1971 COUNTDOWN: #2—#1

2  MARVIN GAYE — What’s Going On

Soul gets serious with Marvin Gaye’s ground breaking album. In a year full of turbulence and change, the golden voiced hit-parader found a new groove, eschewing fantasy to write about what was really going on. The result was one of the great albums of its era, one that—amazingly, stunningly—manages to transcend time in a way that Dr Who could only envy. 
When I…

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SPACE IS DEEP

When I first wrote about Space Rock: An Interstellar Traveler’s Guide half a decade ago, this is how I began:

This recent release ticks all the wrong boxes: CD not vinyl, yet another compilation, probably too much of a good thing, odd-shaped package impossible to file… yet Space Rock: An Interstellar Traveler’s Guide is my CD of the year. 

Dear reader, I was not entirely frank and full in my…

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Continue growth since original lineup reunion. Happiness Is one of favorites of year it came out. Album much continuing on current style. Love punk rock feel of Death Wolf, Tidal Wave, and others. Still true emo style in songs like We Don’t Go In There. Much long term loving dynamic between Nolan and Lazzara. Maybe not as fully consistent as last album, but very strong album. 3 ½ paws up.

Katherine de Rosset’s music is born of experiences of profound change, and of the courage it takes to dive into the unknown in search of self-actualization. As explained on her Bandcamp page, the artist moved from Portland to LA, only to have her living situation fall apart almost immediately. Against the tides of uncertainty, de Rosset turned to the guidance of tarot and the art of meditation–while also focusing more deeply on her musical work–and in a moment of inspiration, decided to move to Austin, TX…a place where the healing process could fully complete its cycle. Indeed, within the arms of this strange haven, de Rosset reconnected with the natural world and found solace in the ever-changing flow of energy that comprises existence, and as her soul flourished, so did her music, a result of which is The Tower. Self-released by de Rosset, the album is a mystifying musical adventure that simultaneously explores exotic landscapes of magical fantasy, and the vast zones of the inner self. And while listening, there is a sense that The Tower is meant not just as an artistic rendering of de Rosset’s own experiences of love, restoration, and growth, but also as a guide for others…as a set of sonic and poetic rituals which are intended to help the spirit shed that which is no longer needed, in order to create a “sacred ground for the journey of coming home to oneself.”

These themes of metamorphosis of the self, of the magical forces of nature, and of the “joy of impermanence” are all threaded into de Rosset’s lyrics throughout The Tower, and her vocals inhabit zones similar to those of White Poppy and Grouper in their alchemical merging of dream pop and acid folk. At her most powerful and abstract, de Rosset even calls to mind an early Christina Carter, especially in moments where voices swell to an ecstatic howl amidst layers of ghostly drone. As for the underlying instrumentation, almost everything is sourced from sparse rhythms and spiritual keyboard playing, which often aligns in vibe, if not totally in sound, with the work of Beverly Glenn-Copeland, as well as with more recent sign posts like Nailah Hunter and Katya Yonder. Diving deeper still, de Rosset concocts a bewitching sonic world wherein brushed and hushed jazz drums anchor fluttering strings and warming brass pads while baroque vocal incantations intersperse with spells of springtide romance. Toms pound in triumph beneath poetic affirmations and shades of shoegaze diva bliss, crystalline lutes and gemstone harpsichords play a sort of medieval folk psychedelia, submarine basslines waltz through fairytale forests, and reed organs from outerspace work through passages of funereal minimalism…all while beatific breaths of reverb and delay caress every single sound. 

Katherine de Rosset - The Tower (Self Released, 2021)
“Flowing Into Joy” introduces starlight drones and a machine drum shuffle overlaid by ecclesiastical keyboard magic. de Rosset sings softly while dancing gemstones move in counterpoint…the whole thing awash in a joyous energy, and evoking visages of satyrs and nymphs dancing around maypoles. Washed out keys and ethereal vocal hazes coalesce as de Rosset’s lyricisms dash romantically across the mix, with everything building towards a climactic chorus. Then, as the track reduces to plucked harp tones and squarewave synth sparkles, de Rosset locks into a mantric lullaby repetition of “Here I am / I want to show you”…like the voice of a mysterious spirit guiding the soul towards realms of joy. “The Star” follows with harpsichords and crystalline tones waltzing through a dew-soaked forest clearing, while splashes of metal shimmer in the distance. de Rosset swoons overhead, her voice subtly double tracked to add further hints of baroque folk mysticism, and her vocal poetics weaving together autobiography, spiritual guidance, and affirmations concerning the presence of a divine light within us all. Cascades of vibrating glass descend as jazz pop drums hold a skeletal structure, with rides tapping and snares smacking through a stereo field overflowing with panning drones and galactic swells of spectral harmony. “In the World and Yet Above” sees polysynthetic keys moving through baths of reverb and angelic voices guiding a splattered kick drum as it slowly structures into a beat. Radiant psych folk melodies are sourced from futuristic electronics, cymbal shadows move in the background, and ebowed guitars sing dolphin songs until everything seems to disperse, only for multi-tracked vocal mirages to emerge amidst feathery pad accents…as if strands of nacreous cotton are stretching out and surrounding de Rosset’s voice. The bass drum slowly builds back and tapped triangles give off sparkles of gold glitter while tom toms roll and hi-hats tick beneath layers of smoke–and over it all, a glorious call and response emerges between de Rosset’s singing and new age synthesizer themes colored in hues of silvery starlight.

A bongo-led downbeat anchors “Do You See What I Am?” and funereal organs call out amidst layers of shadowy haze as de Rosset’s voice lets loose darkly enchanting spells of reassurance, and of recognition of the light within the soul. The rest of the track builds around the singing, with billowing pads climbing ladders of starlight and whooshes of oceanic atmosphere moving all around. The drums work into a barely-there pulse, mysterious whispers pan back and forth, and the song’s structure holds together while ever-threatening to vaporize…all as bewitching vocals affirm the magic of the inner self, with de Rosset’s voice staying low before rushing towards an exploding sky, supported by bashing toms and slow cyclical synth arps. In “Her Body Made of Stars,” minimalist organ patterns are repurposed for an esoteric elegy, and gothic prog rock keyboards are overlaid by beating bongos and witchy vocalizations. de Rosset’s voice is close–yet hard to grasp–as it flits around the mix, and her breathy coos transition at times towards feathery falsetto. There is a touch of downer flower folk to the poetic phrases and mysterious melodies, and at some point, de Rosset sings: “there is magic in your blood / hear our breath as we are one / feel the magic in your blood / do you know how strong we are?”. Strummed zithers move over the doom-inflected jazz rhythms and as sonars ping and crystals glimmer, the minimalist keyboard patterns wash out completely, leaving behind an ocean of voice to float the spirit. Multiple layers circulate in round and reverb and delay patterns create counterpoint movements while synthesizers float through the stereo field, and as swells of solar brass seek the sky, they portend hope of a radiant dawn.

Side B begins with “The Eclipse” and its hopeful chord patterns and dancing pixie melodies. Wheezing organs sit above a sparse jazz beat and de Rosset sings through it all, weaving cosmic allegories and explorations of inner space that pull my mind to Will Cullen Hart and Circulatory System. Drums devolve to tapped cymbals as pads play majestic themes for fantasy kingdoms, with voice washing back and forth as it repeats “I’ll be there in your heart.” When the infectious jazz beats return, synths blur into clouds of cold comfort, while new age woodwinds sing ethereal songs through star oceans. Airy fills and pounding toms intersperse the rhythms and at some point, lyrics are abandoned as de Rosset drifts off into pure wordless wonderment…all while hopeful keyboard melodies ascend in support. The heart overflows with feelings of spiritual affirmation while the mind gazes upon scenes of impossible beauty, and as the track progresses, evocations of Beverly Glenn-Copeland begin shining through with pronounced strength. “91818” comes to life on reed organ drones and thunderclaps, while ghostly voices and bowed metals evoke early Charalambides. Pulses of smoldering static pan across the spectrum and a mesmerizing dreamscape emerges from bodies of orchestral murk, with blurred melodies dancing across the length of the keyboard, heavenly chord fogs hovering in place, and de Rosset whispering up above, her voice sweeping and reversing through arcs of resonant beauty. Sighing strings flutter in and out of view and seafloor crystals sparkle–though their glimmer is barely discernible through layers of washing water–and during one of de Rosset’s wondrous call and respond sections, a voice asks “Is this what you wanted for us?,” and in reply, another whipsers “I know I am ready,” Dazzling melodies slowly rise then recede before fully resolving and eventually, the song blurs into whooshing waves of darkened ambiance. Then comes multi-tracked fantasy dance supported by quivering staccato choirs and time-lag echo accumulations…as if Terry Riley had composed a baroque-tinged new age incantation.

Church organs pulse in “Sacred” as de Rosset floats overhead, with sparse tom hits panning side to side and sparkling seascape melodies meeting wavefronts of cosmic atmosphere. Plucked tones of tropical warmth bring a balearic touch while coral colorations swirl around the stereo field, and as we back down into a horizontal paradise–one replete with mermaid pads and idiophones made of seafloor crystal–de Rosset asks “what if my love is your love / is the truth then discovered?” only to answer, “no, not in words you can speak of / but in her radiant darkness.” The drums reduce to a brushed whisper against an ecstatic run of vocal poetics, and dreamy island melodies mix with new age diamond clusters. Toms beat anthemically as de Rosset moves into repetitions of “what you want will be yours now” and eventually, everything fades into a cloud of lullaby melodics and hopeful hazes. Droning reed organs return in closing track “Resonate”…the sound like an electrified harmonium wheezing from the center of the cosmos…before the vibe turns towards dream folk bewitchment. Treble tones pierce the mind, organs seek the sky, and billowing voices thread around the heart while sleepy-eyed serenades radiate dark sunset hues. A rush of celestial sound brings in multi-tracked whispers that cascade over themselves, with webs of lyrical wonderment threading together and resulting in an entrancing passage of dueling vocal flows…like a round, but not quite…wherein heavenly voices sing certain phrases in one ear, while a whispered falsetto speaks in the other. Joyous clouds of ambiance swell in support and radiant sunbeams refract as de Rosset says “I’ll follow deeper still,” and during a gorgeous coda, cloudform vortices and hymn-like keyboard patterns surround plucked strings while the body walks through a forest of restorative light…a place where waves of springtide soul energy transform existence into a paradise of everlasting optimism.

