MUSIC

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).

Belgian guitarist Ruben Machtelinckx lives in a world of sound. He interacts with his fellow musicians, deploying the most refined, delicate sort of interplay, as if collectively painting clouds for the ears. Diffuse harmonies, grainy textures, and rhythms that drift like fallen leaves offer a deeply meditative, gorgeously colored environment that the guitarist is helping to shape, but he’s also basking in the tones vibrating and shimmering around him. The music slows down time, forging an environment without boundaries that billows like smoke, constantly reshaping every fragile tone. It’s Machtelinckx’s sweet spot, but as much as he surrenders to the sonic ecosystem, he’s deftly aware of its subtle activity, rigorously participating in its real-time creation and development.

Back in 2019 he explained the motivation for his long-running, open-ended Porous Structures concept, saying, “We’re trying to achieve a state of being. It doesn’t have to go anywhere or have a direction.” At the time he was exploring the idea alongside reedist Joachim Badenhorst, fellow guitarist Bert Cools, and French percussionist Toma Gouband. Some of the music on the group’s 2019 Aspen Edities album was composed beforehand but even the fully improvised pieces featured Badenshort’s reeds and ghostly falsetto voice cutting through this dreamy sound world, nascent melodic strands that seemed to emanate from the collective resonance itself. Five years later Machtelinckx has remade the project, which continues to feature Gouband’s sui generis sonification of organic materials like stones and tree branches. The new quartet is rounded out with a pair of distinctive guitarists, long-time Belgian collaborator Frederik Leroux—Machtelinckx’s partner in the tender duo project Poor Isa—and the Berlin-based Norwegian Fredrik Rasten, a more recent creative partner with whom he also maintains a duo.

“What remains is the choice of acoustic and fragile sounds, comprehensible to the listener but with an undercurrent of tension and complexity,” says Machtelinckx. “What is new is the intertwining of acoustic guitars. The melodic voice is exchanged for yet another stringed instrument, resulting in a group sound in which individuals are barely distinguishable. The classical roles of an ensemble are abandoned: the three guitars weave a web in which the percussion moves freely. The quartet makes use of microtonality and plays a stubborn game of endless, subtle variations.” In some ways this assemblage furthers his earlier statement that the music doesn’t need to go anywhere, and indeed, on first blush the three pieces on this album appear to levitate. Still, when one digs deeper that claim isn’t entirely true. While the music doesn’t usually feature any traditional sense of propulsion, the performances definitely go somewhere.

Theoretically three acoustic guitars are indistinguishable from each other, but each musician has his own personality and style. The stacked guitars create a vertical sort of tension. Each player simultaneously adheres to a collective timbre, but within those limitations they can’t help but express a certain aesthetic essence. While I can’t identify who does what, there’s no missing the thrilling way individual aesthetics peek out in short, elegant flourishes; the humid harmonic churn giving way to poignant snatches of melody, only to dissipate as quickly as they formed. Machtelinckx’s decision to eschew a more conventional melodic voice gives Gouband greater freedom than with the previous line-up, which led to a change in the studio process. “I wanted all the details of the acoustic guitars, and at the same time I wanted Toma to be able to play full force,” Machtelinckx explains, so to preclude potential sound bleed and balance issues, the percussionist played in a separate room from the guitarists, with all of them listening to one another on headphones but without being able to see one other. Instead, the communication all came from listening. “The first Porous Structures album had some compositions of mine to steer the music in a specific direction. With this ensemble I did not feel the necessity to do this. We had a couple of conversations about different directions the music could go, and made some decisions before we started, but that's it.”

The sidelong opening piece “In my earliest memory I see trees'' is a marvel of deceptive stasis, where the music absolutely reflects “a state of being.” As the three guitars float on delicately intertwined arpeggios, single-note runs, and fleeting harmonic clusters, Gouband punctuates, prods, and caresses the action, sometimes inserting the sweet tintinnabulation of chiming cymbals, sometimes accentuating the drifty guitars with rustling friction, and sometimes pulling on the reins with a sudden stuttering tom-tom tattoo. The group does create something far more driving in “Falling forward becomes a walk,” which cleaves to the titular suggestion of gravity fomenting a kind of motion. Gouband is decidedly active and the guitarists toggle to three-way riff-oriented spontaneity—a kind of forceful walking in place. The quartet might not be moving from point to point, but it is sizing things up and pushing against edges. Tuning differences impart dizzying clouds of harmony on “Void of Narration,” the arrival of bowed guitar expanding the palette so that the slow motion entrance of Gouband on a quietly shimmering cymbal initially feels like a halo of the strings.

