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Exhumed '77 OST frond 'Riddles Of The Sphinx'…magick Mike Ratledge unfurls coils of ARP, Moog & VCS-AKS via Denys 'Lucifer' Irving's hacked Z-80 sequencer…these post-Soft Machine plumes spiral in stasis to the frame pans and lock down Maddox & Mulvey's dialogue like SE17 dunes…the concentric riddle of the missing original master tapes…film reel audio prised from the BFI vaults & transferred straight to zeros & ones by hieroglyphic happenstance…this acrobatic dredge has revealed more than enough mercury to further protract the riddles within…"You've got my number if you need anything"…IBM



Snowflakes & Dog Whistles: Best Electroacoustic Ambient & Sexpanic 1995-2017 is a double-CD compiling twenty-nine of Terre Thaemlitz' best electroacoustic ambient and computer music works produced between 1995 to 2017, including many special edits only available on this release. The majority of these tracks have been physically out of print for decades, and were originally released on a variety of labels including Mille Plateaux, Daisyworld Discs (Haruomi Hosono of YMO's private imprint), Instinct Ambient, Caipirinha Productions, and of course Thaemlitz' own Comatonse Recordings. The first disc, Snowflakes, focuses on tracks that are more conventionally ambient or perhaps even "pretty." Dog Whistles, the second disc, compiles tracks featuring a chaotic array of samples and sounds that are more overtly related to themes of gender- and sexual variance.
Thaemlitz frames the tracks with a new 9000 word essay spread across two large posters, providing a basic introduction to the underlying topics, ideas, contexts and histories behind electroacoustic ambient - both as a genre in the broader sense, and in specific relation to her own work. From the text:
Most of the questions posed over the years in these tracks remain in tension with contemporary mainstream views, including those coming from the LGBT establishment. In this way, one might say a thread running through my projects is that they remain "unlistenable" to most. Any potential critical use value of these tracks emerges from understanding how they are utterly symptomatic of a particular social system - even in their dissonance. Or, to be more precise, because of their dissonance.
Self-released on Comatonse Recordings with custom packaging hand assembled by Terre herself, the package includes two CDs in an archival vinyl pouch with two double-sided insert cards (100mm x 100mm), phonograph style anti-static inner sleeves, and two 4x4 panel poster insert printed on newsprint (472mm x 472mm).

'Transplant Rejection’ is the second in a trilogy of cassette albums released via Muscut in the latter half of 2022. The work of Estonian artist and IDA Radio co-founder Robert Nikolajev, this collection of seven ‘almost’ dark ambient tracks embody the melancholy of autumn whilst hinting at the forthcoming eternal winter. A man with many hats, Nikolajev operates on the fringes of the leftfield house underground for labels such as Incienso, Collect-Call and Sad Fun as well as being one half of the sporadic DIMA DISK act with Ragnar Rahouja. Eschewing the more rhythmic side of his productions for this Muscut tape, Nikolajev taps into the fictional soundtrack atmospheres the label is known for and brings his own brand of wistful, introspective world-building by way of machine harmony to the now Tallinn based imprint.
There’s a lo-fi, grainy quality running throughout the collection, a kind of sepia-toned nostalgia that envelops the listener and disorientates any perception of time or place. Buried vocal fragments sit in the mix on ‘Stifled’ alongside decaying synthesiser drones whilst ‘DDM’ channels an edgy post-rock dirge with its use of sagged bass guitar. Overall, an inspired look into the more ‘at home’ side of this increasingly prolific Estonian artist.

For the inaugural release on Quadrant Park, SDEM delivers a live recording with a twist: this set was recorded in early 2024 in a single take to an audience of one, at a now abandoned empty club space beneath a railway arch in Leeds.
Following a series of physical and digital releases culminating with Vortices in 2023, SDEM has focused on continuous upgrades to a mutating live set, sporadically performed, for example, alongside the Autechre and Gescom axes. In the phase documented here, the set draws deeply from turntable-era early hip hop and 80s drum machine architecture, resulting in a landscape of tactile slippage: rhythms gripping and releasing, gestural scrubs and stabs, scratching meets musique concrète. Interlocking parts snap in and out of alignment, before recombining on the fly – kinetic, raw, and precise.
