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CLEAR VORTEX CHAMBER charts a new period of exploration and discovery for Alexander Tucker both as musician and producer. After discarding a year’s worth of material, Tucker sought the advice of Downwards Records label boss Karl O’Connor aka Regis who advised him on production techniques and approach. Along with further support form Freddy Lomas of Kinn and Emptyset’s James Ginzburg, Tucker got to work on a new set of material with a heightened sense of clarity and density. Tucker explains “Making this album really tested me, it was the outcome of a long period of hard lessons and harsh realities, but I had some good friends to guide me along the way and pull me out of the mire.”
At the core of MICROCORPS is Tucker’s complex modular systems, knitted into the tracks are triggered samples of his own cello and bass guitar playing, which meld into the electronic fabric of each track. Tucker expands “I wanted the album to sit somewhere between machine technology with something primitive, where synthetic and acoustic sources become intertwined. I like the idea of different dimensions phasing in and out of one another, creating new areas where I can explore sound, structures and imaginary spaces”
These imaginary spaces play a key role in the construction of CLEAR VORTEX CHAMBER. Tucker’s background in fine art and his current work with experimental comics bleeds into the unspoken landscapes of his music. “I want to trigger parts of the brain that can dream up imagery whilst at the same time focus of the sonic structure of the music itself, I guess I’m still obsessed with trying to create some sort of psychoactive environment” The architecture of each track presents itself in the form of massive kicks, sonar clicks and kinetic percussive rhythms, supported by pulsing bass drones. Cello and bass guitar samples initially bowed, plucked and hit by mallets are triggered creating dense wooden timbres that punctuate the electronic field. Voices and vocals both treated and untreated weave throughout the album in the form of cryptic dialogues and unspooling wordless singing, adding to the cross pollination of something human, machine and a space in-between.
Collaboration is a key element to MICROCORPS. Justin K Broadrick’s heavy spidery guitar lines and processed screaming rip wormholes in ‘FEDBCK’, Regis lends his distinct vocal work to ‘ZONA’, Japanese artist Phew injects organ drones, vocals and fried electronics throughout ‘SANSU’. On penultimate track ‘FEBCK 2’, Karl D’Silva’s droning saxophone joins Broadrick’s feed backing guitar noise and improvising lyricist, producer and sound artist Elvin Brandhi spits out cut up diatribes across final track ‘MALLETS’. Throughout the album Tucker’s own processed voice sits alongside singer JJOWDY’s eerily gentle laments
Rian Treanor presents 10 x 10 = Great Hits, a collaborative album born from his Electronic Music Club — a free after-school project in Rotherham where young people learn to make music alongside leading experimental artists.
Over two years, guests including RP Boo, YPY, Beatrice Dillon, Elvin Brandhi, Bianca Scout, Will Guthrie, Cara Tolmie, Modern Institute, DJ Sprinkles, Gavsborg and Lord Spike Heart joined sessions that encouraged play, invention and curiosity. The resulting album was co-produced by Treanor with Brandhi, Modern Institute, Bianca Scout and RP Boo, with workshops coordinated by Isabella Carreras and artwork by NaOH.
Operated as a non-profit, all proceeds from the project fund trips and activities for the participants.
Japanese bamboo flute maestro and goat (JP) cohort Rai Tateishi makes an impressive debut statement with his holistic attempts to transcend the limits of ancient instruments to reveal gently delirious insights comparable with Jon Hassell, Phew, Bendik Giske, FUJI|||||||||||TA.
‘Presence’ is a triumph of improvised, elemental musicality that distills aspects of myriad folk traditions in pursuit of the artist’s own truth. For 40 minutes of singularly weird, locked-in performance, Rai Tateishi diverges his formative training in the shinobue (a bamboo flute) to applications for its elder sibling, the shakuhachi, and its distant relatives in the khene mouth organ of Northeastern Thailand and Laos, and even the Irish flute, with remarkable results returned from each.
Piece to piece, Tateishi adapts a spectra of unusual and extended instrumental experiments to articulate uniquely animist sound arrangements, with judicious use of a ring modulator and delay effects only subtly altering his sound in real-time, gelling the harmonics and smoothing off its contours. Some 15 years of studies and accreted knowledge of histories, timelines, and spirits are deftly tattered in the air and rebound in precisely complex ribbons that become all the more impressive by virtue of its in-the-moment recording.
Presented with no overdubs, the six works were recorded by label head and KAKUHAN/goat lynchpin Koshiro Hino across three days of adventurous improvisation capturing the breadth of Tateishi’s vision in a mix of succinct flights of fancy and one durational wonder where he really cuts loose. An opening piece of rapid percussive fingering and rasping sets the tone for increasingly intricate explorations of the shinobue, and bluesy cadence of a reedy Thai khene - antecedent of the shō - whipped into headier harmonic overtones, whilst his 5th piece for Irish flute best recalls Ka Baird or Michael O’Shea’s lysergic impishness, and a 13 minute closing piece most boldly fucks with folk and jazz traditions, in-depth and with the genre short-circuiting audacity of Rahsaan Roland Kirk.
