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Recorded in Naples historic recording studio Auditorium Novecento ‘notes from the air’ is the second Ciro Vitiello full-lenght album, that turns around the ambiguous figure of the seagull, a coastal apparition both ridiculous and divine, foolish and sacred, graceful in flight yet uneasy on land, something that knows more than it shows, carrying both wonder and threat in its gaze. The album breathes through that tension, the desire to fly and the fear of falling, the suspicion of having already crashed somewhere unseen. Wind, creaking ropes, invisible currents: these become signals from another uncoding state, reminders that air can be both home and haunting. The record lingers in suspension. Each track feels like a fragment carried by wind, a message blurred, a memory misplaced, something approaching meaning but never arriving. The record drifts between orchestral gestures and dream-pop/post-rock shadows, guided by Ciro Vitiello’s fascination with shoegaze textures and cinematic atmospheres, and features contributions by Heith, Renato Grieco, Stefano Costanzo, Caraluce and Daniel Kinzelman. Vocal features include Martyna Basta, Heith and Antonina Nowacka, alongside Ciro’s own voice.
"Después de llover” is about musical conversations between two people who have only recently met; they come from very different places, do not speak the same languages, and perhaps have little in common other than the resonance of their instruments. This encounter leads them to explore an imaginary world where they share sounds to build a place where they can go and play with the moisture of the plants growing in the water, listen to the pudus playing with the herons, rest on the floripondios, and perhaps stay there waiting for the rain to return. These pieces were recorded on a summer day in 2025 in Indrė’s home with kanklės, txompe, and violin. ------- “ Después de llover ” son conversaciones sonoras de dos personas que se conocen desde hace poco tiempo, vienen de lugares muy diferentes, no hablan las mismas lenguas y tal vez no tienen tanto en común más que la resonancia de sus instrumentos. Este encuentro les lleva a explorar un mundo imaginario donde comparten sonidos para construir un lugar donde poder ir a jugar con la humedad de las plantas que crecen en el agua, ir a escuchar a los pudus jugar con las garzas, ir a descansar sobre los floripondios y tal vez quedarse ahí a esperar a que regrese la lluvia. Estas piezas fueron grabadas en el verano de 2025 en la casa de Indre con kanklės, txompe y violín.
It began somewhere between sleep and memory. After first meeting in dreams, in Brussels and Berlin, on landscapes that felt strangely close to Vilnius, Marija Rasa aka emer and Ugnė Uma leisurely rewrote those visions into songs. What followed became a collection of moments suspended in idle summers, familiar faces, gentle motions, skin touched by golden sun. These songs wander through closeness and distance, tracing the delicate emotional shifts between us, who almost understand each other completely. ‘you and me’ lives in the space where magical realism meets everyday intimacy: honey-colored evenings, recurring thoughts, and the slow surrender to things unfolding on their own.
This is just sublime: Stroom & Hessel Veldman illuminate 13 unreleased gems by a sacred figure of ‘80s DIY Dutch tape music, nestling deeply precious, noctilucent synth works for lovers of BoC, Eno & Harmonia, Vangelis, Tangerine Dream & Klaus Schulze, Dominique Lawalrée...
Trust the Lowlands standard bearers at Stroom to pluck this quietly breathtaking bouquet from behind the ear of DIY synth and ambient music history. Adding to prized reissues of Enno Velthuys’ work over the past decade - from albums to songs secreted on comps for LSD and Light in the Attic - ‘Music From the Other Side of the Fence’ helps fill gaps in the patchy knowledge of his cultish catalogue 1975-1990. While the label are being typically, poetically playful with background info, a crudely educated guess can assign pieces to recordings that made up his four cassettes issued 1982-1987, but it’s better taken as a lovingly sequenced overview of his harmonious short stories, each riddled with an exquisite atmospheric magick that tiles up to an adorable portrait of the troubled artist.
If memory serves, it was a pair of LSD comps that first anonymously seeded Velthuys’ ohrwurms ‘Blue Heron’ & ‘The Day After’ to our lugs, at least, and it wasn’t until a reissue of their motherships ‘Landscapes in Thin Air’ (1985) & ‘Different Places’ (1987) that things began to fall in place. A slightly broader picture now emerges via this new raft of signature, woozy arabesques and powdered ambient pads threaded with a feel for extended melody that ties it all off with a ribbon bow. A solitary, melancholic presence guides from the frosted carillon of ’Something Special’ thru the reedy romance of ‘Uplands (Unplugged Alt Version 2)’, sashaying to types of aerial waltz in ‘Underneath a Dark Sky’ and slowed, Vangelisian brass fanfare with ‘Moonlight Serenade’ that surely shiver nostalgic timbers with an evocative, tongue-tip timbre that tickles places others don’t reach.
