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There’s no mistaking the sultry lilt of Eliana Glass—alternating between an offbeat, searching quality and her poignant, awe-inspiring range. Her piano playing also possesses this stirring push and pull between the otherworldly and painfully human—each melody its own unique, aching realm. Glass’ sparse, meditative music often captures, in her words, the “condensation of everyday life,” an image that suits the bittersweet, ephemeral, and abstract nature of her work. Glass’ debut album, E, arrives via Shelter Press, and not only is it a tender portrait of her lifelong relationship with the piano, it’s also a distillation of entire lifetimes into song.
The Australia-born, Seattle-bred, and New York-based singer-songwriter and pianist learned to sing and play piano by ear as a child. Glass took an immediate liking to her parents’ piano, frequently hiding underneath it and letting her imagination run wild. “I felt protected under the wooden beams, and I remember looking up at the legs, wires, and foot pedals and seeing the instrument in a new way—everything suddenly everted,” Glass recalls. “I like to think about E as recalling this memory in sound.”
Glass spent years learning jazz standards, and she also learned to sing in Portuguese after falling in love with Brazilian music. Glass studied jazz voice at The New School under teachers Andrew Cyrille, Ben Street, Jay Clayton, and Kris Davis, and she began singing in piano/bass/drums quartets around New York City. In the latter half of her studies, she started writing her own songs inspired by boundary-pushing artists like Ornette Coleman, Asha Puthli, and Jeanne Lee. During the height of the pandemic, she lived with her brother Costa (who now records as ifiwereme) and felt drawn to the piano again, and they wrote songs together for the first time. Then, over a four-year span, Glass teamed up with Public Records co-founder and producer Francis Harris (Frank & Tony, Adultnapper) and engineer Bill Skibbe (Shellac, Jack White) to record what became E in various studios in Nashville, Brooklyn, Memphis, and Benton Harbor, Michigan.
Glass’ experimental, improvisational works evoke the sensual minimalism of Annette Peacock, the joyful mysteriousness of Carla Bley, and the wistful intimacy of Sibylle Baier. Her reverence for leftfield jazz and free improv greats is evident, but it’s always filtered through her signature nascent, naturalistic sound. “Dreams” is a majestic take on Peacock’s spine-tingling 1971 track of the same name, “Sing Me Softly the Blues” is a minimal, arresting reimagination of Bley’s jazz standard with lyrics adapted by Norwegian vocalist Karin Krog, and “Emahoy” is a languorous tribute to Ethiopian pianist, composer, and nun Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou and her 2006 compilation Éthiopiques. Glass’ music rests on a tactile, mercurial sound and her vocal brawn and versatility. E’s slippery stabs of double bass and drums tickle the ear canal and accentuate the percussiveness of her distinctive low voice, which blends sonorous, androgynous poise with fluttering delicacy.
E also has an enigmatic electronic bent that heightens the blurry emotions of Glass’ songwriting. From background hiss and windy vocals to kaleidoscopic synths, these subtle, tasteful adornments often came from specialized analog equipment: a 1960s underground echo chamber, a Cooper Time Cube (essentially, the hardware equivalent of processing audio through a garden hose), and a 1940s AEA ribbon microphone. But that doesn’t mean E sounds dated—Glass’ songs bloom with a forward-thinking spirit and ultimately function as vehicles for her heady emotions and fragmented memories and dreams.
For E, Glass challenged herself to channel full lifetimes within each track. Astonishingly, the seductive opening song “All My Life” manages this feat with just its three-word title. Songs like this one, the breathy ballad “Shrine,” and the spare, folky “On the Way Down” brood over past lives and reflect on memories as if disembodied and viewed from above. From missed connections to retired nicknames (“Good Friends Call Me E”), there’s a pervasive sense of disintegration and a fear of lost time. Other tracks like solo piano-and-voice numbers “Flood” and “Solid Stone” engage in more elusive storytelling, marked by brutal imagery and timeless characters. Then there’s “Human Dust,” a tranquil, rhythm-driven rendition of conceptual artist Agnes Denes’ 1969 text—a quite literal summary of a life.
