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Alabaster DePlume often asks a simple question: what do people need? In his work, at his shows, in his collaborations, the Mancunian singer-saxophonist and poet-philosopher poses this to the people around him. What are people looking for? In recent years, the same reply kept coming up: healing, healing, people need healing. But why, and what does it mean to heal, especially in a world where the very idea is often commodified and sold as a luxury? If people were coming to his music for something so mysterious, he ought to figure it out. Maybe he ought to try some healing himself.
“For a long time, I've always tried to give responsibility for my value to someone else,” DePlume told me on a recent phone call. It seemed he’d become so caught up in the work of forging connections, and thinking about the effects of his work on others, that he’d lost a sense of himself. “I was working on that,” he explained.
This experiment in healing included slowing down, reading, reflecting, and even taking up the practice of jiu-jitsu. DePlume wrote poetry, too, including the book 'Looking for my value: prologue to a blade', seventy pages of verse rooted in its title’s great search, in finding strength of self within a community, alongside meditations on the paradox of the blade. “The blade, that divides, is whole,” he writes in the introduction. “Healing is the forming of a whole, and a whole is singular, more itself, as in more one, as in more alone.” A blade could be used to attack, to shave, to sever, but it could also be used to cut oneself loose—in the process of getting free.
“What's the opposite of sleep? It’s trying to sleep,” he told me. “And so what's the opposite of looking for my value? It is knowing my value. It simply is there. My dignity is there. I don't need anyone else to know my dignity, or me, to know it. I know it first. I can't seek it from another. I stand for it.”
Selections from the poetry book ultimately became the lyrics across half of the tracks on 'A Blade Because A Blade Is Whole', DePlume’s latest full-length work for the reliably great International Anthem label: eleven songs of agency and survival and presence; of confronting life’s pains rather than trying to avoid them; of banishing escapism. In sum, it documents his learning of the fact that dignity and self-determination are prerequisites for becoming whole, which is to say, for healing. If a blade were broken it would not serve its purpose; it must be unbroken, it must be whole, to be of use.
In the Alabaster DePlume songbook, the celestial ease of his instrumental tracks can sometimes feel like a trojan horse for a voice that is disarmingly honest about the heaviness of existence. Opener “Oh My Actual Days” is true to form in that sense, with DePlume’s tenor sax and Macie Stewart’s ghostly strings playing together like a slow march towards an inner reckoning, one that’s beautiful because it is true. The punchy and contemplative “Thank You My Pain” makes a rhythmic refrain from his titular lyric, inspired by the Vietnamese monk and peace activist Thích Nhất Hạnh, who urged the importance of listening to one’s own pain. “Hello my little pain, I know you are here,” Nhất Hạnh would say. “I am home to take care of you. I do not want to cover you up with consumption anymore.” While writing A Blade, DePlume “watched loads of him on YouTube.”
Then there’s the gorgeous swell of “Invincibility,” an ode to self-respect that feels a bit like a choir of angels led by a trickster, a group contemplating: how do we live with the forces that seek to destroy us? The whole song feels like a heavy exhale, or like the feeling of reaching the surface after a long while underwater. “If I meet with my feelings, they cannot destroy me,” he told me. “When I allow myself to embody them, physically, then I live through that feeling and I meet with it and I make peace with it and I find that my feeling is me, and I welcome it. It is a sense that I cannot be destroyed by my feeling. I am invincible.”
“Form a V” is the closest DePlume comes to a monologue, and also his song most indebted to his jiu-jitsu practice. “I’ve only been doing it for the past two or three years,” he told me. “But now I don’t know how you get by without it.” The song takes inspiration from a tradition where a whole dojo will stand in the shape of a V, facing just one lone individual, who is then attacked quickly and repeatedly by each of the others. “The title is a challenge to the world,” DePlume explained. “Go on, form a v—I am ready.”