The SDEM approach is marked by Tom Knapp’s sculptural take on sound design, rhythm and texture – ranging from dystopic ambient passages to pixelated, sub-heavy beats. A member of the Skam circle of atavistic beat freaks since the late 90s, Knapp’s sound is that of hyperattentive electronica buried under soil and left to decay (or ferment). What emerges is somehow both ruthlessly futuristic and redolent of decrepit antique engineering.
At Quadrant Park is presented in an edition of 500 compact discs with artwork by Robert Beatty unique to every individual copy. In a warped reflection of the recording circumstances, each copy forms one distinct frame of a short film never to be viewed in its totality.
Liner notes are provided by the sole witness to the recording, long-standing SDEM co-conspirator Ed Martin, aka edv3ctor, while audio was mastered by the ears that matter, frozen reeds mainstay Jim O’Rourke.

frozen reeds is proud to present Mark Fell’s ‘Psychic Resynthesis’, an instrumental work performed by Explore Ensemble. This double LP, with included digital download, is the label’s 8th release, arriving 13 years after its foundation.
Fell is a multidisciplinary artist, composer, and theorist based in Rotherham, UK. Renowned for his rigorous and conceptual approach to electronic music and sound art, his work explores the limits of structure, rhythm, and perception through a blend of computational systems, philosophical inquiry, and cultural critique.
Over the last decade, Fell’s practice has visibly shifted from a world of technical intricacy and myopic microdetail to one of collaboration and community. He has purposefully sought out diverse musical partners from a wide variety of traditions and disciplines and found equally diverse ways to work and create together – not to integrate their playing into a musical fusion, but rather to discover how such combinations of approaches and experience can stimulate unique and heretofore unheard results.
The music here emerges from a commission for contemporary chamber group Explore Ensemble, situating Fell’s work in a new context entirely. Having been a notable critic of classical music’s slavish adherence to traditional musical notation, “the score”, and its associated issues of control and hierarchy, one might expect a provocative or abrasive approach. Instead, a work of deep, tonal introspection unfolds - an elegant structure navigating the artist’s antipathy for linear or timeline-based musical approaches.
In Fell’s selection of timbres and events, the dynamic of composer and performer is interrupted by his twin adoption of system and flexibility. Mathematical determination and sonic fixation vie for dominance. The conflict governing combinations. Upsetting preconceived strategies.
Published in an edition of 777 double LPs, with included digital download, the result, ‘Psychic Resynthesis’, represents both a prismatic object for repeated examination and an abstruse table of musical correspondences.





A-side is taken from Metri-album. The ending of the track is slightly altered.
B-side is the first version of Mika Vainio's Sahko Movie Soundtrack.



After a critically praised debut in 2023 and numerous tours across Europe, Yalla Miku returns with “2”, a new record that further asserts their unique identity. Still based in Geneva, the band moves forward with a reimagined lineup — not as a departure, but as the natural continuation of a project envisioned from the start as a space for encounters, movement, and musical reinvention.
Blending post-kraut grooves, mutant folklore and electronic trance, Yalla Miku continues to spark dialogue between traditions from the Horn of Africa and the most unrestrained experiments of Geneva’s underground. The krar riffs of Samuel Ades Tesfagergsh, the sculptural bass of Louise Knobil, the taut percussion of Cyril Bondi, the raw electronics of Emma Souharce, and Cyril Yeterian’s modified banjo weave a dense, collective sonic fabric, full of sharp turns and rhythmic surges.
There’s no smooth fusion here, nor any fixed folklore: “2” is an interplanetary journey where multiple voices overlap, clash or complement each other. It’s a music of otherness, built as a shared space where each texture keeps its own roughness.
With this second album, Yalla Miku digs deeper into its sound: raw, militant, unclassifiable — for curious ears and open hearts.

After a critically praised debut in 2023 and numerous tours across Europe, Yalla Miku returns with “2”, a new record that further asserts their unique identity. Still based in Geneva, the band moves forward with a reimagined lineup — not as a departure, but as the natural continuation of a project envisioned from the start as a space for encounters, movement, and musical reinvention.
Blending post-kraut grooves, mutant folklore and electronic trance, Yalla Miku continues to spark dialogue between traditions from the Horn of Africa and the most unrestrained experiments of Geneva’s underground. The krar riffs of Samuel Ades Tesfagergsh, the sculptural bass of Louise Knobil, the taut percussion of Cyril Bondi, the raw electronics of Emma Souharce, and Cyril Yeterian’s modified banjo weave a dense, collective sonic fabric, full of sharp turns and rhythmic surges.