Eliana Glass has come a long way since daydreaming beneath a towering keyboard. Glass’ peculiar vocal alchemy and vivid piano saunters are masterful and wholly her own, and her forthcoming debut full-length is a gift of resonant beauty and rewarding ambiguity. She now performs around New York City with bandmates Walter Stinson (bass) and Mike Gebhart (drums), in addition to solo shows perched in front of a 1979 Moog Opus organ. Also an accomplished visual artist in her own right, Glass is firmly in control of her inspired visions, even if E is spiritually adrift—though that’s kind of the point. As a musician and an improviser, Glass is enamored by and an adept wielder of the search—for meaning, for sounds, for newness, for connection. And just like Krog crooned on “Sing Me Softly the Blues” in 1975: “Life’s so thrilling / if you search.”
Where Ben Vida’s music has previously explored the sound of text at the outer register of electronic composition, here, in collaboration with the Yarn/Wire quartet and the vocalist Nina Dante, the voice and the words it works to inhabit are placed back at the time-scale of a song. There is a familiarity to this music’s combination of restrained melody and heightened atmosphere. It feels, softly, like it’s made by a band: piano, percussion, voice. A composition kept aloft and even by its four stewards through a simultaneity of effort. The pace, across five pieces, hurries and relaxes but never outruns or distends language. You could find a story in the words being sung, if that’s what you need. But there are unfamiliar dimensions too. So many threads, so many timelines. A story or a thousand, or a litany of scraps: language complete but raw, language that can or cannot be translated. Singers fused at the breath. Oppositions or dualities—a question and an answer, two sides of a conflict, the sense of being here or over there—are drawn together into a single sentiment, plural with feeling. Voices negotiating in unison how to articulate a stance. Musical cues doling out tension as needed. The five pieces that make up The beat my head hit were developed with Yarn/Wire over the last four years, with roots in Vida’s 2018 performance for four voices and electronics “And So Now” at BAM in Brooklyn. The Yarn/Wire ensemble, founded in 2005, has been collaborating with a broad range of experimental composers and sound artists since its inception: most recently, they have performed work by the likes of Sarah Hennies, Annea Lockwood, Catherine Lamb, and Alvin Lucier. Vida, meanwhile, has maintained a practice as both a musician and a visual artist, which has included drone-leaning solo work for electronics as well as improvisatory collaborations with musicians including Martina Rosenfeld and Lea Bertucci. Working with Yarn/Wire, for Vida, was something like joining a band. Following a few early live performances, the material was worked through in the studio across many permutations, a process during which Vida, Dante, Russell Greenberg, Laura Barger created what Vida calls “a meta-voice out of the blending of our four voices.” Sustained presence—language bringing a group to the place of breathing in unison—becomes the backbone of the piece. That presence is an engine, but it's still full of negative spaces and exhales. It's thrilling, for example, to find oneself disarmed by the subtle harmonies introduced by the inevitable but infinitesimal distance between Vida and Dante’s voices. Or the introduction of subterranean bass on “Drawn Evening”: breath trapped? When ambient stillness steps in out of nowhere to replace fast talk on the title track, the evacuation of language is some other form of breath, too. The beat my head hit finds not just truth or reality in what happens at the periphery, but a kind of peace.
Valby Vokalgruppe returns with SOLIDS FOR VOICES — a new album landing on 7th November 2025 via Hands in the Dark.
Initiated in 2008 by Anja Jacobsen, the Danish collective’s current line-cup is completed by Lil Lacy, Sonja LaBianca, Cæcilie Trier and Laura Marie Madsen. The group has written and performed a large number of cross-aesthetic pieces over the years, including an album Bah New Era released in 2012 on Eget Værelse.
