowed and plucked strings, the three elements working through twisting atonal shapes.
At various points in the recording, we hear what seems to be the sounds of musicians moving between instruments, their shuffling and bumps fitting seamlessly into this radically open music. Eventually, what sounds like electric guitar moves closer to the foreground, fixing on a repeated melodic cell around which hover mysterious clouds of long tones and a sporadic shaker. At the half-hour mark, the music begins to build to a violently emotive climax, Haino’s impassioned vocal cries punctuating a lumbering, bass-heavy murk, contrasted at points by what sounds like a tin whistle. Suddenly, the volume drops to a near-whisper, opening the way for the stunning final moments, which touch on the slow-motion balladry of Haino’s classic Affection, here given an eccentric twist by an occasional woodblock hit.
The third piece opens with a hazy trio of rumbling bass, bowed strings and abstracted slide guitar, the latter calling to mind some of Akiyama’s later solo work. Eventually joined by Haino’s voice, its fragile, haunted tone might remind the listener of the man in black’s documented love of the madrigals of the murderous Count Gesualdo, before the recording abruptly breaks off mid-note. In this new edition, the Nijiumu trio recording is supplemented by a piece recorded solo by Haino in 1973, a bracing electronic blowout stretching almost half an hour. Using a homemade electronics setup to unleash a barrage of crunching distortion and shuddering harmonic fuzz, it takes its place in the canon of extreme live electronics next to Robert Ashley’s Wolfman and Walter Marchetti’s Osmanthus fragrans, looking forward to extreme noise years before Merzbow. Taken as a whole, these four sides of music are a stunning document of some of the lesser-known waystations of Haino’s singular creative path.
Léo Dupleix returns to Black Truffle with Round Sky, a graceful continuation of his exploration into just intonation following Resonant Trees. Performed by Asterales — a quartet comprising Dupleix (analogue synthesizer, harpsichord, spinet), Jon Heilbron (double bass), Rebecca Lane (quarter-tone flute) and Frederik Rasten (guitars) — the album offers three distinct yet connected compositions marked by poise and harmonic clarity.
Side one’s ‘Poème d’air’ unfolds as a slow-moving study of low frequencies and harmonic resonance, its steady cycles of bass and synthesizer chords gradually illuminated by flute and guitar. The second side introduces two shorter works: ‘Ghosts’, where harpsichord patterns expand and dissolve amid a haze of bowed strings and sustained tones; and the title piece ‘Round Sky’, written in the countryside and performed as a duo for spinet and guitar with soft, wordless vocals. Here, Dupleix’s music reaches a state of quiet radiance — methodical in structure yet open to pure, unguarded beauty.
Visionary electroacoustic explorations return as Black Truffle reissues Kassel Jaeger's Fernweh, a major work fusing musique concrète and synthesis into emotionally charged sonic landscapes of rare intensity.
Black Truffle is pleased to announce a new edition of Kassel Jaeger's Fernweh, returning François J. Bonnet's electroacoustic project to the label five years after the acclaimed Meith (BT069). Originally released on Giuseppe Ielasi and Jennifer Veillerobe's impeccably curated Senufo Editions in 2012, Fernweh stands near the beginning of the gradual expansion of Bonnet's approach after the austere acoustic textures of Aerae and Algae (both released on Senufo), leading to the lush, layered environments of recent solo works on Shelter Press and the epic electronic expeditions undertaken in duo projects with Stephen O'Malley and Jim O'Rourke.
A major work in the Kassel Jaeger oeuvre, stretching over two LP sides, Fernweh draws together synthesized and musique concrète materials into a drifting assemblage. Its title's meaning is close to the concept of 'Wanderlust', fitting for this music that moves freely and unexpectedly between what Bonnet calls 'climates'. Beginning with fizzing electronics whose rhythm of gradual approach suggests breaking waves, the clinical atmosphere is soon haunted by intangible traces of lived reality. Textures call up wind, water, insects, the crunch of feet on sand or the clinking of glasses, yet they can never be identified with any certainty. At times these concrete elements possess a vivid 'closeness'; at others, the sounds shade into a formless distance. Though the listener forms no clear picture from the concrete sounds, these elements aerate the music, lending it their space. Drawing from the rigorous formal language and conceptual apparatus of the French musique concrète tradition—with which Bonnet, as director of the INA GRM and researcher into its deepest archival recesses, is intimately familiar—the music of Kassel Jaeger is equally informed by how underground experimental music has rethought electroacoustic techniques, with Fernweh at times calling up the grit and grime of para-industrial eccentrics like Maurizio Bianchi or the Toniutti brothers, and at other moments suggesting the slow-moving grandeur of early Olivia Block.
Subtle features of dynamics and rhythm act as connective tissue between the numerous 'scenes', with wave-like envelopes, rapid pulsations, and short, tape-loop patterns all recurring throughout the piece, shared ambiguously between electronic and concrete sounds. Amid these shifting, often inharmonic textures, the electronic elements sometimes cohere into melodic shapes and chordal patterns, cutting through the fog in distorted arcs or underpinning the layered surface with slow-moving harmonies.
Like his friend and collaborator Jim O'Rourke, Bonnet displays a radical openness at odds with academic tradition, allowing unabashed emotion to coexist with rigorous experimentation. As Fernweh dies away with mysterious shudders, listeners are left at once moved and unsure of exactly what they just heard.
Octogenarian experimental legend Annea Lockwood returns to Black Truffle with more paradigm-shifting new material, playing Belfast's "peace lines" with sticks, stones and leaves to soundtrack 'History of the Present' and examining Vanessa Tomlinson's relationship with the bass drum on 'Skin Resonance'.