Astonishingly, this recording was the ensemble’s first ever performance together. “I feel that there can be something magical in a first meeting,” says Machtelinckx. “When you record a first meeting there is a sort of extreme focus and awareness of time, a gentle way of exploring each other and the music, a conscious doubt that I find very interesting.” It would be hard to disagree.

Peter Margasak

Berlin, March 2024

Belgium-based improvising duo Poor Isa (Ruben Machtelinckx & Frederik Leroux) present a remarkable collaboration with one of the most vital figures in European free improvisation, Evan Parker, and exploratory Norwegian percussionist Ingar Zach, released on ASPEN EDITIES. Minimal resonances and wooden percussive patterns from prepared banjo intertwine with Parker’s sharp yet organic saxophone lines, while Zach’s use of gran cassa and vibrating speakers adds layers of deep, enveloping resonance. Though rooted in improvisation, the music carries an intricate sense of structure, where moments of introspective silence collide with bursts of sudden energy, unfolding like a sculpture carved in sound. Balancing chamber-like tension with expansive spatial depth, this album stands as a striking statement at the forefront of contemporary improvisation.

With roots in Sierra Leone and Guinea and now based in New York, experimental sound artist Lamin Fofana has released a string of acclaimed works on forward-thinking labels such as Hundebiss, Avian, Peak Oil, and The Trilogy Tapes. His latest and essential release arrives via Honest Jon’s. Forging sharp-edged treatments and molten sonics, the album resonates like liquid metal, constantly shifting form. Organized in pairs, the tracks collide between cutting blades and softened resonances, weaving in poetry, text, and field recordings to enact a relentless cycle of decomposition and recomposition. Inspired by the words of Suzanne Césaire, this is an otherworldly kosmische statement—an aural manifesto of transformation.

TTT catch Basic Rhythm in neurotic hardstep flow on four cuts of the tightest D&B following his killer mixtape in this mode OG pirate radio DJ for Rude FM in the ‘90s, and multifaceted producer since the 2010s; Anthoney J Hart is a true survivor of the hardcore ‘nuum. ‘The Bounce’ chases up his superb ’23 mixtape, ‘Straight From the Bedroom’ with a high calibre selection of cuts relating to that session, nailing a dead tuff seam of millennium-era pressure that variously plays deep into, and fucks with, its classic form. Living up to his mantle, Hart’s ascetic production values keep everything chiselled and rictus, but with nuff funk in its flex, tying D&B back to roots in the rigidity of OG electro and betraying its foundational links to earliest dark garage and grime. The title tune shadowboxes with clinically compressed snares in dank negative space, and ‘Tubby’ ups the neuro factor with shearing synths and grinding, granite-cut bass wobble. ‘Fists in Pocket’ is pure early ‘00s warehouse menace straight out of a Loxy or Dylan DJ set, and ‘Unworthy’ rudely distorts the structure with noisier, eye-wobbling compression fuckry.TTT catch Basic Rhythm in neurotic hardstep flow on four cuts of the tightest D&B following his killer mixtape in this mode OG pirate radio DJ for Rude FM in the ‘90s, and multifaceted producer since the 2010s; Anthoney J Hart is a true survivor of the hardcore ‘nuum. ‘The Bounce’ chases up his superb ’23 mixtape, ‘Straight From the Bedroom’ with a high calibre selection of cuts relating to that session, nailing a dead tuff seam of millennium-era pressure that variously plays deep into, and fucks with, its classic form. Living up to his mantle, Hart’s ascetic production values keep everything chiselled and rictus, but with nuff funk in its flex, tying D&B back to roots in the rigidity of OG electro and betraying its foundational links to earliest dark garage and grime. The title tune shadowboxes with clinically compressed snares in dank negative space, and ‘Tubby’ ups the neuro factor with shearing synths and grinding, granite-cut bass wobble. ‘Fists in Pocket’ is pure early ‘00s warehouse menace straight out of a Loxy or Dylan DJ set, and ‘Unworthy’ rudely distorts the structure with noisier, eye-wobbling compression fuckry.

