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Computerchemist, Aqual Measure

Dave Pearson is stuck in the 70s, and that’s exactly where I like him. Creating music under the name Computerchemist, Pearson is one of the foremost flagholders for solid Berlin-school-style jazz-rock, perfecting his blend of raw guitar work and uber-precise sequencer lines. And now he's come along with Aqual Measure. Forget all the allusions to the obvious inspirations at work here. Computerchemist is his own artist, forging exciting new paths through a well-trodden musical wood, and Aqual Measure is another very listenable Computerchemist homage to the great music Pearson cut his musical eyeteeth on and continues to worship. The opening track, “Tantric Race,” should not be listened to while driving as it will, in fact, cause you to get a speeding ticket. It's just one of those songs—your pulse races along with the music, a classic blend of anxious, angular sequencer lines twisting around each other and a delicate synth flute. Then, about four minutes into it, Pearson kicks the blocks off the guitar and just cuts loose. Aqual Measure is different from earlier Computerchemist releases in large part due to Pearson’s decision to put his guitar work more to the forefront. This is a decision I wholeheartedly endorse. By and large, it's aggressive, razor-slash rock guitar, all attitude and energy. But there's soul here, too. Check out the slow, Middle Eastern-influenced, heartfelt wail that forms the center of "Mirage." Even more so, there's buckets of the stuff to be had when Pearson calls on guitarist Uwe Cremer (aka Level Pi) to handle the chops chores on the album's title track. Cremer replies by baring his bluesy soul in long, sweat-soaked solos. Pearson assails the strings one last time in the closing moments of the final track, “Atlantic Rift” and gives off the simple feel of a garage band hell-bent on making it big. I love the earnest, honest, balls-out power at play here. (And it ends absolutely perfectly.) In between the guitar attacks, Pearson constructs cool melodies and sonic landscapes of classic synthesizer-crafted beauty. He's an incredible instrumentalist and a versatile musician. Start to finish, there's a lot to like in Aqual Measure. It's much more than just another trip down an electronic memory lane. This is solid music for now, inspired by then. And it's another Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD from Computerchemist.

Available at CD Baby.

Jeffrey Koepper, Quadranteon

After four albums of tightly constructed, sequencer-based pieces crafted on restored analog synthesizers, Jeffrey Koepper has apparently decided to give himself a little more time and space to create longer tightly constructed, sequencer-based pieces crafted on restored analog synthesizers for his new release, Quadranteon. All the standard Koepper memes are here: cleanly pulsing, layered sequencer lines that weave around themselves with serpentine smoothness; spacey rushes of electro-wind bridging gaps; long, breathy spacemusic pads—all bearing that certain sonic seventies-ish something that marks the instruments at hand as coming from another time. What’s different on this outing is the length of the four tracks. Koepper has essentially written four short symphonies for an analog orchestra. Each piece here, titled only by its “Part,” glides through its own set of movements, telling its tale and expressing its fluid identities over the course of (respectively) 16, 20, 27 and 9 minutes. Koepper flows one part directly into the next for a seamless 70-minute ride. It’s a pleasure listening to him forge new directions in which to take the very distinct sound and feel of this subgenre of music and keep it fresh. At the same time, the easy familiarity that his sound evokes—perhaps particularly among (ahem) older listeners—helps to ground the experience and provide a nice point of reference. (And the references in question, which are obvious and well-noted in pretty much every Koepper review, are given their proper homage.) I particularly like the hypnotic “Part II,” which gives it first 10 minutes over to an unabashedly repetitious three-chord flow that eventually melts into a brain-massaging stretch of long-held pads that waver and warble like some nefarious alien device in an old sci-fi movie. You will lose chunks of time to this section of the CD because it’s going to lull you into a glorious nap-like stupor. Enjoy it. (Luckily, it gives way to the high-energy pulse and urgency of Part III, so you’ll wake right back up.) It goes without saying that fans of sequencer music will do better with Quadranteon than those looking for something less (apparently) clinical and programmed. But if you’re a Koepper fan and an analog appreciator, like me, those are exactly the qualities you’re looking for. In that, Quadranteon delivers nicely.

Available from Jeffrey Koepper’s web site.

