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romantically, otherworldly floating introspective ambient: kuniyuki takahashi, one of japan’s most prolific contemporary musicians, was always an artist for deep sensual expressions.
especially under his anonym koss he explores profound electronic ambient sounds enlarged with ingredients of house, minimal, idm and what he calls a “‘new oriental sound”, a style, that translates traces of ancient asian music traditions into modern realms.
in particular his fourth koss album “ancient rain”, released in 2008 as cd only, was an attempt to meld old melodic traditions with textural layers of modern electronic frequencies without losing a distinct human touch.
now mule musiq releases his nine compositions for the first time as a double lp, rendering his poetic, slow burning melodic drifts and rhythmical shifts into the richness of the vinyl sound. all music was produced in-depth in his very own private studio while using music making computer software, a roland system-1, jupiter-8 and the dynamic percussion synth korg wavedrum.
besides the short tune “dream (real world), that features suavely absorbing oriental harp sounds, all compositions vibrate six to ten minutes long. an epic format, that goes hand in hand with kuniyuki’s extemporaneous work ethic, in which every moment of creating gener-ates a unique unknown poetic universe.
“it's an endless continuing journey” he states and points out to what listeners will experience while wandering off in his subtle expanding layers of sounds and electronic modulations. sometimes his favorite instrument, the piano, is hanging dulcet above the frequency alterna-tions.
also restrained house grooves actuate the cautious chord progressions and environmental sounds deepen the sublime listening experience. those who dive into “ancient rain” of the reel, will experience a seamlessly shadowy ambient drift, in which every detail is given space to breathe in order to entrap heedful spirits into a preternatural never-never land beyond space and time.

Indonesian duo KUNTARI make music that's so distinctive, they had to devise their own genre: primal-core. On 'MUTU BETON', multi-instrumentalist Tesla Manaf and percussionist Rio Abror dialog with both history and their tropical surroundings in Bandung, West Java's mountainous capital. Using the cornet and hulusi, a free reed instrument made from a bottle gourd and bamboo pipes, Manaf echoes the bellows of local elephants, orangutans and rhinos, grazing Abror's ancestral Indonesian rhythms with potent overdriven riffs and evocative microtonal chimes. It's music that's profoundly atmospheric and simultaneously raw, recorded live to fully encapsulate the dynamic and deeply human interaction between the two seasoned players. There are elements of sludge metal, noise and post-hardcore, references to traditional folk music and jazz, and gestures towards sound art, 20th century minimalism and dark ambient, but what KUNTARI do is completely idiosyncratic - it's hardly surprising it needed a similarly unique categorization.
Manaf started KUNTARI as a solo project, debuting in 2020 with 'Black Shirt Attracts More Feather' and animating his nimble instrumental improvisations with bold electronic processes and booming synthetic drums. And by the time he recorded 2022's acclaimed 'Last Boy Picked', his approach had evolved significantly; prioritizing organic sounds, he played prepared cornet and piano, bringing in additional percussionists to help devise a ritualistic rhythm section. Abror was one of those performers, and ended up sticking around, playing on 2023's furious 'LARYNX/STRIDULA', the stylistic precursor for 'MUTU BETON'. At this stage, the duo have racked up a litany of accolades and collaborated with a spectrum of like-minded artists, from noise deity Keiji Haino to fellow Indonesian free-thinker Rully Shabara, who's best known for his work with Senyawa and avant-garde supergroup OSMIUM. 'MUTU BETON' plays like a lap of honor, showcasing their most kinetic and most feral recordings to date.
On 'Parai', a two-part composition made for Singapore-based artist Priyageetha Dia's multimedia installation LAMENT H.E.A.T, KUNTARI surround loose, rattling polyrhythms with blood-curdling, animalistic calls and industrial strength chugs from Manaf's prepared guitar. The artwork honors indentured laborers forced to extract rubber in Southeast Asia, and KUNTARI's response is an incisive critique of colonialism, celebrating the region's ancient rhythmic forms and sharpening their edges as they barrel into the future. Upsetting the logic of academic American minimalism, KUNTARI disrupt winding Reichian xylophone, glockenspiel and marimba repetitions on 'Kerak Terusi', wielding swinging ceremonial thuds from Manaf's Rebana, a cow skin drum that often accompanies Indonesian Islamic rituals.
They confront local sonorities even more directly on 'Miamch', a commission the duo made for Yogyakarta's Festival Kebudayaan, dueling on saron, a single-octave metallophone, and a Javanese gamelan set, and don't just follow the expected path. The familiarity is soon replaced with eccentricity as eerie resonances and reverberations sweep across the rhythmelodic patterns. Rough-edged technoid patterns are bent into new shapes on the abrasive 'Paniscus', and on 'Bessing', KUNTARI do their best to recreate the singular atmosphere of a local trance ritual, interrupting howling spirit voices and jangling chimes with blackened, grindcore-inspired riffs. KUNTARI surpass even their own high standards with 'MUTU BETON', folding history and geography in on itself and suggesting a trailblazing Indonesian cultural movement that's not restricted by highbrow Western conventions. It's not just automation and technology that drives progression, it's interaction and observation. And there's nothing more primal, or revolutionary, than that.