Nobukazu Takemura’s music is singular in its ability to create a musical sense of childlike wonder and curiosity with gracefully executed yet complex compositions. His pieces embody an innocence and the intricacies of self-discovery that every human is faced with as their worlds become more complex. An acclaimed artist and composer, Takemura is known for his idiosyncratic music and video artistry as well as his prolific collaborations including those with Tortoise, Yo La Tengo, DJ Spooky and Steve Reich. knot of meanings, Takemura’s first proper album in a decade, finds the Japanese artist wrestling with the rise of technological influence on art and culture in the modern era, in tandem with his own relationship to religion, and where those struggles meet. Like the colorful, irregularly shaped glasses on the cover, the album is a mosaic of technicolor elements that come together to form a complete picture, a dense portrait of interconnected struggles and triumphs.

For Takemura, the knot of meanings explores a universal and yet deeply personal and complicated knot, a metaphor for defining spirituality's role in life. “Personally, I see this knot as an opportunity to rebuild my relationship with God,” says Takemura. “I feel that the meaning of life is to find and rediscover this connection every day.” The knot acts as a further metaphor for the barriers between people, their connectivity tangled by developments in technology that drive division rather than create community. “Much of technology has unfortunately developed in a way that pursues convenience and promotes egoism,” Takemura continues. “The world has lost its center, people have become scattered, and culture has stagnated by repeating the same things.” Takemura’s search for meaning across the record is less in search of some preconceived idea of piety or heavenly ascension, but instead focuses on an optimism of originality.

The sprawling 18 pieces of knot of meanings sift, tumble and stutter against obstacles as they bloom with moments of distinct beauty. The album makes expert use of Takemura’s signature blend of electro-acoustic arrangements, inquisitive melodic fluidity and tonal poetry. Gentle vibraphone plonks are layered with synthetic horn lines. An electric piano follows guest vocalist doro’s melodies across “savonarola’s insight” where electronic strings lope beneath her on “the gulf” in steady, staccato harmonies that build and break tension. Pieces like “ladder of meaning” showcase just how diverse Takemura’s sound palette can be, an emotive compositional metaphor blending field recordings, text-to-speech allegory, glitching electronics and sparkling glockenspiel which explodes in waves on “iron staircase”. Cymbals and snare drums are used less as time-keeping rhythmic devices as they are drops of rain pattering against surreal landscapes or roiling thunder crashing into sparse arrangements. In resistance to stagnation and repetition, the compositions flow freely, but with resolute purpose in their movements. Musically and metaphorically uncovering joy in trying to answer a question only to find more questions.

Throughout the album, Takemura exudes an unpredictability that builds surprise from unlikely combinations of instruments, tonalities and harmonic motions that embody bewildering knots to untangle, held together with a youthful sense of wonder. “I attended a Catholic kindergarten as a child and cherished those early years, which laid the foundations for my future. This is in part why I have always used the keyword 'child' in my work as an adult,” notes Takemura. knot of meanings culminates his use of that child’s perspective, or as Takemura has used extensively, that “Child’s View” to explore deeper life philosophies to ecstatic ends. The meanings and mysteries contained within make for an enchanting excavation for those attuned to deep listening, a journey that rewards the kind of inquiring open-mindedness of the listener.

In fact, Organisation was the first iteration of Kraftwerk and if the band had managed to overrule its record label, RCA, Tone Float would have been credited as such. But given that the album was to be released only in the United Kingdom, the label opted for the more Anglicized name, "Organisation". Tone Float is the only album produced under this name and is a seminal example of the genre. Audiences in West Germany were fortunate enough to watch and listen to the whole album, played live for German television station, EDF, and it is this broadcast featured here.

