Nkisi: 7 Directions (LP, UIQ, January 2019)

I have to admit that I underestimated this record on my first casual listen through. Take the first track, called simply I: the thing that leapt out at me was the floaty synth line and the distorted vocal sample that scream Artificial Intelligence era IDM; which lazy pigeon-holing misses the vital fact that something very different is going on with the drum programming, which brings together two rival heartbeat-like pulses, a skittering Geiger-counter click, a bassy throb, a couple of sci-fi laser-type noises, and a bunch of other things, all built into a polyrhythmic structure that is complex without being showy. (I’m not quite sure how I missed this first time around, since it’s the drums that dominate the track for its first 90 seconds until the main melody kicks in. I guess I just wasn’t pay close enough attention.)

The rest of the album is along similar lines. Elements of II remind me of Autechre, III of perhaps Polygon Window-era Aphex, and so on. The synth on V is pure …I Care Because You Do. And yet these obvious early-to-mid-nineties Warp influences are paired with these crazily fresh drumlines.

And so to the bio. I’m often ambivalent about the abstract concepts said to inspire dance music records, but this really seems to make sense to me. Nkisi, aka Melika Ngombe Kolongo, is Congolese by birth and Belgian by upbringing. Her moniker refers to a spirit in the Kongo religion (or, perhaps significantly, an object inhabited by a spirit). And the album is dedicated to Kimbwandende Kia Fu-Kiau Bunseki, a scholar of Bantu culture and cosmology and someone who has written about Africa’s relationship with western values and structures and the role the continent has in shaping the future of civilization. (To its credit, there are no theses in the liner notes, only the dedication. Following that lead is strictly an optional extra, but I found it kind of fascinating.)

It is a truism, of course, that modern dance music is a layer cake sandwiching together many strata of European and African heritage. What this album does is make that concept come thrillingly alive. It’s got the familiar notes that draw me in and then something fresh and utterly compelling that keep me coming back. And if this is the sound of the future then I say “yes, please!”

I bought this from Juno. They call it Experimental / Electronic.

My albums of 2018

Annual round-up time! Lots of lovely rekkids this year (I think I say that every year, but it’s true every year!). In the classical/drone/ambient space, I loved records from Clarice Jensen, Lubomyr Melnyk, and Sarah Davachi. In the nice gentle techno space, there were corkers from ASC and (stretching the genre-bucket a bit, here) Automatisme. In the electronic ambient space, I swooned over releases from Abul Mogard and M Geddes Gengras. Elsewhere, I’m sad to miss out albums from Atom™ & Lisokot, IVVVO, and especially Maarja Nuut & Ruum. But the winners are…

  • Alva Noto & Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Glass. An ambient masterpiece played live on a house that, when it finishes, makes me feel like I’ve been holding my breath for the last half an hour.
  • Anna von Hausswolff’s Dead Magic. Drone rock with pipe organs, what’s not to love? It’s got an epic power and also some great tunes and all-in-all it’s a cracking good listen.
  • Christina Vantzou’s No. 4. A richly varied classical/drone work of huge invention, with a fantastic control when marshalling the talents of her musicians, a wonderful sense of texture, and a great knack for dropping in the perfect dose of melody at the perfect moment. The whole thing is just delightful. (Her joint record with John Also Bennett gets an honorable mention, too.)
  • Eartheater’s IRISIRI. A feminist avant-pop classic which builds disparate and not always easy elements into a coherent whole without seeming forced, and does it absolutely brilliantly. This is a record that I’m sure I’ll be coming back to over and over again for a long time.
  • Head Technician’s Profane Architecture. Big and chunky and bouncy and fluid and basically really good retro dark acid techno. And, in case you’re not already sold, it’s themed around brutalist architecture.

Happy New Year, y’all!

Eartheater: IRISIRI (LP, PAN, December 2018)

Ooh, I’d forgotten how great this is. I streamed this a bunch when it came out in… was it July? I pre-ordered the vinyl, which I think was due to come out in September, and then I gradually forgot about it as the physical release date got pushed back. So this turning up was a lovely little Christmas present.