There’s no smooth fusion here, nor any fixed folklore: “2” is an interplanetary journey where multiple voices overlap, clash or complement each other. It’s a music of otherness, built as a shared space where each texture keeps its own roughness.
With this second album, Yalla Miku digs deeper into its sound: raw, militant, unclassifiable — for curious ears and open hearts.


The songs on Touch, the first new Tortoise music in nine years, are dramas without words. They’re elaborately appointed and carefully mixed to enhance a familiar feeling — a distinctly cinematic uneasiness. Close your eyes and you might see cars swerving around unlit rural roads, or cityscapes at night with bells clanging in the distance, or some abandoned warehouse where spies chase each other between towering stacks of boxes.
The making of Touch is an entirely different kind of film — a heartwarming story of musicians adapting to life circumstances.
Tortoise operates as a collective; the five multi-instrumentalists make records by committee, seeking input on creative decisions large and small. All ideas are considered, and for most of the band’s influential three-decade run, the process has been straightforward: Each musician brings in songs or sketches, and as the group absorbs them, the players exchange ideas about the structure, instrumentation, different grooves or (more frequently, because they’re Tortoise) odd metric divisions that might stretch the initial conception of the song.
These discussions have always happened in real time, face to face. Until Touch. As guitarist and keyboardist Jeff Parker explains, over the last decade, the members of Tortoise scattered geographically, making the pre-production rehearsal sessions if not impossible, at least more complicated.
“It’s the first record we’ve done where everything wasn’t based in Chicago,” says Parker. “Two of us are in Chicago. Two of us are here in Los Angeles and John [McEntire] is in Portland, OR. We recorded in several different places. But the strange thing is, in a way it’s kind of the most cohesive session that we’ve done.”
McEntire, who plays drums, percussion, and keyboards and serves as mixing engineer, had little doubt that the actual recording would be fine. His apprehension was about those more open-ended development sessions leading up to the recording, which, he says, have been known to yield moments of peak Tortoise inspiration. “We don't work remotely, unfortunately. We kind of all have to be in the room together. For me the trial-and-error stage is very important. I didn’t want to lose that.”
The percussionist and multi-instrumentalist John Herndon explains one reason why: The path to a “final” version of a Tortoise tune is not a straight line. “It becomes writing and arranging and editing and orchestrating and sort of getting things into a sonic space that feels good, all at the same time.”
There was consensus about that; each of the musicians has a story about songs being transformed by the collaborative dynamic. Percussionist and keyboardist Dan Bitney recalls a session when they were working on one of his tunes. He wasn’t happy with it and promised to come up with a countermelody. “Right away somebody just asked “Does it need a melody? Like, why does this need a melody? And I’m like, “Yeah!” That’s the kind of thinking that can open your eyes.”
In the initial planning for the new record, the band arrived at what seemed like a reasonable geographic compromise: They’d set up shop at studios in three different areas — Los Angeles, Portland, and Chicago. They scheduled sessions with sometimes months in between, so that everyone could sit with the material and refine it further. The plan: To shift some of the wild idea-chasing of those development sessions from group work to individual work, building on Tortoise’s deep and iconoclastic lexicon of sounds — and on the trust between musicians that’s accrued over decades of music-making.
“It’s like, humans adapt,” Herndon says flatly. In order to keep making music as a group, he explains, everyone needed to be flexible then and remain so now. “If you’re used to doing something one way, and then it flips, well, you have to adapt to another way of working. I think that that's what we all were aspiring to do with this, endeavoring to kick in our adaptation skills.”
Still, it wasn’t smooth sailing. “I’m going to be honest, I think that we had some doubts” after the first set of sessions, McEntire recalls. Noting that four years elapsed from the beginning of Touch to its completion, he adds that “it took a long, long time for the music to coalesce. There was some ‘what are we doing?’ questioning going on along the way.”
Douglas McCombs, who plays guitar, bass, and the deep-voiced bass VI guitar that adds a noir luster to “Night Gang” and other Touch songs, believes that questioning would have happened regardless of the geographical challenges. “In the best circumstance, there’s a flow when we’re working on a tune. Everyone’s sparking ideas and inspired. It’s not work.” He adds, “In the worst moments, when we just absolutely don’t know what to do with something, it’s torturous.”
