Disparition, 1989

As a playwright, I find that I have a particular appreciation for works that strive to take their inspiration from a theme and create an understandable aural representation of it. 1989, the new CD from Disparition (aka Jon Bernstein) offers a soundtrack of sorts for the collapse of the Ceaucescu regime in Romania. Like any good physical production would be, the sonic play 1989 is richly layered, diverse and gripping. Its story is palpable. It is built on a distinctly industrial base, its sets painted in thick, constantly shifting grays. In the music there is the darkness of the oppressed and uncertain—perhaps shown most effectively at the end of "Hands" where a funky techno beat that's just getting itself going is interrupted by the sound of a hard authoritarian hand banging on the door. But through the dark can be seen momentary glimpses of lightness ahead. Voices joined in traditional song dot the background to echo the country's pride—in its past and pride for the future to come. Sound clips of speeches offer dramatic anchors. Bernstein's passion for the subject is obvious in the careful construction and narrative flow of the disk. It is very potent when taken as a stark, wordless story. On top of that, it's a very listenable work. Kudos to Bernstein—1989 is a superb piece of music, and it makes me want to hear more of what he's got to offer.

Available at disparition.net or at CDBaby.

Computerchemist, Icon One

Dave Pearson aka Computerchemist, the artist who describes himself as "more TD than TD" charges ahead on his new disk, Icon One, to solidify his unabashed love of analogue style by unleashing a furious stream of body-rocking old-school Berlin-influenced electronic joy. The ride kicks off with the far-ranging, 20-minute title track, an opus that attains maximum velocity straight out of the gates on urgent synths and rock-steady drumming, slows itself down nicely in parts, and in some spots reaches out toward the borders of jazz for its voice. That jazz tint rears its welcome head frequently across the course of the disk. From there we get "Timethorns," a pleasing, melodic drift on a raft of sequencer lines easing past breathy synth landscapes and tribal-feel drums. "Chaos Theory" sets out as a New Age-style piano-based stroll. But about halfway through it drops a tab of acid for a few minutes of wild guitar psychedelia before recovering its original tack and finishing out quietly. "Icon Zero" keeps things sedate at its outset, long-breath chords giving way to a soft flute-and-piano melody. At the 5-minute mark it launches into a gorgeously jazzy sax-and-keys section that feels and sounds like 70s-era Pink Floyd taking Traffic into the boudoir for a sweaty tumble. When they're spent, that TD sensibility rolls back in (in a Melrose-esque way) with more driving sequencer goodness. The last four minutes of this piece are like a separate work on their own, a dark fugue wherein I hear echoes of the deepest psychedelic parts of "In A Gadda Da Vida"! (Surely this is just me!) Pearson sits down at his piano for the beautifully dramatic closer, "The Message," then sets it afire with a ripping guitar line. There's a distinct cinematic/narrative overtone to all the pieces here, the longer ones clearly sliced into movements, and the sonic imagery comes across quite clearly. It's a very tasty ride, especially for the analogue-heads among us. Icon One is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available at the Computerchemist web site and through CDBaby.