100% no brainer for hopeless ambient synth romantics and introverts.
Leading figure of modern ambient Florian TM Zeisig drifts in adult contemporary neo classical space for a shimmering 2nd turn with Stroom, blessed by harp and saxophone from Róisín & Cathal Berkeley and Lia Mazzarri’s cello.
Fresh from minting his Angel R project with Aaliyah Enyo, and building on a handful of cherished albums on enmossed, including the ambient soundtrack to Berghain’s cloakroom, Zeisig curves back onto Stroom with an album of effortlessly lush floatation tank/massage parlour music (delete as applicable).
The spirit of Eno and pot pourri is strong on this one as Zeisig diffuses instrumental gestures into aerosolised synth tones with a gossamer touch that’s come to be expected of his work. It’s all super smooth and florid in the procession from new age waft on ‘Life’s a Spiral’ to the spiritual jazz whims of ‘Thank You Pharoah’ and chill out scenes of ‘Eternal Shore’ on the A-side.
There’s a possible tongue-in-cheek wit to the title and sentiment of ‘Diddy’s Lament’, and ‘Earth Loop’ lists off into powdered 4th world ambient bliss-out and a sublime closing couplet of the plangent sax to ‘Die Große Natur’ and ‘Embody Source Energy’ primed for touching grass from the comfort of your duvet.
Duori is an imaginary word. It combines the ideas “dentro” (inside) and “fuori (outside) invoking a place between. Heith and Tarawangsawelas met in Bandung in 2017, since then their collaboration has been evolving, both in person and remotely. The result is ‘Duori’ an album of 5th world music in low data mode that travelled inside lost and found portable recorders, on defunct hard drives and expired e-sim cards. Recording and arranging songs over a long period of time and across a vast geographical distance has lent their practice a distinct character. This distance allows the possibility to see things from different perspectives and creates music that hovers both inside the Sundanese Land, and outside of it, both on the European continent and not. This record carries compositions from one side of the globe to the other, catching spirits and energies from different places, societies and rituals. Their first sketches were influenced while witnessing the Reak ceremonies in Bandung and they were recorded at Tesla Manaf (Kuntari) studio in Bandung. They found inspiration on nights spent at the jaipong clubs, smoking cigarettes and talking about ghosts. The songs then developed while on tours around Europe, playing separately and together. Their song titles are in Indonesian, Italian and English, underling the linguistic shapeshifting of the project, and showing how any linguistic barrier was surpassed by a strong spiritual connection between them as artists. This record is also the story of a friendship, a spiritual bond that goes beyond the differences in their backgrounds and practices. A bond that redefines geographies and creates new psycho-geographies.
Roman Hiele (1991) is a Brussels-based musician and composer whose work explores the boundaries between improvisation and electronic composition. His music unfolds as a living system of shifting harmonies, fractured rhythms, and unexpected turns.
At the core of Hiele’s practice lies a deep fascination for contrast, where his soundscapes act as both anchor and disruption, sharpening the emotional depth of images and spaces, a sensibility that extends into his collaborations with filmmakers, visual artists, and designers.
His new album, Emo Inhaler, on Stroom is an emulsifying force, blending these threads into a single, fluid whole. The record condenses compositions born from improvisatory explorations and electro-acoustic experimentation. Recorded and concluded across various studios and train coupés, Emo Inhaler is expansive, yet tightly woven, creating a singular sonic identity that explores Hiele’s own world of musical off-key vignettes, balancing between light and sinister. With Emo Inhaler, Hiele reaffirms his place as one of Belgium’s most adventurous and distinctive contemporary voices.
A new age lightness of being guides NNF alum Baptiste Martin to gently optimistic ambient, H-pop and glitching electronica styled results on a debut for Stroom, inseparable from its back story, regaled by the label below:
""I was admitted to Son Llàtzer Hospital in Mallorca on October 1, 2024, following a psychotic shock”.
This could well have been the opening sentence of a confessional novel but it’s not. It’s the first line of an email, which landed in my mailbox seemingly out of nowhere. The words were written by Baptiste Martin, the composer behind Les Halles.
In his letter, sent as a pdf document, Baptiste offered his friends a concise but striking report on his whereabouts from the past months. In brief, Baptiste was lost, found, lost and found again, yet seemingly forever confined to the walls of his cerebral interior. The letter describes a loss of grip and self-control, like a baby water turtle trying to hoist his way out of the fish tank by scratching the glass walls, without any result.
Baptiste is a musician and not a writer. His opening line is thus followed by an album, not a novel. This is the album. Yet, ‘Original Spirit’ doesn’t tell the story of his psychotic shock as a linear nonfiction, it offers a vague resolution to all the mischief in life: the hope for the existence of an original spirit, untainted despite all that might happen during the course of a life.