Life Audience, Waves & Particles

If you’re familiar with Morcheeba and you’re listening to Life Audience’s new CD, Waves and Particles, you will undoubtedly find similarities between the two—loungy, on-the-rocks-cool backbeats and grooves that twist and float like expensive cigarette smoke, topped with undeniably sexy, Billie-Holiday-edged, come-hither female vocals. Or, at least, you’ll try to make these comparisons but you’ll probably be much more occupied with the fact that you’re melting into your chair, becoming nothing more than a big puddle of happily relaxed goo. That’s the overall effect of Waves and Particles: you will absolutely chill right out, and you’ll have a good time doing it. Steve Gridley and Kirsty Morris are a sub-dynamic duo effortlessly dripping their way into your ears with deftly and deeply built layers of soothing, sensuous sound. Let me go into somewhat uncharted review territory (for me) here by saying, flat-out, that if this CD doesn’t make you want to fuck, you’re already dead. Aphrodisiac applicability aside, there are tons of little touches at work here that give Waves and Particles a lot of depth and personality. The vibraphone melody playing across “Sunday Morning”; the gorgeous guitar work from Morris that informs “While the Sun Was Sleeping” and especially “Blue Skies Indeed,” an instrumental track where an easy folk guitar finds itself tripping through a funky electric backdrop from Gridley; the lazy warble over slow piano chords and a simple snare beat in "Buddha Wears Headphones." And then there's Morris’ creamy, dreamy voice easing and oozing across Gridley's electronics on some tracks, making this disc one you just need to come back to. She’s got phrasing (check out “You Got Me Movin”), she’s got attitude, she’s got that little edge of knowing vulnerability that seems to define so many classic jazz singers. Track after track, Waves and Particles offers up deep sounds, thoughtfully constructed and absolutely addictive. I can't stop listening to it. Which makes it a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Norwood Films.

Wes Willenbring, Somewhere, Someone Else

Distance and drama play important roles in Wes Willenbring’s debut CD from Hidden Shoal Records, Somewhere, Someone Else. The distance comes in the form of long-fading notes that Willenbring floats off to horizon’s edge, their paths lazily crossing like wind-blown balloons; the drama seeps in through his beautifully informed narrative style, thick with the emotion of things unspoken, unexpressed. It’s difficult to try to discuss individual tracks here because for one thing, they flow very nicely together despite the breaks between songs. For another, the emotion, the deeper thoughtfulness in each song lulls you into a state of contemplation, if not self-reflection, and your mind is set in motion by the feelings each piece stirs within you, pulling out threads of memory—and by the time you’ve faced what’s going on in your own thoughts Willenbring’s on to the next song and he’s doing it again. Each piece is built on Willenbring’s very calm playing on guitar and piano, but these more tactile melodic elements soon evaporate into rising tides of thick, gentle, sometimes atonal drones. It’s quite like discovering you’re on a very small boat that someone has pushed out to sea while you were napping. Whichever song is playing, you’ll awake to a new, intriguing and oddly beautiful landscape that’s both familiar and just slightly unusual. And you can’t stop looking at it. Put Somewhere, Someone Else on repeat, sit in the dark—or, more appropriately, in the light of single flickering candle—and just allow Willenbring to take you along for the ride. Start to finish, this suite of minimalist tone-poems will not only give you reason to think, it will give you many reasons to listen again. Somewhere, Someone Else is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Hidden Shoal Records.

Sky, The Twins

Joining the ranks of those who have pulled out their old tapes and files for a fresh dusting and updating, New Age artist Sky pairs two older CDs, Mesa Times and Silent Ears, as The Twins. As with many such resurrections, the result is something of a mixed bag. Mesa Times pits often-quite-good synthesizer drifts against heavy-handed, almost forcibly emotive neo-classical pieces, with the former easily coming out on top. Sky is a very good musician—the elements are here, and more devoted New Age fans may find it much more to their liking than I. For my tastes, Sky hits the mark with his electronic/spacemusic fare: “Space Age,” “Choir Space” and “Space #12,” for example, are solid synthesizer flows that work largely because they’re nicely understated. The other tracks, for me, just try too hard. Of the two discs, Silent Ears is far and away the stronger. Influenced by a trip to India, Sky pulled together a work combining gentle instrumentation and natural sounds and field recordings, then fired up his bouzouki (along with sitar and harmonica—an interesting combo, indeed!) and played over it. The result is a work that simply exudes honesty in its creation, a far more organic, from-the-soul feel than Mesa Times possesses. The first track that brings all the elements together, “The Crow,” is beautiful, brilliant and engaging. Sky manages to create the feel of a small group of musicians gathered for a little improv that quickly picks up speed and depth. The title track is a gorgeous 8-minute ride borne on Sky’s beautiful guitar work, the chords fading during breathless dramatic pauses between rushes of phrasing. Elegant. The too-short “Leh” brings a hint of folksy bluegrass to the mix over a very soothing natural backdrop. “Winter of Love” is soft and cinematic, a romantic letter played very simply on strings with little to no augmentation. It clearly comes from the heart. I’ll be honest—I listened to Mesa Times first and it made me a little leery about putting in Silent Ears. But I’m glad I did. Of the two Twins here, Silent Ears is the CD I’ll certainly come back to.

Available from Music of Florence.

Collapsar, Beyond the Event Horizon

From its very first note, Beyond the Event Horizon makes it clear that the listener is in for a grim, beatless, this-is-what-the-void-is-like interpretive ride on the darker side of ambient. And you know, it’s a better ride than I expected it to be. Granted, what’s here is a set of spacewind howls, rumbling bass drones and the occasional sound of what could be distressed hull metal, but Collapsar (aka Thibaud Thaunay) manages to stitch them together in a way that never quite gets old or repetitive. I found myself at times wishing there were no breaks between tracks—a single, long-form narrative may have better suited the idea, giving the listener no immediate way of emerging from the darkness. Still, the six tracks work both separately and together, thematically. I’m sure that this wasn’t part of the intended idea, but (for me) at low volume Beyond... can actually be somewhat calming—the wind lowered to a white-noise hiss, the drones filtering in through your ears like subsonic suggestion...but it will never quite allow you to completely relax. Collapsar’s sense of deep-space menace remains. For a dark, purely abstract vision of unexplored space, grab your ticket to go Beyond the Event Horizon.

