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Computerchemist, Atmospheric

Jump in the Wayback Machine, Sherman, and let’s go back to the heyday of analogue electronic music! Set the controls—no, not for the heart of the sun, Sherman—for Computerchemist’s well-programmed and enjoyably nostalgic CD, Atmospheric. Invoking Berlin School inspiration and a love of Tangerine Dream, Computerchemist (aka Dave Pearson) fires off a batch of beat-and-melody driven joyrides that are a pleasure to listen to, especially if you’re a fan of old-school electronica. (Like me.) There’s nothing overly original here—many pieces will likely dredge up thoughts of other music you’ve heard—but it’s solid. That’s the best compliment I can offer: it’s solid. There’s no immediate “wow” factor, but there’s nothing making me want to shut the CD off, either. The opener, “Marshfire,” morphs from a tangle of interwoven skeins of electronic murmurings into a smooth, almost loungey space-ride. “Domino’s Lament” and “Flight of ‘F’” bounce along on rocking sequencer lines and the steady-if-predictable beat of synthesized drums. All along the way Atmospheric embraces 70s-style electro-bombast and snippets of prog-rock keyboard grandioso, but it’s never so over the top as to bring anything but a nod and a smile. This is how it was, and it wasn’t all that bad! Well worth a listen, and a nice addition to any mix.

Available from the Computerchemist web site and CD Baby.

Slow Dancing Society, The Slow and Steady Winter

In just two albums, Slow Dancing Society (aka Drew Sullivan) has been placed squarely in my sights as an artist to not only watch, but to eagerly await new music from. SDS' debut CD, The Sound of Lights When Dim, first introduced me to Sullivan's artful blend of echoing, lonely guitar and crisp, intriguing electronics. On its enjoyable sequel, The Slow and Steady Winter, Sullivan revives that feel and expands his work to encompass even more processed, flowing guitar textures. In fact, it’s interesting to hear how Sullivan evolves the guitar-ness of his guitar work up from the ambient depths on Winter. In the first track, the shimmering and watery “The Early Stages of Decline,” the guitar is all effect, a processed, wavering echo of sound drifting hypnotically from ear to ear. It stays low and incognito in the shadowy snarl of “Depths of December,” where a bass-drone rumble mingles with garbled phantom voices. With the title track the guitar begins to emerge to pepper the track with a slash and jangle of distorted chords over Sullivan’s signature washes. (I must confess here that the phone-ringing sound in the background on this sets my teeth just a little on edge...) The guitar at last becomes a guitar as Sullivan's elegant, slow-handed playing comes to the front in the shuffling melancholy of “The Time We’ve Spent,” with picked notes redolent of Mark Knopfler. On “Romantica” the guitar shares even billing with glitch-based percussion straight from "A Lonesome Sentiment" on Lights, familiar SDS territory. It's a nice touch. The garage-blues overtones of “The Rest of Our Lives” makes it a highlight of the disc. Slow, slow chords that wobble with tremolo, a lazy snare echoing into yesterday and a casual bassline wander along like the last-call song at a smoky four a.m. bar. The disc closes and pulls it all together with the lyrical “February Sun,” where a very simple melody, one that may have been plucked from an old 50s doo-wop ballad, repeats around and through sudden, dense guitar washes and floating chords, all anchored around a lazy beat. Toward the end Sullivan cuts loose, wailing for all the world to hear with high, crying notes before letting that old-time melody take over and fade to a reflective quietness. While I'm not as totally blown away by Winter as I was by Lights, it's still an astounding piece of work that again cements Slow Dancing Society's place--in my ears, at least--as an artist whose next disc I'll always be looking forward to hearing. Bravo, Drew.

Available from Hidden Shoal Records.

Abandoned Toys, The Witch’s Garden

Slow-moving and lovely, The Witch’s Garden, the debut CD from Abandoned Toys (aka Brett Branning) comes on at first like a New Age piano album and then quietly sprouts tendrils of intriguing electronic treatments to weave depth, texture and color into each piece. As it moves forward, Garden easily blends a western classical feel (to quote the composer) with unobtrusive electronic atmospheres and vocals in pieces that drip with drama and gothic airs. Branning’s piano style is clearly the star here, gentle, sophisticated playing that forms a bed for the other elements to rest easily upon. Truth be told, I have to imagine that a CD of Branning’s solo piano ruminations would be a worthwhile listen as well. But there’s more here—mournful strings and distant percussion, whispers of sound at the periphery of hearing, a sense of grim secrets long held close, all administered by a tender compositional hand. The Witch’s Garden is a very good low-volume listen, preferably under dim lighting and with a glass of blood-red wine close at hand, but also has enough going on in the background to make it doubly interesting in headphones.

Available from the Abandoned Toys web site or Mythical Records.