Landing in the wake of prism-shaking works by Will Guthrie & Mark Fell, goat (jp) and Kakuhan; Tateishi’s ‘Presence’ more than lives up to NAKID’s impressive levels, unflinchingly operating by its wits with a verve and dare-to-differ moxie that gets at it from the first hit to the last, harnessing the kind of skill and ingenuity that’s distinctive but still strikingly minimal and overwhelmingly physical. It's a remarkable achievement.
Yungwebster returns with II, a hallucinatory sequel shaped by producers Space Afrika and Nathan Melja. His AutoTuned flow drifts through spectral beats, orchestral drones and weightless pads, pushing cloud rap deep into dreamlike abstraction.
‘Skyfall’ opens with Space Afrika’s strings and sirens, shifting tempo between normal speed and chipmunked acceleration to fracture time itself. On ‘Disheveled’, Nathan Melja strips the bass to near silence, leaving Webster’s cracked voice to take centre stage. The eight-minute ‘Crochet / I Swear’ floats on ambient textures and clipped rhythms, blurring rap into ambience.
By the closing tracks, II dissolves into hushed fog, its murmured refrains more atmosphere than lyric — a narcotic, hypnotic twist on cloud rap.
A miraculous union of techno and dub reggae, featuring two tracks remixed by Mark Ernestus & Moritz von Oswald's Basic Channel, "Remake (Basic Reshape)" (1994) and "The Climax (Basic Reshape)" (2001) under the name Carl Craig-Paperclip People. A universal masterpiece of immersive ambient dub techno, remixed by von Oswald's Basic Channel.
unification of techno and dub reggae. An outstanding universal masterpiece of sound dub/minimal techno released in 1993 by Mark Ernestus & Moritz von Oswald's Basic Channel, repressed in 2025.
The distinctive sound of Linus is born from a delicate balance between folk, jazz, minimalism, chamber music and free improvisation. Starting as a duo, Ruben Machtelinckx and Thomas Jillings have always tried to infuse their compositions, which tend towards poetry and simplicity, with the ungraspable spirit of true open-minded improvisation. In the search of new stories to tell, it therefore did not come as a surprise that they chose to expand their palette by including both an eclectic mix of instruments (from banjo and Hardanger fiddle to electronics and an orchestral bass drum) and a range of collaborations with some unique voices in the world of improvised music. Showing much affinity for the thriving Norwegian scene, they collaborated with the likes of Nils Økland, Ingar Zach, Christian Wallumrød and Øyvind Skarbø, as well as Jakob Bro, Frederik Leroux and Niels Van Heertum.
On Light as Never, the second album by this constellation and the fifth by Linus overall, one no longer hears a meeting of different worlds, but rather the creation of a new one. A world where the blending of Scandinavian fiddle-tunes, abstract electronic soundscapes, meditatively repeating melodies and jazz-inspired free improv is no longer an experiment, but simply a state of mind. From the joyful interplay of Playful to the serenity of Ostinato, the microtonal alientation of Affirms Nothing to the wide-eyed energy of Conway, the almost bluesy warmth of Light as Never to the cold emptiness of Echo, nothing about these connections feels contrived. They simply represent a new outlook on improvised music.
Khadim is a stunning reconfiguration of the Ndagga Rhythm Force sound. The instrumentation is radically pared down. The guitar is gone; the concatenation of sabars; the drum-kit. Each of the four tracks hones in on just one or two drummers; otherwise the sole recorded element is the singing; everything else is programmed. Synths are dialogically locked into the drumming. Tellingly, Ernestus has reached for his beloved Prophet-5, a signature go-to since Basic Channel days, thirty years ago. Texturally, the sound is more dubwise; prickling with effects. There is a new spaciousness, announced at the start by the ambient sounds of Dakar street-life. At the microphone, Mbene Diatta Seck revels in this new openness: mbalax diva, she feelingly turns each of the four songs into a discrete dramatic episode, using different sets of rhetorical techniques. The music throughout is taut, grooving, complex, like before; but more volatile, intuitive and reaching, with turbulent emotional and spiritual expressivity.