Legendary German post-rock band formed in 1971 by undisputed noise pioneer Uwe Nettelbeck, Faust garnered an immediate following due to its artistically extreme experimentations with music cut ups and other mixed sources hinging on cacophony and distortion. Don't miss their 1971 cult classic debut, now reissued with its original clear printed sleeve on 180 gram clear vinyl.

The third drop into the Poorly Knit ocean, sees Bruce washed ashore with three silted and barnacled explorations into dub techno, ambient and beyond.

Seizing the microphone for the first time since his sophomore album Not Ready For Love, Bruce weaves a seductive siren song with Golden Water Queen, treading sweet nothings into the bubbling abyss. Sinking further into the deep, The Hand fizzes and froths at the fringes of nothingness, born from the wishing of a softer and more insidious soundtrack to Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. Then finally the waves are parted with DHam’s Jam, bobbing along 8 minutes of bouncing kick and prancing percussion, pulling you with peaceful buoyancy along the dancefloor, into “the zone.”

With a continued emphasis on the importance of physical medium within dance music, the 12” is pressed with eco-friendly “Eco-Mix” reground PVC and sleeved in DIY lino printed sleeves.

Poole’s new album Ben Beinn follows 2024’s In a River Shadow, further exploring an electronic folkway composed of environment and abstraction. If the previous record moved with flowing water and submerged folk song, Ben Beinn climbs into elemental instability: passing storms, coded skies, and sodden ground.

Across the album, Poole creates a phantasmic Celtic New Age sound world that’s marked by microtonal harmony, and swelling dissonance. Voices in Gaelic, Norwegian, and English surface and dissolve, stretched beyond recognition — more weather than word.

The ten song cycle opens with 1000, bagpipes and strings emerge from mountain icicles and frozen streams. Leaf is the centre point, the skittering squelches of moss, mud and grass, form a slippery rhythmic track. The album closes with 365 Days of Rain, a year’s rainfall data becoming a rhythmic lattice that slips from metrical order into converging motifs.

Recorded in Scotland between 2024–2025, Ben Beinn is a located listen, shaped by recordings of frozen hill passes, storms, and granite using contact mics and hydrophones. Rather than simply reflecting place, these recordings press against it — layering the sonic materiality of landscape with synthesis and song. An inflection point between fabrication — folk music as performed identity, a carrier of story — and its obfuscation through digital networks, where tradition is refracted into plural forms.

Reference points include the emotionally saturated textures of Inoyama Land and the folk-electronic hybrids of Eli Storbekken. There’s a tuning of biophony with the hyperrealist processes of Noah Creshevsky, owing as much to Galen Tipton’s adventures than the disquieting sonic simulations of James Ferraro.

Ben Beinn continues Poole’s excavation of environmental and folk material through contemporary methods. Shaped by the slow pressures of land and sky — a music of erosion, recurrence, and elemental presence.

Following up a string of releases on labels such as Mana, Sun Ark, Orange Milk Records and Abyss, Other People are honoured to present the new album Fobia by Argentinian musician and sound artist aylu, real name Ailin Grad.

Inspired in part of Grad's many collaborative projects over the last few years, Fobia sees her collecting and rearranging the music and sounds fostered within these to create an intimate, spiritually charged album that turns personal struggle into collective resistance and resilience. What initially started as a way for Grad to process her own experiences with agora- and claustrophobia, and an attempt to navigate feelings of shame and a perceived demand to keep these feelings bottled up and hidden from the world, she began to realise how mental health struggles are not isolated incidents but part of broader systems of collective suffering and injustice.

“It took a long time for me to discover that my issues were part of a system that produces these kinds of symptoms and that it takes a lot of courage to find a way around them. I have the feeling that more and more people suffer from these kind of things in some way or another, and what was at first taught as something you should be silent about and keep private, I discovered that the more you talk about it and share it with people you trust, the more you realise that it’s part of something much bigger.”

This tension and constant pull between fear and joy, light and dark, is present throughout the album. From the strained breathing featured in opening track Yodo echoing the suffocating feeling from claustrophobia interspersed with the lighter textures of Obelisco Elysium and Prospero offering up a sense of relief, to the almost cacophonous, immersive sounds of El Sol Mal, mirroring the complex, often contradictory emotions when navigating mental health challenges.