Available from Malignant Records.

Wolfskin, O Ajuntar das Sombras

The first cold drone of “The Body of Chaos,” the opening track from Wolfskin’s farewell CD, O Ajuntar das Sombras, sent a chill up my spine—a chill that stayed there, track after track, burrowing constantly deeper. This is an elegant piece of dark ambient, a funereal cloak of sound crafted in whole cloth from shadow and fear, a parchment of thick minimalist washes across which composer Johan Aernus writes a grim tale with a compelling sonic narrative. And everything that Aernus adds in, works. The hairs on your neck will stand up at the whispered voice in “Cart of Light”–part incantation, part deathbed recollection, slithering through your ears with an uncomfortable intimacy, leaving cold dread in its wake. The track becomes a memory of war, and the voice tells us the crux of the tale: “Victory and defeat...are nearly the same thing.” It’s an amazing piece of work. A host of unusual touches help make O Ajuntar... so compelling. Keening bagpipes (a repeating motif) and powerful drums in “Yew Column” impart the feel of some savage, murderous ritual. Throaty voices chant and drone like the forgotten prayers of some dark mass or, as in the case of “Iron Unfolded” where a strong beat punctuates the voice, like a council of war held around a campfire. As I noted with Collapsar, when Aernus pares his sound back to bare-bones drones and the sigh of a grim, conjured wind, as in “Rex Sacrorum” and “A World of Veils,” it borders on soothing. But soothing as in, this is a very soothing graveyard on a cold, moonless night. Perhaps “lulling” is a better word. You may let your guard down slightly as the drones work their way through your consciousness, but there's always an edge to the sound to keep you on your toes. This disk truly comes to life when Aernas is in full narrator mode and there’s a lot going on in your ears. His attention to detail is stunning. The smallest of sounds seems purposefully placed. Everything contributes; nothing detracts. I’m not normally one to listen to truly dark ambient, but O Ajuntar das Sombras is a work I look forward to delving into more deeply because so far, each time I've listened I've heard just a bit more.

Available from Malignant Records.

Hyios, Consuetudines

Charging in on the back of a snarling industrial steed, Germany’s Hyios infiltrates and commandeers your head with the relentless assault of Consuetudines. This disk made me want to armor up, paint my face in the blood of my enemies and go to war. Listening to this disk is like getting a sonic injection of testosterone and savagery. There is nothing easy to listen to here. Hyios grates, scrapes, slams, thunders, crashes and rends his way through the seven pieces here, the sound palette coming across entirely in dead-soul blacks, void-dark purples and shadowy greys. And it works—incredibly well. This is not a disk you will listen to. This is a disk that will pin you by the throat and demand you hear what it has to say. Surrender and enjoy.

Available from Malignant Records.

Terra Sancta, Disintegration

I think that if I’m ever trapped in a howling sandstorm, it will sound a lot like Terra Sancta’s Disintegration, and probably have a similar feel. This is aggressive yet minimalistic dronework, a sort of proto-musical coarse sandpaper that artist Gregg Good rubs against your soul for an hour. Respites are few and far between, and it takes a dedicated listener to take on Disintegration in a single go. Looking at it solely from a dark ambient standpoint, it’s a well-made disc. It does what it sets out to do, it’s thematically solid and actually fairly compelling even for someone who’s not big into dark, like me. I like what Good’s doing here in terms of building up his assault, really leaning into it and staying on it, then throttling back to give the listener a few moments to try to get their bearings—before just cramming the grind right back into their face. The whole thing is flavored with isolation, dissociation and a bit of despair. If you like your noise dark and relentless, give Disintegration a shot.

Available from Malignant Records.

Arrocata, Desert Electric

Robert Straub offers up a fresh set of landscape-inspired meditations on his latest disc, Desert Electric. I would say, by way of compliment, that this CD should be played at a fairly normal volume because at low volume it’s so superbly subtle that it quite fades away. Without question, on your first listen--or first several--you need to set this disc to loop and let it run to allow it to gradually transform your space, your breathing and your mindset. I had this disc running for four hours straight, in headphones, and was content to stay inside of it. It never wore out its welcome, never forced its way into my head, and the transition from end to starting again is marked only by the slightly more dramatic touches of the opening track, “Mirage.” Straub does a very good job of bookending the disc with strong sounds or feelings, like the often-dissonant drama of “Mirage” and the electric ripple that slides through the beginning of “Petrified Forest.” Mid-journey, electronic burble that feels like an alien vocal sample in “Voices in the Window” gently pokes at your brain to make sure you’ve not fallen too far into relaxation. Beyond that, Straub’s shifting-sand flows, night-sky glimmer and horizon’s-edge chords make for a calming, deeply interesting voyage. It’s a soother, for sure, but Straub’s also enough of a craftsman to make sure there’s a lot to hear if you listen closely. And you should. This is an incredibly graceful work, an exercise in effective understatement. Once again, Arrocata has created a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from CDBaby.