(images from my personal copy)

Though I was only recently introduced to the sounds of Dai Nakamura through Growing Bin Records, the composer and producer has been active since the early 2000s, working solo as Nuback, and also collectively with bands such as Bank andBlank Music. Much of Nakamura’s work finds its home on the artist’s own Too Young Records, and back in 2013, the label digitally released Nuback’s Good Bye Summer, AgainEP, two tracks of which were eventually selected by Growing Bin for the When the Party’s Over / Heartbeat Summer 7”. Nostalgic city-pop, heart throb indie, and dub-kissed chillwave thread together as sparse rhythms and big bottomed basslines groove beneath swirls of ethereal synthesis…these aqueous pads, soaring leads, and starlight sparkles that swim aside funk guitar licks and swooning soul vocalizations. And there is a distinct sense throughout—helped in no small part by the title of each track, and of the EP from which they are sourced—that the music here is meant to function as a wistful love letter to the end of summer…to bittersweet remembrances of coastal highway cruises, afternoon beach parties, late night dances, and early mornings spent watching the sun ascend across magnificent expanses of gold and blue. 

Nuback - When the Party’s Over / Heartbeat Summer (Growing Bin Records, 2020)
“When the Party’s Over” begins with glimmering synth chords that stretch through ping-pong echoes, their decay trails flowing towards a gorgeous summer horizon. Rubber band boogie bass pounds and broken kick and snare beats hold down a skeletal groove, while further layers of oceanic synthesis swell into the stereo field. Cluster of starshine shimmer in the sky, pads move like liquid light waves, and majestic melodies are buried beneath layers of sweeping filter mesmerism while in the distance, electric guitars riff through multi-hued clouds of seafoam. As we back down into washing synthetic wavefronts and barely-there kick and snare rhythms, Nakamura croons romantically around the mix…breathing sensuously…voice double tracked and spoken close…conversational and sweetly naïve. Solar guitar hooks and layers of blissed out electronica rush in for a sort of chorus as Nakamura’s voice backs into a sadboy indie serenade, with the vibe sleepy eyed, slightly stoned, and softly psychedelic. During the bridge, hazy pads hover aside the vocals and bulbous basslines move beneath blasts of galactic magic, with sonorous soul hooks and radio AOR lyricisms flowing out into the ether. Sometimes, further guitar layers scat out spacey funk riffs in support while overhead, kosmische arps sparkle like liquid diamonds. There’s a moment where things slowly devolve towards a false ending…the track seeming to vaporize as drums and pads wash out beneath bell tree cascades and synthetic firefly dances. But as echoing space guitars decay and blurred electronics mimic a mirage, a timbale roll rockets the track back to life, leading to one last soulful summer pop swing that slowly fades into silence.

Over on the B-side sits “Heartbeat Summer,” where jazz snares and house claps work together over clipped kicks and smoldering e-piano romantics. The background overflows with chittering echo manipulations and broken machine oscillations, though these sounds swirl far in the distance, leaving room for sub bass dub bubbles to guide summery group vocalizations. Nakamura’s multi-layered voice moves through wordless soul-hooks…like the backline singers for some Motown diva transported into a spell of downtempo seafloor balearica. Synthesizers paint the air in shades of aquamarine as they reach out across infinite oceans and futuristic wobble basslines sing strange lullabies in support. Metalloid vapors breath and sparkling strands of crystal break free from the murk as they introduce anthemic guitar harmonies…these sky-seeking fusion pop licks that vaguely remind me of PInback…a sort of flamboyant six string duel repurposed for indie heartache and twilit romance. Following this, the flubbing spaceage bass wobbles return to sing alien sea shanties and woven threads of starshine synthesis resume wrapping around the heart, their melodies carrying the spirit away towards a paradise unknown. And all throughout the background, a calming cloud of dissonance continuously mutates, from which psychosonic threads push out into view before receding into nothingness.

(images from my personal copy)

The newest release from Crash SymbolsisHyphae, which was composed and produced by Andrea Rusconi under the name PAQ. The A-side is awash in balearic vibes, with music touching on downtempo tropicalia, fuzzy psychedelia, slow surf exotica, and stoned acid jazz. As for the B-side, Rusconi presents compelling combinations of sunrise-soaked tāmpurā drone, deep space synth slop, dopamine bebop, new age tribal, and solar flare ambient. The focus throughout is less on progression or transition, as almost every track locks early into a heady hypno-groove—or into spell of hypnagogic ambient—and from there, Rusconi and his collaborators paint the air in otherworldly hues while using subtle layering to generate mesmerizing displays of energy and motion. As such, the album is well named, and each song can be interpreted as a slowly advancing hypha…a tendril of lysergic sound twisting and winding into a grooving structure, which then grows together with other similar—yet distinct—threads of organic audio mysticism to form a complex body of mind-altering magic.

PAQ - Hyphae (Crash Symbols, 2021)
The title track opens in a natural setting, as whooshing winds join a panorama of birdsong. Star-trail feedback tracers introduce a bassline comprised of big buzzing space subsonics, and a horizontal groove emerges around it, built from ticking cymbals and rhythm box hand drums. Arpeggios like diamonds flitter about the spectrum and sampled choirs pulse in and out of the stereo field…their breathy songs helping to give things the air of a rainforest river trek, with a vibe not unlike fell Italian adventurers Lorenzo Morresi and Walter Quiroga. LSD-laced squelch solos cycle above balmy grooves of tropical electro-lounge, zipping laser wisps intermingle with garbled broadcasts from faraway solar systems, careening delay oscillations spiral out of control, and what sounds like solar organ drones are buried beneath layers of acidic liquid…like a screaming Afro-jazz siren sitting just out of reach. Then, as the rhythms disperse, basslines walk a seaside oasis rendered in tones of melted crystal, wherein drunken music boxes morph into alien radars. Next comes “Atomic Samba,” the name of which almost says everything there is to say. Riffing wah guitars and bulbous basslines bring in a shuffling island funk groove, with touches of Latin romance kissing the equatorial vibrations. Rimshot and snare hypnotics keep the mind entranced while kick drum and frogsong bass pulse deep into the body, and the combination of heavy-bottomed 70s groove and liquid six-string psychedelia pulls my mind to Fontanelle, only as if playing the part of a lounge band at some sunny Ibizan café. Understated melodies shine as if generated from a harpsichord made of quivering gemstone and highlife organs sing psychotropic hymns to the sun while galactic energy blasts push the balearic jam towards more cosmic waters. And by the end, the rhythms drop, and in the resulting world of ambient sonic sunshine, a bass guitar chugs, with slight distortion and vocal filtering kissing the fried funk lines.

Space age electronics wiggle through the void in “Airmalta” before a stoned lounge jazz jammer emerges, with contrabass plucking through the shadows. The drums of Enrico Ro morph quickly from lazed spiritual bop to a popping acid jazz breakbeat, though the vibe remains low slung and delirious, especially as smoke-shrouded e-pianos diffuse through the murk. The background overflows with weirdo space sounds, bubbling cauldron fx, insectoid hums, and cascades of resonance that filter into blinding light…all while a serpentine fuzz organ moves overheard, the vibe seasick, drunken, and countered by blistering waves of psychedelic fuzz guitar. Drum and bass continue holding their downbeat jazz groove and the electric pianos grow increasingly abstract while skronking chords intercut the SiP-esque Afro organ melodics. And eventually, the groove starts to vaporize, leaving overdriven keys and webs of slapback. As for “Lowed,” Rusconi drops us straight away into a world of surf psychedelia, with big basslines cruising along some seaside highway, and drums hard panned as they swing on the beat. Infectious snares intertwine with shaker and bongo patterns, while vibraphones sparkle in the moonlight. Piero Ambrosani’s trumpet coos out clouds of color and percussive vocalisms move at the edge of the mix…like bending saws approximating the soft songs of jungle fauna. There are evocations of Diminished Men, in particular when sci-fi synthesizers start squelching over the big bottomed surf jazz jam out, bringing with them a futuristic touch that only enhances the atmospheres of noir exotica. Trumpet and synth blur together into a fuzzed out mirage of melody and harmony, with the brass growing increasingly adventurous at certain times, while elsewhere backing a sensual whisper. Basslines pull out momentarily, and when they return, the stirring sounds of woodwinds join the mix, which sing their aerophone lullabies through a cinematic drug den haze. Then, as the track closes, it mutates into a nocturnal jazz zone out, with shakers and starlit idiophonics conversing with Ambrosani’s calming trumpet purr.

“Karin Solaris” opens the B-side and features high end drones wafting like opium smoke while unidentifiable field recordings suffuse the spectrum…these shuffles and scrapes of mysterious origin. Sickly drones grow in strength within the ether and golden shimmers from the noa bells and tāmpurā drones of Ambra Galassi peak through oceanic wavefronts generated by bowed strings. Echo pedal manipulations cause multi-tracked ghost howls, or sometimes sudden tonal shifts…like ripple moving through the fabric of the universe…and there are evocations of Pelt and Ariel Kalma, of Mind Over Mirrors and GHQ, and of Bitchin Bajas and La Monte Young, with cascading currents of feedback converging…resonating…vibrating. Feet rustle in the grass and bells are shaken in a state of ecstatic trance as brain bending oscillations swell in intensity, their tonal soundbath serenade activating astral portals and third eye visions. “Ouzospore” starts with oscillations moving through extra-terrestrial fluids, and with constructive collisions generating squiggles of spectral squelch and sprays of silver starshine. Melodic bubbles percolate beneath mangled modulations and sleepy-eyed filter sweeps while crazed percussive rolls fade in before panning out of sight. Electro-toms move side-to-side as a soporific slice of astral tribal jazz emerges, one that sees basslines locked into a classical bebop walk, though as if slowed down to a fever dream pace. Beating bongos generate skeletal percussive structures that are further supported by snare sketches and sparse cymbal splashes, and squarewave synth leads swim drunkenly through seas of galactic detritus wherein swirling spirals, feedback blasts, and liquiform oscillations merge as one.

“Notturno” begins with ceremonial drones flowing forth from the center of the cosmos…the effect like slowly lapping wavefronts of alien sound. Massive sub bass bubble bursts are guided by gentle tabla rhythmics, with the track taking on the feel of a berceuse as it lulls the mind into the world of dreams. Tremolo picked strings swell into magnificent arcs of post-rock wonderment—which trail like shooting stars across an expansive night sky—and my mind is drawn to Mogwai perhaps, even as the rest of the groove more so resembles the sundowner balearica of Max Santilli. Pads cry, moan, and morph into robotic baby babble, while simultaneously creating clouds of comfort the float the soul. Twinkling tones of silver and gold ping in the distance as the the mind drifts further towards visages of childlike spirits sleeping in moonlit clearings, where leaves and grass generate organic rhythms that merge with melting sonics as they rain down from the stars. Closing track “Radiomessaggio” begins with the titular radio messages, the origin unknown as Rusconi phaser-blasts the sounds into a body of billowing cosmic gas. Distorted voices and conversations from past lives are buried in layers of glittering noise while plucked tones of mutating glass warble and worm through the fractalized air. Snippets of sound are caught in malfunctioning delay machines, causing feedback oscillations to trail off to infinity, and as modulating bass sweeps filter through meditative cycles, the aforementioned tones of glass splinter into shards of screaming feedback. Heavenly organ drones sit beneath these layers of solar skree…a sort of new age incantation fighting against brain piercing psychsonics…as if some Seahawks or Experimental Audio Research-esque space ceremonial has been merged with the crazed treble psychedelia of Vibracathedral Orchestra or Sunroof!. Esoteric tones of kosmische energy explode into supernovas of strange colorations, sonar sonics pull the body and spirit towards some aqueous netherworld, and as the track moves to a close, warming bass waves and plucked abstractions swim together through an echoing dreamspace.