Fobia invites listeners to move through pain with honesty, finding strength in shared experiences.

Following Music From Memory’s landmark compilation Virtual Dreams—which reframed ambient techno and IDM through a new age lens—comes another groundbreaking survey. Telepathic Fish: Trawling The Early 90s Ambient Underground revisits the legendary early ’90s London ambient party Telepathic Fish. Conceived by Mario Aguera, David Vallade, and Kevin Foakes (DJ Food), the series intersected with experimental spaces like Ambient Soho and Megatripolis, and this release captures that moment in vivid detail. Featuring unreleased and rare material from the likes of Global Communication, Spacetime Continuum, and Nightmares On Wax, the set reflects the multifaceted character of the ambient underground in its formative years. Complete with a 20-page booklet of photographs and archival materials, this is an essential document that reconnects sound with its era and hands the spirit of ’90s ambient and chillout into the present.

An alternative sound born in the gap between digital dancehall and the UK underground’s experimental currents. Active in the mid-to-late 1980s and based in Britain, Reducer narrowly missed signing to On-U Sound and left little behind, yet reportedly had Downwards’ Regis enthralled at the time. A legendary post-punk/industrial reggae band, their long-lost recordings finally surface: a powerful three-track single on Bristol’s leftfield institution Bokeh Versions. Included is the 1986 discomix version of the era-defining riddim “Sleng Teng,” radically reimagined. Built around the Casio MT-40 preset that sparked the digital dancehall revolution, these tracks vividly evoke the atmosphere of sound system culture. Repetitive rhythms and low-end sway merge with a contemporary sensibility, preserving the original innovation while extending it into a more elongated, psychedelic form of ecstasy. An essential update to a monument of the digital revolution—indispensable for all devotees of reggae, dub, and dancehall alike.

A leading figure in the current ambient/experimental scene, Portland-based Patricia Wolf delivers her second release on Balmat with a soundtrack for a documentary set in Iceland. Centered around the UDO Super 6 synthesizer, and incorporating guitar, mallet percussion, and field recordings, it carefully maps the intersections of landscape and memory. Avoiding overtly dramatic swells, its sustained layers shift subtly, allowing traces of childhood recollections and Nordic folklore to emerge with quiet beauty. A work where Wolf’s meticulous sound design and lyrical sensibility converge, standing as a defining statement in her career.

Looking back more than four years later at Haram, it is easier to see the forest for the trees. At the time, much of the attention fell on how this outsider duo would fare under the bright lights- which was fair, Armand Hammer had never done a single producer record before- and here they were working with a living legend. Now, with a little distance, it’s easier to see how Alchemist stepped out of his comfort zone to meet them where they were, and how all three artists then absconded for parts unknown. The flashbulb energy of “Bring The Stars Out”, asymmetric drone of “Chicharrones”, fugue-bounce of “God’s Feet”, and good luck finding analogues for “Peppertree” or “Stonefruit”. Haram doesn’t sound like anything else in the ALC discography, nor in Armand Hammer’s, for that matter. Haram was a one-shot kill that somehow contained some of the most accessible work ELUCID and billy woods had ever done, as well as some of their most experimental, and it all sounded cohesive.Needless to say, they didn’t do this alone; KAYANA’s golden voice upps the wattage on “Black Sunlight,” while Fielded’s sultry alto gets chopped and screwed on “Aubergine”. Earl Sweatshirt’s cameo on the sun-soaked “Falling Out the Sky” is already a classic. Curly Castro, Amani, and Quelle Chris all turn up the heat when called upon.But since we are talking about retrospect here, the thing about Haram isn’t that it still sounds as good as it did when it came out. The amazing thing is that it actually sounds even better than it did then. You don’t have to take our word for it either, run it up one time, with the lights low and something on ice, see if it doesn’t take you somewhere new, again.