This is one to file under “really frigging hard to categorize”. Metadata-wise I’ve landed on avant pop, but I’m not sure that’s really a genre. Alexandra Drewchin mixes the synths up with everything from harps (played by Marilu Donovan) to strings to occasional drum machines and guitars, and her vocals range between proper singing, moaning, yelping, whispering, computer-generated loops, samples, and all sorts besides. Stylistically, it can flip in a moment from prettily, floatily melodic to twitchily abstract and back, or even drop into thumpingly industrial, and sound perfectly natural the whole time. And it does all of this in a way that seems perfectly natural. The lyrics, which are more fragments than verse-chorus-verse, have a spikily feminist theme running through them (memorable refrains include “inhale baby pink, exhale red” and “computer! / this body is a chemistry mystery / these tits are just a side-effect / you can’t compute her / you can’t compute her / you don’t decide for my chemical”) and are sometimes disconcertingly strange (“there’s so much… stuff coming out of my skirt”). And although they seem scattergun on first listen, somehow they add up to a coherent whole (a sample of what sounds like a child chanting “okay, go! nobody’s looking, nobody’s looking!”, which would seem random by itself, gains layers of meaning from its context) and rise above sloganeering.

Building these disparate and not always easy elements into a coherent whole without seeming forced is a very rare talent, and Drewchin does it absolutely brilliantly. This is a record that I’m sure I’ll be coming back to over and over again for a long time.

I bought this from Boomkat. They call it Electronic.

Lubomyr Melnyk: Fallen Trees (LP, Erased Tapes, December 2018)

Ukrainian-born pianist Lubomyr Melnyk came up with what he called ‘continuous music’ sometime in the seventies, but seems to have been having a bit of a moment recently, at least in parts through his involvement with Erased Tapes. This is my first real exposure to his work, and, boy, what an experience it is.

As far as I can tell, ‘continuous music’ means playing dense cascade of notes really fast without let-up, with a healthy usage of the sustain pedal. It’s obviously inspired by American minimalism, but it’s also quite melodic — much more so than, say, Charlemagne Palestine’s Strumming Music, which seems an obvious reference point. This record also includes a little bit of chanting (mostly from Japanese label-mate Hatis Noit) and a little bit of cello (from Anne Müller) — but it still has a much more direct purity than, say, Bing and Ruth (and, yes, I imagine it’s much more likely that David Moore is influenced by Melnyk than the other way around).

The A-side has three pieces, the sparkling Requiem for a Fallen Tree, the thunderous Son of Parasol, and the comparatively conventional Barcarolle (which even has, like, gaps between some of the notes! I have to say that I wouldn’t choose to listen to a record that’s all like this, but it’s a nice palate cleanser). The B-side is a single five-part piece called Fallen Trees, it covers a range of styles and emotions, and it’s absolutely stonking. In a just world, Melnyk would be filthy rich on the moolah from his finger sponsors. Ah well. Back in the real world, let’s hope his eighth decade brings us more records as good as this one.

I bought this from Norman Records. They call it Neo-classical / Classical / Orchestral and Drone / Kosmische / Minimal.

M Geddes Gengras: Light Pipe (CD, Room 40, October 2018)

The older I get, the less tolerant of excess I find myself. Which means that if you’re going to release a record that’s nearly two and a half hours long, you’d better have a good reason for it. Simply having a lot of stuff to get out isn’t enough; you need to be doing something that is only possible over this kind of length.

Luckily, that’s exactly what this wonderful work of melodic ambient does. There are swooshy strings, there’s fuzzy guitar, there’s occasional new-agey chimy things and the like. In passages, it meanders; in passages, it rumbles; in passages, it soars; in passages, it sighs. Take Water Study, for example, which starts with a kind of reverb-heavy anthem which reaches almost ecstatic heights (and which reminds me pleasantly of Fennesz’s Bécs)… and then it fades away to something much more contemplative, and we’re left with memories echoing around like a song in a magical cave. Each of the CDs here is one continuous piece (the first is described as pieces for live performance, indoors, and the second, outdoors — I confess that I can’t spot the difference). And, through some mysterious process, the power and the mood and the sheer loveliness build and build over the duration, and I end up not wanting it to stop. A rare case of more is more, perhaps, and a bloody brilliant record as well.

I bought this from Boomkat. They call it Modern Classical / Ambient.

Maarja Nuut & Ruum: Muunduja (LP, 130701, October 2018)

On the off chance that your knowledge of the Estonian experimental music scene is as non-existent as mine, here’s an introduction: Maarja Nuut is a fiddle player and folk singer, and Ruum (aka Hendrik Kaljujarv) is an electronic musician who cut his teeth on old Soviet analogue synths. This collaboration appears to be the first major international release for either of them, and it’s a pretty damned impressive one, as well. Half the tracks are pretty intense instrumental numbers, with Nuut’s strings swirling around Ruum’s beats and keys; on the other tracks, Nuut also sings, her voice clear and compelling. There’s a genuine folky feel here, it feels not too far off the sort of thing you could imagine being belted out in the corner of a rural inn, with much lusty dancing, and the vocals are often layered as if being sung in a round. But pretty maids and spring flowers this is not: this is in the tradition that speaks of long, dark winters, and death never far away. There’s a subtly sinister edge to much of the music, and the tone of the lyrics is set by the striking opening number Hanad Kadunud which (the translation on the sleeve reveals) is about a farmhand who has lost her geese… spoiler alert, it does not end well for the geese. This album is powerful, distinctive, and thoroughly enjoyable.