Herdon points to the early versions of “Vexations,” which became the new album’s opening track, as one such slow-torture situation. “We were confounded as to figuring out an arrangement, and things were just stuck,” he recalls. During one of the long lulls between the studio sessions, Herndon says, he got an idea for the tune. “I asked John if I could have the stems [the individual track files] for the song, and then I kind of did a reworking in the garage. Re-did the drums completely and made a breakdown section in the middle. I sent it and was like, ‘I don't know if this is anything, but here.’ And those guys seemed really excited about it.”
Herndon quickly adds that every Tortoise record has benefitted from similar experimentation. In fact, it’s the key thing, a defining characteristic: “Sometimes doing an edit will leave a space open for something else, and we’re all into that idea of, ‘What happens next?’ It’s this attitude of ‘Let’s make some music together and see what happens.’ We're all comfortable with the not knowing, with letting an idea go through many permutations.”
Along with that is the knowledge that this open-ended exploring can be time-consuming. And might possibly end in futility. McCombs says that though the band’s approach changed with Touch, the players still needed the mindset they’d used in those brainstorming rehearsals. “When I get frustrated or when we seem like we're stalling out a little bit, I just have to remember that patience is one of the things that makes this band work.”
Asked to recall a moment that required patience, McCombs doesn’t hesitate. “It seems to happen a lot with the drummers,” McCombs says. “Somebody will be like, ‘Hey John [McEntire] why don’t you play this?’ And he’ll be like, ‘I don’t wanna play it cause I hear Herndon here.’ It’s like McEntire hears Herdon and Herndon hears Bitney… That happens a lot, and then they’ll come to a consensus. Sometimes half the song will be one drummer and half the song will be another drummer. That’s kind of the way it works.”
**
It must be said: When things click into place, Tortoise is a rare force. Whether cranking out a foursquare rock backbeat or chopping time into polyrhythmic shards that defy counting (and logic), the band challenges accepted notions of what rock music can be, what moods it can evoke — that’s part of the reason the band is revered so widely, among musicians working in many genres.
Tortoise’s indescribable sonic arrays have grown more intense — and more influential — over time. Early works — the 1993 debut and the 1996 Millions Now Living Will Never Die, which opens with a twenty-one-minute suite — contrast the thick harmonic schemes of Krautrock with the similarly impenetrable densities of musique concrete, adding jarring spears of electric guitar as spice accents. The commercial breakthroughs that followed, TNT (1998) and Standards (2001) found Tortoise further expanding its toolkit: Rather than orient each piece around declarative single-line melodies, the musicians let the vast, lush, inviting scenes become a hypnotic wordless narrative, built from overlapping layers and interlocking rhythms.
Each step in the discography underscores a truth about Tortoise: The questions about arrangement and orchestration are foundational, defining the scope of the canvas and the density of the band’s exactingly precise soundscapes. There can, as McCombs notes, be multiple drummers on a track, and their beats can be supported by acoustic percussion or random electronic blippage. Likewise, on any given track, there can be multiple mallet parts, sometimes sustaining gorgeous washes of color, at other times pounding out intricate Steve Reich-style interlocked grids of harmony. There can be multiple guitars, each with its own earthshaking effects profile. (Parker laughs when he says “I’m kind of like the straight man with the guitar sounds.”) There can be multiple synthesizers — darting squiggles of lead lines crashing into asymmetrical arpeggios, or bliss-toned drones hovering in the upper-middle register like a cloud in a landscape painting.
And there can be noise, all kinds of it: While the working method of Touch meant Tortoise sacrificed some spontaneous sparks, it encouraged the musicians to explore the thickening textural possibilities of different flavors of noise (white, pink, etc). The band recently issued a set of remixes for the single “Oganesson.” The more austere, stripped-down interpretations offer telling insights about the deployment of noise as well as the track-by-track assembly process, the ways Tortoise uses open space, textural layers, and dissonances to create drama.
McEntire believes those little devices are essential to the sound. “Because we don't have a singer, we have to have a different vocabulary for creating interest. So we use all the little things, like dynamics, texture, orchestration.”
Given the intricacy of the music, McEntire explains, every little sound starts as a decision in the recording studio, and then, subsequently, becomes a logistical decision for live performance — after all, the many parts have to be executed by the five players.