Dwight Ashley, Watermelon Sugar

In the liner notes for his first solo release, Discrete Carbon, Dwight Ashley made mention of a deeply personal unreleased song collection titled Watermelon Sugar. I recall thinking at the time that the way in which Ashley wrote about it was somewhat reverential. As with almost all of his work, he spoke of being tenuous about releasing it. It existed, but he wasn’t sure that it would ever exist publicly. Now Watermelon Sugar has arrived, and I can say that for me, it was worth the wait. Comparatively speaking, Watermelon Sugar is for the most part Ashley’s most readily accessible solo work to date. This is not to say that the disk lacks the somber, gray-palette depths that are the signature of his previous outings and, indeed, the allure of his work. Melancholy is in full dark bloom here. Every piece is like a slow, contemplative walk on a foggy morning, senses heightened and the veil between worlds slightly parted. But it’s not nearly as grim and challenging a listen as his previous release, Ataxia. There’s more of a sense of music being music, as opposed to a culled collection of odd atmospherics standing in for music—the exception being the haunting "Hallways & Corridors," which scrapes its way through with sirens, wailing babies, and a relentless bass drone, all to perfectly executed effect. But the majority of the works here are more subtle but certainly not lacking in character. The opener, "He Let It Go," flows along like a good memory, quiet, deep and lovely; the brief and almost tentative song of "Gossamer Sea"; the slow-motion drawn-out drift of "White China"; or "Recalling ’76," where a languid piano melody sighs over long, quiet chords and touches of dissonant background instruments. There’s the appropriately solemn, trumpet-driven "Taps," which brings to mind early Mark Isham; the renewal of an early version of Ashley’s duet with Tim Story, "Jealous Entropy No. 1"; the grimly dramatic urgency of "Recalcitrant Cello"; and the stunningly beautiful, if entirely too short, "Chorea," a sonic "amen" to close the disk. As always, nothing is straightforward with Dwight Ashley. Even the most seemingly simple or untouched of melodies, when listened to more closely, have a rich backdrop constructed of sounds that seem at times intent on undermining their host. What’s amazing is that they come through as constructive rather than destructive. The title track is the best example of this approach to music—careful and architectural on the one hand, anarchistic and cobbled together on the other. And always, always effective musically. Watermelon Sugar is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Nepenthe Music.

Vitaly, Looking at the Stars

Vitaly’s Looking for Stars is a New Age-style CD, ostensibly driven by a love-story narrative, that at times tends to stray a touch too far into John Tesh/Yanni territory for my tastes. On the other hand there are tracks that stand out from the remainder by virtue of their intriguing electronic treatments and solid uptempo beats. "Mechanical Feelings" pushes aside its sugary predecessor ("Universe") and bounces in on a techno-worthy bass twang over light piano and builds upward in intensity and density from there. "Far Voice" picks up the momentum and runs with it, turning lighter and jauntier along the way. It’s an oddly infectious track, although distinctly very pop-New Age. The disk reaches its funkiest point with the groove-packed pleasure, "Alien Party." It would be safe to call this one the disk’s highlight. "One" is another bit of techno-esque frenzy, catchy enough but lacking the depth to make it truly interesting. The gentle closing track "Night" is very nicely done, an easy mix of quiet piano and subtle electronic complement. Along the way Vitaly includes a couple of "Interlude" pieces that feature electronic voices warbling a bit of nonsense dialogue to push his underlying theme of a "story about two lovers looking for happiness in an ultra-modern world of machinery and electronics." While I get what he’s doing in a narrative way, it simply doesn’t work, adding nothing to the overall concept.

Available from Vitaly’s web site.

Tim Story and Hans-Joachim Roedelius, Inlandish

From the first graceful notes, it is clear that Inlandish is going to be a work of pure, calming beauty. As it moves along, however, what becomes even more clear is that it is an amazing, almost alchemical blend of growing intrigue, perfectly matching Story’s signature electronic twiddle and atmospheric manipulations with Roedelius’ straightforward, melodic piano. The opener, “As It Were,” comes across as a simple duet for piano and cello. At the edges are hints of electronic augmentation but it resides unobtrusively in the background. With the title track, those augmentative elements begin to increase—but slowly and purposefully, wrapping themselves carefully around each new piece. It’s as if Story is saying “Here, let me try...this,” and then having it all work effortlessly. The playfulness, the back-and-forth between artists, continues through each new track. I’m particularly fond of the duo of “Serpentining” and “House of Glances,” where Story makes his sound-sculptures slither, bop, and curl through Roedelius’ work like anxious animals. “Downrivers” features an unusual array of sounds—one bringing to mind a frantically worked pair of scissors—acting as percussion without actually being percussive while a distant voice sings a quiet aria. “Riddled” is the most upbeat track on the disk, intermittently throwing a crisp beat over a tireless piano riff and Story’s urgent cello. It drips with delicious drama. The final track, “Intermittent Haiku,” is contemplative, easing along on a lightly distorted, almost music-box style piano and hushed voices. It ends the disk like a cleansing sigh. Inlandish is quite simply one of the best, most perfectly constructed pieces of work I’ve heard in a while. It demands repeat listens not to discover layers or things missed on earlier passes, but simply for the sheer pleasure of hearing it again. Inlandish is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Tim Story's web site.