Steve Roach, Destination Beyond

I’ve been particularly enjoying Steve Roach’s focus over his last few releases. Since his rediscovery of analog modular synths back on Possible Planet, he’s been steadily working toward the seamless blending of the distinct geometrical pulses from those older rigs and airy, cloud-motion drifts. Since Arc of Passion he’s been in full-on refining mode, and the sound has become more self-sure and cohesive through Landmass and now into this latest CD. The single long-form piece here clearly culls some sound design from the elegantly immersive Dynamic Stillness, with Roach weaving sequencer lines over those spacious harmonic chord structures. The journey this time begins in quiet for a few minutes before Roach begins to slowly percolate the surface of the sound. Beat and non-beat trade predominance across this 73-minute voyage, the beats coercing a bit of head-bobbing and foot-tapping from the listener, and the non-beats just allowing one to focus on sound and breathing. Like all of his one-track works, Destination Beyond takes its end as a new beginning, and this CD will loop absolutely effortlessly. In its scope and tone, Destination Beyond beautifully bridges the breadth of Roach’s career. The sequencer work carries echoes of his high-energy early releases and his love of hands-on sound creation, while the breathier, more meditative spaces are the signature of Roach’s adeptness at taking us quietly inside ourselves. There is a fair amount of welcome familiarity here as Roach digs deep into his libraries, and yet it is also wonderfully fresh and eminently listenable. Destination Beyond is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available at Steve Roach's web site and Projekt Records.

Jamie Craig, Illumination

The music offered up on Jamie Craig's Illumination probably sits just a bit over the fence for what I normally review--certainly much more of a smooth jazz/New Age blend than anything else--but at the same time, since I did a stint as a jazz DJ in college and because I find the disc fairly engaging, I figured I wasn't too far removed from the music to offer a cogent review. Plus, he sent me a t-shirt.

I hadn't thought about Nelson Rangell in a while, but that was one of my first mental associations when listening to Illumination, that sort of sax-based, airy jazz. Cfraig plays well, and is open enough to note that all the instruments here are synth-based. That fact doesn't dilute that when the music here is good, it's quite good. But that's the thing--llumination feels uneven in the long run, like Craig had a few solid tunes, but not enough to pack out a CD, so he pulled out some lesser efforts to fill that space. The difference in the two is very noticeable. It’s a matter of the depth of sound, a stronger sense of effort and craftsmanship delineating some from the others. For example, "Lost & Found” kicks off the disc nicely,driven by a Ponty-esque violin a funk beat, and a solid, strolling bass line. "Midtown Saturday Night” is a good jazz narrative that feels a lot like a Steely Dan bridge. It get a little repetitious in spots, but works overall. The strongest track here is the beautiful "To Nola With Love.” I especially like Craig’s halting piano work here. He plays with the rhythm, chopping it in spots to give the feel of something missing, something being just a bit off. Thematically, it’s perfect. This is very clearly a personal track for Craig. “San Juan” is an episodic, Caribbean-flavored stroll that changes tone and feel over its course. "H20zone” grooves right along with its own bad self, upbeat but chilled courtesy of some soulful sax melodies. “Guardian Angel” is a soft ballad with a strong Shadowfax undertone, churning up memories of Chuck Greenberg. (If you're wondering about how many references I've dropped here, I'm just trying to keep pace--in Craig's press release, he knocks out 33 different influences in two pages!) The remainder of the tracks didn't work as well for me, but overall Illuminations is a strong piece of smooth jazz that I have been keeping in my daily mix. For a change of pace, check it out for yourself.

Available at Jamie Craig's myspace page.

Geoffrey Armes, Hemisphere

Inventive, engaging, and absolutely enjoyable. That’s my summation of Geoffrey Armes’ new CD, Hemisphere. Downright jazzy and spiced with world-beat overtones, Hemisphere is a unique experiment in music. The tracks here began their life as improvised pieces performed live to accompany a dance troupe’s performance, with Armes playing keys, synth and a Roland Handsonic for percussion. He then took the improv’d tracks into his studio and added to and augmented them, deepening the sound and truly enhancing the original ideas. Part of what makes this interesting is that Armes keeps the room’s environmental sounds in the tracks. Voices, applause, background sounds—they all become part of the experience of each song, a reminder of the stepping-off point. By and large, Hemisphere is a good collection of interesting blends of style. I like the pairing of an almost military-cadence drum with a techno feel at the beginning of “The Neighborhood Dubhouse” and the Blue Note-style cool that washes through “Light Fantastic Trip.” In some tracks ("Light Fantastic," for example) it seems that Armes feels the need to add too much. These pieces lose their way a bit, but the elements are there, and solid. It just the sense of missing the mark by a hair. Conversely, when he hits it spot on, it’s an intense pleasure to listen to. “Endless Mansion” is such a track, with a strutting bossanova base and snappy Latin percussion. The hard funk of “Geology” is peppered with hard-charging guitar work, a meaty bass line and solid 70s-jazz electric keys. “With Clarity” is a great closer to the disc, deep and playfully uptempo with more of those background sounds adding character—particularly when it sounds like a little group chant! The best track here, though, is “Ancient Flow,” which pairs a swaying, drum-driven beat with a vocal sample filtered to sound like a didgeridoo. It’s simply hypnotic, a close-your-eyes-and-go ride. Hemisphere has proven itself to be a pleasant surprise across several welcome repeat listens. Armes’ construction is superb; there’s a lot of thought and soul showing through in the tracks here. I’m looking forward to more from him—and soon.