Across the first half of the record, when the sax comes in short phrases, it feels like a highlighter over lines in DePlume’s poetry book. Other times, it plays out like an extension of his voice. “Playing the saxophone feels like singing,” he said. A transfixing run of instrumentals on the second half of the record includes “Prayer for My Sovereign Dignity,” an anthem for self-possession. “Believing in yourself feels ridiculous,” he says. “It's ridiculous, but that's what it takes. That's what's required. To stand for yourself is absurd. Let us do the absurd that is standing for ourselves. There is this prayer going on in the background—you can't quite tell what the words are, but it's basically, I'm praying for my sovereign dignity but I don't need to pray for it. It's not going to be given to me. I already have it.”
Where DePlume’s previous material was drawn from collective sessions, improvisation, and editing, A Blade was tightly composed, arranged and produced by DePlume himself. From there, he brought his compositions to a cast of players and co-arrangers, including Macie Stewart (strings), Donna Thompson (backing vocals), and Momoko Gill (strings and backing vocals), for sessions at the collective arts space Total Refreshment Centre, where he has long been involved.
Born Gus Fairbairn, DePlume is a man of many past lives. He played “rock band type music” as a teenager, and started playing improvised music around 2008. He is compelled by how improvising allows him to “put faith in others.” He taught himself the saxophone around the time that he became employed as a support worker assisting men with mental disabilities; he once called playing music with them “one of the best breakthroughs for me as an artist.” His debut as Alabaster DePlume came in May 2012, while he was still living in Manchester. He moved to London in 2015 and took up residency at Total Refreshment Centre, where he was encouraged to put on a monthly concert, leading to the series Peach, releasing a namesake album that year, too. His music, from the start, has been imbued with his politics and values; he was maybe arrested once during a protest with the environmental group Extinction Rebellion. His proper international breakthrough came in 2020 with 'To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals Vol. 1', after nearly a decade of steadily releasing records.
On a phone call in the fall of 2024, we barely speak about any of this though. For at least an hour, we mostly just speak about his recent trip to Palestine, and how could we not? DePlume had traveled to Bethlehem in the spring for a conference hosted by a local Lutheran pastor, before meeting up with musicians from a community arts space, the Wonder Cabinet, and the independent radio station, Radio Alhara. “Palestine is a place where people make records,” he says. “I want to normalize the dignity of that. It's not like, oh, I'm going to make a thing about Palestine. I am just there, and I'm making a thing.”
At the end of 2024, DePlume prefaced A Blade with a collection of recent works: the poetry book and a three-track EP partially recorded in Bethlehem, and in collaboration with Palestinian musicians. There’s “Honeycomb” and “Cremisan,” both recorded during his “Sounds of Places” residency at Wonder Cabinet; “Cremisan” documents the conclusion of a daylong performance presented by Wonder Cabinet and Radio alHara, June 1, 2024, described as “a cry from the Cremisan Valley (Bethlehem, Palestine) to Rafah (Gaza).” The EP’s final recording, “Gifts of Olive,” references the soul-wrenching poem “If I Must Die” by Refaat Alareer, professor of English literature at the Islamic University in Gaza, who was killed by an Israeli airstrike in 2023.
To suggest that dignity is a human right we are all entitled to is to say: by nature of being alive, every human life has worth. Contemplating the very concept of human dignity also raises the daily indignities that are so normalized in a world of suffering. The lack of access to clean water, air, housing, healthcare. Without the basic necessities of life, we cannot know dignity. And how can people know dignity if they are living under a constant state of military attack, if they are living as the target of a genocide?
“The album was written before the genocide started, but I had Palestine on my mind all the time,” DePlume explains. “This question of dignity, sovereignty, and the work of healing. It has a relevance in what's being perpetrated there by the Israeli state, and taking responsibility for my place in that. I pay my taxes here in the United Kingdom—I am contributing to, as a white Englishman, the country that brought the Balfour Declaration, that brought the Sykes-Picot Agreement, that supports and enables the colonization and the settler-colonial project in Palestine. It is my issue, and I have a position where I can speak about it.”