(images from my personal copy)

For me, one of the most exciting discoveries of 2020 was RR GEMS, an imprint based in Estonia releasing high quality vinyl pressings of free jazz, psychedelia, and much else besides (who happened to put out one of my favorite LPs of recent memory in Soft Power’s Brink of Extinction). But the discovery was even richer than I imagined, for RR GEMS is also closely related to another label—the esoterically inclined Hidden Harmony Recordings. Debuting last year with C.R. Gillespie’s Concentration Patterns, Hidden Harmony then went on to release Conservatory of Flowers by Maria Teriaeva, and 8 by Morita Vargas—each one of these records a completely singular sonic experience exploring captivating textures closer to the fourth world, with meditative ambient, deviant pop, leftfield dance, new age minimalism, and electro-acoustic experimentation all intermingling. As well, the label has established a unique and visually striking aesthetic, presenting their deluxe pressings in framed outer sleeves, which then encase combinations of hallucinogenic nature photography, portraiture, and graphic design. Of the Hidden Harmony’s releases so far, I was particularly taken aback by the respective works of Teriaeva and Vargas, and I plan to write about each of their albums in the coming weeks, starting with Vargas’ 8.

Morita Vargas is an experimental artist from Buenos Aires, and she has been sowing and growing the seeds of 8 since 2014, when she used a phone to document various vocal snippets while wandering the cityscape. Over the years, these early sketches were enhanced by woodwinds, world percussions, mallet instruments, and a polychromatic palette of keys and synths, with the vocals themselves being treated to myriad manipulations both organic and electronic…mutating, modulating, and pitch-shifting into a psychedelic display of fairy spells, pixie incantations, diva flights, secretive whispers, breathy chants, and hypnotizing turns of phrase. It’s all rendered through mysterious languages of the artists’ own creation, and the performances serve to illuminate themes relating to death, transformation, and rebirth—which further tie into the numerological significance of the title, as the number 8 symbolizes “the transition between heaven and earth, and the illumination of our capacity for various metamorphoses.” The end result is an album of melancholic resonance and joyous warmth; of new age naturalism and tropical fever dreaming; of childlike flights through fantasy forests and forbidden visions of ancient rituals; and of sensual body motions and dances lost to hedonistic ecstasy.

Morita Vargas - 8 (Hidden Harmony Recordings, 2020)
At the start of “Bernisa,” synthesized arpeggios sparkle like gemstones while birds sing in the distance, resulting in a new age lullaby imbued with a certain esoteric spirt. Melodies flow through key changes that portend hope and sorrow at once, with further keyboard layers chiming in counterpoint. As everything reduces, whispering chords pan softly, understated leads constructed from glowing glass drop onto the mix, and after an expanse of mid-bass meditation, the birdcalls return, bringing with them kosmische arps and a cascade of jazzy keyboard solos…with the minimalist structures and mysterious melodies evoking both Steve Reich and Beverly Glenn-Copeland. Massive sub bass motions rattle the soul in “Paitice,” while shakers and woodblocks dance through clouds of reverb. Vargas’ vocals are shrouded in dark layers of smoke as they move through druidic incantations, and the vibe is akin to some shamanic ceremonial. Gothic choirs are lost in the jungle…their minds entranced by strange perfumes from tropical flowers, causing their deep and soulful arias to move towards psycho-activation. The mysterious incantations are tempered by ecstatic whispers and hyperventilating chants that raise the hair on the back of the neck, with the vocals becoming their own sort of percussion that both works for and against the subsonic tribal basslines, and the snapping shakers and tones of tapped wood. The chorale cascades seem to vaporize as the track progresses, becoming ever more distant—as if heard through a thick pearlescent fog—and towards the end, pitch-shifting pixie voices generate a hypnotizing strain of a cappella psychedelia, with looping phrases overtaken by hiss and sibilance, until the whole thing resembles some abstract minimalist sound sculpture.

“XOXOXOXO” begins with mechanized tribal rhythms like robots scoring a shadowy rainforest ritual. Telephonic synths and blasted space electronics pan as ethereal vocals diffuse into the stereo field…these epic waves of oceanic wonderment overlaid by sensual coos and breaths. Further layers of rhythm enter the scene, creative captivating polyrhythms that only enhance the vibe of low slung dancefloor swagger. During a momentary respite, the beats fade, leaving space for desperate vocalizations and spare piano notes to float in the abyss, with long howling decay trails smothered in reverberation. The technoid tribal drums eventually return, as do the ethereal wavefronts of vocal warmth, and everything grows progressively wilder…almost like some feral scream towards the sky. Next comes “Deysa” and its synthesized bubble forms pulsating against counterpoint percolations. Its another expanse of Reich-ian minimalist sorcery that soon gives way to a playfully bouncing sequential ascent…as if the mind is racing up and down some corridor constructed of rainbow light. Amorphous angel voices sing with abandon and at times erupt towards the animalistic, while whispered refrains and sparse idiophone melodies dazzle the mind. The track snaps back toward magical minimalism briefly, before breaking again towards childlike kosmische, with voices growing increasingly adventurous and almost completely abandoning the racing synthesizer sequences, floating instead into a parallel dimension. Suddenly, a fairy chants fantastical spells of mysterious origin, and is soon supported by a stuttering hypno-beat, one where hand drums pound maniacally and only just  hold to a tempo. All the while, the vocals smear into a spectral shriek as the heart races towards ecstasy, and eventually, a burst of bass washes the mix clean. The A-side closes with “Aguila” and its foamy pads stretching out like layers of cotton candy. Space age brass synths sing triumphant songs while mallet instruments sparkle overheard, their melodies and tones eventually reversing in time, creating mirage shimmers and showers of golden glitter. Vargas then abruptly transitions the track into a sequential dream sequence, with softened synth melodies cycling at hyperspeed…almost like a lullaby induction into a world of sleep-induced fantasy.

Opening the B-side is “Gargantsa,” which features angular basslines evoking a pitched down clavinet. Further funky keyboard layers dance aside the mutant bass movements and a four-four kick drum drops, transforming the track into a slab of minimal club euphoria. Vargas chants over it all like some diva of destiny, with sensual coos and whispered secrets threading together, and occasionally shifting down into syrupy sexuality. During certain stretches, the mix reduces to just voice and kick drum, and each and every looped phrased serves to entice the body and spirit deeper into dancefloor delirium. The groove continually shifts and evolves as insectoid fx and feedback tracers track the hypnotizing house beats, and as we move deeper into Vargas’ spell, the vibe is like being transported to some hidden nightclub in the middle of a sweltering rain forest, with roof open to the moon and shadow-shrouded bodies gyrating in ecstasy. “Devonte” comes next, wherein new age piano inactions evoke the movements of celestial oceans. Whispered poetry enters alongside a pounding rhythm, bell trees sparkle like stars on the surface of the sea, and Vargas’ voice grows increasingly strange and desperate as the song spaces further and further out. Droning soul chords underly pitch-shifting babbles while post-punk basslines chug alongside kick drums beneath a blanket of dub reverb. And then suddenly, we return to the mysterious piano ambiance, and to visages of waves washing beneath a canopy of starshine.

Woven webs of acoustic guitar splay out through echo machines in “Oly,” and demonic voices bubble up through mist, with tones rattling all around the periphery. Kalimbas glow and tambourines shake freely before locking into a mesmeric rhythm, which works against pulsating delay patterns. Voices both mysterious and sinister wash across the mix like granular clouds of noise, yet any harshness is tempered by the acoustic guitars, which are as soothing as they are abstract. Whistles emerge to wash away the mix, sparse folk melodies intermingle with field recordings in the distance, and by the end, Vargas’ voice devolves into infantile chatter. In “I feel lost,” dreamscape ivory arpeggios swim up and down the scale as ethereal melodies sing in support…the whole thing not unlike some early Mogwai interlude (think “Radar Maker” from Young Team). A synthesized string sections transforms the vibe towards post-classical fantasia, with harmonious chord strokes working together with fluttering minimalist melodies. At some point the layers of immersive ambiance recede, leaving again the mutating piano conversations, and when Vargas brings in the sighing strings, there are shades of Godspeed You! Black Emeperor—even as subtle jazz leads cluster together. “Ginseng” ends the experience, and sees an electric piano singing alien songs while idiophones play sparsely in support. Electronics like blinding whistle tones filter into the spectrum as the keys mutate towards smoldering drone clouds and through it all, chime trees shine and sparkle. The pianos mostly fade into obscurity, supplying only understated textures of ecclesiastical enchantment as we walk further and further into some tropical jungle, with radiant currents of light bathing the body and reverb kissing every singly sound. Some strange forest drum ceremonial proceeds far away as the trip grows increasingly psychedelic, with Vargas’ musings evoking mystical nature spirits as they enchant the soul deeper and deeper into a lost paradise.

(images from my personal copy)

I’ve been focused of late on an exciting musical collective based around Abstrack Records, which encompasses a range of artists from the Nantes scene, as well as related acts throughout Europe. Since I haven’t had a chance to write yet about Abstrack’s slate of releases, I would like to spend some time doing so here in the introduction. The label debuted with Fréquence Pure Vol. 1, which featured DJ Solange’s broken beats and layers of minimalist club magic, with gleaming IDM metals, hovering angel voices, big blasts of bass, and demented synth riff distortions. As well, there were the desert caravan dance rhythms, world percussion tapestries, marauding basslines, snake charmer guitars, mystical woodwinds, and cosmic trance electronics of Vidock’s the Balek Band, whose Danse PrimitiveonBeauty & The Beat was also a major favorite of mine, though I regrettably never reviewed it. Next came Dreamtown Ethnic Cylinder, another multi-artist mélange featuring Sun Lounge favorites 404 generating an alien paradise of ever morphing exotica rhythms, with mysterious sirens swimming across exo-planetary landscapes, and stoned eruptions of braindance beat hypnotics overlaid by buzzing waves of granular noise. As well, Malcolm delivered body-beating techno drums amidst extraterrestrial synth slides and mutating displays of equatorial metal, with evil acid lines pulsing and breakdowns into ritualistic free jazz drum madness. And closing out Dreamtown Ethnic Cylinder is label main man Vidock, whose anxious breakbeats possess a ritualistic tribal energy that merges rave and rainforest, while also featuring extended world drum freakouts. Lysergic angels serenade the sky, pitch-shifting voices chant strange spells, gemstone hazes sparkle in the sunlight, and in a peak-time climax, jacking acid trance rhythms support a solar choir and their hymns of celestial fantasy and ecstatic wonderment.