Liquid Mind, Relax—A Liquid Mind Experience
Recording as Liquid Mind, Chuck Wild has been producing softly undulating, soporific electronic music aimed at the meditation-and-healing crowd since the early 90s. In this collection, Wild pulls together from previous releases a number of beautiful, slow and graceful pieces that ease the breathing, calm the mind and refresh the body. Wild calls his works “musical healthcare,” and not without good reason. A listen to this CD, whether with the immediacy and presence of headphones or just allowing it to fill a space quietly with low-volume repeat play, brings a very distinct calm and sense of oneness with the self. Long, deep-breath synth washes drift one over the other, unhurriedly and concerned only with your relaxation. One piece melts into the next, as they should, for a truly immersive journey. I must confess that prior to receiving this CD my only exposure to Liquid Mind was what I heard in the mix on the ambient/electronic digital cable radio channel—but even at that, it caught my ear and attention, so that I was very happy to get this CD to review. And now I need to experience more of the sedative, soft-crafted worlds of Liquid Mind. For those in need of very calming music or as an introduction into electronic/ambient music this Liquid Mind sampler would be a very wise choice.

Available at the Liquid Mind web site.

Parallel Worlds, Obsessive Surrealism

A strong sense of narrative drama underlies every track on Parallel Worlds’ superb new CD, Obsessive Surrealism. Lushly dark, beat-driven and meticulously constructed, Surrealism makes great use of frontman Bakis Sirros’ adoration for and mastery of analogue systems. Classic-feel electronic twiddle and sequencer runs blend smoothly with breathy synth pad textures as Sirros leads the listener through his shadowy musical explorations. “Beneath Fear” opens the disc with a gentle piano riff playing in the middle of an ever-darkening atmosphere. Electro-critters chirp in the undergrowth and a phantom chorus sings like a hymnal. “Different Pathways” drips with something both sinister and urgent, a feel that carries into the potent, if short, “Empty Human Cells.” The pace slows for “Increasing Complexity,” where glitch-and-blip notes arc and bounce over a simple melody. Two short pieces follow (“Interlude” being the better of the two), providing something of a aural palate cleanser before Sirros hits his stride with the 10-minute “Reflective,” where a sequenced bass line stalks like a masked killer on a rain-slicked street. Sirros cites the soundtracks of John Carpenter movies as an influence, and the cinematic tint to Surrealism is obvious—as I have said too many times before, these pieces are bits of background music in search of their scenes. And it’s never more obvious than in “Reflective.” “Mindmists” grabs hold of the listener with heavy-handed piano chords over weeping strings before spreading out to a lighter, more melodic feel. “Pale Yellow Sky” offers more glitch-beat goodness (again tinged with the ominous). “Distracted” is an oddly danceable bit of funk, with its twangy analogue bassline and body-moving backbeat. The disc ends with “Crying Spells,” a piece accented with slightly too bombastic percussion. Other reviewers have noted appreciatively that Sirros keeps his tracks fairly short. I concur. It allows each piece to be a scene unto itself, an enjoyable-if-melancholy story told wholly and never overdone. Overall, Obsessive Surrealism is an enjoyable blend of old and new, melody and melancholy, and dark and light and it’s worth many a listen.

Available at the Parallel Worlds web site or from the DiN label.

Byron Metcalf, A Warning from the Elders

Go into Byron Metcalf’s A Warning from the Elders prepared to treat it as the ceremony/journey it truly is. Metcalf’s prayer to the earth, powered by shamanic drumming, didgeridoo, and overtone singing, carries the feel of the sacred from its opening moments. “Facing the Truth” is a breath-based devotion with the vocals and didge easing in over a rise-and-fall drone. Percussion moves in, shakers and drums, and the journey begins in earnest. A moment’s pause, and then deep overtone singing ushers in the title track. Ominous yet warm, the resonance of the voices opens channels in your head and heart. A gong crashes intermittently and a driving beat slides under and in, the drums becoming stronger and more insistent. This is music to dance around the fire by, the force that opens the door between worlds. About halfway in, the track strips down to layer upon layer of nothing but drums for a few minutes—always a Metcalf highlight—and it’s a sound to purely lose yourself in. The power continues in “Heart Warriors,” which rides primarily on a breathy didge drone and the frame and hand drums, an effective tribal minimalism. Then the ritual soars into the thunderous energy of “Fire Passage,” 15 minutes of core-shaking drumming, the high point of the disc and the focal point of the journey. This is the sound of your soul empowered, your spirit awakened, alert and energized. And then Metcalf brings the listener downward into the solemnly beautiful peace of “Earth Om—Sacred Resonance,” where the breath cleanses, refreshes and refocuses. It provides time to reflect as body and soul rejoin. It is the reverent end-point to a journey both far and deep. Set aside an hour. Get somewhere dark and quiet. Focus on the music and your breathing. Release. See where Warning takes you. It’s guaranteed to be an amazing trip. For its beauty and potency, A Warning from the Elders is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Austere: Remittance, Rorrim and Faded (with Stephen Phillips)