Various, Sounds of a Universe Overheard

The new Hypnos compilation Sounds Of a Universe Overheard is another of those disks that are hard to review cogently because it’s another of those disks where somewhere in the middle you suddenly realize just how far you’ve drifted along the soundcurrent without realizing it. And then, noting same, you try to be more mindful but within a short while you’re floating again, quite pleasantly so, and you wonder how you’re ever going to comment on something you can’t entirely recall, other than to say it was so lulling and lush that you can’t entirely recall listening to it. Hypnos head M. Griffin has done an amazing job not only of culling together from disparate sources a soft and dark blend of slow-moving ambient, but of seamlessly melding them one track to the next. There are no bumps here, no abrupt switches in styles. Griffin opens the disk with the geometic precision of Jonathan Block’s “The Language of Rocks” before giving us over to the flow. The listener is carried through the shadow-cave depths of M. Peck’s “Somna” and “Nitrous” by Freq.Magnet, the latter coming dangerously close to inducing a hypnotic state, and on through the descriptive aural text of Kirk Watson’s “Scarecrow” as it glides from its creepy beginning to a more soothing sense. From there, dreamSTATE launches into the spacey drone textures and sighing distances of “Ghost Nebula,” depositing the listener in the nervy, penumbral landscape of Seren Ffordd’s “Strange Attractor,” perhaps the darkest and sparsest track on the disk. The dark continues through Dwight Ashley’s “Behold the Trampled Wheat,” painted as always in the artist’s beautifully murky palette. This track takes the listener briefly out of the drone zone toward the end with some gracefully orchestrated string sounds. Justin Vanderberg dials it all back down with the smooth, drawn-out washes of “Infection.” Glimmers of light peek through the well-drawn shadows across the span of Igneous Flame’s gracefully soaring “Pandora” and Tau Ceti brings the disk to a gentle close with the soft fluidity of “Float.” Universe is dense, rich, and heavily layered with sonic imagery. I cannot call out a highlight here, despite the inclusion of several artists I rank as my personal favorites, because the disk simply has to be taken as a whole—a whole and wholly engaging voyage through a universe which does, indeed, deserve to overheard. Often. Sounds of a Universe Overheard is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Hypnos.

Mara's Torment

I've been fighting for a while now to encapsulate the pleasure of listening to the eponymous 10-year retrospective from Mara's Torment (Rik Maclean) into a review. Let me start by saying this is most certainly a must-have disk. Maclean pulls together a decade's worth of softly wrapped ear candy that blends downtempo calm with varied, silken ambient textures and soothing melodies. The ride is graceful and intriguing from track to track. “New Song” kicks the disk off in pure style with a low-key groove and a multitude of sonic critters crawling around behind its slow bassy twang. Especially effective here is a texture that sounds, for lack of a better description, like Maclean playing a bedspring run through light reverb. "Skin Irritant" moves slowly as a sigh, loaded with subtle sonic narrative. The lazily romantic vibraphone sounds on "The Eyes of Fairuza Balk" are lulling and beautiful as they punctuate the fluid melody coursing beneath them. There's so much to enjoy here...the inhale/exhale simplicity of "Sweep v.1"; the hushed, whistling drone of the wonderfully titled "I Name This Llama after You"; the spaceship-worthy electronic burble and gathered sounds blending artfully across "...down to go." In short, there's simply not a bad track to be found here. Maclean's a true artist, able to morph and adapt his style without ever feeling forced. Perfect in a shuffle, yet also feeling, in the way it so gracefully bridges styles and influences, like a shuffle all its own. This disk is certainly a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available at the Mara's Torment web site.