Abstrack dropped an edit 12” next, featuring two works from Vidock, and one each from Edits de Nantes and Fanch. And here, balearic beats cruise in the desert moonlight and reed and fuzz leads howl, as idiophones cycle against ethereal pads and an expressive crooner pleads into the night; tribal trance grooves are slowed to a feverish acid chug and psych folk riffs loop through filtering cosmic mists while throat sung mysticisms intersperse with spiritual chants; sassy French prog meets Latin fusion, wherein conga line drums, solar horns, and liquid basslines work the body beneath joyous shouts and piano and steel pan hypnotics; and Afro-Carribean rhythms shuffle aside slapfunk basslines, with tropical electronics, ecstatic singing, and soloing brass all recalling Dementos-era Yasuaki Shimizu. Which brings me at last to Kanot’s Hit & Run, the newest release on Abstrack, and a spellbinding two track/two remix adventure. On the originals, Can-style krautfunk basslines ping, pong, and pulse, over infectious breakbeats or minimalist jazz fusion grooves, while the background swirls with psychotropic shimmers, LSD-glimmers, and refracting webs of echo. Neon-hued synth leads rocket towards universes unknown, and electric and acoustic guitars color the spectrum via heavy doom riffs, liquid fuzz leads, palm-muted echo patterns, and jangling webs of forest folk psychedelia. As for the remixes, Vidock morphs “Turbulens” into a minimal expanse of tribal club drumming and esoteric dub stimulation. Acid lines filter through hazes of fire, basslines rattle the ribcage, and mysterious voices babble into the void, with the track continually breaking down into cold clouds of delirium drone. Then, The Pilotwings’ remix of “Hit & Run” takes the listener on a horizontal rave odyssey awash in mystical magic, wherein ceremonial drums build ever towards ecstasy, futuristic angel voices chop into chill-out trance euphoria, laser light arpeggios fire across parallel dimensions, and spiritual choirs sing hymns of the interstellar abyss.

Kanot - Hit & Run (Abstrack Records, 2021)
Spectral shimmers fade in at the start of “Hit & Run,” like burnished metals reflecting a blinding light. Fairy voices sourced by one or both of Nose and Annsoe intertwine with telephonic tracers while new age pads morph, bend, and swirl…with threads of silver and rainbow intertwining. Crazed tropical slides rain down in the style of Len Leise as bulbous dub funk bass riffs drop onto the mix, pushing so much air as they move through fat bottomed pulses and hammer-on licks, with each vibration rendered in stunning detail. Tight funk beats work the body from ear to ear—the drums seemingly double tracked, or even featuring a dual drummer attack…like Jaki Liebezeit playing against himself—and the Holger Czukay style basslines continue generating a storm of psychotropic groove, as further layers of liquid lysergia are added via palm muting echo licks, and distorted Floyian funk guitars. Gonzo synth leads beam in from alien galaxies, with polychromatic melodies dancing star-to-star and mind-bending runs ascending at hyperspeed through aqueous baths of delay and reverb. Dubwise echoes refract across the mix, sassy voices speak mystical spells, and ethereal angel choirs drone softly through an ethereal haze, with claps cracking and laser light pads climbing towards the heavens. The groove is deeply infectious and unsettled at once, possessing as it does a sort of anxious energy that refuses to ever quite lock in, with Kanot preferring to keep the mind and body ever on the edge of psychedelic explosion. At some point the bassline backs into an understated shadow pulse, leaving space for trippy palm muted guitar percolations and body-moving breakbeats that converse across the stereo field. Spindly synthesizer fx crawl across the surface of the mind and ripping fuzz guitar solo enters the scene, reaching towards those Tony Iommi-levels of stoner psych shred as swaths of star ocean vapor threaten to subsume the mix. Riffs, licks, and melodic phrases from all across the track combine towards the end in progressive rock and 70s groove splendor, with fuzz synths and fuzz guitars spraying LSD vapors, tropical tracers melting down, breathy voices purring sensual mysteries, and summery funk riffs jangling in cloud of overdrive…until it all slowly fades away.

All the way at the other end of the B-side sits The Pilotwings’ remix of “Hit & Run,” which begins with a primordial hum that slowly resolves into a cosmic choir soundbath. Tribal percussions hit and bubbling rave electronics make serpentine motions in the darkness, with cymbals rattling and shakers riding on pulses of thick sub bass smoke. Chopped up trance vocals beam in from the space of dreams…these floating technoid angles singing over rhythmic synthesizers that mimic the songs of frogs and insects. Massive swells of sound repeatedly resolve into a climax of ritualistic drumming that quickly recedes, leaving space for progressive sequences to filter towards psychedelic abstraction. Playful kosmische arpeggios evoke a harp made of laser light and orchestral pads blare like sirens as they skim across some neon ocean surface, with a beat finally forming in the shape of slow methodical pounding…as if tribal trance has been reduced to a pure essence of mystical balearica, and transformed into a sundown ceremonial of shadowy dream magic. Fogs of golden glitter splash off myriad ride cymbals and massive wood drums are seemingly smashed by giants…all as the droning choirs diffuse in before decaying towards infinity. Acid threads colored in dayglo hues wrap around the mind as the immersive bass sculpting generates warming waves that float the body, and as everything cuts away dramatically, spiritual choirs are left to sing their soft songs of esoterica above a bed of chittering insects. Drum fills and cymbal rolls portend a progressive trance explosion that never quite comes, with the Pilotwings steadfastly refusing to drop any sort of structured break or club beat. Instead, they keep the mind locked into an eternal state of ecstatic ritual…the vibe like some futuristic energy glide through forests made of melting light, or some old world ceremonial of ancient and unknowable magic performed by space age druids…their spectral incantations cast across a sky suffused by sonar sequences and sparkling starshine.

“Turbulens” begins with repetitive industrial sound cycles smothered in phaser, before transitioning into a 70s-style jazz fusion and space funk stomp, with bass reducing to a low down throb, and interspersed with heady slapback lizard licks. The vibe is somewhere between early 70s Miles Davis and early 00s Circle, as the snare pops energetically on the beat, hesitant kick drums hit off of it, and splayed shimmer patterns flow across the cymbals…all while a polyrhythmic synth line snakes through the air, bringing with it touches of spy movie exotica. Suddenly, the track transitions towards acid folk and prog rock balladry, as acoustic guitars play to a mysterious moon and liquid metals rain down from stars. Basslines enter to phase and flange as they strut through dark forest undergrowth, with their bending lines smothered in pot smoke. Jazz cymbals splash as majestic chord changes portend visions of epic fantasy, and fuzz guitars are reduced to an ambient howl…the whole thing like the more tripped out and horizontal moments from Mushrooms Project, or like Led Zeppelin wandering through a fourth world daydream. Everything cuts away, leaving fluids to babble through corridors of ice and stone, while funky echo basslines slip-slide into the void…the jam slow, low, and zoned out. Kick and electronic snare hold a skeletal blues beat, hand drums add touches of tropical intensity, and the prog folk guitars reemerge to case shadowy spells of neofolk psychedelia while the stereo field overflows with ghostly moans and hallucinatory vapors. A fuzz guitar solo blazes towards the sky—setting the air aflame with distorted waves of fire—and eventually, basslines resume their liquid stoner strut, resulting in a laid back proto-doom groove, one that again recalls Black Sabbath, or perhaps their ancestors Dead Meadow, only morphed and mutated through the lens of dub, and given an extra dash of balearic magic. As massive tom fills storm across the stereo field, a fuzz riff enters to duel with the basslines, which pushes the vibes of stoner rock and psychedelic doom towards a glorious maximum, while also recalling NorCal acid jam legends Mammatus. Then, moving towards the end, everything seems to bliss out towards peaceful waters…but the flaming guitar solo continues growing in intensity, spitting waves of burning delirium as it screams across the sky.

Vidock’s “Turbulens (Matrix Remix)” begins again with looping industrial fluids, which soon cut away, leaving a doped out dub drum stomp. A trapkit bashes through the void as each hit splashes off layers of black dust and haze, and all through the air, chittering electronics dance around a morphing choir of the cosmic void…their cold and terrifying aria proceeding over chugging subsonic fluids, ricocheting hand percussions, and maniacal trap kit pyrotechnics. The drums cut away at times, leaving the soul to float through chasms of haunted machine hum and frozen ambient abstraction, and each time the rhythms return, the track seems to grow in intensity. Morphing electro patterns reverse and pan, creating some sort of mystical prog trance sequence…only slowed to the pace of an opium den fever vision…while enigmatic voices speak unknowable incantations. The rhythms morph into a lurching groove, with acid tracers firing ear to ear, and the beats cut again, leaving basslines to vibrate violently and snares to crack in a fog of frozen crystal. Later—after a stretch of oscillatory psychoactivation—the tribal ceremonial of tripped out dub dancing returns, with melodic esoterica blowing in on a breath of galactic wind. The percussion bounces and beats with a ritualized energy, and kaleidoscopic panoramas of rimshots and bell taps merge seamlessly with acidic blips and neon-colored IDM atmospherics. Towards the end, drum and bass begin filtering and transforming into corrosive clouds of darkness while acid electronics fire chaotically. Melodic themes of triumph blow through the mix trailing wisps of polychrome light, and as the hypnotizing dance grooves return, ethereal leads shimmer and shine far in the distance…their shape hardly discernible, yet radiating layers of glowing harmonic feedback. Anxious hyperspeed cymbal rolls rustle in the background like uncountable insect wings, and at last, a voice washes the mix clean, leaving behind panning streaks of oceanic ether and choir of crickets greeting a glorious sunset.

(images from my personal copy)

I have been mostly absent as of late due to the pressures of completing my PhD studies, but now that the work there is finishing, I am trying to return to regular reviewing. And for months and months now, one of the records I’ve most wanted to discuss has been Coyote’s Buzzard Country, released last year on their home station Is it Balearic? Recordings. In fact, my delay has been so extreme that, not only has Coyote released an accompanying Buzzard Country Remixes 12”—which I will cover here as well—they have also dropped the incredible Return to Life 12”, and even announced a new 2xLP slated for the summer called The Mystery Light. But better late than never, and there is no way I can pass up the chance to at last write in depth about the music of Timm Sure and Ampo. I say “at last” because, despite the fact that I consider Coyote amongst my very favorite recording artists, you would be forgiven for not knowing that by scanning the Sun Lounge archives. Though I’ve had opportunity to discuss their work here and there via remixes (such as on Blank & Jones’ Relax: The Sunset Sessions 2 and Joe Morris’ Cloud Nine 12”), by some strange turn of fate, Coyote has released no vinyl of their own since this blog’s inception…something that only changed very recently. Indeed, prior to 2020, the last time the duo put out solo works on wax was their stunning 2016 run, which included the Song Dogs LP, the Fight the Future 12” on Clandestino, and the seventh EP in their long running self-titled series on Is It Balearic? Which is not to say they weren’t active, and in fact, Timm Sure and Ampo delivered a really great set of digital singles and EPs in collaboration with Music for Dreams, and additionally, they remained active with remix and DJ work. As well, Buzzard Country was due quite a bit earlier than 2020, but was unfortunately plagued by production delays. To at last get to the point, this is all a roundabout way of saying that I am really excited to have plenty of Coyote to write about now and in the future, so that I can finally pay proper tribute to this foundational duo of the modern balearic beat. 