Available from Geoffrey Armes' web site.

Joe Renzetti, Thanatos

First things first: Don’t listen to this disc in a good mood. It’s too dark, too ruminative, to do anything but color your soul in black and ashen hues. In the right circumstances, this is not a bad thing. And for those times when you are ready to be more melancholy than usual, Thanatos is the disc you'll want to reach for. It’s dark and it’s grim, yes, but considered within that framework it’s also quite lovely, strongly constructed and thematically deep. Renzetti sets out to present his vision of a dark, empty future, and does so admirably. Air-raid sirens wail in the distance behind arguing voices as the end descends upon mankind. The sound pares back to a dead-wind drone as a voice asks, “Is anybody there?” The answer is no. Renzetti then proceeds to escort us through his melancholic, devastated world via elegiac piano melodies, industrially twisted metal sounds like the battered remnants of destroyed cities, the otherworldly thrum of a drum pounded in some unspeakable ritual accompanied by a guttural chant, a guitar that’s playing too gently amid the ruins to not be perfectly out of place, intermittent vocal samples—the distant sound of survivors, or just a sonic memory?—jarring our senses as planned and pure-black minor chords that wrap the listener like a shroud. Thanatos is not an easy thing to listen to. It never lets up. At the same time, it’s not forcefully dark. Renzetti never puts it right up in the listener’s face. It’s a tour of the devastation from just out of reach, a slow pan across ruins that are still falling, a vision-as-harbinger sensibility pervading the proceedings. If ever there was a reason to use the phrase “dark beauty,” it’s Thanatos. Prepare yourself, then give it a listen.

Available from CD Baby.

Runningonair, Out of Process

Straight out of the gates, it’s clear that Joe Evans, recording as Runningonair, is onto something relatively unique in this CD. A quick, repeated three-note motif on piano rolls over a snare slapping out a jazzy beat and then...an automated phone system voice giving us instructions? Yes, and it works as Evans wedges that so-patient-you-wanna-scream lady’s voice into his urgent, toe-tapping riffs. It's weird, and yet you're grooving to it. And from there, Out of Process just continues to pleasantly delight with its effortless blend of jazz roots and catchy electronic warble and bounce. “Summer Fade” feels like a little combo playing a standard as little electronic touches whirl around the edges. “Disappear Fast” moves from its piano-ballad opening when Evans slips in a high-pitched sequencer line, vocals and half-spoken/half-sung lyrics on vocoder. “Lost American Dream” is one of the most straightforward pieces on the disc, a piano-and-brass (or synth brass, anyway) piece reminiscent of Mark Isham. Nice, quiet movement. “Milk Thistle” jaunts along like the funky little piece of schizophrenic bop it is, starting out like an over-the-top Ricky Ricardo homage to Rio, then smoothing out to sophisticated chords and another voice clip before coming back around. It’s worth noting that Out of Process benefits from this often: Evans is confident with and talented at switching gears mid-stream—taking a lazy groove and spending a few minutes sharpening its edges or pulling it in fresh directions, then showing that he knows when to pull back by resuming what he’d started. That little bit of unexpectedness keeps the tracks engaging and makes them more than just an exercise in dressing up jazz with a bit of knob-twiddling. "On Hold Pt 1" presents cool vibraphone tones paired with a fuzzed-out, wailing guitar sound. Evans melts it seamlessly into Part 2 where he takes the same basic arrangements and darkens it up, bring the wail more to the forefront and dropping in some drums for more drama and force. Nice touch. The out-of-left-field vocal samples take the fore again in "Single Source of Truth." This one neatly skips between two musical identities like sides of a coin--one simple and almost soothing, the other more urgent. I love the out-of-place yet strangely at home "et cetera" Evans drops in. "Blue White" glides vocoder lyrics over a poppy electro-beat. Fairly straightforward, and one of my favorite tracks on the disk. The disc closes with "Western Machine," which kicks off like a Phillip Glass homage with a one-two punch of sequenced chords over a flowing backdrop. Choral voices that punch in help the allusion. Track after track, Out of Process proves itself to be a funky, playful, jazzy and neatly constructed pleasure. I'm fascinated by its depth and, at the same time, its restraint in not playing the found sounds and samples too strongly. Everything feels nicely balanced, everything's in place and it's a disc I keep coming back to because it's so damned enjoyable! That's what makes it a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Runningonair's web site.