“Dignity” has roots in the Latin dignitatem: worthiness. And instilling the plain truth of every human life’s worth has been a recurring commitment in DePlume’s work. “They can’t use us on one another if we don’t forget we’re precious,” he sang in 2022, summing the emotional core of his 2022 album 'GOLD', concerns of shared humanity that play out into the new works as well.
“We make stories in our lives,” DePlume says. “Oh, I need my story. Oh, something bad happened, and I need to heal upon that. Then I will be healed and all will be good, happily ever after. But no, it is work that needs doing all the time. We all are wounded in our many different ways. And there are degrees of healed, or wounded. Basically, we are either doing one thing or we're doing the other. How do I know I am not destroying myself? I only know that when I am working on healing.”
Limited of deep dub influenced music from 12' from Greville.
Romeo’s Fall is an original score for voice by artist and composer EXLRUTH, a new work traversing romance and romanticism in a post-industrial North East England. Performed by countertenor Nik Rawlings with accompanying double bass from Caius Williams.
Informed by congregation, community and euphoria, exploring the meeting points of contemporary dance music cultures, traditional hymnal form, and the sonic appropriation and influence of regional industry, influenced by the legacy of the New Monkey. Addressing alternative trajectories of communion; on dancefloors (Makina) versus the nuclear act of togetherness within an industrial Northern landscape (classical/hymnal form).
This book features images taken from recently developed family super8, taken in and around Sunderland - 1960's onwards.
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.
エレクトロニック・ミュージックの先駆者として、テクノの生みの親として、結成から54年が経過した今なお愛され続ける伝説的なドイツのグループであるKraftwerk。カスタムメイドの電子楽器を製作し、最先端の機器を使用して独自のサウンドを生み出し、アルバム『アウトバーン』などで世界的に高い評価を得た彼らが1970年から1981年にかけて放送していた音源を一挙収録したCD5枚組ボックス！
“Things fade into obscurity when a populace has no interest” - Meitei / 冥丁
Meitei considers himself an old soul, often preoccupied with the customs and rituals of the past. Recently Meitei lost his beloved 99-year-old grandmother, a woman who he considered to be one of the last remaining people to have experience and understanding of traditional Japanese ambience. His music and art is driven by a desire to cast light on an era and aesthetic that he believes is drifting out of the collective Japanese consciousness with each passing generation, what he calls "the lost Japanese mood". He chose to dedicate Komachi to his late Grandmother.
“I want to revive the soul of Japan that still sleeps in the darkness” - Meitei / 冥丁
Haunting and delicate, distant and timeless, Komachi is awash with white noise, complex field recordings and the hypnotic sounds of flowing water. Though confidently contemporary, like a bucolic J-Dilla, Komachi’s lineage can be traced back to the floating worlds of Ukiyo-e and Gagaku via the prism of 80s Japanese ambient pioneers, and 90s pastoral sample-based artists such as Susumu Yokota and Nobukazu Takemura.
Composed as individual sonic dioramas, each of the twelve tracks have been crafted to not only evoke feelings of nostalgia but to also explore the dichotomy of ancient and new in modern Japanese society. This pervasive narrative runs throughout, calling to mind the work of authors Yasunari Kawabata and Natsume Soseki, as well as the films of Yasujirō Ozu and Hayao Miyazaki, artists similarly fascinated by the reflective tranquillity that permeated traditional Japanese domestic life.
The limited vinyl release, produced in collaboration with label and distributor Séance Centre, includes a super limited special edition complete with beautiful twelve-page booklet featuring a number of prints in the Ukiyo-e style, a traditional style of woodblock print that dates back to 17th century Japan. The images were chosen by Meitei to showcase the old style Japanese sentiments that form a core inspiration to his musical output.