Ben LaMar Gay’s de facto debut album, 'Downtown Castles Can Never Block The Sun', was our attempt to introduce the legendary Chicago composer / improviser / renaissance man to the rest of the world with a compilation of tracks from 7 albums he made over 7 years (though he hadn’t yet made the effort to actually release). The material showcases Gay’s penchant for genre-hopping – from Steve Reich-ian soundscape voyages to Don Cherry-esque polyrhythm treks to Jorge Ben-style vocal-and-string earworms – while keeping his singular musical voice in focus.
In the years since its release, this long OOP collection has become a touchstone, foreshadowing the breadth and scope of Gay’s output since. The songs-between-the-songs warped Soul Americana madness and beauty of 'Open Arms To Open Us', the unhinged long form freedom of 'Certain Reveries' – each fresh mode would defy expectation if without the context established by Downtown Castles. To quote our OG announcement of the album: “to call it ‘eclectic’ would only scratch the surface. This music is everything.”
The IA11 Edition of this LP comes with an IARC2025 obi strip plus a 4-page insert booklet featuring new (old) photos and new liner notes by musician (and longtime BLG friend/collaborator) Gira Dahnee.
The Peak Oil-affiliated False Aralia return with a class 3rd session in transit from Sade-esque holographic dub soul to rugged experiments in compression a la Torsten Profrock and Topdown Dialectic.
In the glistening wake of their first batch of 12”s by Zero Key & Selfsame, the label double their tally with two sterling new works swimming in refined space between deepest ambient soul and rudely tactile delicacies. Label bosses Brian Foote (Peak Oil, Kranky) and pal Izaak Schlossman keep the vibe meticulously on course with the first introduction to Externalism, whose sound palette suggests it may well be the same character behind Topdown Dialectic, but could be a collective for all we know - and that enigma is a key part of the pleasure of these EPs.
Comparisons with Sade are kinda inevitable in a standout first bit of soulfully blissed syllables swirled on a bassline straight out of the Rhythm & Sound playbook, suspended in thizzing contrails- pure hair-kissing styles - whilst the rest of the EP appears to be progressively smudged versions of that opening gambit, blurring the vox into the dub aether on the 2nd, and dialling up the bass in gritty Dynamo/Various Artists/T++ offbeats in the 3rd, and ultimately into shifty, subaquatic coruscations on the 4th. Magic.
Tip!

in the middle of it we instantiate false aralia: a series of recordings growing in all directions, cataloging the work of a group of north american collaborators centered around the studio practices of izaak schlossman (of aught, s transporter, loveshadow etc.) and facilitated by brian foote (of peak oil, kranky, etc.). with this outlet we hope to provide useful tools for dance and avenues for intentional listening.
the first release, ‘zero key’, explores valences of an idea as it slips, as would a thought or a cloud, into something else entirely across its four tracks of recursive microhouse rhythms and hallucinated dub spatializations. foregrounding its most melodic state, its most percussive, and two points between, the versions cut an indeterminate and continuous process into discrete objects that invite repurposing, layering, and other nonlinear methods of evaluation. played through, it may be interpreted as an emerging, or a coming-to-light, as a soft vocal figure develops a tougher rhythmic architecture that eventually occludes its prior form entirely. each of zero key’s facets spurs a parallel investigation into its internal logic of patterning and form.