Igneous Flame, Electra

I will caveat this review by stating up front that I am a long-standing Igneous Flame fan. I look forward to receiving new music from Igneous (aka Pete Kelly), and I eagerly load each new disc into my iPod knowing that from the moment I hit “play,” I’m in for a good, mellow ride on well-constructed drifts and guitar textures. And so it is with the newest release, Electra. The ten tracks here fold as smoothly as silk one into the next in an ongoing series of bright, warm meditations colored with the intermittent passing of clouds. (Most notably so in “Chromashift,” its partner, "Chromaflow," and the appropriately dark "Mountain Breath.") The pieces here play like movements of a singular whole, each with their own distinct character and purpose--the soaring feel of the opener, "Trident," the subtly majestic undertones of "Ghost Voices," the glossy waver of "Shimmer"--and the space between songs becomes a moment for taking a deep breath at the surface before heading back down. Kelly’s beatless constructs are, as usual, thoughtfully and thickly layered and there’s not a bump or jolt in the flow. This is a must for repeat play, but do yourself a favor and have the headphones on to make the most of each pass. Moment by perfectly constructed moment, this is another superb offering from Igneous Flame--a good stepping-off point if you're not familiar with his work or, if you're a fan like me, another excellent addition to a growing and consistently impressive canon of work.

Available from Atmoworks.

How does Igneous Flame feel his sound has evolved over the years? Get a

Broken Harbour

When I received my review copy of the untitled debut CD from Broken Harbour (aka Blake Gibson), it came with info telling me that the intent of the album was to capture the loneliness of space travel and the sensation of voyaging through a black hole. For the purposes of listening to this disk, you don’t really need to know that or get it. Instead, just settle back and sink slowly into Gibson’s grim-edged dronework and see where it takes you. The five tracks here are long explorations into dark spaces, and make for a very interesting journey. “Beauty in Desolation Part 1” opens the disc, taking almost two minutes to fully build and assert itself in the listener’s ears. Once it arrives, it becomes a rolling sine-wave flow with sawtooth textures of varying intensity. “Redshift” takes a space-wind drone and spatters it with dots of static like an undecipherable message from a distant star. Throughout the track, bright pads rise briefly against the dark–my vote is still out on how well these somewhat intrusive moments fit with the rest of the piece. “Requiem for Dead Spacemen” is, suitably, the CD’s centerpiece, a somberly graceful work loaded with narrative content. Vocal samples, including President Reagan’s speech after the Challenger disaster, snake through the slow, sad drifts to lend even more weight. At midpoint the sound of a rocket engine comes in, and given the feeling of what’s come before and what follows, it can only be heard as the sound of an unfortunate re-entry, the crackle of unstoppable fire. It’s a gorgeous piece of work. “Beauty in Desolation Part 2,” Gibson’s sonic version of passing through a black hole, opens on a wobbling tremolo chord like warming starship engines, then hits the event horizon with a long, loud spiral of noise before returning to the tremolo (which emerges throughout the piece to anchor the narrative), and then on into vaster zones. The disk ends with the cold, minimalist wash and warble of “Monolith”–and is that a 2001: A Space Odyssey sound clip I hear? Why yes, it is. This track begins to fades to a calm and quiet end, and then hits us with the familar tremolo from earlier—one final jump, this time to a nearly empty point in space, and Gibson’s narrative completes itself. Gibson notes, on his web site and myspace page, that his second CD is in the works. I’m looking forward to it and to the chance to further immerse myself in the sounds of Broken Harbour.

Available from the Broken Harbour web site.

Outer Space Alliance

I’ve been noticing a tendency lately among ambient and electronic artists to dust off music they’d made several years ago, run it through new technology, clean it, enhance it, remaster it and send it back out into the world. This can do one of two things: show that the music has a certain timeless quality as it eases into the larger flow of new music or play up its dated sound and give the impression that maybe the artist ought to have left well enough alone. In the case of the “new” self-titled CD from Outer Space Alliance, it’s a bit of both. This mixed bag of tunes, originally recorded in 1999, sounds fresh in spots but ready for the Electronic Music Old Folks’ Home in others. Notable tracks include “Cellular Riot,” a froth of sequencer lines peppered with loping percussive breaks to rescue it from just being sequencer lines; “Textures,” with floaty washes that give way to a dancefloor pulse; “Comfortably Numb,” where a simple, repeated folksy guitar line plays unconcernedly as electronic twiddles hover around it like bugs at a porch light; and “The Dying Sun Made Our Hearts Cold,” with its pleasant downtempo narrative and deep sounds. A good CD in a mix, and the quality of the effort makes me want to know what Outer Space Alliance is up to—now.

Available at Holy Feather.