Sharpened to its core, the group dives deep into rhythmical architectures built almost solely from the voice - think Platonic solids reimagined as sound objects. Think trance without electronics. These new compositions are compressed, sparkling forms — vocal geometries that spin, collide, and dissolve through repetition. From inside the circle: radical precision, soft dissonance, and playful intuition guide the way. The group explores the voice not as melody alone, but as material — vibrating, modulating, refracting.
SOLIDS FOR VOICES transcends into deep concentration calling for a clear state of mind, in recognition of an increasingly fragmented and incoherent reality. Valby Vokalgruppe endeavours a total absorption into the voice, the rhythm and the trance.
Released by the long-established Swiss label VDE/Gallo, based near Lausanne, this field recording captures traditional songs of ethnic minorities living in the highlands of northern Vietnam. Ritual songs and folk melodies performed by the Nùng, Yao, Hmong, and Tai peoples are documented with raw, heartfelt vocals and distinctive melodic structures. These songs are deeply rooted in daily life, expressing themes such as love, prayer, labor, and lullabies. The unadorned yet powerful voices and unique tonalities reflect the cultural backgrounds of each ethnic group, offering a vivid experience of Vietnam’s musical diversity and spiritual depth through differences in language and vocal technique. The album also includes profound two-part harmonies, whose quiet intensity demands deep listening—more akin to hearing a prayer or a spoken tale than conventional music. As a rare and valuable recording, it holds particular significance for ethnomusicologists and field recording enthusiasts alike.
Released by VDE/Gallo, a long-established label based near Lausanne, Switzerland, this field recording captures the traditional music and songs of the Hmong people living in northern Vietnam. The album features vocal performances sung in various contexts—funerals, love, lullabies, and rituals—reflecting the everyday and spiritual life of the community. The voices of both men and women are raw and powerful, and the melodies are marked by hypnotic repetition and a ritualistic resonance.
Tulpa is the debut studio full-length LP by experimental vocalist and composer Charmaine Lee. Blending extended vocal techniques, feedback, electronics, and formal rigor, Lee constructs a world that is visceral, dreamlike, and ferociously precise. Drawing from Taoist and Tibetan cosmology, speculative fiction, and performance ritual, Tulpa meditates on embodiment, disembodiment, and sonic multiplicity. Produced by Randall Dunn, the record channels the surreal into stark, physical presence.
Sons Of Jah were a vocal trio formed in Trenchtown, Jamaica, in 1976, led by the enigmatic Trevor Bow. This album -- originally released in 1980 and recorded at Treasure Isle Recording Studio -- assembles a fantastic cast of musicians: Negus Dawtas contribute superb backing vocals, Aston 'Family Man' Barret is on bass, Earl 'Chinna' Smith on guitar and the great Rico Rodriguez has the horns. Enlisting also a couple of mandatory instrumental tracks, The Sons of Jah delivered a majestic third album.
[Enji’s] return is spellbinding, her dreamy voice searching over tender piano and weighty double bass. - The Guardian on 'Ulbar'
For a few fleeting moments during a sunset, the sky is cast a vivid shade of amber. A dramatic flare of colour, a moment belonging to both the day and the night. It is within this vibrant, ephemeral world, that Mongolian-born, Munich-based Enji has written her new album Sonor.
Sonor is a record full of life and optimism, from an artist finding the beauty of existing between two worlds, much as a sunset does. Between the cultures of Mongolia and Germany, tradition and innovation, nostalgia and excitement for the future. Sonor is a musical journey marked by personal growth, introspection and acknowledgment of the bittersweet feeling of change.
Enji's life has been a tapestry woven with threads from diverse cultures. Born in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, she was immersed in the rich traditions of Mongolian folk music from a young age. Her early exposure to urtiin duu, or "long song", a traditional Mongolian singing style characterized by extended syllables and free-form melodies, instilled in her a deep appreciation for her cultural roots.