I bought this from Boomkat. They call it Modern Classical / Ambient.

ASC: The Outer Limits (2LP, Auxiliary, December 2018)

This is simple but beautifully effective. There are four generous slices of, basically, ambient techno (clocking in at 53 minutes in total). It’s a little bit dubby in places, a little bit bassy in places, a little bit Artificial Intelligence in places — actually, to my ear, it’s quite a lot Artificial Intelligence in places, but I don’t mind that. All in all, a laid back and thoroughly delightful trip into deep space.

I bought this from Norman Records. They call it Electronic / Electro / IDM / EBM and Techno / Dub Techno / Experimental House.

Giulio Aldinucci: Borders and Ruins (LP, Karl Records, September 2018)

This is a rather awesome and intense bit of ambient. Each track sounds like it has been spun out of a single moment of classical music: stretched, looped, processed, snap, crackled, and popped. The source material includes sacred-sounding choral music, avant-garde-sounding strings, organs. It’s powerful stuff, with a real glacial heft, but at its core there’s a big, soft, warm, lovely hug.

I bought this from the label’s Bandcamp page.

Sarah Davachi: Gave In Rest (LP, Ba Da Bing!, September 2018)

It has to be said, Davachi isn’t going out of her way to make this accessible. The opening track, Auster, consists of eight chords, each sustained for over a minute, played I assume on some kind of analogue synth, with the natural fluctuations of the means of production providing the only variation (well, it’s possible that by about no. 6 there’s some other instrument creeping in part way through, but if so it’s very subtle). If you’re not put off by that stark intro (and I’ll admit that I nearly was — well, by that and by a memory that I didn’t seem to quite get her last record, All My Circles Run, either) then you’re in for a real treat. The rest of the album is comparatively melodic, albeit at a deeply sedate pace. When side one finishes with an elongated and processed sung note, the whole thing seems to make some kind of sense. Davachi combines analogue synthesis, traditional instruments (everything from organs to piano to strings to recorder), and (word-free) voice in a way that sounds completely natural, blended by a process involving tape delays and choral effects and so on. (The violinist is Jessica Moss: probably best known for her work in Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra, she also released Pools Of Moss last year, which was at least half brilliant.) Inspired by spending time in churches and thinking about spiritual music, the result is haunting, evocative, meditative, transportive, and beautiful. Oh, and the closing track, Waking, reminds me of Eduard Artemyev’s soundtracks for Andrei Tarkovsky, especially the reworking of Bach for Solaris, which only makes me love it all more.

I bought this from Boomkat. They call it Modern Classical / Ambient.

Tim Hecker: Konoyo (2xLP, Kranky, September 2018)

I have a bad habit of using Tim Hecker comparisons in this blog as kind of a lazy shorthand for a really full kind of ambient drone, the sound that fills the spectrum, fills the sound-stage, and fills every last cubic millimetre of your brain cavity with a giant pulsating fuzz monster. This is largely based on a phenomenal 2010 live show and on 2011’s brilliant Ravedeath, 1972. And it’s kind of embarrassingly out of date: with its moments of sparseness and its recognizable instruments 2013’s Virgins was quite different, and 2016’s Love Streams even more so. (I’m not sure whether it’s because that gig had made such an impression on me that I couldn’t get my head around the change of direction, or what, but I didn’t rate either of those two albums enough to actually buy them.)

Well, maybe this is the record to change all that for me. It has intense wall-of-sound bits, but also plenty of stripped-back bits, actual quiet bits. The ‘recognizable instruments’ element here consists of the Japanese courtly form Gagaku, played by the members of Tokyo Gakuso on hichiriki, shō, ryūteki, and uchimono (percussion), plus Kara-Lis Coverdale on keys and Mariel Roberts on cello. But you still shouldn’t come here looking for a rollicking good melody: the key elements here are the texture and the dynamics. And while, okay, I obviously don’t adore this like I adore Ravedeath, it is a very pleasurable chunk of noise, especially the serene 15-minute closer Across To Anoyo. And you know what? Despite the more restrained and collaborative approach, this sounds not really Western or Eastern but very very recognizably Tim Hecker.

I bought this from Boomkat. They call it Modern Classical / Ambient.