Not that Khadim represents any kind of break. Its transformativeness is rooted in the hundreds upon hundreds of hours the Rhythm Force has played together. Nearly a decade has passed since Yermande, the unit’s previous album. Every year throughout that period — barring lockdowns — the group has toured extensively, in Europe, the US, and Japan. With improvisation at the core of its music-making, each performance has been evolutionary, as it turns out heading towards Khadim. “I didn’t want to simply continue with the same formula, says Ernestus. “I preferred to wait for a new approach. Playing live so many times, I wanted to capture some of the energy and freedom of those performances.” Though several members of the touring ensemble sit out this recording — sabar drummers, kit-drummer, synth-player — their presence abides in the structure and swing of the music here.
Lamp Fall is a homage to Cheikh Ibra Fall, founder of the Baye Fall spiritual community. The mosque in the city of Touba is known as Lamp Fall, because the main tower resembles a lantern. Soy duggu Touba, moom guey séen / When you enter Touba, he is the one who greets you. After a swift, incantatory start Mbene sings with reflective seriousness. Her voice swirls with reverb, over a tight, funky, propulsive interplay between synth and drums, threaded with one- two jabs of bass. Cheikh Ibra Fall mi may way, mo diayndiou ré, la mu jëndé ko taalibe… Cheikh Ibra Fall amo morome, aboridial / Cheikh Ibra Fall shows the way forward, he gives us strength, he gathers his disciples… Overflowing with grace, Cheikh Ibra Fall has no equal.
Interwoven with Wolof proverbs, Dieuw Bakhul is a recriminatory song about treachery, lies, and back-biting. Over moody, roiling synths and ominous, lean bass, Mbene throws out fluttering scraps of vocal, as if re-running old conversations in her head. The music shadows her despair to the verge of breakdown, at one moment seemingly so lost in thought and memories, that it threatens to disintegrate. Bayilene di wor seen xarit ak seen an da ndo… Dieuw bakhul, dieuw ñaw na / Stop judging your friends and companions… A lie is no good, a lie is ugly.
Khadim is a show-stopper; currently the centrepiece of Ndagga Rhythm Force live performances. The song is dedicated to Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, aka Khadim, founder of the Mouride Sufi order. Serigne Bamba mi may wayeu / Serigne Bamba is the one who makes me sing. The verses name-check revered members of his family and brotherhood, like Sokhna Diarra, Mame Thierno, and Serigne Bara. Though Islam has been practised in Senegal for a millennium, it wasn’t until the start of the twentieth century that it began to thoroughly permeate ordinary Senegalese society, hand-in-hand with anti-colonialism. The verses here recall Bamba’s banishment by the French to Gabon, and later to Mauritania, in those foundational times. During exile, his captors once introduced a lion to his cell: gaïnde gua waf, dieba lu ci Cheikhoul Khadim / the lion doesn’t budge, it gives itself over to Cheikh Khadim. Deep, surging bass, steady kick-drum, and simple, reverbed chords on the off-beat lend the feel and impetus of steppers reggae. A reed plays snatches of a traditional Baye Fall melody; the dazzling polyrhythmic drumming is by Serigne Mamoune Seck. Mbene compellingly blends percussive vocalese, narrative suspense, exultant praise, introspection, and grievance.
Nimzat is a devotional tribute to Cheikh Sadbou, a contemporary of Bamba, buried in a mausoleum in Nizmat, in southern Mauritania. Way nala, kagne nala… souma danana fata dale / I call upon you and wonder about you… If I am overwhelmed, come to my aid. The town holds special significance for Khadr Sufism. An annual pilgrimage there is conducted to this day. The rhythm is buoyantly funky; the mood is sombre, reined-in, foreboding. Punctuated by peals of thunder, Mbene sings with restrained, intense reverence; huskily confidential, steadfast. Nanu dem ba Nimzat, dé ba sali khina / Let us go to Nimzat, to seal our devotion.
Khadim is a stunning reconfiguration of the Ndagga Rhythm Force sound. The instrumentation is radically pared down. The guitar is gone; the concatenation of sabars; the drum-kit. Each of the four tracks hones in on just one or two drummers; otherwise the sole recorded element is the singing; everything else is programmed. Synths are dialogically locked into the drumming. Tellingly, Ernestus has reached for his beloved Prophet-5, a signature go-to since Basic Channel days, thirty years ago. Texturally, the sound is more dubwise; prickling with effects. There is a new spaciousness, announced at the start by the ambient sounds of Dakar street-life. At the microphone, Mbene Diatta Seck revels in this new openness: mbalax diva, she feelingly turns each of the four songs into a discrete dramatic episode, using different sets of rhetorical techniques. The music throughout is taut, grooving, complex, like before; but more volatile, intuitive and reaching, with turbulent emotional and spiritual expressivity.