The Kiyosato Museum of Contemporary Art was located in Kiyosato, Yamanashi prefecture from 1990 to 2014. It was a private art museum with a permanent exhibit based on a collection of unrivalled scale. The museum also collected and mounted exhibitions on the work of radical contemporary composers, including John Cage. The museum’s primary informant on music was sound designer Yutaka Hirose, one of the pioneers of Japan’s environmental music (kankyō ongaku) movement in the 1980s.
In 1992, the museum mounted a John Cage Memorial exhibition, and this release showcases Hirose’s work on the overall exhibition design and the creation of the sounds that were played in the museum during the exhibition, through a re-edit and reissue of the sound materials.
The sound materials that Hirose created for the exhibition environment were only ever distributed on CDr to members of the curatorial team so this is their first formal release. Hirose’s work for the exhibition was radical in its use of musique concrète and collages of noise and everyday sounds, and in his homage to Cage’s methods, these pieces represent a distinct departure from his normal approach at the time.
The A4 booklet includes texts about the exhibition by members of the team, Hirose’s own description of the pieces, and photographs of the exhibition. (Text in Japanese and English).
The Kiyosato Museum of Contemporary Art was located in Kiyosato, Yamanashi prefecture from 1990 to 2014. It was a private art museum with a permanent exhibit based on a collection of unrivalled scale. The museum also collected and mounted exhibitions on the work of radical contemporary composers, including John Cage. The museum’s primary informant on music was sound designer Yutaka Hirose, one of the pioneers of Japan’s environmental music (kankyō ongaku) movement in the 1980s.
In 1992, the museum mounted a John Cage Memorial exhibition, and this release showcases Hirose’s work on the overall exhibition design and the creation of the sounds that were played in the museum during the exhibition, through a re-edit and reissue of the sound materials.
The sound materials that Hirose created for the exhibition environment were only ever distributed on CDr to members of the curatorial team so this is their first formal release. Hirose’s work for the exhibition was radical in its use of musique concrète and collages of noise and everyday sounds, and in his homage to Cage’s methods, these pieces represent a distinct departure from his normal approach at the time.
The A4 booklet includes texts about the exhibition by members of the team, Hirose’s own description of the pieces, and photographs of the exhibition. (Text in Japanese and English).
Following the success of last years Babe Roots EP, Echocord revisits the package with reworks from Forest Drive West, Mike Schommer, Felix K, DB1 and Babe Roots themself.
London’s DB1 leads the package with his take on ‘Work Hard’, a mostly beatless interpretation fuelled by oscillating white noise, winding dub chords and snippets of the original’s dub reggae vocals. Hidden Hawai’s Felix K then ups the energy levels with a high-octane take on ‘Sufferation Time’, driven by upfront, shuffled and distorted drums and unfaltering, tension building dub swells.
The hotly tipped Forest Drive West steps up next to remix ‘Jah Nuh Dead’, a typically classy reimagining from the Livity Sound artist, stipping things back to ethereal pads, off-kilter percussion and sporadic echoes of the original composition. Former Deepchord member Mike Schommer’s take on ‘Bless Me’ follows, the pioneer of contemporary dub techno delivers a cinematic rework employing sweeping voices, glitched out electronics and resonant swells alongside the bouncy dub reggae groove of the original.
Lastly Babe Roots revisit one of their own compositions, ‘Sufferation Time’, delivering a more refined feel this time round with more impetus on drums and dark, hypnotic synths to contrast the original’s more vocal focused feel.
The inimitable Richard Youngs returns to Black Truffle with this third full-length for the label, Hidden. Like CXXI and Modern Sorrow, Hidden unfolds across two side-long pieces at once eminently listenable and possessed of the ‘bloody-minded’ dedication to ‘having an idea and sticking with it’ that Youngs himself has identified as one of the key qualities of his work.