Assembling a 'Kwaidan'-style anthology from chewed scraps of noir, horror and dystopian sci-fi movies, billy woods chronicles Black American angst on 'GOLLIWOG', running circles around his peers and arriving on the AOTY for fans of Ka, EARL, Aesop Rock, Westside Gunn or Cannibal Ox. Featuring production from El-P, The Alchemist, DJ Haram, Saint Abdullah, Shabaka Hutchings and others.

The English language is violence, I hotwired it woods coolly quips on 'Jumpscare', tossing out run-on cadences to juggle polyrhythms between beatless double-bass and vaudeville Pan Sonic-esque electrical interferences. Within a track, he fully establishes the concept for 'GOLLIWOG', an album that surveys the full spectrum of horror, splicing together creaking floorboards, ticking clocks, industrial clanks, Herrmann-esque stabs and detuned pianos, maniacal screams and blood-curdling laughs to accompany knotty tales of corporeal terror. It's horrorcore in a sense, cobbling together its scenery with the same congealed raw materials as Necro or Prince Paul, but woods uses the schlocky formula to lighten his death blows, landing some of the deepest lyrical lacerations of his lengthy career so far; 'Dead Body Disposal' it ain't. "Daddy longlegs stride your home like Cecil Rhodes," he nicks, equating the fear of (harmless) spiders with the terror of a real-life boogeyman - the coloniser of Zimbabwe (where woods' father was born), no less. And the track ends with a seemingly throwaway vocal sample: "a horrid sight, the blackest gnome." A description of the titular character from American author Florence Kate Upton's 19th century children's book 'The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls and a Golliwogg', it's actually a clue to unpicking the album's title. What's fear, exactly, ponders woods, and what's merely ideology? And how does all of this become entertainment, let alone throwaway cutesy fodder for kids?

American horror as a genre has long broadcast the innermost fears of a nation who wears its ideology so boldly that it almost vanishes. Way back in the early 20th century, H.P. Lovecraft's racism manifested in stories of an ancient evil lurking beneath the New World's disturbed earth; later on, in the wake of the contraceptive pill and the subsequent free love movement, promiscuity was met with death and mutilation in an endless slew of slasher movies; and during peak neoliberalism, a taste for "torture porn" offset the stasis of safe liberal suburbia. woods accepts the history of horror, and proposes a true Black American Gothic archetype; just like Jordan Peele's 'Get Out' bolted together familiar tropes to signal how psychologically traumatic the Black experience can be within manicured white confines, woods bundles various cultural spikes to fabricate a more dangerous lyrical weapon. On 'BLK ZMBY', the ubiquitous zombie myth - a Haitian folkloric invention that was famously repurposed by George Romero in the '60s as a critique of American capitalism - is used as packaging for a barrage of knowledge that wraps references to Fela, Dune and Usual Suspects in thorny post-colonial theory. In Romero's 'Night of the Living Dead', the Black lead character spends 90 minutes fighting off zombies only to be shot in cold blood by beer chugging rednecks; now, woods' Black zombies have taken over the asylum, ignoring accountability and poisoning the water supply while the third world's corpse is sucked dry. "Zombies go home to platters of prawn and escargot," woods says, not letting Biggie off the hook. "New mothers struggle while the zombies suckle like baby goats."

DJ Haram handles the production on 'All These Worlds are Yours', dilating Shabaka Hutchings' transcendent improvisations with damaged '50s b-movie oscillations, rasping amp distortions and microtonal drones. "Today, I watched a man die in a hole from the comfort of my own home," woods recounts, accepting the day-to-day wartime horror-tainment we're fed on social media, 'Human Centipede'-style. "Trench fire, silent weapons, body horror, private booth," replies E L U C I D, woods' longtime Armand Hammer cohort. And woods coaxes out some of El-P's best production work in years on 'Corinthians', linking snippets of Lu Xun's 'Diary of a Madman' - that equates the Confucian ethical system with cannibalism - with the breakdown of late-stage Abrahamic morals that'll be closer to home for Anglophone listeners. "Best believe them crackers won't make it to Mars," he quips, double-underlining a verse that muddles St. Paul with Steven King, and Noah with the military industrial complex. By itemizing his own fears in a sequence of 'Cat's Eye'-style vignettes, woods launches hooks into the contemporary façade of terror-as-amusement, a fairground haunted house that's populated with very real demons. It's shockingly effective - the Pulitzer-ready rap album woods has been promising for aeons, and one of the very best things we've heard this year so far.