The album provokes images of what I would perceive as indeed an original spirit of oneself: an abstract nothingness breezing through landscapes of colours, searching for places beyond the boundaries of what we call freedom in the material world. A stream of sound, nostalgic to a time that never existed, a mystical loophole that we know isn’t there yet still crave for. In short: the sound of an uncannily serene feeling beyond hope."
The Montreal duo Library L’Amour weave a delicate, dream‑like synth‑pop romance on Premier Caprice. The EP gathers four songs recorded by Yasmine Ixe and Richard Ryan Wenger over the course of their three‑and‑a‑half‑year relationship.
Deeply tied to the composer’s own life, the narrative of Lacrimosa invites reflection in the face of loss. This sonic work draws inspiration from Alice Coltrane’s spiritual Eternity (1976) as well as the traditional structure of the Requiem, a mass for the dead. One of its sections, the Dies Irae, evokes Judgment Day and concludes with the Lacrimosa (literally, “full of tears”), depicting the weeping of souls in search of salvation.
In Lacrimosa, Low Jack transforms autobiographical elements into a messianic, polyglot form, unfolding across eight movements that chart the storms and serenity of grief. The piece unfolds from dawn to dusk, as the eyes open and then close. An initiatory solar cycle, from which one returns like Dante in his Divine Comedy, transcendent yet grief-stricken by the loss of a guiding presence.
Low Jack crafts one of his most intimate compositions, weaving together musical archetypes and universal narrative structures, drawing from both classical lyrical music and pop standards.
"When it travels, the voice is a double agent, a trickster, or a dubious guru, but when it pauses for a recording, it's historical, capturing a mood or an emotion for all time. I didn't expect that I would hardly recognize the people who made Salt — myself and Hessel Veldman — a year and a half after recording it, but this is where I find myself now, so I'll say a few words about this temporary prosopagnosia.
Twelve years ago, when I moved to the Netherlands from Japan, I made a piece called How to Lose Your Voice. It was a YouTube hit because people wanted to learn how to actually lose their voices, though I doubt they found what they were looking for in the video. But I mention it because it's like a diary for me: my voice simply isn't the same now as it was then.
I wonder where my voice has gone.
I just listened to a radio interview with a woman who had her larynx removed.
About fifteen minutes after listening to her new voice, altered by the use of a voice prosthesis to make her audible, the interviewer played a recording of her pre-surgery voice. Of course, I was curious to hear it, and although it was immediately obvious that the gentle ease of her first voice was gone, this new voice, with its raw, gravelly sound, was even more intriguing because of its determined power to express that which needed to be expressed.
When Hessel and I first listened to the Salt in its entirety, I said in astonishment, "who wrote this?"
Marianna Maruyama, sure, but this artist goes by more than one name. Many voices spoke through me in this album. You might even recognize one of them as yours."
It is often said that we find it hard to stare at the light, however, the universe never lights out. This first premise from As Above, So Below is the base point for the setting of what follows. A group of rabble-rousing guerillères from the commune decide to go bowling. They had entered the forest, followed its winding paths, and emerged blind after staring at the universe for too long. No longer able to find their way by observing the stars, they now have to climb on the houses and feel the vernacular roofing to find out in which direction they’re heading. They get to the bowling alley all amped up. The punters insist on lighting their cigarettes - they’re not interested in matches but rather in the cardboard cover that attaches them. The only striking going on is the sound of the skittles getting scattered, syncopating with saturated basslines, mixed vocal techniques, heavy fx, and feeding into an arsenal of bells and percussions. They start stomping on the alleys as if this was a housewarming party and they had to break in a newly laid wood floor. Moving in circles, they eventually fall through it and end up in a room where the light has been swallowed. A band including none of its original members is performing, they can only hear a warm yet throbbing hum. They soon realise the massive rolling sub is getting louder and louder and adjusting its pitch. The dust their feet was lifting is slowly sweeping around the floor and gathering in patches and lines, drawing out the Chladni figures they had seen in their dreams, experiencing the same thoughts at the same moment, they inscribe them on a loquat leaf.