In 2014, Enji's musical journey took a transformative turn when she participated in a program at the Goethe-Institut in Ulaanbaatar. Here, under the guidance of German bassist Martin Zenker, she was introduced to the world of jazz. The improvisational nature and emotional depth of jazz resonated with her, leading her to pursue a master's degree in jazz singing at the University of Music and Theatre in Munich. This move marked the beginning of her life between cultures, as she navigated the landscapes of both her native Mongolia and her new home in Germany.
Sonor is a reflection of Enji's personal evolution and the complex emotions that accompany living between two worlds. The album's themes revolve around the unplaceable feeling of being between cultures, not as a source of conflict, but as a space for growth and self-discovery. Enji explores how distance from her traditional Mongolian roots has shaped her identity, and how returning home brings a heightened awareness of these changes.
With Sonor, Enji continues to evolve as an artist, expanding her sound into something more fluid and accessible. Whilst Enji’s musical foundations remain sturdy, with a band of world renowned jazz artists and all tracks on the record sung in Mongolian, save the obligatory standard ‘Old Folks’, Sonor leans into melody and storytelling with a newfound clarity, opening her music to a wider audience. It reflects not just a shift in style, but a deepening of her artistic voice, one that embraces accessibility without losing depth, allowing her songs to resonate on an even more universal level.
Despite being colourful and optimistic, the album is tinged with a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. This duality is perhaps best illustrated by track “Ulbar”, the Mongolian word for the colour the sky is cast during sunset. A phenomenon that is vibrant and beautiful, yet signifies the end of daylight and the transition into nighttime. Similarly, Enji's music captures the joy of new experiences and growth, while acknowledging that, as you go through life, previous experiences may no longer feel familiar.
On Sonor, Enji breathes new life into the traditional Mongolian song “Eejiinhee Hairaar” ("With My Mother’s Love"), a piece woven with nostalgia and quiet joy. She recalls how her father would hum the tune while fixing his bicycle back home in Mongolia, a simple, unremarkable moment that, in hindsight, radiates warmth and meaning. This image of music interlaced with everyday life, of melodies passed down through generations, encapsulates the spirit of Sonor. Enji isn’t just revisiting tradition, she’s distilling the feeling of home, of small joys that reveal their significance only when viewed from afar. Like a familiar song hummed by a parent, her music captures the essence of belonging, not tied to a single place, but to the emotions and memories that shape us.
Elsewhere on the record, tracks such as “Much” truly capture the melancholy of fleeting moments, still hopeful in tone, Enji’s vocals implore the listener to slow down and appreciate the passing seconds. On track “Ergelt”, Enji focuses the theme of the album through her own lens, a meditation on nostalgia and shifting familiarity, with translated lyrics capturing this duality: “A gaze full of happiness saddens me / When I try to speak my sorrow, no words come to me / Unfamiliar, yet somehow known”
Sonor is enriched by the contributions of Enji's collaborators. Elias Stemeseder is an Austrian pianist and composer known for his work in contemporary jazz and avant-garde music. Stemeseder has previously collaborated with musicians such as John Zorn and Christian Lillinger. Robert Landfermann is a German double bassist widely recognized in European jazz and improvised music circles. His playing is characterized by technical virtuosity and a deep sense of rhythm. Julian Sartorius is a Swiss drummer and percussionist with a highly textural and rhythmic approach to his instrument. His work spans jazz, electronic, and experimental music. Whilst long time collaborator Paul Brändle is a German jazz guitarist with a warm, fluid style that blends classic jazz influences with modern sensibilities.
Enji's previous work has garnered international attention and critical acclaim. Her 2023 album, Ulaan, was praised by The Guardian as "An elegant and powerful twist on traditional Mongolian music," highlighting her ability to innovate within her cultural framework.
