Sagome

Hylic by J.TRIPP distills post-millennial tensions, taking us to the edge of unfamiliarity and then pushing us back, inward, to find comfort in artificial intimacy. At first, it awakens a sense of disorientation - as if there were something we can’t quite grasp. As the listening deepens, the album begins to feel like the cohesive soundtrack to a metropolitan simulation - one where reality as we know it morphes into something new. At some points, soft and expansive; at others, sharp and distorted. Although its sonic world echoes urban landscapes, folk and pop sensibilities start to emerge - the human-like nature of the music feels suspended, while voices thread indistinct, siren-like messages, anchoring us to a melody that guides us through a hostile environment. Laic (feat. Lutto Lento) is our portal - we stomp into a dusty land without gravity, metallic sand in our eyes and mouth, and an echoing, child-like song in our ears. Static shocks propel us toward the next space, Gelid, a sparring between bells-loaded guns with no winners. The pace speeds up, then stretches down again, warping the walls around us in Skirr. We’re running inside a factory - machines pumping steam, shiny drops falling from the ceiling - until we stop again, feeling our heartbeat racing, head turning. Wend takes us back to the hazy atmospheres of Laic: a slow-motion, romantic dance in the quicksands. Then Comesss (feat. Enhancement), with its sticky textures and choir of mellifluous, distorted vocals and the odd bass slap, slashes and reverses reality. In contrast, Melic is a balm - the otherworldly lullaby, backed by the cooing of synthetic doves, is enchanting but wicked. We hesitate to indulge in it for long and step into Lithic, an endless ascension built on electric keys, strings and stomping beats, before entering the almost-fantastic realm of Whilom again - where a waterfall of dissonant flutes decompose into buzzing synths under the rumble of fake thunder. The conclusion of this lucid vision is Thole, where rattlesnakes slither at our feet - or is it the steam pushing through the underground’s iron grates? - and the memory of a song brings us back to a pop idea of emotions. Across nine tracks, Hylic reminds us that we’re already living the future we have been raving about - and that, perhaps, it’s already slipping away.

Psychedelic sorcerers Nuke Watch return with a definitive blast of improvised studio shenanigans on London’s Sagome, after celebrated turns with TTT, PPM, and patience. Proper outerzone madness, tipped FFO Pekka Airaksinen, Wolf Eyes, Marshall Allen, Sperm. Expanding from a duo to a trio with the addition of Zack Stafford on wind and electronics, Nuke Watch emulate the effects of some legit Lucy for a particularly skewiff and trippy session on their 8th studio album ‘Fusion’. The key to the LP is in the titular nod to psych jazz and rock hybrids of the ‘70s, where styles began to melt into one another via the extraordinary musical virtuosity of the likes of King Crimson, Tony Williams, and John McLaughlin. But rather than overly intricate key changes and showmanship, Nuke Watch distill a confluence of inspirations - contemporary urban beats, dub, trip metal, outernational trance, US basement noise, raga drone - with an alchemic, imaginative ingenuity they can safely call their own. The trio, plus the likes of Daryl Seaver on EWI MIDI and instrument, a la Marshall Allen or Wolf Eyes, giive it hot and sticky with a flow of intuitive ideas best representing a prolific creative practice of open-ended jams. But again, they deftly sidestep the more hoary connotations of psych with a freezer fresh zing and grasp of groove that, just about, lets us know it’s the 2020s, not the 1970s, or at least somewhere along that timeline. This uchronic approach, factored by extramusical prompts from psyops, eschatology, and contemporary political clusterfucks, yields a brace of hypnotic, hallucinatory projections in progression from the swingeing groove and smeared apparitions of the opener, thru the mutant raga of the ‘War Lock’ section, to a properly unbuckled ‘New American Psycho’ movement squirming in space between Sperm and Wolf Eyes’ trip metal.

"Yesterday it started to rain… The smell of damp tarmac rising up through open windows, a smell which is uniquely evocative for us all depending on our individual histories: a suburban pavement, a school playground, a basketball court. The rain cut through a band of low pressure that had been lying over the city for days, pinging rhythmically off metal, causing rolling tyres to hiss and spit. The music that soundtracked this meteorological shift was the debut full length from Rain Text (Giuseppe Ielasi & Giovanni Civitenga), simply titled III. Scattered throughout the nameless eight tracks there are moments of low-end pressure relieved by the fizz and clatter of metallic rhythms; there is static, there is discord, there is release. The individuals comprising Rain Text have a long history of manipulating sounds for evocative ends, Giuseppe Ielasi has been making music as one half of Bellows for many years, each album stretching and destroying their sound in beautiful increments. He has also released reliably inspirational music either solo or in collaboration for the likes of Editions Mego, Shelter Press and Faitiche. His sensitive ears are also in high demand as a mastering engineer. It is worth perusing the 800+ releases he has technical credits for on Discogs: from classics of the avant-garde to the freshest faces of the Swedish underground, the chances are some of your favourite albums are included. Giovanni Civitenga helms the SKYAPNEA long-running NTS show. Joining him, you can enjoy the fruits of a lifetime of deep listening through shows that flit between the industrial and the devotional, a space that is fully explored on III. The album was recorded quickly over three fertile days in Ielasi’s studio in Monza, but of course results like this can only be achieved at such a pace by spending a lifetime obsessing over the mechanics and possibilities of sound. Those who are enamoured by the rain—who are returned by it to the surfaces, smells and sounds of a lost and idealised youth; who feel themselves restored—are known as ‘pluviophiles’. Their response to rain may well have a biological explanation: when rain hits tarmac negative ions are released into the air, which are thought to result in feelings of wellbeing and positivity. All the more reason, then, to return to the vivid ecosystem that Rain Text has so carefully cultivated for III." Words by The Dengie Hundred – August 2024

"I don’t keep photographs, old letters, keepsakes or memorabilia.

I have sound-files, thousands of them, un-used, un-heard: folders of field recordings; sonic sketches; experiments that failed but weren’t deleted. The files are saved on hard drives or the cards of obsolete pieces of equipment replaced – bit by dusty bit – with something new, clean and shiny.

A remnant is what’s left over when the greater part it once belonged to has been used up, removed, or destroyed. I think of my sound-files like this, the remains of ideas, of a time too.

Remnants.

The sound-files that became this album were recorded through a particular period in my life when I found myself in flux, between jobs, flats, geographical areas; after the end of one thing, but before

the next thing had started. The recordings felt restless too…

They were packed up in boxes and moved across town.

Finding them again years later was disorientating. Background sounds that had been hum-drum were suddenly, even sickeningly vivid. The chatter of the crew who would turn up each day to drink beer in the square behind my building, the crows that would rattle and click in the tree hanging over

my small roof terrace, the thrum of aeroplane engines which ebbed and flowed without end.

There were sounds from excursions too: the street preachers of Brixton; some untypically groovy Hari Krishnas in Ramsgate; an orchestra tuning up in a church. There was something vertiginous and nauseous about the nostalgia I felt on the first listen, but I soon fell into a process of “fixing” all the loops and sketches, tugging them into shape, threading them into a whole tapestry.

Once this process came to an end they were put away once again…

Things have their time. I dug the project out for a late-night listening session with an old friend who’d known that place and that period in my life. Hearing them with him changed them. They were no longer the sonic equivalent of those old photos and letters I never wanted to keep; they became something else, more communal.

An album.

We hold on to all kinds of memories – bits and pieces, fragments, remnants we so rarely think to share.

Here are some of mine." - The Dengie Hundred