Elisa Luu, Chromatic Sigh

When I included the track “The Garden” from Elisa Luu’s new CD, Chromatic Sigh, on my podcast, I commented that the first time I heard it, my initial reaction was that it’s like getting a brain massage while enjoying your favorite cocktail. And that’s sort of the overarching feel of this disc—a little laid back, quite cocktail-lounge cool, cinematically colored and pleasantly deep. Luu (aka Elisabetta Luciani) is an accomplished musician, largely focused on jazz, who only turned to electronic music in the last few years. It’s a welcome turn, and Chromatic Sigh marks the arrival of an interesting new voice in the genre. The title track kicks off the disk with a pastoral keyboard melody riding across a rising tide of drone in an ear-pleasing dichotomy. I love the way Luu hangs a long echo of chords for the last 25 seconds of the piece. “Pixie Space Rock” sighs itself into existence, then transforms itself a couple of times—first with a backbeat that’s a little on the drunken side for a charmingly off-kilter vibe, then into a stronger, more assertive beat to bolster a smooth-yet-rocking guitar riff. (And again, fades on a long echo.) “Arteline” blends a truly soothing downtempo groove with a beat formed from a gentle steam-engine hiss of noise and muffled percussion for a sweet ride. On “R3Son8” Luu’s sax makes an appearance, lending its throaty, processed call to the slow-pan glide. This track manages to be dark yet a little romantic...to me, anyway. “Slowbeat” folds a couple of distinct movements into a short piece—a quiet, droney drift makes up the first half and then, after a pause, comes a beat and a shift of feeling. “Perhaps” is a reflective, gentle piece that’s so low-key it almost slides by unnoticed. It melts away into the melancholic hush of “Slow Bass Flute”—rich with jazz-touched, lounge-music keys and eloquent bits of twiddle. It’s a smooth as a good martini. (And we’re back to cocktails...) After the aforementioned groove of “Garden,” Luu closes Sigh with the patiently played piano chords of “Warn Plate,” where once again her not-too-heavy electronic hand massages the sentimental feel of the piece with just the right layers of sound. The only downside comment I have is that three of the pieces—“R3Son8,” “Slowbeat” and “Warn Plate” sound like they drop off a cliff at the end. The stop, while certainly intentional, seems abrupt. That being said, it’s a minor quibble that doesn’t affect the greater enjoyment of this excellent disc. There’s a nice sense of playfulness throughout Chromatic Sigh, and Luu’s playing—on all instruments—is graceful and confident. She is an artist to watch, and I eagerly await more from her. Chromatic Sigh is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Hidden Shoal Records.

Hui Ward, The Way

I will keep this brief, largely because I don't have much to say. I am sure there is a market for Ms. Ward's blend of traditional Indian music phrasings, with English lyrics tightly shoehorned into that framework. That audience would not be me. I would love to hear Ms. Ward just tackle the traditional music in a traditional way--her voice has a pleasant tone and I get the feeling she is or could be quite a singer. Musically the disc sounds prettty solid, and I do like Indian music. But three tracks in, I had my fill of The Way and had to pass on the rest.

You can experiment with it for yourself at Om Creation Studio, and see what you think.

Ian Boddy & Markus Reuter, Dervish

How many adjectives will it take to get to the center of Dervish, the collaboration between Ian Boddy and Markus Reuter? It’s quirky, angular, dark, funky, jazzy, complex, aggressive, packed, experimental . . .and more. You can try to understand what’s going on, of course, but it’s better to just dive into the seething alchemical vortex created by these two veterans and prepare to be challenged, just as they’re obviously challenging themselves and each other. It’s quite a ride, with Boddy and Reuter rocketing the listener through a constantly changing and most certainly alien musical landscape. The panorama races dangerously in from every angle, each moment loaded with sounds from a baffling arsenal of instruments and sources. (Reuter’s guitar work is, as always, amazing to listen to.) They play with tempos—yours, as well as the music’s—and geometrically mutated signatures, imparting a glorious uncertainty to each piece. Obviously, this is a place where anything can happen, and it does, and it’s exhilarating. Press materials for the disc lay out some of the incredible depth of production that went into this disc—from Boddy sampling Reuter’s Touch guitar loops to the initial recordings being “translated” by engineer Clemens Schleiwies from their digital form onto analogue tape, which was then run through a “vintage sound desk” for the final mix. The result is a blend of sounds that perhaps ought to only exist in disparate worlds, coming together briefly in something that is part dance, part vicious combat and completely unique.

Available from DiN Records.

Transcend With Time, Through Memory’s Perception

On his latest disc, Mark Mendieta offers up a suite of well-constructed if slightly formulaic New Age tunes that sometimes suffer from a touch of same-ness. It’s a very Mannheim/Tesh-type of affair, with strong piano or guitar standing proudly in front of orchestral pads and rock-tinged (albeit electronic) drums. The pieces tend to follow the start slow/swell in the middle/fade to calm template—which isn’t meant to downplay Mendieta’s capable playing, which is absolutely solid. Notable tracks include the tone-setting opener, “Open Your Eyes”; the ballad-like “Cognitive Imagery”; and “Into the Realm of Quiet,” with its insistent-but-patient bass line, string warbles and graceful keys. It’s the highlight of the disc. (I included it in one of my podcasts.) Through Memory’s Perception isn’t one of those discs I’ll hurry back to, but it’s pleasant enough in a mix and, given the denser electronic stuff I usually listen to, acts in that capacity as a good change of pace. If you’re more of a New Age listener than I, you’ll probably find enough good stuff here to warrant you picking up Through Memory’s Perception. Samples are available at the web site listed below. Give Transcend With Time a test drive and judge for yourself.