At the core of both pieces are rapid, randomised arpeggios generated with a Moog Grandmother, hypnotic patterns that wouldn’t be out of place on a Berlin School classic. Alongside these arpeggios, across the seventeen minutes of the first side-long piece Youngs builds an airy structure of shakers, synthetic handclaps and a brief, repeated sample, impossible to identify but sounding like a glitched foghorn. Over the top we hear his unmistakable voice, repeating single syllables—Ha, Ho—with a slow delay, something like a lonely one-man-band take on Anthony Moore’s Pieces from the Cloudland Ballroom or a more musical elaboration of the hypnotically overlapping delayed phonemes of Anton Bruhin’s Rotomotor. Like much of Youngs' work, the arrangement of sounds is sparse, each layer punctuated by spaces that allow others to shine through, in a way that seems to have more to do with dub or early hip-hop than high-brow models of musical reductionism.
On the flipside, the arpeggios return, now accompanied by ringing, filtered guitar chords and long flute tones. The use of a similar ground layer across the two pieces with strikingly different overdubs calls up Youngs' first solo record, the classic Advent, reminding us of how consistent ‘theme and variations’ is as an approach in his enormous body of work. Joined by handclaps and a chiming sound, the piece almost feels like it is about to achieve dance-floor lift-off at times, only for the percussion to disappear and leave the listener once again floating among the guitar and flute, now joined by occasional cut-off vocal snippets, like a radio turned quickly on and off. The suspension of these disparate elements over the steady foundation of the Moog arpeggios might remind some listeners of the free-form studio explorations of Moebius & Plank and Holger Czukay or even give a nod to Youngs’ formative encounter with Cabaret Voltaire.
Like some of Youngs’ much-loved work with Simon Wickham-Smith, Hidden approaches relatively familiar sounds and instruments from skewed angles, delighting in loose structures of interaction that border on gleeful incoherence while remaining outwardly beautiful. Coming up to almost four decades of persistent activity, like little else in contemporary music Youngs’ work beams with the simple joys of exploration and experiment.
Recorded in concert at the University of Sheffield in March 2025, Reality Is Not A Theory is the first collaboration between Mark Fell and Pat Thomas. Major figures in British experimental music since the 1990s, Fell and Thomas have developed their rigorous practices from radically different backgrounds and perspectives: where Fell’s singular take on synthetic abstraction emerged from Sheffield’s electronic underground, Thomas is a virtuoso improvising pianist steeped in jazz and modernist art music who has simultaneously worked with sampler-based electronics for decades. As the record’s wonderfully academic subtitle explains, we are presented here with two sides of ‘algorithmic and improvised music for computer and piano’, exemplifying both players’ insatiable search for new (and sometimes uncomfortable) playing situations.
The performance begins with Fell’s electronics close to the timbres of acoustic percussion, attacks that suggest wood, metal or glass threaded along a rapid pulse while Thomas focuses on the lowest registers of the piano, deadening the strings. As Fell’s electronics start to ring out and occupy more harmonic space, Thomas turns to wide, repeated clusters, which slowly expand into patterns of chords. Like in his recent solo recordings and his trio work with Joel Grip and Anton Gerbal, Thomas’ playing combines extreme dissonance with a deep lyrical sense. Fell’s work gradually shifts its focus toward drum sounds, drawing on the microtemporal processes that have characterized his practice in recent decades. Heard together with Thomas’ probing piano, the computer sounds call up unexpected associations with the klangfarben antics of improv drummers like Paul Lovens or Tony Oxley. Throughout its second half, the music grows increasingly frenetic, as Thomas sounds out rapid, irregularly repeated figures and beautifully sour chords in the upper register, while Fell’s percussion develops into angular pan-pipe-like feedback and waves of glissandi.