As I’ve explored the balearic soundworld, Ampo and Timm Sure have always been beacons of light guiding me on my path, whether through their eclectic productions as Coyote, through the curation of Is It Balearic?,Über, and the Magic Wand edit series, or through their mixes and DJ sets, which are typically loaded with unheard treasures that lean towards the trippier and dubbier ends of the chill out spectrum. And it is this tendency towards the psychoactive that most endears me to Coyote, for the duo have always championed an authentic balearic spirit, one that foregrounds the music’s connections to the hippie hedonist heydays of Ibiza, to the second summer of love, and to a spirit of ecstatic abandon, one that is equally imbued with a magical sense of melancholy…of a feeling of being in paradise, but knowing it can’t last…as if the moments of revelatory magic—of wild nights dancing and sunrise comedowns—are tempered in real-time with senses of longing and regret. Which brings me finally to Buzzard Country, Coyote’s fifth full-length LP and a pitch-perfect encapsulation of their signature mixture of wistful melodic nostalgia and daydream seaside grooving. Across the album, baggy beats morph between downbeat disco, stoner dub, and world exotica while bottom heavy basslines work the body. Echoing vocal samples thread around hand drums tapestries, emotional washes of synthesis flow over radiant piano chords, and at crucial moments, the exotica guitar flourishes of longtime collaborator Saro Tribastone carry the mind away to lands of faraway fantasy. As for the Buzzard Country Remixes 12”, the A-side is given over to the Hardway Brothers, who brilliantly transform the album’s “Sun Culture” into varying landscapes of ultra deep Chain Reaction style dub wizardry. Then on the B-side, Woolfy vs. Projections and Max Essa respectively flip album stand outs “Shimmer Dub” and “Ranura de Marihuana” into their own specific strains of equatorial dancefloor euphoria, with each remix pushing the mind, body, and spirit towards maximal beach boogie mania. 

Coyote - Buzzard Country (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2020)
“Soaring” begins with buzzard calls and hovering breaths of synthesis evoking a new dawn. Ripples form in the ether via bubbling squarewave synth leads, and pulsating dub bass sits beneath a blanket of sighing strings. The carrion calls continue streaking through the mix and celestial pianos rain down while echoing playfully across the spectrum. Plucked bass electronics bounce in counterpoint and hesitate woodwind glimmers call to mind flashing laser lights beneath a beautiful sea surface…almost as if a flute has been transmuted into a rapid fire fractal vibration. At times the strings back away, leaving layers of rainbow colored ocean ambiance to flutter and dance, all before ending with white noise delay oscillations that mimic the swell of ocean waves. Then in “Soft Top Saab,” an echo-soaked voice muses on the sunrise, with chills running down the spine as the solar affirmations are increasingly surrounded by space age string synths, and by Sara Tribastone’s mystical guitar filigrees. Reversing melodies enter the spectrum and swell the heart while shakers and tambourines hold a gentle beat. Tribastone’s guitar serenades softly overhead, with plucked textures of synthetic wood and stone dancing in the background. Further delay-laced pianos fade into view, with the track ebbing and flowing…growing and receding…and sometimes backing down into understated back and forth between guitar and piano, wherein harmonious brass layers and swells of spectral space glitter moving at the periphery. The result is a conversational interchange between seaside melancholy and romantic nostalgia, one which is eventually superseded by cosmic flutters, soft six string dances, and the spoken spells of a reggae mystic, who gives thanks to the sun, and its bounty of restorative light.

Dusty acoustic guitars and sunrise vapors introduce “Shimmer Dub,” while dancing dub bass portends the first real taste of a groove. A rocking hypno-rhythm comes into focus and laid back snares guide the infectious glide, while tablas roll overhead and evocative vocal layers thread through the mix. Steel pan synths are seen through the titular shimmer and wavering wavefronts of blurred melody wash over everything, until the mix drops down into a haze of stoned exotica comprised of a minimalist pallet of tabla rhythms, bleary-eyed pads, and thrilling vocal incantations…the effect like awakening on the shores of some faraway ocean paradise, with visages of desert caravan rituals preceding in the distance. The dubbed out groove eventually resurges, with passages given over to extended echo percussion experiments and the fragile songs of tropical idiophones. Feminine vocals glow like some intoxicating gas of multi-hued magic, and springy basslines guide the body while hi-hats and snare work through a psychedelic skank. Smoldering currents of ether move through the stereo field and moments of subtle intensity erupt from the horizontal vibe out…with airy woodwinds shrouded in static, claps cracking, and hand drums creating webs of groove mesmerism. And as the beat starts to vaporize, echo oscillations set the air aflame amidst fantasy orchestrations.

“Ranura de Marihuana” bathes in echo acoustic guitars that seem beamed in from some distant past…these evocations of classical folk music futurized via layers of fx. An ecstatic scream washes the mix clean, and a four-to-the-floor kick drum emerges to pound in the void, while overhead, Flamenco-indebted guitars spin webs of magic and reverberating vocals call to the spirits of sea and sky….sometimes whispering, other times shrieking wildly into the night. Sub-earthen bass movements are felt more than head, with exotic dub lines moving far beneath the surface. Bongos and congas pop and nervous shaker patterns lead the downbeat disco strut, while guitars work through further Mediterranean hooks and Iberian flourishes. A moment is given over to heavy bass and kaleidoscopic hand percussion–with scatting vocals, reverberating snaps, and lost souls wailing in desperation–and when the groove snaps back, there are touches of tango kissing the preceding, which bring to mind a rose-in-mouth glide across some dark and mysterious dancefloor, wherein spindly psych folk guitar melodies work the mind and airy drum rhythmics entrance the body. The kick climbs back towards dancefloor strength, with desert mystic percussions moving all around the mix and vocals morphing though fever dream echo layers. Elements from across the track refract through oscillating delay machines, and touches of rave haunt the rhythms, especially as subsonic basslines and subdued breakbeats work together.

A single piano note brings light to the darkness in “Sun Culture” and layers of radiance rain down in the form of heart-melting piano chordscapes, with some of that Screamadelicasoul bliss suffusing the progressions. Warming pads envelope everything and deep dub pulses walk down white sand beaches, with shakers and lysergic breaths giving shape to the groove. Hi-hats, snare taps, and beachside bongos enter and buzzing guitar notes give off waves of golden light while overhead, liquids drip from the roofs of ocean cliff caverns. The single piano note continues to glow while souflul chords hold the mind in a state of psychedelic rapture, and space age ethers blind all vision as they spread outwards, then recede. Coyote move the track progressively towards a state of horizontal bliss, with almost everything washing away except the summery piano incantations, which are so soaked in reverb as to generate billowing cloudforms with every single note. Hushed rhythms return and hand drums take on a slight sense of urgency while pads generate layers of oceanic warmth, resulting in an audial invitation to greet the rising sun, and a naturalistic tribute to crashing waves and drifting clouds.

Intergalactic pads breath in “Dos Canas,” with tones wispy and suffused with inner light. Palm-muting electric guitars dance like bubbles through the ocean blue, and a touch of kosmische ambiance is soon tempered by bulbous dub basslines and splayed out layers of percussion, wherein the mechanic and organic merge seamlessly. Electroid sketches and seed shakers move in time as a slow and low balearic skank emerges, with glorious tones of brass pulsing overhead before ascending to the heavens on currents of humid tropical air. Hand drums circle the mix as the heavy atmospheres recede, leaving vaporous rhythms and golden synth strands to intertwine. Heartwarming chords give off mirage shimmers as the dub bass works its way back in, bringing with it further layers of world drum delirium. Soft sirens pan before giving way to more of the ascendent brass synthesis, and hisses of white noise add layers of subtle psychotropia. Snares are blasted into bursts of desert sand and all throughout the mix, various strands of melody and harmony are caught within oscillating delay cycles…progressively distorting and roaring into the ether. Shakers and 16th note hi-hats lead the groove while bongos and idiophones dance playfully against the snare and kick, until it all breaks down into an ambient outro of serene static, sighing strings, and layers of phasing rainbow light.

“Feedback Valley” closes the show with synth incantations portending the glow of a glorious sunrise, while shakers generate an infectious shuffle. Tribastone and his acoustic guitar explore Flamenco landscapes and a four-four kick drums hits against the body while layers of synthesis radiate compelling colorations. Babbling voices ride a serpentine synth sequence and touches of acid bass move in support, with cut-off filters opening as the snare drops, creating a head-nodding and body bopping groove that lifts the spirit towards the sky. The sequential electronics are so effective as they bob and weave through the mix, creating an effortless vibe of beach dance perfection…of hands-in-the-air euphoria and the abandonment of all worry or fear. Additional touches of six string sunshine push the mind every towards the shores of Ibiza and during a breakdown into burning delay feedback, synthesizers filter into solar squelch and guitars drift towards psychedelic delirium. A slow yet anthemic snare roll calls to mind big room trance as it brings the groove back into focus, now with 3D synth snaps firing in the left ear as the ever-present sequence reduces to a calming purr. Tribastone continues letting loose threads of sunshine lysergia and points of synthetic light swell into magnificent globes of blinding incandenscence. And towards the end, an echo-shrouded choir of the sea sings beneath a brief guitar fantasia before it all washes away in a scream of oscillation.

Coyote - Buzzard Country Remixes (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2021)
The Hardway Brothers take “Sun Culture” into ultra-deep territory across two versions on the A-side, with the first being the very aptly named “Balearic Channel Remix”…which is of course a reference to the work of Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald. Underground warehouse kick drums pound beneath hissing space fluids, as a low down Chain Reaction-style groove emerges, though with its eyes locked on a melting sunset panorama. Liquiform chords flow into cold industrial caverns and string synths suffuse the reverberating spaces with splashes of sunshine, while sub bass motions vibrate the soul. Shadowy tracers flit across the sky and DMT vibrato waves squiggle at hyperspeed, yet their effect is blunted and muted. Claustrophobic clouds fade in then out while melodic piano chordstrokes reflect in strange ways off of glowing walls of stone, their effect like gemstones glimmering underwater, yet with their luster sanded away by the march of time. Muted dub chords are caught in crackling delay chains and the deep kicks and jacking bass never relent in their heads down, hands-in-the-air stomp. Snares are reduced to a whisper and shaker patterns cause head-bobbing hypnotism as funky chords bring touches of liquid fusion grooving…only as if proceeding in the middle of a dub techno fever dream. Insectoid chitters move in from all corners of the mix, sawing sirens swirl into screams of feedback, and all the while, drum circle flourishes are shattered into a web echoing delirium.