Available from Tarnius Music.

Steve Roach & Eric Wøllo, Stream of Thought

Grab hold of the rapidly changing sonic dialogue at work in Stream of Thought and see if you can keep up. As wonderfully inconstant as the title suggests, this CD morphs, reforms and recreates itself over the course of its nineteen vignettes. It’s an aural flipbook composed in complementary styles dovetailed over and over again in a multitude of ways. I am not familiar with Erik Wøllo’s work, but his atmospheric offerings here, including his smooth guitar work in later tracks, meld seamlessly with Roach’s array of dense sound-swirls and analog/sequencer pulse-rhythms. Although the music can make abrupt shifts of tone and tempo, it’s never jarring enough to disrupt the experience. In fact, it’s an integral part of it. One moment you’re off somewhere in the cool blackness of space, watching stars, and the next you’re in the middle of a storm of fast-firing synapses birthing thought in random mindsparks. A moment’s adjustment to the change and you’re back delving into the deeper intentions at work here. There’s a lot to listen to at any given moment, so pay attention—you’ll be quite nicely rewarded.

Available from the Steve Roach web site.

Forrest Fang, Phantoms

Early reviews of Forrest Fang's Phantoms, his eight-years-in-the-making followup to the superb CD Gongland, have been almost universally glowing. And I am going to have add my voice to that rapidly growing chorus. This is a work that melds earth and sky—the latter represented by windborne, drifting ambient textures that move and shift like clouds, the former by the sharp, rich tones and tactile solidity of a wide array of Asian and Middle Eastern stringed instruments. In touching both extremes, Fang creates a unified whole that resonates deeply.

“Distant Fires” opens the disc with pads that slip in as quiet as morning fog to calm the mind. “The Great Wheel” opens with a dramatic melody on a Turkish cumbus (thank you to Forrest for ID’ing that for me), the notes plucked with a distinct intensity over long chords. There’s an interesting sense of waiting behind the music, the music pending the arrival of something unknown. This moves into “Little Angklung,” which begins softly but soon becomes a courtly and exotic dance driven by the sensual tones of a sueng—a Thai lute—Javanese saron (a cousin of the xylophone), bronze pot gongs and kora, a stringed instrument from West Africa. (Musically speaking, Fang really gets around!) The aptly titled “A Walk Through the Clouds” is a perfect beatless drift constructed in countless layers, warm and calming and hued with just a hint of voice to ground it. When this piece ends, you’re likely to draw a deep, involuntary breath as you resurface. But it’s just to prepare yourself for the 23-minute centerpiece of the album, the unspeakably beautiful “The Hallucinations of Hung Tung.” Bowed strings rasp gently behind a wall of drone at the outset as Fang begins his sonic story. Words will utterly fail to describe this piece, with its Asian overtones, sense of shifting drama and moments frozen in sound, all wrapped in a constantly changing, never intrusive drone-mist. Instruments rise from the mist to the forefront to speak, and then, having had their piece, fade to memory. The movements within “...Hung Tung” are gracefully yet notably separated and it all comes to a close that eases in as naturally as sundown. This is one of the most perfectly made pieces of ambient architecture I’ve ever heard. From there Fang sends up a sudden stream of high-pitched electronic bubbles to start “Slow Rise.” That initial moment borders on intrusive after the calm end of the preceding track, but the sound quickly becomes engaging as an easy current emerges from underneath it to pull you under gently and carry you off again. “Ebb in Winter” is an elegantly minimal track that moves at an appropriately glacial pace, the sound shimmering like sunlit ice. Phantoms closes with “Float,” bringing the strings back to the fore for one last dance over Fang’s drones.

Reviewers more musicologically astute than I have called out as important Fang’s gamelan-influenced structures (a beautiful example comes around the 14-minute mark on “...Hung Tung”) and the sheer number of exotic instruments that the artist has mastered and brought to bear here. But even the most casual listener can sense that there’s something beyond going on here. Fang’s attention to detail, the smoothness of his construction, the sense of soul and spirit and self that weaves itself through every moment... This is clearly a very personal CD, eight years in the making, and it imparts a well-deserved sense of reverence. We understand, as listeners, that we are standing witness to something that matters and requires our attention. And, in my opinion, the experience is somewhat humbling.

One other important attraction of Phantoms is that it loops absolutely seamlessly. As you come to the end of “Float,” you should barely notice as the circle closes with the first notes of “Distant Fires.” (I often find myself well into “Fires” before I notice!) Be careful—you may get so deep into Phantoms that you’ll never want to come out. This is not just a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD, it’s very likely one of the best—if not the flat-out best—releases of 2009.

Available from Projekt Records.

Why did recording Phantoms take eigt years? Get a .