Alien D, aka Daniel Creahan, is a staple in the NYC underground, known for his releases on labels including Lillerne, 1432 R and Banlieue Records. On his latest album, For the Early Hours of a World in Bloom – his first for Theory Therapy – Creahan takes us deeper into the dubby landscapes of his previous work, with a renewed focus on groove and movement.
Where Lillerne’s Spiritual World leaned toward ambient abstraction, Early Hours pulses with kinetic energy, with tracks like “Soil Dub” and “Sleepy’s Gambit” propelling us forward with dubwise rhythms crafted for the dancefloor.
The album thrives on its infectious, steady groove, with repeating phrases and subtle shifts that keep the music in constant motion. Nowhere is this more evident than on the gentle roller, “Breather.” Over 13 minutes, Creahan lets small variations in tone and a propulsive low-end evolve gradually alongside Ben Seretan’s guitar.
While Early Hours embraces a more rhythmic direction, it still retains the eccentricity and atmosphere that defines Alien D’s sound. Conceived in the first days after the COVID lockdown, there’s a hopeful quality to the music – flickering tones, soft percussive elements and organic textures that hover just behind the beat – making it feel both intimate and expansive. It’s as though Creahan has bottled those transcendent moments that can occur during the early hours of a party, when everything feels suspended in a state of potential.

大人気ユニット、Salamandaの片翼!韓国・ソウルを拠点に活動するプロデューサー/DJ、Yetsubyによる最新アルバム『4EVA』が、UK新興レーベル〈Pink Oyster〉の第1弾として登場。ブレイクビーツ、フットワーク、ジャングル、IDM、アンビエント、クラブ・ミュージックを自在に横断しながら、デジタル/アナログ/アコースティックの音響を緻密に編み上げた全10曲。遊び心溢れるサウンド・デザインと、内省的かつ親密なムードが共存する、Yetsubyのソロ作品として極めて完成度の高い一枚です。限定300部。


co:clear is overjoyed to welcome Jonnnah to its fold, with a new long-form 12” edition. Featuring Pavel Milyakov (aka Buttechno) right off the bat, ‘Me, With You’ is an album that grips its listener tight with gleaming electronica, off-kilter trip-hop and swampy bass.
With past offerings to Soleil Rouge and Second End Records – a label which he heads – there's a thread that laces all of Jonnnah’s work. Although never sticking to a definable bracket, the Lyon-dweller effortlessly floats through various tempers, peddling impeccable electronics as equally suited to colossal sound systems, as they are to solitary early morning walks in headphones. It's ambient for the foreground that surprises with flurries of two-step and amen breaks – present-day sonics that doff their cap to what’s come before.

Sir Richard Bishop returns with Hillbilly Ragas, a feral and fiery take on solo acoustic guitar that digs into the roots of American Primitive style and rips them up by the fistful. Drawing on decades of exploratory playing across records like Salvador Kali, Improvika and The Freak of Araby, Bishop pares things down to their essence: one man, one guitar, no overdubs, no effects. But simplicity doesn’t mean safety. These nine tracks are anything but tame. Inspired by East Indian raga, rhythm-heavy phrasing and a self-imposed exile from traditional structure, Bishop envisions an uncontacted hillbilly mystic conjuring his own untamed folk music deep in the woods. His goal? To play with abandon, rejecting the polished edges of the American Primitive genre for something darker, stranger and more unhinged. Hillbilly Ragas is an unfiltered excursion into a haunted backwoods sound-world — part ritual, part rebellion, all delivered with the ragged conviction of an artist hell-bent on carving out his own language.

DJ K started producing music at 17, diving deep into FL Studio tutorials and honing his craft. Now at 24, he’s emerged as one of the most daring and inventive voices in contemporary Brazilian funk. Hailing from Diadema, on the outskirts of São Paulo, DJ K quickly rose to prominence with his creation of bruxaria—a dark, noisy, and psychedelic spin on baile funk that redefines the genre’s boundaries.
Two years after his groundbreaking debut, Pânico no Submundo, DJ K returns with Rádio Libertadora, an album that’s even more aggressive, visceral, and politically charged. In his own words, it’s “an album against the system”—a sonic rebellion confronting urban violence, social inequality, and police brutality, while embracing the explicit sexuality of putaria as an act of freedom and defiance.
The album's title nods to Brazil's legacy of resistance against military dictatorship. Its opening track boldly declares “Down with military dictatorship,” sampling a historic speech by communist guerrilla leader Carlos Marighella, originally broadcast during a clandestine radio takeover in 1969. Featuring MC Renatinho Falcão, the track is a sonic assault—metallic noise, thunderous basslines, and layers of distortion collide with insurgent lyrics that paint the favelas as battlegrounds in an undeclared social war.
Rádio Libertadora channels the militant spirit of 1990s Brazilian protest rap—drawing influence from legends like Racionais MCs, Ndee Naldinho, and Dexter—while immersing itself in a brutal, corrosive electronic landscape. Tracks like “Troca Tiro e Faz Dinheiro” and “Sobrevive Contra o Estado” weave gunshots, alarms, and sirens into frenetic rhythms, throwing listeners into a warlike cinematic experience. In “Mega Suicidio Automotivo,” beats refuse to settle, shifting unpredictably through apocalyptic, hyperconnected soundscapes that mirror the chaos of modern life.
On cuts like “Psy Vem Fazer Neném,” “Techno de Favelado,” and “Ali Perto da Imigrantes,” DJ K reimagines club music through the lens of bruxaria. Sharp techno hi-hats and bouncing house basslines clash with hallucinogenic tuin squeals, laser blasts, and harsh distorted whistles, blurring the lines between rave and riot. In DJ K's hands, baile funk is weaponized—becoming the soundtrack for a surreal dancefloor insurrection on the periphery of São Paulo.
With Rádio Libertadora, DJ K pushes the boundaries of funk, transforming it into a visceral weapon of protest and liberation. This is more than an album—it’s a manifesto set to the raw pulse of São Paulo's underground.