Her unique blend of jazz and Mongolian folk has also been recognized by The Washington Post, which noted that her songs "sound so inventive, so free, yet so grounded." This balance has become a hallmark of Enji's music, earning her a place among the most intriguing voices in contemporary jazz.
With Sonor, Enji invites listeners to join her on a journey through the landscapes of her experiences, bridging cultures, embracing change and finding beauty in the transitions that define our lives. Her music serves as a reminder that, like the sunset, moments of change can be both beautiful and poignant.
As she continues to navigate her path between Mongolia and Germany, tradition and innovation, Enji's Sonor stands as a testament to the enriching experience of living between worlds and the art that emerges from embracing one's multifaceted identity.
'Sweet England' along with its sister album 'False True Lovers', was recorded in the spring of 1958 when I was twenty-two years old. I had been living for the previous two years in London with Alan Lomax, the American folklorist, working for him as editorial assistant on his book The Folk Songs of North America and on his field recordings from America, Great Britain, Italy and Spain. The tracks that make up these two albums were recorded by Peter Kennedy and Alan in two days at Peter's home 'studio' in Belsize Park. English traditional music, at its best, expresses and provides everything in song that I need and feel, both musically and emotionally. Sweet England represents the first shaky steps of a journey that I have been on all my life, and that, happily, I still am." (shirley collins)
Black Truffle is pleased to announce Melopea, presenting two new pieces highlighting the incredible voice of Amelia Cuni (1958-2024), the great Italian singer, based in Berlin in later life, whose mastery of the classical Indian dhrupad developed in parallel with a commitment to contemporary experimental approaches. After two stunning archival releases documenting traditional dhrupad performances in India in the 1990s (BT079 and BT092), the two side-long pieces here embody the freedom with which Cuni explored new contexts and settings for her singing. Both make use of a long recording of Cuni singing the pentatonic Raag Bhoop (or Bhopali) made in 2012 by her partner Werner Durand in Berlin. ‘Melopea’ began from Cuni and Durand’s superimposition of this recording with violinist Silvia Tarozzi and cellist Deborah Walker’s performance of Éliane Radigue’s ‘Occam River II’.
Inspired by the beauty of this chance encounter (and other experiments with non-synchronous collaboration during the pandemic years), Tarozzi and Walker recorded independently, without hearing Cuni’s voice but ‘having her present in memory’. Tarozzi and Walker’s bowed strings places Cuni’s magisterial performance in a new context, emphasising, as Radigue commented upon hearing the initial layering of her piece with Cuni’s voice, a shared ‘searching toward the partials, overtones, these natural constituents of acoustical sounds in their richness’. Beginning with whispered bowed harmonics, the violin and cello swap the stability of dhrupad’s traditional tanpura drone for a slowly evolving, uneasy web of harmonic interactions recalling some of Harley Gaber’s work, sometimes sitting on dissonances for long periods or allowing changing interference patterns to come to the fore. Primarily focusing on her lower register, Cuni’s performance demonstrates her mastery of microtonal pitch subtleties, elegant sweeping glissandi and meditatively unhurried pacing.
The continuation of the same recording by Cuni forms the foundation of ‘Bhoop-Murchana’, with Anthea Caddy on cello and Werner Durand on soprano saxophone. In contrast to the randomised layering of the first piece, here Durand and Caddy have carefully selected pitches based on the raag Cuni sings, using the ‘Murchana’ form, which uses the constituent notes of the raag as tonics of new raags, retaining the same interval structure. Both players who have developed tones of striking depth and harmonic purity on their instruments, Caddy and Durand’s patient long tones are simultaneously rigorously grounded in the physical properties of sound and possessed of an immaterial, floating quality. Combined with Cuni’s voice and, near the piece’s end, her contributions on hammered and plucked tanpura, the effect borders on miraculous. To surrender to this music is like slipping into an onsen pool, feeling the instantaneous release of every tension. Accompanied by liner notes from Durand, Tarozzi and Walker, Melopea is both a moving tribute to the profound art of Amelia Cuni and, for the uninitiated, a perfect introduction to it.