Tor Lundvall, The Seasons Unfold (Sampler)

On this four-song offering, Lundvall presents another round of wispy, ethereal and marginally over-contemplative pieces in his “ghost ambient” style. The highlight of this short ride is “29,” a sung piece that puts me in mind of the Gary Jules cover of “Mad World.” Overall this disk is a 50-50 shot. “29” and the quavering, bass-pulsing “November’s Fields” are engaging. The other two tracks, not as much. That’s nine good minutes out of fifteen.

Available from Strange Fortune.

Con_Sense, Compass

Kudos to Ben Fleury-Steiner at Gears of Sand for consistently finding superb new artists. This time around it’s Con_Sense with Compass—a rich, deep work that seamlessly melds dark ambient textures with irresistible beats for a fully immersive listening experience. The disk begins with the sinewy electronic slither of “Threshold,” a thick undergrowth of drums and jumbled sounds punctuated with sudden balalaika-like bursts. “Tarika” ups the beat ante with a mechanical clank-and-throb over the rise and fall of ghostly vocals, and begins a gentle Middle-Eastern vibe that carries into the wailing voices and percussive atmosphere of “Gathering From Step Beyond.” From there, “Structures” insinuates itself quietly with a jazzy downtempo beat and hushed tones like half-heard secrets. The fantastically hypnotic “La-U-Tir” charges in next like its forceful cousin, powered by a driving beat and a barrage of electro-birthed sounds. Halfway through the percussion drops away suddenly, and it’s like a reprieve, however temporary, from a forcible groove. This is the pure highlight of the disk. The lengthy drone of “Sirius” then moves in slowly, a welcome sonic balm that calms like a long, soul-felt exhalation. Halfway through an easy beat rises to complement the quiet base without disturbing the relaxed feel it’s imparted. This is a beautifully meditative stretch, time well spent inside the sound. Then it’s back into high gear with the potent bass twang and long-hanging pads of “Compass Error” as they swirl upward in an ever-more-complex spiral of sound. The disk closes with “Starry Sky,” replete with appropriately twittering, glistening sequencer lines. This is a disk that will most certainly get a lot of repeat play, and offers enough depth and layering of sound to reward subsequent listens. Have I gushed about Compass enough yet? Clearly, this is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Gears of Sand.

William Edge, Soundchamber

When I last reviewed a CD from William Edge, I noted that often it seems like his intentions don’t want to meld smoothly with one another. Going into Soundchamber I hoped I wouldn’t find that again—but to a fair degree, I do. There are points where my mind trips up on what, to my ears, sounds like a misplaced beat wedged in where it doesn’t belong. The idea for any disk is to create a bump-free experience, but I don’t get that with Soundchamber. Prime example—even as I’m writing this I’m listening to the start of “The End of Galaxy 10.” While I readily admit I’m no music expert, it sounds like right off the bat the drumbeat and the cadence of the piano are just ever so slightly off. The opener, “Darfur,” gave me the same sensation at times, as does the out-of-place tinkling piano in the otherwise lovely “Adagio.” Moments like these—though I readily admit I may not be well-schooled enough in musical structure to get what Edge is doing—pull me out of the experience and thereby lessen it. In spots, particularly in the latter part of the disk, Edge gets it fairly right. “Love Robot” and “The Night Outside My Portal Window” come through for him. The synth-wash-meets-jazz-piano of “Forever Tomorrow” is pulled off smoothly, a sense that carries over into “Signal from Star Cerbus.” As always with works that don’t particularly strike me, I suggest you head for Edge’s site for a listen.

Available from CD Baby.