With great confidence and patience, Fell and Thomas often let their individual contributions remain rhythmically distinct and unsynchronised, allowing unexpected correspondence and coincidence to guide the music’s development. Recorded in a hall named after Sheffield steel manufacturer and Master Cutler Mark Firth, the location might suggest a model for understanding how Fell and Thomas interact here: two workers in the same workshop, each immersed in their own part of the production process. Arriving in a striking sleeve designed by Mark Fell, with liner notes by Francis Plagne, Reality Is Not A Theory is an invigorating document of the meeting of two mavericks of contemporary music.
with his third album “vin ploile” the bucharest, romania based producer, musician and dj petre in-spirescu captured a whole new audience in 2015 and reached out with minimal leftfield ambient sounds to music loving folks, that are not part of the world-wide dance music universe.
well known as one of the key figures of the romanian electronic dance music scene since his first ep “tips” on luciano’s label cadenza, inspirescu stepped away from club sounds that made him famous due to releases on labels like vinyl club, lick my deck or amphia.
also his two solo albums “intr-o seara organica...” and “grădina onirică“, both released on [a:rpia:r], the record label he initiated with his buddies rhadoo and raresh in 2007, do not have much in common with the sound of “vin ploile” - a mesmerizing deeply musical album that he only tuned in with some elements of piano, string and wind instruments as well as analogue electronics.
at the end of 2015 his nine slow swinging arrangements where celebrated in many polls and now, just a bit more than one year after the release of “vin ploile” petre inspirescu delivers “vîntul prin salcii” – another longplayer enlarged with seven, up to epic twelve minutes long arrangements, that continue where “vin ploile” ceased.
they all listen to the name “miroslav” and only differ numerically in their title. you can call them ambi-ent. you can call them minimal music in the sense of classic compositions by steve reich or terry riley. they groove – sometimes more, sometimes less. and they spread the sounds of flutes or saxophones, delicate piano figures, organic jazz drumming, arpeggiated analogue synth-lines, mesmerizing strings, choral singing, alienated looped vocals and spaced out new aged spheres.
what unites them all is the way, the melodies dance upon and in each single tune. their beautiful tex-tures ensnare and they are continuously engaged with experimentation. a mystical album full of evolu-tionary music to which each listener is able to paint his very own emotional picture. moody, dark and at the same time light-flooded shape-shifting compositions - made for those who love to surrender them-selves to a gentle dance between experimentation and attractiveness.
the cover artwork for petre inspirescu’s album was made again by the illustrator and photographer julian vassallo, who’s artistic works fascinate with a touching spirit of distance, that captures the truth in each single motif. just like petre inspirescu’s music, only that his art grooves with notes that tell somehow: there is no truth. there is only perception.
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.
Jan Jelinek and Copehagen-based composer Mads Emil Nielsen trade remixes on this one, with Jelinek stretching 'Framework 10' into a ghosted early electronic hallucination, and Nielsen matching Jelinek's 'Zwischen' collage with modular blips and drones.
Originally released in 2019 on the CRXSSINGS fundraiser compilation, these two tracks were too good to let languish in digital-only obscurity. Now pressed to 7" and packaged with Nielsen's graphic score, it's a great reminder how impressive this pair of reworks actually were. Jelinek's version of 'Framework 10' bumps Nielsen's two minute original up to seven minutes, fatting its austere modular belches with kinked sine moans, saturated brassy punctuations and sub-aquatic exotica FX. And Nielsen's take on Jelinek's brief Marcel Duchamp collage - if you remember, Jelinek stitched the silences between speech in interviews into short negative space extractions - adds drama to the original, supplementing the pregnant pauses with white noise bursts and modular squiggles.
Despite their Michigan roots, but with their hearts anchored in the golden age of 1970s German Krautrock, Fling ii celebrate the sound of that sensational season of experimentation. In the chords of the band dwell the typical motorik style of Neu, the percussive obsessions of Can, as much as the pulsing, hypnotic electronic textures of Cluster and Kraftwerk. The absolute protagonist of this adventure back in time is the legendary Boss Super Phaser PH-2, the dual-circuit modulation pedal that shines through the entire development of all the tracks; it's the main demiurge of deep resonances, of impulsive intergalactic excursions, of dust and mists in perpetual motion. The sound is as dreamy and cosmic as ever, revealing such instrumental rigour in which the strongly emotional blend of the original sources of inspiration finds a perfect balance between rhythm and dynamics.