Kaleidoscopic and psychotropic, Authentically Plastic's sophomore album is a dense mass of oozing rhythms and viscous harmonies that surges in all directions at once. Its predecessor, 2022's critically acclaimed 'Raw Space', had prioritized a level of intensity that Authentically Plastic dubbed "sonic flatness", developed in response to Western art's obsession with depth of field. 'Rococo Ruine' doesn't go back to the drawing board, but refines and widens the concept even further - without deepening it. The potent, austere rhythms that grounded 'Raw Space' have been stabilized and shredded, pasted into more consistent repetitions that act as an anchor for Authentically Plastic's surprising melodic hallucinations. And it's this fresh development that provides the new album with its unique sonic fingerprint.
When the time came to follow up 'Raw Space', the Ugandan DJ and producer wondered if it might be possible to approach melodic and harmonic material with the same philosophy they had applied to rhythm on their debut. Jamming on synths for the first time, they recorded long melodic sequences that they later juxtaposed with the steely rhythms that rooted their earlier material. The process is plain to hear on the album's volatile title track, a constantly moving fusion of buzzing arpeggios, eerie drones and mesmerizing rhythmic echoes.
Similarly, the evocatively titled 'Mercury Lake' ornaments its pounding, distorted beats with xenharmonic synth undulations, weaving the high-pitched squeals between glistening polyrhythms and volatile effects. And on 'End of the World Sale', Authentically Plastic takes a different approach, treating the melodic elements like "percussive objects", and it's one of the album's most distinctive statements. Working with just synthesized, tonal sounds, they orchestrate a pointillist symphony, dreaming up a surreal, trance-like mesh of staccato stings and semi-solid drones that dark, enigmatic and almost overpowering. Elsewhere, on 'Polycollision' and the turbo-powered 'Schizz', Authentically Plastic responds directly to 'Raw Space', augmenting its polymetric experimentations with discomfiting comb filtered oscillations on the former, and focusing its weight into skittering peak-time patterns on the latter.
"A wobbly loop of found sound. Almost inaudible speech from an unidentified documentary. Lapping waves of folk guitar created at the edges of the player’s ability. A haunted melodica. Mumbled vocals that reinvent the singer’s uncertainties as a deliciously glum pose. Layer these up in the recording software of your choice. Labour in a back bedroom overlooking the railway line to summon ghosts.
Spirits arrive from West Yorkshire, from Glasgow and Dunedin, from the suburban Midwest. Rising from squats and university accommodation past, from damp rooms filled with old paperbacks, stale hash smoke and abandoned mugs of tea.
Even as you listen to this collection of home recordings, made over the last few years by South London duo Jemima and collated for the store's own in-house label, these ghosts crowd around. Born in the Seventies to chase the tape experiments and gentle strumming of the Sixties they crane their necks and edge closer to the laptop. When something this perfect comes along, even the most tranquillised must stir their stumps.
It’s lonely music created around a wine bottle with a candle in it, made too late to appear via Xpressway or Cordelia. Don’t imagine though, that it has no home in the now. These spectres remain close because they know they are still wanted. We need them as much as they need us.
We've been totally spellbound by these recordings for the best part of a year, Jemima's debut LP is a window into a half-lit world on a deeper plane of consciousness. "
Emerging from Italy’s contemporary underground scene, La Festa Delle Rane is the project of Naples-based musician Lucia Sole, whose new cassette release is a collaboration with UK label All Night Flight. Her music gently captures fleeting everyday moments, evoking dreamlike nostalgia through a childlike lens. With a simple setup of melodica, acoustic guitar, and flute, combined with percussion and brass, the sound balances intimate stillness and kaleidoscopic improvisation. Lo-fi recordings preserve the delicate textures of her innocent vocals, whispering glockenspiel, and distorted organ—tracing the breath and presence of space itself.
A rare best-of album featuring unreleased tracks from 1973 to 1984 by the genius guitarist Akio Niitsu is now available on LP. The album features a wide range of works, from the production process of the masterpiece “I/o” (1978), through the period of creating background music for Muji, to demo recordings from the ‘PETSTEP’ (1982) and “Winter Wonderland” (1985) eras. The innovative soundscapes created through double-speed guitar and multi-track recording continue to receive worldwide acclaim. Through the 12 tracks on Side A and Side B, listeners can experience Shinji Akiyama's experimental and ambient musical world. Influenced by J.S. Bach and Jimi Hendrix, his creative approach, which established his unique musical style, is beautifully expressed in this collection. 300 grams vinyl, this album is an important record in music history and is recommended not only for fans but also for listeners interested in experimental music.