Next comes Sun Culture “(Hardway Brothers Meet Monkton Uptown),” which sees the bass going even deeper somehow, as growling riddims menace the mind and rattle the ribcage. We soon find ourselves in another subaquatic dub techno dopamine dream, wherein kick, snare and hi-hat lock in for maximal hypnotic effect. Sometimes the bass guitar of Duncan Gray seems to take on a post-punk drug chug edge, and at some point, the rhythms pull away, leaving chopped up voices to decay into the void. Bassline and beats return and streaks of feedback sing softly over everything, while fogs of seafoam move at the outer edges of the stereo field. Clouds of solar static are seen from millions of miles away and traces of flamboyant fuzz guitar are submerged into a pooling vortex of deep dub delirium, emerging stretched out and mutated into currents of neon starshine. Gray’s melodic basslines serenade through the underground club grooves, those funky chords return to sing their 70s fusion songs within layers of sighing feedback, and increasingly, the mix is overwhelmed by distorted blasts of drug-induced haze. Abstracted voices filter from one ear to the other…their unintelligible spells of esoteric mystery pushing the mind ever further towards astral activation. And towards the ends, the original tracks Primal Scream-style piano chord structures can just be heard amidst feedback fires, delay detritus, and morphing vocal abstractions.

In the Woolfy vs Projections mix of “Shimmer Dub,” the original track’s hand percussions intermingle with gurgling rhythmic fluids…the effect like wandering upon some tribal jungle ceremonial. Big blasts of downer synth bass are soaked in reverb, repetitive synth pulses tickle the mind, and pillowy arpeggios flow into view while those familiar synthetic steel drums shine in the sunlight. Fingers roll across myriad skins as the kick drum drops away, leaving the mind to swim in a world of equatorial energy. Then, as the bass drum resumes–with shakers never relenting–a new bassline emerges, bringing with it a heavy touch of wiggling squiggling Italo boogie. The vibe is hesitant…anxious even…with a persistent refusal to lock in, and as bass bursts grow in intensity, the rest of the mix begins reverberating into a balearic dreamscape. Following a delirious pause, the track explodes into flamboyant disco funk perfection, as sweltering chord hazes melt from the sky and bouncing basslines join an infectious and tropically tinged body groove. Chords scat, virtual marimbas dance, synthetic steel pans shimmer across the spectrum, and swells of white light synthesis overwhelm the mind…the whole thing as massive a groove as there could possibly be. Touches of electro kiss the rhythms and futuristic synth riffs fire as we back down into a swinging breakbeat, with rapid keyboard riffs locking into heady funk cycles and stadium-sized tom tom fills splaying out across the stereo field. Guitar licks are soaked in sunshine as they lead a dubwise swing, and as we explode once more into the block rocking groove, double time shakers and hats push the vibe towards dance party mania…all as coral-colored leads rush through star ocean fx clouds.

Max Essa’s take on “Ranura de Marihuana” sees a four-four kick smacking with infectious disco dance energy and hand percussion flowing all around. A snare crack introduces another groove indebted to Italo boogie, with big bottomed synth basslines accentuating the vibes of beach dance euphoria. Shakers spread into sandy clouds of atmosphere and heatwave pads sweat and squelch as starlight arppegios race across the sky. The vibe of Ibizan melancholia is here perfected, causing body and soul to merge in hedonistic ecstasy, and though the track resembles one of Essa’s characteristic blue ocean dancefloor cruisers, its a little slower and baggier than usual, which fits completely with Coyote’s zoner stoner vibe. Seascape pianos bring a peaktime fee and at certain moments, the groove momentarily recedes, only to rush back in on an infectious snare crack. Ivory melodies are increasingly strange and psychotropic as they flutter across the mix, with decaying vibration tails carried away on an aqueous breeze. The radiant piano chords and vocalizations from the original swim into the stereo field as Essa barrels down into a heavy bassline stomp, with every pulling away aside from smeared out voices and 70s prog rock pads that evoke a string orchestra tuning to the sounds of the stars. Further clap cracks bring back layers of equatorial euphoria and the vocals are used to incredible effect, with echoing snippets repurposed as anthemic hooks. Pianos continue their alien dance over relaxed disco rhythms and snapping funk basslines, and as we move towards the end, claps and basslines fire rapidly as vocals morph through slapback oscillations…all before dropping into one last expanse of seaside dancefloor magic, with dub disco beats, infectious world percussion rolls, and a pleading voices diffusing towards a gorgeous sunset horizon.

(images from my personal copies)

Sympathetic improviser, modal mystic, and experimental soundscaper Landon Caldwell unveiled a new project earlier this year in collaboration with Moon Glyph, which saw the artist remotely leading an amorphous collective called Flower Head Ensemble. The result was a stunning display of ambient jazz spirituality, built almost entirely from chance and guided by pure intuition. Indeed, to craft the three slabs of sonic delirium occupying Simultaneous Systems—as well as the two side-longs on the Companion Environ tape released recently on the artist’s own Medium Sound—Caldwell sent each of his collaborators morphing and minimal soundbaths, over which they added sax, drums, strings, synth, and mallet instruments completely independently of one another. With this cache of primordial sonic matter, Caldwell then sculpted and shaped extended pieces of ethereal beauty and esoteric magic…pieces that feel so complete, and move with such grace and purpose, that it is hard to believe the contributors weren’t all in the same room riding the vibe together. Sounds merge and combine effortlessly, with vibraphones gleaming, horns screaming, and drums moving mysteriously underneath, sometimes rustling through windswept whispers, other times exploding into chaotic free jazz cacophony. Organ drones, e-piano dreamspells, polyphonic pads, and alien Moog modulations swim around in drunken seas of ether, flowing back and forth between serenity and intensity, and through it all, string instruments pluck, saw, and sigh, with tones ever-obscured by blinding glimmers of feedback. The result is something akin to both free and spiritual jazz, but that also takes in psychedelic minimalism, drone-based ambient, and experimental post-rock, with an overall feel that—at least to my ears—wouldn’t be out of place in the catalogs of early Kranky and Constellation, VHF, and of course, the legendary ECM. 

Landon Caldwell & Flower Head Ensemble - Simultaneous Systems (Moon Glyph, 2021)
At the start of “Reaching Out,” bell tones and trap kit motions decay through cavernous spaces, while the echoing horns of Mac Blackout (alto sax), Tom Lageveen (alto sax), and Nick Yeck-Stauffer (trumpet) spin romantic fanfares before swelling into ecstatic walls of sound. Chimes twinkle within the droning miasma, and subtle themes begin taking shape, with horns blowing in unison, plucked strings riding phaserwaves, and keys letting loose smoldering blues incantations. Tambourine splashes and sleigh bell shimmers grow in strength as bowed instruments generate blinding sprays of feedback, and having disappeared for a stretch, the horns eventually reemerge, with trumpet and violin singing songs of elegiac Americana in a way reminiscent of Jackie-O Motherfucker and their free folk/jazz odyssey Fig. 5. Bass synths accent Thom Nguyen’s drums as they sputter in the shadows, with tapped rides radiating golden vapors, and rimshots interspersing with junkyard percussion. K. Dylan Edrich’s strings continue asserting themselves through layers of splattered rhythm and dissonant synthetics, and at certain moments, the vibe is akin to the mighty orchestrations of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, only as if playing a shambling drone paean to the spirits of sun and sky. Brass swells bleat and blear into shamanic fire…into a purifying light that descends over an unsettled sea of organ droning, with tones otherworldly in their abandonment of melody…like waves of rainbow light mutating and modulating through a ceremonial storm of improvisation. Something approaching a defined drum beat emerges, with cymbal sizzles holding a count and broken kick and snare patterns ever-evolving. Trumpet and alto blow cosmic mysteries across the spectrum as the vibe approaches abstracted noir…like viewing a sunset cityscape through a fever dream fog. The rhythms continue their active ascent as Nguyen rolls around the kit in a physical display of force, and all the while, phasing keyboard chords grow ever more distorted…as if threatening to pull the track towards the sinister. Yet the horn trio contrasts the darkness with purifying baths of sonic light and longform melodic mysteries that eventually fade to nothingness. And by the end, all that remains are boiling bodies of organ drone and cymbal taps that sparkle like diamonds.

“Life Underground” opens the B-side with chords reducing to a metalloid haze, and repetitions of noise that are at once harsh and soft. There is a vague air of melancholy underlying the introductory movements, and eventually, gemstone keys reflect the light of a creeping dawn. Liquid swells wash the mix clean and waves of deep droning blue cascade over the body while alien fluids drip all around, and as Edrich’s strings fight again through layers of blinding drone, wild winds whip up a roaring vortex of sound. Keys evoke childhood music box meditations, rapidly bowed strings flutter like insect wings, and subsuming midtone drones push towards feedback while horns swell in the distance…their majestic melodies and waves of warmth uplifting the heart. Viols morph into displays of solar light and Yeck-Stauffer alights on shrieking solo adventures…his slithering and slip sliding trumpet leads moving in and out focus amidst resonant bell tones and the monosynth buzz of Mark Tester’s Moog. A symphony seems to swoon in the background ether as pounding bass patterns emerge, eventually revealing themselves as a sub-oscillator seance, wherein pitch and frequency modulate according to some unknowable logic. All the while, horns harmonize high in the sky—though their tones are obscured by blasts of galactic detritus—and as a final swell of synthesized starlight beams down from the heavens, the track breaks apart in totality.

The transition between “Life Underground” and “Woven Realm” is essentially seamless, and from the scattered silences of the former emerge the skroning saxophonics of the latter, which soar and scream through echoing corridors, resulting in an extended soliloquy of free jazz fire music. Keys begin letting lose blankets of mysterious arcana in the background, with subdued percolations evoking a lullaby dance through a sea of shadows. Sickly organs swell into a growing body of cacophony that is interspersed by beams of psychotropic radiance, with tonal drones sliding up and down while string instruments mimic theremins. As things progress, another holy soundbath emerges, featuring blissful waves of dissonance, phasing rotations, and the enigmatic dances of bowed strings and blown brass. Cymbal taps grow into stormclouds of metallic haze while elsewhere, Nguyen bashes, smashes, and crashes with reckless abandon, seemingly utilizing every square inch of his kit. And anchored to this kinetic display of rhythmic mesmerism is a glowing cloud of sonic serenity, wherein horns, strings, and synths evoke some mystical ceremony…some ritual of astral ecstasy that builds and builds towards transcendence before flowing away into an outro of seasick keys, woven brass patterns, and twinkling mallet tones.