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

Mark Fell’s Nite Closures EP marks his return to rhythm-focused electronic music after a decade of acoustic explorations. Released on his own label, National Centre for Mark Fell Studies, the 12" features intricate polyrhythms, dub-infused textures, and minimal techno structures. The EP builds on his Sensate Focus series, blending experimental precision with club-ready grooves. Tracks like “Nite Closures (Extended Dub)” and “Auchterhouse (Inversion)” showcase his signature rhythmic complexity. It’s a bold re-entry into dancefloor abstraction from one of electronic music’s most cerebral figures.

Recorded in a single day at Element Studio, Gothenburg, A Guidance unites Joachim Nordwall’s processed grand piano with Leif Elggren’s prepared texts, guided by producer Linus Andersson. The trio—two citizens of the Kingdoms of Elgaland-Vargaland—followed instinct rather than plan, channelling a volatile energy that sits somewhere between John Duncan, late Scott Walker, and Ghédalia Tazartès.

Across four pieces, Nordwall’s resonant, decaying piano tones and Elggren’s cracked, ritualistic voice conjure an atmosphere of creeping tension and psychic exposure. ‘Evil Moisture’ sets the scene with funereal space and operatic dread; ‘Opening of the Grave’ pushes intensity to breaking point; ‘To Return’ festers into uneasy stillness before collapsing in the closing ‘Forever in the Ever and Never’.

As Nordwall recalls, “Sometimes the music is just there, and you only have to let it flow.” A Guidance documents that rare moment of total surrender—where sound, text, and impulse converge into something raw, strange, and utterly possessed.

*300 copies limited edition* A sporangium (from Ancient Greek sporá 'seed' and angeîon 'vessel') is an enclosure in which spores are formed. It can be composed of a single cell or can be multicellular. Virtually all plants, fungi, and many other groups form sporangia at some point in their life cycle. Sporangia can produce spores by mitosis, but in land plants and many fungi, sporangia produce genetically distinct haploid spores by meiosis.

Sporangium is brand new "merzsoniks"! Equipments used by Masami: handmade instruments / contact microphones / various fuzz / distortion / glitch pedals / synthesizer... And many other soft & hard-ware to be discovered...

Includes bonus track not available on vinyl reissue

25th anniversary reissue of MERZBOW's legendary Tauromachine, now remastered by James Plotkin and featuring unreleased bonus material!

Superior Viaduct and our new artist label, W.25TH, are proud to continue to be the home for Cindy Lee with the physical release of the celebrated album Diamond Jubilee. Universally praised, shortlisted for the 2024 Polaris Music Prize, and already hailed by Pitchfork as the 3rd best album of the 2020s, anticipation and conversation around the record has been high. Cindy Lee is the performance and songwriting vehicle of Patrick Flegel (who previously fronted influential indie group Women). Over several albums, Flegel has combined delicate melodies and sheer beauty with moments of experimentation. With Diamond Jubilee, Flegel's undeniable songcraft comes to the foreground, embracing a more instant connection and accessibility. Timeless tales of love and longing, surrounded by sticky hooks, take the listener on an unforgettable journey.

Bendik Giske’s 2023 album with Beatrice Dillon returns in a striking remix collection featuring Carmen Villain, aya, Hieroglyphic Being, Hanne Lippard, Wacław Zimpel and Dillon herself. Each artist reshapes Giske’s saxophone-led recordings into distinctive new forms, highlighting the versatility of his sound. Carmen Villain turns ‘Slipping’ into a rolling dub-concrète groove, while aya twists the same track into hypnotic, polyrhythmic flux. Zimpel adds microtonal synth flares for a psychedelic lift, and Hieroglyphic Being pushes ‘Start’ into raw, neon-lit club terrain. Lippard’s dry spoken-word cadence entwines with Giske’s circling sax on ‘Not Yet’, before Dillon closes with a spectral rework of ‘Rise and Fall’.