Not that Khadim represents any kind of break. Its transformativeness is rooted in the hundreds upon hundreds of hours the Rhythm Force has played together. Nearly a decade has passed since Yermande, the unit’s previous album. Every year throughout that period — barring lockdowns — the group has toured extensively, in Europe, the US, and Japan. With improvisation at the core of its music-making, each performance has been evolutionary, as it turns out heading towards Khadim. “I didn’t want to simply continue with the same formula, says Ernestus. “I preferred to wait for a new approach. Playing live so many times, I wanted to capture some of the energy and freedom of those performances.” Though several members of the touring ensemble sit out this recording — sabar drummers, kit-drummer, synth-player — their presence abides in the structure and swing of the music here.
Lamp Fall is a homage to Cheikh Ibra Fall, founder of the Baye Fall spiritual community. The mosque in the city of Touba is known as Lamp Fall, because the main tower resembles a lantern. Soy duggu Touba, moom guey séen / When you enter Touba, he is the one who greets you. After a swift, incantatory start Mbene sings with reflective seriousness. Her voice swirls with reverb, over a tight, funky, propulsive interplay between synth and drums, threaded with one- two jabs of bass. Cheikh Ibra Fall mi may way, mo diayndiou ré, la mu jëndé ko taalibe… Cheikh Ibra Fall amo morome, aboridial / Cheikh Ibra Fall shows the way forward, he gives us strength, he gathers his disciples… Overflowing with grace, Cheikh Ibra Fall has no equal.
Interwoven with Wolof proverbs, Dieuw Bakhul is a recriminatory song about treachery, lies, and back-biting. Over moody, roiling synths and ominous, lean bass, Mbene throws out fluttering scraps of vocal, as if re-running old conversations in her head. The music shadows her despair to the verge of breakdown, at one moment seemingly so lost in thought and memories, that it threatens to disintegrate. Bayilene di wor seen xarit ak seen an da ndo… Dieuw bakhul, dieuw ñaw na / Stop judging your friends and companions… A lie is no good, a lie is ugly.
Khadim is a show-stopper; currently the centrepiece of Ndagga Rhythm Force live performances. The song is dedicated to Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, aka Khadim, founder of the Mouride Sufi order. Serigne Bamba mi may wayeu / Serigne Bamba is the one who makes me sing. The verses name-check revered members of his family and brotherhood, like Sokhna Diarra, Mame Thierno, and Serigne Bara. Though Islam has been practised in Senegal for a millennium, it wasn’t until the start of the twentieth century that it began to thoroughly permeate ordinary Senegalese society, hand-in-hand with anti-colonialism. The verses here recall Bamba’s banishment by the French to Gabon, and later to Mauritania, in those foundational times. During exile, his captors once introduced a lion to his cell: gaïnde gua waf, dieba lu ci Cheikhoul Khadim / the lion doesn’t budge, it gives itself over to Cheikh Khadim. Deep, surging bass, steady kick-drum, and simple, reverbed chords on the off-beat lend the feel and impetus of steppers reggae. A reed plays snatches of a traditional Baye Fall melody; the dazzling polyrhythmic drumming is by Serigne Mamoune Seck. Mbene compellingly blends percussive vocalese, narrative suspense, exultant praise, introspection, and grievance.
Nimzat is a devotional tribute to Cheikh Sadbou, a contemporary of Bamba, buried in a mausoleum in Nizmat, in southern Mauritania. Way nala, kagne nala… souma danana fata dale / I call upon you and wonder about you… If I am overwhelmed, come to my aid. The town holds special significance for Khadr Sufism. An annual pilgrimage there is conducted to this day. The rhythm is buoyantly funky; the mood is sombre, reined-in, foreboding. Punctuated by peals of thunder, Mbene sings with restrained, intense reverence; huskily confidential, steadfast. Nanu dem ba Nimzat, dé ba sali khina / Let us go to Nimzat, to seal our devotion.
Salty club dogs Beau Wanzer, Lukid & Tapes agitate each to stuttering 2-step, juke and rave noise extents on a frazzled session for TTT
The five trax of ‘Borez’ see all three flock around mutual poles of briny electronics and nervily restless rhythm programming within a framework of shattered but sharply effective club music. The gibber-jawed juke garage of ‘Point of Some Return’ pitches them into diciest wormholes of teeth-chatter 2-step, next to the dry-humped slam and almost Drexciyan lines of distorted, scudding, coruscating leads to ‘Rubber Eater’ on its 7’ arc to lusher resolution.
‘Darnell Can’t Polish a Turd’ pulls focus to sourest, piquant frequencies and bolshy bass blasts in a sorta bucking roll cage like Somatic Responses gone happy hardcore, and ‘Xylone Xylophone’ follows down that metallic wormhole like Evelyn Glennie on a mazza to the fizzy machine funk of ‘Lomp’.
unification of techno and dub reggae. An outstanding universal masterpiece of sound dub/minimal techno released in 1993 by Mark Ernestus & Moritz von Oswald's Basic Channel, repressed in 2025.