(images from my personal copy)

I first visited the esoteric world of Chambre Noire back in 2019, when the radio show and mix series made the transition to record label with the release of Puma & the Dolphin’s PrimitiveEP (see my review here). Following this, the label turned its sights on the work of VЯOMB, a cult artist who has been operating for decades in Quebec’s experimental underground. Though I regretfully didn’t find time to review the Origami12” last year, I’ll take space here to mention that across the release, VЯOMB mangles and mutates textures of warehouse rave and acid techno into expanses of alien industrial madness, and twists, bends, and contorts an array of sci-fi sound structures into ever-evolving displays of electro-acoustic intensity. As for Chambre Noire’s third outing CN003—which is the focus of this piece—the label changed its approach toward limited intimacy by dropping a small-press lathe cut 10”. The A-side of this release is given over to Fareed (aka Benoit Legrain), who whips up a fried and frenzied slab of techno tribalism, wherein sub-bass pressure waves and stuttering club drums anchor hip-house vocal cut ups and layers of polyrhythmic madness. And splitting the release with Fareed is Peter Bunzinelli, the person behind Chambre Noire and a name readers of this blog should be well familiar with, for I’ve also discussed his work in the context of the amazing _Montreal Pleiades _mini-comp on Cosmic Tones, and his La Foresta Segreta b​/​w The Five Tibetans7”. Here on the B-side of CN003, Bunzinelli throws down a slab of breakbeat rave sorcery, though rather than employ euphoric melodies, trance-like atmospherics, or liquid acid lines, he instead shrouds the rhythms in unintelligible radio transmissions and layers of demented noise, dissonant distortion, and caustic drone.

Fareed / Bunzinelli - CN003 (Chambre Noire, 2020) Fareed’s “Nord” begins with hypnotizing feminine vocal cut ups and industrial beats rolling through static. A massive kick drum enters—as do hand drums and energetic cymbal phrases—and the whole thing beings taking on the feel of a tribal dancefloor stomp. Beats momentarily pull away as a panorama of metals moves across the spectrum, and as we barrel back down into the groove, stormfronts of pounding sub bass beat against the body while the lysergic hip hop vocal samples are further cut-up and pushed towards abstraction. Entrancing displays of metallic percussion move in and out of the mix and hand drums work through ever-evolving polyrhythms while double-time cymbal patterns pulse at lightspeed.  At some point the whole spectrum filters through a white noise wormhole before slamming back towards rainforest techno ceremonialism, and as bursts of computronic noise pan side-to-side, the rolling polyrhythms grow ever more manic and intense. Whooshing engines rev up and down in pitch before the mix reduces to metalloid clatter, and as the ritualized rhythm storms return—bringing with it subsonic basslines that threaten to cave in the chest—an infinitude of drum rolls spreads out in every direction…as if crazed shamanic beings in uncountable numbers are beating forest drums and sheets of steel at inhuman speeds. It all comes together as a strange merging of hip house modernism and militant techno tribalism, wherein chopped hip hop vocal flows are repurposed as ecstatic chants amidst an ever-morphing ritual of sub bass physicality and hyperkinetic drum psychedelia. And as the track comes to a close, everything cuts way, leaving rusted scraps, corroded wind chimes, and hollowed stones to blow in a gentle wind.

Bunzinelli’s “Metagryne Bicolumnata” comes to life on a vintage breakbeat bounce, with granular filtering and old skool artifacts obscuring the decade of origin. A mutating rave bassline enters…this incredible subsonic slide the gets the body jacking…and after a hard hitting snare pattern drops, further layers of mesmeric percussive detritus flow into the stereo field. While the breaks continue slamming, Bunzinelli conjures up strange alien soundscapes—as mutating clouds of metallic ether obscure garbled satellite broadcasts and decaying radiowave transmissions—and later, as the kick drops away, tribal-tinged snare and cymbal pyrotechnics work the mind while the body continues vibing on that hypno-slide bass groove. When the bass drum returns, masculine vocal samples are cut up into trance-like tracers, though any sense of euphoria is soon blasted away by demonic clouds of scraping distortion…the effect like some sort of deranged noise rock guitar performance crashing against a b-boy breakdance rhythm track. Percussive elements continue adding and subtracting to the mix while morphing and mutating, wavefronts of sonic terrorism merge together with chemical clouds of screaming drone, and as the song progresses, the vibes of throwback 90s revivalism are increasingly subverted, so that what began as a body-popping break track instead reveals itself as something quite experimental. Towards the end, stretches are given over to rhythmic ecstasy, with beats accented by chopping vocal sequences and psychosomatic dub fx growing ever more fried and freaky. And as quick as the song began, it all cuts away in a flash.

(images from my personal copy)

Having reviewed Morita Vargas’ 8 a few weeks ago, I’ll now turn my attention towards another standout release from Hidden Harmony Recordings, which is Maria Teriaeva’s Conservatory of Flowers. As her main tool, Teriaeva employs a Buchla 200e modular system, and throughout Conservatory of Flowers, she wrestles and wrangles some incredible tones from this singular synthesizer palette. Though the LP additionally features field recordings, bass flute, cello, trumpet, sax, guitar, and voice, you’d be forgiven for thinking there were mallet instruments and thumb pianos, timpanis and tubas, seed shakers and hand drums, and much else besides, for Teriaeva configures her sorcerous electronics into a polychromatic display of instrumental emulation. Which is not to say that the Buchla isn’t also used for purposes of angelic ambient, sci-fi strangeness, or dissonant drone, and indeed, the compositions here are as experimental as they are immediate, as Teriaeva and her collaborators weave together threads of avant-garde sound design into concise song structures that are at once madcap and dexterous, and that turn often and unexpectedly into far out sonic realms…with passages of futurist forest folk or deviant pop ecstasy plunging suddenly into shadowy abysses of strings and bass synthesis, only to then rush back towards the light. Taking in the full experience, my mind drifts to Kate NV, to Ryuichi Sakamoto, and to Yasuaki Shimizu, though there is a level of gleeful experimentation on display that also evokes the works of Museum of Modern Art, Georgia, and Michelle Mercure. But these are only vague signposts, and in truth, the sonic world of Conservatory of Flowers is utterly unique…a rhythmic and percussive paradise of organic instrumentations and exotic synthesizer colorations that only gets more compelling—and more strange—with each listen. And though the original tracks are great enough, the album also includes a gonzo remix of “Spritz” from Sapphire Slows, which stitches together chopped vocals, stuttering house beats, funk basslines, and mutating rave chords into an anxious expanse of alien club euphoria. 

Maria Teriaeva - Conservatory of Flowers (Hidden Harmony Recordings, 2020)
“The Jungle in June” opens the album with panning clicks evoking crystalline insect wings, flowing layers of underwater ambiance, and gemstones melting in place as they merge with shimmering clouds of ether. Kalimba and marimba tones sourced from Teriaeva’s Buchla join together with sub bass percolations that inhabit a zone between kick drum and bassline, and subtle pitch shifts send lysergic wavefronts through the air. As the deep sea ambiance recedes, it is replaced by gusts of granular wind, and all around, modular idiophones and hyperspeed panning effects dance together, with the mix minimal, spacious, and leaving plenty of room for a ceremonial beat to work the body. And at the end, pallid pads glow in oceanic hues while hovering in place, holding to no particular key until the whole mix disappears in a flash. Broken transmissions and twinkling metals introduce “Paris Texas,” with everything moving back and forth across the stereo field at varying speeds. Melodies attempt to form and subtle progressions are hinted at within the sparkling drone clouds; reverberating fx trail off through guttural breaths and demented echoes; and somewhere in the murk sits the bass flute of Sasha Elina, though it merges in totality with Teriaeva’s modular sound maze. What then develops is a world of polyrhythmic magic, with a multitude of sequences and woodwinds pinging left to right while accelerating in tempo. The sonic spectrum overflows with lightspeed pulsations and flourishes of minimalist magic, with machines hissing like snake tails and crazed idiophone patterns careening at random…like a drunken cloud of cicadas moving according to no particular logic. And at some point the mix seems to reduce slightly in intensity, which gives space to alien frog croaks and mysterious hints of voice.

Rainbow-hued squelches dance at the start of “SØS” and dissonant blasts of metalloid haze slowly resolve into a tuba-esque progression. Starshine sequences and electronics like malfunctioning bird calls enter the stereo field as the piece settles into a drunken waltz, one led by a two-note bassline that lands with Lynchian energy…think 50s pop slowed to a dopamine crawl. As the bass groove disperses, space is left for synthetic percussions to pop and sickly leads to buzz amidst wisps of galactic light, and after the track changes vibe once more, dramatic and Buchla-generated idiophone descents join ceremonial drums while outer-dimensional liquids wash all around. Shifting again, we return to seasick sequencing and that Twin Peaks-indebted bassline, which sets up a magical merging of the various pieces of the song…a madcap layering of waltzing 50s sci-fi mesmerism built from squelching synths and squarewave bass throbs, rainforest percussions and modular mallet melodies, and melting streaks of starshine…the result an abstract dance of alien balearica, which is not unlike the weirder works of artists such as Pharaohs, Stratus, and Shelter. Next comes “Spritz,” which starts with cello strings bowing in hypnotic ecstasy before the mix explodes, seeing Vasiliy Yanik’s saxophone and Nikita Shishkov’s trumpet snaking in celebration through the manic choir vocalizations of Vadik Korolev…the whole thing pulling my mind to the work of Yasuaki Shimizu. A sharp transition cuts the track down to splattered and heavily effected string clatter, pounding bass, and reverberating snap patterns as hints of the euphoric sound orgy preceding start building back in strength. Horns converse and bowed cellos generate sunrise colorations before devolving into a shimmering display of spectral metal, and eventually, the manic Shimizu-style avant pop dance returns in full strength. But just as quickly, the track breaks down again…back to the world of broken electro-string skitter, ritualized percussion, and expressive sax, trumpet, and string accents. The vocals build around with wondrous “AY-YA-YA” chants until the spectrum is overwhelmed by sheets of percussive detritus, and after devolving further towards masculine breathing and wheezing whooshes of neon static, Yana Chekina’s cello detunes wildly while scraping and crawling towards the sky.

In “How Are You Feeling?” percussive sequences tick through cut up samples sourced from the Russian Bird Conservation Union, with the whole thing sounding like a transmission from some broken satellite. Synthetic water drums pan across the spectrum while holding a hypnotizing body flow and strange melodies are carried by blinding currents of feedback and searing sonar blips. At once the vibe changes, seeing detuning waves of orchestral synthesis billow out from the center of the universe in a way that recalls the terrifying kosmische expanses of Klaus Schulze’s Irrlicht,or perhaps Tangerine Dream’s Zeit. Then, following this expanse of viscous darkness, we suddenly return to a jungle of peace and light, wherein birds resume singing amidst insect chatter while idiophones play lullabies to the rising sun. Sub bass currents move with propulsive energy and crazed comets streaks across the sky as the body swings back and forth in a state of mirth, though touches of melancholy softly kiss the melodic progressions. “A Sunlit Room” closes the first side with bowed strings and clattering clouds of madness that soon give way to an Afro-folk synth bounce, which is accented by fizzing bodies of liquid effervescence. Strange echo trails skitter down reverberating hallways and morphing blasts of air land throughout the spectrum as the main synth progression filters wildly and eventually, the songs seems to fall apart while simultaneously increasing in intensity, as Yana Chekina’s bowed cello strings underly layers of bouncing melodic mesmerism…a child-like hook that works itself deep into the brain and again evokes Yasuaki Shimizu, though Teriaeva’s concoction is altogether stranger than anything he might compose. Higher pitched electronics move with hesitation, percussive layers like the motions of nervous insects wash across the mix, and those Afro-kosmische synths again filter out of control while bouncing bleeps and bloops drop like globules of starlight. Then following a pause, there’s an explosion of bowed strings and bass electronics, which together execute an alien dream dance within a world of panning rhythmic skitter and anxious radar accents…all as white noise winds blow and liquids vaporize into polychrome ether.