Originally from Sicily but living in Basel, electronic composer Marco Papiro confirms his eccentric and multifaceted personality. The sound articulation of his analog synthesizers flows into in an artificial hyperrealism of great thematic and expressive variation. The tracks unfold between ascending cosmic moments, more ecstatic meditative tones, symphonic planetary floods, exotic afrodelic and psycho-andean drifts. Papiro synthesises and converts echoes of acoustic wind instruments (oboe, recorders, bamboo flute), while the percussion lives on its own pulsating reality. The influence of certain folk traditions, as well as contemporary music, also suggests the more acoustic flavor of an ethereal minimalism (for voice and psaltery), making his music a continuous open sea of visions. Cover painting by Anton Bruhin printed on two different colored papers. Co-released with Les Giants.
Mika Vainio started making a new Ø album in 2014. He almost finalized the record before his too early passing in 2017. The album Sysivalo is the 9th out of 8 full scale albums, released under the Ø alias by Vainio. Ø was his longest running project from 1993 to 2017. Sysivalo was recorded during 2014-2017 and is 60 min long album with 20 tracks, produced by Vainio. He described the record as a distinct Ø album that was going to include several shorter tracks, etudes. The title, Sysivalo, is invented by Vainio by combining the Finnish words sysi (dark or sinister) and valo (light).
Like life itself, the album carries a quiet darkness - honest and full of hidden light. The many of the tracks are beatless subtle soundtracks of eclipsed emotions. Like an incapacitated creature waiting for something to happen.
The closing track Loputon (Endless) is maybe the most beautiful tracks Vainio has ever written, Vainio's last word.
Mika Vainio started making a new Ø album in 2014. He almost finalized the record before his too early passing in 2017. The album Sysivalo is the 9th out of 8 full scale albums, released under the Ø alias by Vainio. Ø was his longest running project from 1993 to 2017. Sysivalo was recorded during 2014-2017 and is 60 min long album with 20 tracks, produced by Vainio. He described the record as a distinct Ø album that was going to include several shorter tracks, etudes. The title, Sysivalo, is invented by Vainio by combining the Finnish words sysi (dark or sinister) and valo (light). Like life itself, the album carries a quiet darkness - honest and full of hidden light. The many of the tracks are beatless subtle soundtracks of eclipsed emotions. Like an incapacitated creature waiting for something to happen. The closing track Loputon (Endless) is maybe the most beautiful tracks Vainio has ever written, Vainio's last word.
A lifelong admirer of DAF, Fixmer has been playing El Que in his DJ sets for years, considering it one of the band’s most enduring and powerful pieces. His connection to the track and to DAF’s groundbreaking legacy is the core inspiration behind these two new remixes, created with both reverence and bold creative vision.
On the “El Que (Terence Fixmer Leather Remix)”, Fixmer remains close to the original’s raw, muscular pulse while injecting a sharp, modern club sensibility. The remix builds on DAF’s unmistakable rhythmics but adds a contemporary momentum that feels like a natural extension of the band’s DNA. “It was like imagining what I would do if I were a member of DAF today,” Fixmer says.
The second version, “El Que (Terence Fixmer Drive Remix)”, ventures deeper into Fixmer’s own territory: darker, hypnotic, and peak-time focused. Tension and release are crafted with surgical precision, taking the original’s spirit into a harder-edged, suspense-driven sound world. It’s a version built for late-night floors without ever losing the soul of El Que.