A multidisciplinary artist and curator, Violaine Morgan Le Fur (aka Violence Gratuite) has spent the last few years sharpening her creative perspective, developing documentaries, producing exhibitions, and directing music videos and short films. 'Baleine à Boss' isn't just her debut album, but her first venture into music production; Le Fur had only begun to experiment with music software a few weeks before dubbing the record, a fact that makes this unique set only more bewildering. Singing and vocalizing candidly and producing each track alone, she sounds profoundly polished, invoking a beguiling haze of chanson, rap, no wave and experimental electronics that hovers around the margins of pop and the avant-garde.
Le Fur grew up in Paris's sprawling suburbs, and was provided with a diverse coterie of influences by her Breton mother and Cameroonian father. She's channeled her ancestry into her work before, splicing material from her mother's film archives with her own footage recorded in Bamiléké land to develop the autobiographical documentary 'À L'ouest' back in 2017. As Violence Gratuite, Le Fur thinks more cryptically, considering the vast forests of western Cameroon, lands ravaged by generations of bloodthirsty men and looping pulsing techno rhythms with fractured trap and the ghosts of French pop.
Her voice stands out proudly on opener 'Iséo', layered into a charming mantra over a brittle, grime-y beat assembled from stuttering samples and 8-bit blips. Acrobatic yet somehow casual, Le Fur splits her delivery, singing in French over undulating chants and spectral coos. And she switches up the flow on 'Olive', rapping in an icy cool deadpan while spiky synths bubble around jerky, Neptunes-like stabs. Then, on the nocturnal 'Smooth Operation', Le Fur guides us towards a moonlit ritual, crying sweetly into the darkness as hand drums and dreamy plucks chatter in the background.
On the title track, Le Fur strips the rhythm down to a moody, skeletal rumble, using rubbery drums and trapped chorals to mire herself in negative space. Speaking in a low rasp, she brings to mind Tricky's eeriest early material, or the wonkiest output of French no wave hybridist Lizzy Mercier Descloux. But the record switches gears relentlessly, lurching towards the Caribbean on 'Ragga Nieztches' and into spannered dembow on the hypnotic closing track 'Bad à Bras le Corps'. 'Baleine à Boss' is an unpredictable, labyrinthine suite that refuses to stay static, a variety show that's as comfortable in the club as it is at a fest noz.