The B-side opens with “Abstract” and its cavernous spaces suffused through by twinkling crystals and glimmering alloys. Percussive accents shift in pitch…their effect like liquids dripping into neon pools…and a shadowy hand drum rhythm builds up as the sparkling sound cascades lessen in magnitude, while also locking into the rhythmic flow. What emerges is something not unlike Vague Imaginaires’ “L'essor du roraima,” especially as we settle deeper into a slow and low tribal drum ritual overlaid by clouds of futurist magic, wherein polyrhythmic metals are structured into a brain-bending flow. Dissonant sirens emerge from the distance, wavering cascades of mutating light melt upon the mix, and a pounding bass drum holds down the beat through layers of feverish delirium before the track breaks apart, leaving sickly wavefronts of droning skree and currents of nacreous noise to merge into a malarial fog. Next comes “14’19” and its clockwork sequences, which morph through maddening fx that spread and pan the sounds into psychedelic zooms and spectral whooshes. The sequential patterns take on a rougher and noisier tone as pitch-bending sirens enter the stereo field, and eventually, everything settles into a harmonious wall of droning chords that periodically detunes…the effect creating waves of warbling wow’n’flutter that spread out towards infinity. Delay feedback manipulations generate industrial screams and dizzying whirlpools that surround the spirit, and as the piercing sirens tones pulse continuously in one ear, their decay trails are caught and reversed in the other. Billowing blankets of distorted synthesis bend towards dissonance before dispersing and eventually, the song changes in vibe, seeing mutating sequences bounce joyously back and further under heavy filtering and modulation…the motions and tones causing the mind and body to lose all sense of space-time. Pads awash in orchestral majesty hover in place before plunging down in pitch, and flubby brass arps emerge then cut away as we return to the introductory world of ticking sequences and searing siren screams.

A long stretch of silence leads to a secret track, which features FM bells decaying in the wrong direction alongside subtle clusters of industrial breath. Methodic bass patterns and the patient beat of a subaquatic drum are at odds with the anxious bodies of chaos swirling up above,..these howls of metallic noise and drone that merge into a discontinuous storm cloud, wherein  evocations of things heard before now modulate, distort, and flow backwards in time. As well, the end of the B-side also contains a special remix of “Spritz” by Sapphire Slows. Entitled “Spritz-Spritz,” the track begins with detuning sirens blasts and swelling vortices of vibration, while snaps hold down a sparse rhythm. Cyborg string plucks spread out into fractal structures, bulbous basslines move underneath the flow, and a kick drum adds a body-bobbing club energy as spacey sequences descend then disperse. Double-time cymbals flow in from silence and ricocheting dub flourishes wash side to side…the vibe low slung and delirious, especially as snares drop at the end of each measure. Rhythms pull away as psychotic rave chords pitch-shift and pulse overhead, and the vocals of Vadik Korolev are cut up and repurposed amidst popping percussive sequences. The kick drum returns—though now the beat stutters anxiously through abstracted fogs of snare—and eventually, a start/stop hypno-rhythm takes over, led by slinky funk basslines, ticking shaker tones, and conglomerations of oscillation that seem to bubble up from sub-earthen depths. Blistered leads burn across the mix as the vocals pull away, leaving behind a strange world of animalistic synthesis. And when the cut-up choral accents return, they pulse in tandem with the militant flow of detuning rave chords…the result another expanse of club delirium, though as before, the vibe is angular, off-kilter, and increasingly extra-terrestrial.

(images from my personal copy)

A few months ago, I finally had chance to write about the music of X.Y.R. when I covered Tourist, which was released on both tape and vinyl by Ingrown Records. In the introduction to that piece, I alluded to an upcoming review for X.Y.R.’s Pilgrimage, and though it has taken longer than anticipated, I would at last like to discuss the esoteric side-long excursions that comprise this release. X.Y.R. main man Vladimir Karpov tends to drop his most psychedelic and journeying compositions on Not Not Fun Records (with particular mention given to the spellbinding trips of Mental Journey to B.C.), and happily, this trend continues with his newest Not Not FunLPPilgrimage,which contains two extended pieces that sit amongst the deepest and most zoned out material Karpov has yet produced. Indeed, as on his Quite Time release, Karpov is here exploring longform development, which allows the artist and his collaborator Alexey Krjuk (on Octatrack and Modular Hairud) to craft expansive sonic landscapes and mysterious tonal drone dreamworlds that take in many of the sounds and styles present in earlier X.Y.R. works, but that also push outwards into ever more experimental and immersive zones of musical mysticism. Beds of complex percussion build from simplistic beginnings as rhythm boxes and hand percussions unite amidst panoramas of clicks, cuts, and glitches, with the patterns and progressions seeming to owe as much to IDM as they do to tribal ambient and psychotropic new age. Basslines and bass clouds flow in and out, bringing with them ecstatic stretches of fourth world groove, or elsewhere disturbing the flow with demented subsonic screams. Karpov’s characteristic sample tapestries are heavily effected, with modulating fluids, flora, and fauna transforming the settings into alien ecosystems…as if the sounds of oceans, deserts, and rainforests on faraway planets have somehow been captured and beamed back to Earth. Seed shakers, tambourines, and temple bells move through cascades of static and the breaths of malfunctioning machines, while mermaids and angels sing from sea to sky. And wood flutes and pan-pipes float in delirium hazes as mallet patterns glimmer and glow, with pads wafting like sickly smoke, or elsewhere scoring the motions of a setting sun.

X.Y.R - Pilgrimage (Not Not Fun, 2020)
Transmuting nature sounds merge with granular wavefronts at the outset of “Black Monk in the Dunes,” with everything seeming to transform into demonic breath. Phasers whoosh in slow motion and glitching click and cut patterns suffuse the spectrum as synthetic woodwinds drone in the distance, before resolving into an ancient melodic incantation. Strands of crystal blow in a wind with no source, though their geometric structures are covered in dust, with luster and shimmer lost to the sands of time. Chime trees are mimicked by spectral sequencing as they create blankets of starlight in the background and mysterious machines continue exhaling alongside the hiss of alien serpents. Percussive synth sequences like insects made of glass crawl across the surface of the mind, desolate melodies evoke desert guitar psychedelia, and chanted spells introduce a hypnotizing beat, one that sees mystical caravan rhythms repurposed as a post-technoid pulse. Psychoactive panning effects and dub echo bursts reach out of the stereo field while below, a subtle melodic theme develops, comprised of cold crystalline tone descents and wood flutes blowing like a cosmic wind. Crackles of static interrupt the flow and the hypnotizing rhythms begin moving in and out of focus while delay cascades trip over themselves. A synthesizer tuned like an Arabian organ executes deliriums circulations and opium den fever fantasias as the beats continue devolving…remaining present, but fracturing continuously through futuristic fx chains and abandoning entirely all sense of groove, which leaves the melodic phrases to float untethered amidst soft screams of feedback. Returning to a semblance of hypnotic body motion, drum echoes spread outwards amidst clusters of modular-sourced gemstone detritus and at some unreachable remove, Karpov continues alternating between entrancing synth descents and minimalist organ dreamscapes. Far into the trip, the groove takes on more strength, with shakers giving a further sense of propulsion and helping to create an ever-shifting wall of rhythmic intoxication. This sets the stage of the emergence of energized kosmische basslines…as if the ritual of the titular monk has now taken on a sinister urgency, with clouds swirling against a blood red sky behind a sorcerous silhouette. The sampled hand drums beat ecstatically and the stereo field overflows with metallic wing rustles until the rhythms and kinetic bass grooves disperse, leaving shakers to pan amidst lonely guitar ambulations. The basslines unexpectedly returns as everything else vaporizes, until all that remains is a throbbing pulse surrounded by morphing crystal sequences, crawling clouds of space noise, and whooshing vortices. Then, in the final moments, we return to the introductory world of phaser gusts and synthesized forest flute mimicry.

The introduction of “Echoes of Time” features what could be the sound of a train, though panned and heavily manipulated. Gently dripping and lapping liquids support cyborg bird chirps and puffs of static move constantly in and out of the mix. Hand drum echoes decay over calming pads and as on the A-side, phasers are ever-present to wash clean the spirit. Kick drums, synths strands, and choral flourishes alike billow outward through delay machines—with the drums in particular surfacing like some tribal abstraction—and down low, pan pipes purr out melodies of balearic mystery. Mermaid and fairy voices intertwine, waves of sub bass synthesis swell in, and idiophones glow in enigmatic colorations as they move side-to-side…all while space age squiggles periodically rise from cracks in the ground. It’s a slow steady build, wherein melodic phrases and rhythmic motions resolve at the speed of evolution, and where the various elements thus described alternate, appear, and disperse according to Karpov’s own unique dream logic. Angels of the abyss sing songs of new age majesty and further percussion layers emerge in the form of bubbling drum machines and ceremonial hand drum loops, with tambourines beating out patterns of desert dance enchantment. The mix is alive with constant motion, as panning fx keep the mind ensnared and clouds of alchemical ambiance push the body into a somnambulant trance. The main melodic theme finally reveals itself deep into the journey—comprised of a dance of mallet instruments, droning woodwinds, and descending currents of child choir psychedelic—and the continual presence of morphing fluids and avian chatter evokes some otherworldly jungle of mystery, wherein shamanic beings composed of crystal, carbon, and threaded light lead forbidden rituals down a river of glowing ether. Further synthetic melodies sooth the procession, reverb-shrouded metals pop and decay through ping-pong slapback, and tremolo picked strings flow in the distance…as if seeking the sky through majestic melodic arcs of post-rock wonderment. Throughout, the rhythmic webs continue increasing in magnitude and complexity, as myriad layers of world and drum machine hypnotism merge and morph through evolving dub echo environments, or otherwise lock into extended stretches of meditative magic. Big washes of bass dissonance overtake the track near the end…these angry growls that seem to emanate from planetary depths…and the percussion layers very slowly pull away, leaving just the delay-splattered kick drums to repeat amidst sickly synths, golden idiophonics, and a space age panorama of rainforest emulations. And coming to a close, phase-shifters progress towards audial psychosis and tribal drums pitter-patter against a disappearing storm of laser liquid and birdsong.

(images from my personal copy)