There's nobody else doing it quite like Lockwood, that's for certain. At 85-years-old, the New Zealand-born composer is still producing vital, radical experimental art; Black Truffle might have started their relationship with Lockwood by reminding all of us how genius her 1970 tape piece 'Tiger Balm' is, but 2022's 'Becoming Air / Into the Vanishing Point' brought us right up to the present day, spotlighting her recent collaborations with Nate Wooley and Yarn/Wire. This latest double-header goes even further into her contemporary canon; opening side 'On Fractured Ground' is extracted from Maria Fusco and Margaret Salmon's 2023-released feminist opera-film 'History of the Present', an experimental work set in Northern Ireland that amplifies working-class women's voices. Lockwood, working alongside Dr. Georgios Varoutsos and Professor Pedro Rebelo, two academics who developed a binaural "soundwalk" along Belfast's Peace Wall, approaches the Troubles with refreshing clarity. Taking a radical perspective in terms of representation, she imagines the walls, built around Northern Ireland since the late '60s to divide Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods, as resonant instruments, playing them with her hands and found objects to emphasize the disruption of these barriers, not the space itself.
Lockwood, Rebelo and Varoutsos spent time tracking around Belfast and recording in-situ, but not making field recordings as such. It sets our mind back to Brötzmann and Bennink's iconic 'Schwarzwaldfahrt' album, in fact, where they decamped to Germany's Black Forest and recorded their natural free improvisations in the open air. Here, the trio take a similar approach to their landscape, representing the awkward topography of the region with sonorous, gong-like clangs, Limpe Fuchs-esque rolling resonances and extended micro-percussive asides.
On the flip, Lockwood teams up with Aussie composer/percussionist Tomlinson to represent a relationship between musician and instrument that's surprisingly difficult to put into words. The piece materialised after the duo discussed the concept of "sonic attraction", and is made from supple, unusual drum improvisations - the kind of rubbery, mutant resonances that are eccentric enough to fully command your attention - and poetic, confessional reflections from Tomlinson herself. "What do I absorb? What do I reflect?" she asks. "I start to think about my skin as an ear, so maybe the bass drum skin is an ear as well." Lockwood focuses her own ear on Tomlinson's ability to transmogrify the instrument's aesthetics, stripping away all conventional understanding of the bass drum and letting its component parts sing, rattle and hum.
Land Back!
An unadulterated opening statement intoned by Saul Williams three times, as he joins Carlos Niño & Friends in sound ceremony underneath oak and black walnut trees in Coldwater Canyon Park, Los Angeles, on December 18, 2024.
The performance, which was organized by Noah Klein of Living Earth on the grounds of longstanding conservationist organization TreePeople, was the first of its kind for longtime friends and collaborators Williams and Niño. The two have been in contact since 1997 and have worked on a variety of projects together, but had never been moved to present in this way. For the occasion, Niño assembled and directed an ensemble of frequent collaborators including Nate Mercereau (Guitar Synthesizer, Live Sampling with Midi Guitar, Sample Sources), Aaron Shaw (Flute, Soprano Saxophone with Pedals, Tenor Saxophone), Andres Renteria (Bells, Congas, Egyptian Rattle Drum, Hand Drums, Percussion), Maia (Flute, Vibraphone, Voice), Francesca Heart (Computer, Conch Shell, Sound Design), and Kamasi Washington (Tenor Saxophone).
Williams’ inspired poetics both fit seamlessly and guide clairvoyantly the electro-acoustic ecosystem created by Niño & Friends – a constellation of deep connections and intersecting linkups from complementary sound makers. There’s the dialogue between not just Niño & Williams but Niño and Renteria’s reciprocal percussions; the intergenerational woodwind counterpoint between Washington and Shaw; the hovering harmonics of Maia’s vibraphone in aerial resonance with Heart’s digital designs. Heart’s sounds also make a beautiful analogue to synth-guitarist Nate Mercereau, whose live sampling and manipulation techniques turn fleeting moments of sonic presence into musical architecture in real time. Deepening the dimensionality of this constellation, Mercereau and Niño are several years into a shared musical simpatico that has yielded dozens of powerful collaborations, making their particular interaction on this recording as spiritual and transcendent as it is subtle and implicit. And there is yet another connection to be highlighted still.
Late in the set, Williams shares an extended reflection on the Dutch East India Trade Company, the indigenous Lenape people on the island of Manahatta, the origins of Wall Street, and a prayer for the end of empire as he incites an epic crescendo from the ensemble, swirling behind the twin winds of Shaw and Washington, spirited by his repeated call “I’ve seen enough.” The smoke has only begun to clear from this emotional apex as Williams passes the torch to poet Aja Monet, who arrests the atmosphere with a soft apocalyptic reading of a piece from her notebook, “The Water Is Rising.”
As Monet finishes her poem and steps aside, Williams follows her foreboding words with a solemnly hopeful return – closing the ceremony with a parable about a firing squad, where one member's dilemma is a "system of belief" allowing for humanity in the heart of an oppressor.
Shutting Down Here is a special work. Symbolically, it covers a period of thirty years, between two visits by Jim O'Rourke to the GRM, the first, as a young man fascinated by the institution and his repertoire, the second, as an accomplished musician, influential and imbued with an aura of mystery. Shutting Down Here is a piece shaped like an universe, a heterogeneous world in which collides the multiple musical facets of Jim O'Rourke: instrumental writing, field recordings, electronic textures and cybernetic becomings, dynamic spaces, harmonic spaces, silent spans . This variety of approach, strangely, does not in any way weaken the coherence of the whole and this is the talent of Jim O'Rourke, a talent, properly speaking, of composition, where all the sound elements compete and participate to stakes that exceed them and of a common destiny, that is to say of an apparition.