Or Sobre Blau's 'Making Friends' on Stroom."Andreu G. Serra and Kiran Leonard first met in Lisbon nine years ago, arriving in the city within weeks of each other by chance. Living together in a crumbling warehouse in Alto São João, they recorded a series of improvisations that became The Piri Piri Samplers (Memorials of Distinction, 2019): Serra’s abrasive, tape-warped guitar lines colliding with Leonard’s stark, pedal-free counterpoint. They played a single gallery show, left Lisbon that summer, and then spent almost a decade living in different countries.When Stroom reissued The Piri Piri Samplers in 2024, the label suggested the duo make a new record. At first, it seemed impossible: Leonard was in London, Ubaldo in southern Catalonia, and their attempts at long-distance recording quickly collapsed into nothing. But the near-failure sparked something. Leonard travelled to Catalonia to restart the process in person; soon after, Serra moved to South London, and the pair began meeting every week.The result is Making Friends: a richer, more expansive album built over six months. Where The Piri Piri Samplers was assembled from raw improvisations, Making Friends transforms fragments into fully realised songs, weaving together nylon and steel-string guitars, piano, drums, bells, samplers and more. For the first time, Serra and Leonard sing together, each in his own language - Catalan and English - sometimes translating one another in real time.Musically, Making Friends still carries the jagged dissonance and free-blues spirit of the duo’s earlier work, while opening outward toward everything from emo and blown-out noise to fractured chamber pop. There are only three guests on the album, and they are worth mentioning: Rachel Leonard and Antonia Serra (the musicians' mothers) on the seventh tune, and the American poet Pete Simonelli (of Enablers) appears on Top of Duboce / Tyne Bridge Crossing, one of the album’s two sprawling centerpieces.At its heart, Making Friends is an album about friendship: about distance, reunion, family, and the stubborn need to make music together. It begins with uncertainty and disconnection, but ends somewhere stronger - with, as put on the closing track, “molta il.lusió per lo que pugue vindre” or “much excitement for what may come.”"
On Everything You Giveaway, Pablo’s Eye turn Richard Skinner’s seaside vignette into a drifting meditation on loss and camouflage, where a missing jade earring becomes a quiet parable about hiding what hurts in the very element that once held it. Everything You Giveaway feels like a record built around a single, small gesture: a woman sitting by the sea, unconsciously loosening one jade earring while the man beside her skims green pebbles into the waves. The moment passes almost unnoticed, but later, in bed, she discovers that one earring is gone. Instead of panic, she feels relief. In her mind’s eye, she sees it lying on the seabed, indistinguishable from the stones he threw. “The best place to hide a leaf is in a tree,” she thinks, echoing the logic at the heart of Richard Skinner’s poem “a remoteness from the centre” (from the light user scheme, Smokestack Books, 2013). That line – and the short narrative wrapped around it – becomes the emotional axis for Everything You Giveaway. In typical Pablo’s Eye fashion, the text is not treated as a literal script but as a set of images to be dissolved into sound. The waves breaking become slow, undulating pulses; the green pebbles, small percussive or melodic events that vanish almost as soon as they appear; the jade earrings, bright timbral flashes that suddenly go missing from the texture. The music hovers in a state of “remoteness from the centre,” circling around implied themes rather than landing on them. What matters is not the dramatic revelation of the loss, but the quiet, inward turn that follows – the sense that giving something away, or losing it, can sometimes feel like placing it more deeply inside the world, hidden in plain sight. The album’s title, Everything You Giveaway, makes Skinner’s line universal. It’s not just about earrings and pebbles, but about all the things we let slip – relationships, secrets, fears, versions of ourselves – and how they might be absorbed by the environments we move through. The seaside setting is both literal and metaphorical: a place at the edge, where solid ground meets shifting water, and where it’s easy to imagine objects sinking out of view, merging with their surroundings. Pablo’s Eye use this as a frame for their sound-world: a gentle, porous music where elements arrive, mingle and recede, and where the distinction between foreground and background is constantly eroded. This approach aligns with the group’s long-standing interest in spoken word, ambient drift and cinematic suggestion. Here, the poem’s final line operates almost like a compositional rule: hide things in their own element. Melodies surface only to dissolve back into textures that resemble them; voices appear briefly and then disappear into a murmur of similar frequencies; a motif is introduced, then later “lost” inside a denser arrangement. As listeners, we are invited to experience the same subtle shift the woman feels: the movement from anxiety to acceptance, from clinging to an object to recognising its place in a larger pattern. Everything You Giveaway thus becomes less a straightforward adaptation of Skinner’s poem than a kind of extended footnote to it. By dwelling on that moment by the sea – the waves breaking, the casual gestures, the delayed discovery – Pablo’s Eye offer a sonic meditation on how we hide, how we surrender, and how the world quietly absorbs everything we let go.
Sergeant refine their “dj-shadow-in-reverse” approach on Symbols, cutting and reassembling their own material into restless, rhythmic forms. Kraut drums, plunderphonic fragments and dub space collide with a sharper sense of direction.Ferre’s vocals drift through the mix, searching for a way out while leaning into the disorder. Even the details feel alive—a stray flute line cutting through the low-end pull.Amid the chaos, Sergeant sound more in control than ever, turning fragmentation into something direct, playful and oddly infectious.