There’s no mistaking the sultry lilt of Eliana Glass—alternating between an offbeat, searching quality and her poignant, awe-inspiring range. Her piano playing also possesses this stirring push and pull between the otherworldly and painfully human—each melody its own unique, aching realm. Glass’ sparse, meditative music often captures, in her words, the “condensation of everyday life,” an image that suits the bittersweet, ephemeral, and abstract nature of her work. Glass’ debut album, E, arrives via Shelter Press, and not only is it a tender portrait of her lifelong relationship with the piano, it’s also a distillation of entire lifetimes into song.
The Australia-born, Seattle-bred, and New York-based singer-songwriter and pianist learned to sing and play piano by ear as a child. Glass took an immediate liking to her parents’ piano, frequently hiding underneath it and letting her imagination run wild. “I felt protected under the wooden beams, and I remember looking up at the legs, wires, and foot pedals and seeing the instrument in a new way—everything suddenly everted,” Glass recalls. “I like to think about E as recalling this memory in sound.”
Glass spent years learning jazz standards, and she also learned to sing in Portuguese after falling in love with Brazilian music. Glass studied jazz voice at The New School under teachers Andrew Cyrille, Ben Street, Jay Clayton, and Kris Davis, and she began singing in piano/bass/drums quartets around New York City. In the latter half of her studies, she started writing her own songs inspired by boundary-pushing artists like Ornette Coleman, Asha Puthli, and Jeanne Lee. During the height of the pandemic, she lived with her brother Costa (who now records as ifiwereme) and felt drawn to the piano again, and they wrote songs together for the first time. Then, over a four-year span, Glass teamed up with Public Records co-founder and producer Francis Harris (Frank & Tony, Adultnapper) and engineer Bill Skibbe (Shellac, Jack White) to record what became E in various studios in Nashville, Brooklyn, Memphis, and Benton Harbor, Michigan.
Glass’ experimental, improvisational works evoke the sensual minimalism of Annette Peacock, the joyful mysteriousness of Carla Bley, and the wistful intimacy of Sibylle Baier. Her reverence for leftfield jazz and free improv greats is evident, but it’s always filtered through her signature nascent, naturalistic sound. “Dreams” is a majestic take on Peacock’s spine-tingling 1971 track of the same name, “Sing Me Softly the Blues” is a minimal, arresting reimagination of Bley’s jazz standard with lyrics adapted by Norwegian vocalist Karin Krog, and “Emahoy” is a languorous tribute to Ethiopian pianist, composer, and nun Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou and her 2006 compilation Éthiopiques. Glass’ music rests on a tactile, mercurial sound and her vocal brawn and versatility. E’s slippery stabs of double bass and drums tickle the ear canal and accentuate the percussiveness of her distinctive low voice, which blends sonorous, androgynous poise with fluttering delicacy.
E also has an enigmatic electronic bent that heightens the blurry emotions of Glass’ songwriting. From background hiss and windy vocals to kaleidoscopic synths, these subtle, tasteful adornments often came from specialized analog equipment: a 1960s underground echo chamber, a Cooper Time Cube (essentially, the hardware equivalent of processing audio through a garden hose), and a 1940s AEA ribbon microphone. But that doesn’t mean E sounds dated—Glass’ songs bloom with a forward-thinking spirit and ultimately function as vehicles for her heady emotions and fragmented memories and dreams.
For E, Glass challenged herself to channel full lifetimes within each track. Astonishingly, the seductive opening song “All My Life” manages this feat with just its three-word title. Songs like this one, the breathy ballad “Shrine,” and the spare, folky “On the Way Down” brood over past lives and reflect on memories as if disembodied and viewed from above. From missed connections to retired nicknames (“Good Friends Call Me E”), there’s a pervasive sense of disintegration and a fear of lost time. Other tracks like solo piano-and-voice numbers “Flood” and “Solid Stone” engage in more elusive storytelling, marked by brutal imagery and timeless characters. Then there’s “Human Dust,” a tranquil, rhythm-driven rendition of conceptual artist Agnes Denes’ 1969 text—a quite literal summary of a life.