Fixmer explains:
“I’ve been playing DAF’s El Que in many of my DJ sets for years. It’s a track I deeply loved from the first listen. I’m super proud to have remixed DAF — one of my cult bands and a major influence on my sound and electronic universe.
For the "Leather Remix", I wanted to stay close to the original while bringing modernity and club momentum. For the "Drive Remix", I pushed the track toward darker, peak-time and hypnotic techno, keeping the soul of the original intact.
I wanted to make versions that make you think: ‘I know this track… but wait — what is this version? I want it!’ When I tested them, that’s exactly what happened.”
DAF remains one of the most influential bands in electronic music history. These new remixes by Terence Fixmer reinforce the timeless power of El Que while offering two striking, club-ready perspectives for a new generation of listeners.
Released in 2016, this album was created primarily using the legendary vintage 1980s Cheetah MS800 synthesizer, showcasing Aphex Twin's signature experimental spirit. Layering retro textures, it weaves thick basslines and uniquely distorted electronics into undulating currents that gradually pull listeners deeper. Its inorganic yet oddly humorous, strangely addictive texture is Aphex Twin's signature sonic magic. A singular classic born from the fusion of vintage gear devotion and futuristic soundscapes.
xavisphone's debut for Modern Love hits with unrelenting energy; a hyper-kinetic, red-lining funk that joins dots between DJ Anderson do Paraiso’s darkside minimalism, Equiknoxx’s riddmic pressure and DJ Ramon Sucesso’s walloping delirium.
Born to Dominican and Brazilian parents, xavi grew up bouncing from place to place, picking up inspiration wherever he landed. His first love was baile funk, but he was raised on classic hip-hop, eventually notching up production and songwriting credits for Vince Staples, Demi Lovato and Ariana Grande. But the major label life wasn't giving; sick of the industry, he headed back to São Paulo to soak up the atmosphere and connect with artists on the ground. Before long, he started uploading quickfire bangers to SoundCloud - at this point there are over 350 of them on his feed - an "evolutionary playlist" in his own words, bursting with ideas.
'balança e paixão' is his debut release, proper, a 12-cut snapshot of chaotic, trailblazing, turbulent genius - bending thrashed rhythms into relentless vocal chops from a laundry list of young brazillian MCs. Built on ear-zizzing "tuin" hits and razor's edge cuts, he creates hypnotic ripples that wedge themselves between São Paulo's weirdo fringe (artists like JLZ and Iguana) and the percussive, MC-heavy sound of funk ritmado, one of the contemporary scene's most vital and recognisable strains. Crucially, you can hear a Photek-like approach to space in his productions too, filling the gaps with metallic clangs to lend his rhythms their own unique dimension.
The flipside takes it slower, deeper. On 'sei q tu gosta' (I know you like it), DJ Leal Original and MC Vuk Vuk's voices are transformed into ghosted sibilances next to xavi's sonar pings and woodblock hits with an almost avant-dancehall slant, like some choice Equiknoxx dub, while on 'cuidado bandida' (be careful bandit), he deploys bone-rattling trills that bite down on atmospherics that wouldn't be out of place on Akira Yamaoka's 'Silent Hill' OST.
LINE is proud to announce the new solo release by Mark Fell, Ten Types of Elsewhere. Topology is a branch of mathematics concerning possible spaces and spatial objects – curves, surfaces, knots, manifolds, phase spaces, symmetrical groups, etc. The work explores a link between objects and alterity through spatial and temporal deformations, twistings, rotatings, reflections and stretchings. Here spaces and objects are not self-evident and singular, but multiple, irregular, anomalous.
The work began as a documentation of recent installations some in public spaces, some gallery works, some large works, some small etc. Inspired by the problems brought up by this activity, instead of using recordings to document these, ten processes came about each of which relates to the spaces and works in a different way – a recording, or system used to run the work, a pattern, a method or technique, a way of working, a name, or a reference point outside the work. This is Mark Fell’s first solo full length release in the United States and is a exciting new departure for LINE.