On her moonlit second solo album, Hungarian Transylvanian vocalist, composer and performer Réka Csiszér composes an uncanny and chilling soundtrack that muddles the physical and spiritual realms, balancing crumbling realities with confident self-actualization. 'Danse des Larmes' is based on sketches commissioned for a theater production, and Csiszér widens the original concept of "Eastern European melancholy" by painting dreamlike memories from her childhood - of alienation, unconscious trauma and distress - into a hypnotic sequence of soundscapes that hum with tension, mystery and transcendence. She pulls from industrial music, dark ambient, Eastern European folk music and vintage horror soundtracks, smudging sludgy drones, dense electro-acoustic textures and her own breathtaking choral vocals until the roots vanish almost completely, leaving only ghostly traces behind.
The album follows Csiszér's acclaimed VÍZ debut 'Veils', a bold seven part audiovisual "body horror soundtrack" that spiraled out from her long-held interests in theater, cinema and opera. Those elements are still present on 'Danse des Larmes', but by examining her past, Csiszér is able to reach into the future, amalgamating gothic horror and speculative science-fiction. This is never more evident than on the album's eerie opening track 'Eden X', that juxtaposes wheezing synthesizer textures with soul-stirring choral echoes that liquefy into Csiszér's oily ambience. As the track washes to a close, Csiszér suspends her sounds in the silence, letting the obscured harmonies and rusted noise peer beyond the veil, setting the scene perfectly for the vastly different title track. Here, the influence of folk music bubbles to the surface, with distorted, eerily familiar vocal rotations that crack over woody environmental sounds. "I dreamt a dream tonight, that dreamers often lie," a processed voice speaks into the phantasmal forest. "In lovers arms they fade and die, I talk of dreams, I talk of lies, I dream of you, I dream of I."
Csiszér's voice is clearer still on the giallo-influenced 'Hyperálom', calling confidently across hymnal rhythms and woozy analog throbs, and on 'Angel's Throat', it's thrust into a parallel universe, reverberating wordlessly before Csiszér dexterously sculpts it into terrifying ferric shrieks and gaseous vapors. Elsewhere, she pays tribute to iconic Hungarian composer Mihály Víg on 'Vali 2.0', offering her own interpretation of 'Kész az egész', a piece featured in Béla Tarr’s 1987 film 'Kárhozat'. In Csiszér's hands, Víg's sardonic original is lifted into the clouds, obscured by celestial pads that drape around Csiszér's sensual, Julee Cruise-like vocals. It's a cunning way for Csiszér to trigger a memory and immediately obfuscate it, leaving a sense compelling disorientation in its wake. And that sense of terror and awe swirls throughout the album, questioning the horror of childhood trauma and the confusing echoes of the past and replacing it with something beautiful, and something new.


"Sametou Sawtan translates from the Arabic to “I Heard A Voice”. Spooky or spiritual, however one reads the phrase, it speaks to the ability of sound and language to cause pause, steal attention, and open us to the moment. Likewise, the music of SANAM blurs tender frenzies and fire-scorched ballads, collapsing free-flowing rock and jazz frameworks into deeply rooted Arabic tradition. To hear them in full flight is to be held in the present and reorientated towards an open horizon.
The record processes feelings of distance and dislocation. Whether in the yearning ballad “Goblin” or the slow-burning, autotune-doused freakout of “Habibon”, Sametou Sawtan captures the striving for stable ground in a world seldom capable of offering it. It rides the mesmerizing intensity of the SANAM live experience while affording their music nuance, depth, and tremendous dynamic range.
Like their debut, lyrics for many tracks are borrowed, words placed into new contexts to process the present. “Hamam” reinterprets an Egyptian folk song. In “Hadikat Al Ams”, the cracked hard-rock stomp propels text by contemporary Lebanese writer Paul Shaoul. And both “Sayl Damei” and the title track use poems by twelfth century Iranian poet and groundbreaking mathematician Omar Khayyam."
Mixed by master Fred Frith and released in Japan in 1985 this is MIZUTAMA SHŌBŌDAN’s sophomore album. Another dangerous ride with the fearless Polka Dots Fire Brigade and a further step into the Japanese dreamland.
MIZUTAMA SHŌBŌDAN were a force of nature – powerful and original and unapologetic. I saw them live before I heard the first record and was very impressed. I liked the way the group interacted, it was a very good atmosphere between everybody. I really liked the contrasting sounds and styles of Kamura and Tenko, two very different kinds of voices that really worked well together.
‘Fred Frith’

Katatonic Silentio makes her Fleur Sauvage debut with a live recording captured in the Hypnose Room at La Nature 2023—a raw, improvised performance split into four parts across two 12”s. Moving between abstract electronics, textured noise and cinematic ambient, the set balances low-end weight and grainy chaos with fleeting moments of stillness. Tension underpins the entire performance, occasionally boiling over into jagged peaks of intensity. Rather than simply documenting a performance, this release preserves a ritual: unstable, embodied, and elemental. As ever with Katatonic Silentio, the sound is not merely heard—it is lived in.
Alpenglühen continues to establish itself as a trusted source for forward-thinking ambient techno with its latest vinyl release, introducing Vanertia, the new collaborative alias from Vand and !nertia. This debut offering fuses the distinctive sonic DNA of both artists into a deeply textured and rhythmically intricate EP. The record draws heavily from the dub techno tradition, with spacious delay lines and submerged chord stabs setting the tone across all tracks. Yet it’s the subtle interplay between syncopated grooves and classic 4x4 pulse that gives the record its driving energy. The percussion is detailed and organic, riding a bed of carefully sculpted low-end that never overwhelms but always supports the movement. The result is a hypnotic, immersive listen that balances club functionality with introspective richness. With Vanertia, Vand and !nertia have laid the groundwork for what promises to be a highly fruitful collaboration.