Eliana Glass has come a long way since daydreaming beneath a towering keyboard. Glass’ peculiar vocal alchemy and vivid piano saunters are masterful and wholly her own, and her forthcoming debut full-length is a gift of resonant beauty and rewarding ambiguity. She now performs around New York City with bandmates Walter Stinson (bass) and Mike Gebhart (drums), in addition to solo shows perched in front of a 1979 Moog Opus organ. Also an accomplished visual artist in her own right, Glass is firmly in control of her inspired visions, even if E is spiritually adrift—though that’s kind of the point. As a musician and an improviser, Glass is enamored by and an adept wielder of the search—for meaning, for sounds, for newness, for connection. And just like Krog crooned on “Sing Me Softly the Blues” in 1975: “Life’s so thrilling / if you search.”
Latency present És pregunta, the second album from Catalan vocal duo Tarta Relena. Founded by Helena Ros Redon and Marta Torrella i Martínez, Tarta Relena explores the rich vocal traditions of the Mediterranean, singing in languages such as Classical Greek, Italian, Spanish, Latin, Catalan, Ladino, and more. Their music blends sacred and secular influences, drawing inspiration from flamenco, lyrical song, traditional music, and electronic experimentation.
És pregunta dives into themes of tragic contemplation, portraying the tension between natural and human forces grappling with mysterious and inevitable consequences. The album is a conceptual journey through fate, knowledge, and the struggle to reconcile our future selves with present realities. Influenced by Mediterranean folk, Georgian laments, and the mystic works of 12th-century visionary Hildegard von Bingen, Tarta Relena crafts a vibrant sonic world where the past and future converge.
Renowned for their captivating live performances, Tarta Relena has enchanted audiences at festivals like Sónar, Le Guess Who?, Mutek, Big Ears, and Primavera Sound. Their stage presence is enriched by subtle electronics and rhythmic patterns played on a ceramic amphora, creating a unique texture to their vocal artistry. Collaborations with artists such as Marina Herlop and Maria Arnal i Marcel Bagés have further pushed the duo to explore new dimensions of contemporary folk music. For Tarta Relena, folk is a living tradition – deeply rooted in the past but always evolving.
Tarta Relena will debut És pregunta live at Unsound on October 2, 2024.
« Time and distance collapse in the music of Tarta Relena. With little more than their two voices, Helena Ros and Marta Torrella connect the far corners of the Mediterranean, drawing on traditions stretching back more than a thousand years. This is music of primal essence and unnameable
longing, full of frequencies that seem to tap an ancient ache in one’s bones.» – Pitchfork
Latency present És pregunta, the second album from Catalan vocal duo Tarta Relena. Founded by Helena Ros Redon and Marta Torrella i Martínez, Tarta Relena explores the rich vocal traditions of the Mediterranean, singing in languages such as Classical Greek, Italian, Spanish, Latin, Catalan, Ladino, and more. Their music blends sacred and secular influences, drawing inspiration from flamenco, lyrical song, traditional music, and electronic experimentation.
És pregunta dives into themes of tragic contemplation, portraying the tension between natural and human forces grappling with mysterious and inevitable consequences. The album is a conceptual journey through fate, knowledge, and the struggle to reconcile our future selves with present realities. Influenced by Mediterranean folk, Georgian laments, and the mystic works of 12th-century visionary Hildegard von Bingen, Tarta Relena crafts a vibrant sonic world where the past and future converge.
Renowned for their captivating live performances, Tarta Relena has enchanted audiences at festivals like Sónar, Le Guess Who?, Mutek, Big Ears, and Primavera Sound. Their stage presence is enriched by subtle electronics and rhythmic patterns played on a ceramic amphora, creating a unique texture to their vocal artistry. Collaborations with artists such as Marina Herlop and Maria Arnal i Marcel Bagés have further pushed the duo to explore new dimensions of contemporary folk music. For Tarta Relena, folk is a living tradition – deeply rooted in the past but always evolving.
Tarta Relena will debut És pregunta live at Unsound on October 2, 2024.
« Time and distance collapse in the music of Tarta Relena. With little more than their two voices, Helena Ros and Marta Torrella connect the far corners of the Mediterranean, drawing on traditions stretching back more than a thousand years. This is music of primal essence and unnameable
longing, full of frequencies that seem to tap an ancient ache in one’s bones.» – Pitchfork
Lucy Duncombe and Feronia Wennborg compose a modern symphony for virtual choir on 'Joy, Oh I Missed You', muddling sound poetry with Nuno Canavarro and ‘Systemische'-style machine-damaged surrealism. It's mindbogglingly good, like a mashup of Lee Gamble's 'Models', Akira Rabelais' 'Spellewauerynsherde' and Robert Ashley's timeless 'Automatic Writing’ screwed to perfection in a mode that will also appeal if you’re into work by Kara-Lis Coverdale, Nozomu Matsumoto, Theo Burt, Olli Aarni, Sydney Spann, Hanne Lippard.
Duncombe and Wennborg have been chewing over ‘Joy, Oh I Missed You’ for four long years, working their process until they were "queasily intimate" with their arsenal of artificial voice tools. Tracing the history of the technology, from voice synthesisers and chatbots to AI voice analysis tools, the duo experiment relentlessly to develop a digital-age response to IRL extended vocal technique - think François Dufrêne, Yoko Ono or Phew. Less interested in replicating human sounds exactly, they instead test how various tools might cough up their own idiosyncratic tics as they stretch and stutter through attempts to mimic their "fleshware" counterparts.
Duncombe's got prior form here, most recently re-synthesising her voice on the brilliantly oily 'Sunset, She Exclaims' 45 for Modern Love, following a stunner for 12th Isle in 2021. Wennborg brings along experience from her tenure as one half of microsound duo soft tissue, whose 2022 LP 'hi leaves' was a haptic treasure. These approaches mesh remarkably well on their first collaborative full-length, with Duncombe's eerie bio-electronic incantations providing the ideal foil for Wennborg's carbonated hardware processes. It's not completely clear where the human voice ends and the zeroes and ones begin on 'Your Lips, Covering Your Teeth', as rolling cyborg syllables tumble over OS-startup womps and surprisingly svelte outcroppings of glassy, synthetic glitches. The music is surprisingly mannered, a sonic reflection of the cover, where a mouth is pixellated until only colour swatches remain. Duncombe and Wennborg trace the gradual erosion of their voices, leaning into the chaos as their various tools veer off into unique patterns of failure.
What sounds like a far-off, ghosted folk rendition (we're reminded of the Icelandic laments that Rabelais chewed up on 'Spellewauerynsherde') is offset by gnarled, bitcrushed machine faults and pneumatic lip smacks on the brilliant 'Residue', and on 'Brushed My Hair', the duo massage the voice until it sounds like a flute. Assembling stutters and barks and sighs into a celestial chorus alongside time-stretched moans, they create a levitational atmosphere on 'Smell It', freezing the energy from bizarre pitch steps to configure a zonked vocal ensemble.
'Joy, Oh I Missed You’ is an album that, like its source material, constantly morphs, testing the boundaries of its concept repeatedly without bubbling over into conceptual goo. In fact, it's remarkably euphonious, even at its most theoretically abrasive; Duncombe and Wennborg wring out uniquely angelic formations through a process of trial and error that packs a surprising, hefty emotional punch.