Unlike anything we’ve heard from her before, Okkyung Lee returns to Shelter Press with Just Like Any Other Day (어느날): Background Music For Your Mundane Activities, a deeply intimate body of recordings at the juncture of ambient music, minimalism, and the baroque, that stands as radical intervention with what experimental music can be, and the place that organisations of sound occupy in our lives.
For more than two decades, Okkyung Lee has stood at the forefront of the most radical trajectories of experimental music: a virtuosic cellist and improviser, renowned for her creative rigour and emotive depth. Particularly noteworthy for her range, dexterity, and adaptability, over the last five years Lee’s output has revealed unexpected shifts and developments that move far afield from the realms of free improvisation for which she is most well know. 2020’s Yeo-Neun, a heart-wrenching, ambient chamber work - drawing inspiration from the Korean popular music of her youth - was issued by Shelter Press to great critical response, followed closely by Teum (The Silvery Slit) - one of a series engrossing electroacoustic works created at Groupe de Recherches Musicales in Paris - on Portraits GRM, and then 나를 (Na-Reul) in 2021, regarded by Lee as a closing statement of more than two decades living in New York, which set the precedent of her allowing her emotions to fully occupy the forefront of the music for the first time. Marking her return to Shelter press, Just Like Any Other Day (어느날): Background Music For Your Mundane Activities, encounters Lee upturning the apple cart once again, weaving a profoundly intimate artistic statement on completely unexpected terms.
Like its three aforementioned predecessors, Just Like Any Other Day (어느날) belongs to broadening shift in Lee’s approach to composing that roughly aligns with her return to her native South Korea, having lived in the United States since her late teens. Infused with a deep reengagement with her own culture and relationship to memory, it is equally a response to those critical challenges and questions provoked by significant life change. Worked on in isolation, and continuously returned to, over the course of four years, the album’s nine pieces began with a simple recognition that experimental music is not always what we imagine it to be. It is a practice and a pursuit - a music for which, at its inception, the outcome is unknown - rather than an idiom defined by certain syntaxes, approaches, and qualities of structure and sound. From this departure point, Lee began to inquire after the utility of music itself: what is it for, what does it do, and what place does it (or can it) occupy in our lives?
This solitary and durational journey, each composition gradually moving through different phases and evolutions over years, led Lee toward uncharted ground: a music that is not only playful, introspective, and seductive, but also intended to provoke a relationship to experimental music beyond its normative expectations. Rather active or deep listening, it pursues passive listening. Rather than a grand statement, it is discreet. Rather than virtuosity, it embraces the elegant and direct. Even more strikingly, for the first time, the music of Just Like Any Other Day (어느날) encounters Lee leaving the cello entirely behind.
Created at home on keyboard, computer, and an inexpensive cassette recorder, Just Like Any Other Day (어느날) presents a remarkable form of ambient music - organisations of sound that become their own environment, to be occupied - intended, as the album’s subheading infers, as Background Music For Your Mundane Activities. An expansion of the creative pathways opened by the Korean pop imbued compositions of Yeo-Neun, aspects of electronic process explored by Teum (The Silvery Slit), and the emotive foregrounding of 나를 (Na-Reul), each of the pieces presented across the two sides of Just Like Any Other Day (어느날) implies something far greater than the limits of its own temporarily: a mood, provocations of memory and place, mirrors for the solitude within which it was made, and palpable emotion lingering just out of grasp. For Lee, each of the album’s compositions could be continued or looped for an indeterminate duration: straddling a ground between the minimal and the baroque, enveloping the listener in endless cycles of appreciating, repetitive and rhythmical notes, flirting with the melodic and implying a disembodied imagism that borders on the profound.
Remarkably beautiful and direct, Okkyung Lee’s Just Like Any Other Day (어느날): Background Music For Your Mundane Activities represents a radical reconfiguration of experiential music, stripped to its bare essence in defiance of the widely presumed aesthetic signifiers. Unlike anything we’ve heard from her before, this immersive body of intimate recordings not only reveals new dimensions of Lee’s striking range as an artist, but also of how we might regard and occupy music itself: an ambience to lived and felt like a second skin.