I have tried several times now to put into words why you, as an ambient/electronic music listener, should take the time to discover the duo called Austere—if you haven't already. Despite all the reviewer-ly verbiage at my theoretical disposal, after repeated, blissful listens to Remittance, Rorrim and Faded, the best I can offer is this: Just listen. Live the music. Then you'll understand. Austere consistently put out gorgeous, drone-based experimental landscapes crafted around a particular theme which often seems like a challenge they've set for themselves--using only guitars to create the warm-wash textures of Remittance, for example, or crafting compositions that mirror themselves musically on Rorrim. But while the intriguing intent of an Austere CD is something to be considered when listening, it's the depth, beauty and mastery of the work that overrides it all. These are sounds to immerse and disappear into; slow-crafted, constantly re-evolving soundworlds that you live within, comfortably locked into a dreamstate attentiveness, places you almost hate to return from and look forward to revisiting. And when you combine all that with the glacial-drift drone-mastery of the Dark Duck Stephen Phillips himself as he adds his talented hand to the duo's Faded disc...I have to say again. Just listen. Live an Austere CD. Now. Then you'll understand. And like me, you'll be completely captivated--and happily so.

Available from the Austere web site or Hypnos records.

Tkatka

The debut CD from the duo Tkatka (PJ Norman and Carlsson) rolls in on chunky beats that shoulder their way through an array of electronic goodies and catchy melodies to land firmly in a spot halfway between music for the commercial for the world’s coolest sportscar and the soundtrack to a Blade Runner-esque sci-fi movie. It’s tweaked EDM riding on lounge-style backbeats and overall it’s a pretty fine ride. Push past the clunky opener, “LazerLab” to get to the meatier “E.L.D.A.C.” where the feel of a fuzz guitar escorts you through a spy-flick groove. “Scorn Proof Weather” courses through its four minutes with a lightly dramatic feel—perhaps the backdrop to a driving scene in that sci-fi flick—propelled on a catchy sequencer line. The highlight of the disk comes in the airy “(It’s Just A) Molecule” with its feel-good bounce and a melody that rolls along like a narrative. “Bedroom Dust” starts slow but soon becomes more welcome as it burrows its way into your need to move. It’s another soundtrack-worthy cut. “Sundae Haze” lopes through with blissed-out ease and psychedelic intentions, aided by a nicely warbling guitar in the background. “Globyl,” the 10-minute closer, slides in under the mental radar and starts to massage the brain with its odd collection of subtle beats, washes of electro-noise, chopped and diced editing (which sometimes grates on the nerves just a bit) and distant vocal samples. The best word for it is “interesting.” Weak tracks here are few and thankful a bit far between. There’s a good diversity of sound across this disk and the elements all play together nicely. It’s a very good CD to have as part of a mix as it brings a nice blend of electronic funk and downtempo pleasure.

Available from 100m Records.

Rhizomorph, Xenofilika

Throw Shadowfax and Planet Drum into the same room, close the door and let them jam. The result will undoubtedly sound a lot like Rhizomorph’s funk-driven, world-music-inspired Xenofilika. Rhizomorph mixes his influences and intentions nicely across the disk's ten tracks. After two pulse-raising uptempo tunes ("Bangi Takatifu" and "Latent Ferality") that smack deliciously of Africa and the Middle East, he slows the pace with the contemplative “13th Bliss,” thick with guitar glissandos and breath-calming groove. That gets kicked out of the way for the frenetic rush of “Dawamesc,” which rockets the listener back to that Middle Eastern sense as a tabla beat rages on against waves of electronica. Then “Khasafa” lumbers in on drums that have clearly helped themselves to a tab of acid and chills the room right back out. This track is psychedelic, trippy and trancey—a feel that carries into electro-tribal pulse of “Cave Prayer.” Having offered a pleasant brain massage, Rhizomorph next drops the listener back into a quieter realm beginning with the melancholy “Regret du Jour” and melting into “Sakra” where environmental elements accent slow chords and electronic exhalations that feel like a look inside someone else’s sadness. The mood brightens, appropriately, with the loungey ease of “Skyward.” (A slight change of feel late in the piece threatens to mar it but Rhizomorph brings it back where it belongs for the last minute.) The circle closes on the last track, “Theta Phase,” as the drums roll back in and we’re back in Shadowfax territory with a solid, dominant bassline and a rich world-music feel. Xenofilika is a superb debut CD from an artist worth watching. Expect more and better from Rhizomorph—but in the meantime, get this disk.

Available at the Rhizomorph Web site and through CD Baby.

Godheadscope, A City Out of Sight

The phrase that came to mind when I first tried to describe the overall tone of Godheadscope’s A City Out of Sight was “dark sanctity.” There is an air of reverence floating under the grim, sustained chords, the peal of church bells, the slow piano and the distant, chanting/singing/speaking chorus of voices that haunt the background of the disk. The sense is of being involved in a midnight mass for some shapeless, nameless and forgotten god. In four relatively short pieces, Godheadscope (aka Matt Rosin) artfully blends very somber ambient with slow, chamber-music piano and a swirling mist of electronic treatments. The mixture is hypnotic and compelling and unceasingly dark. This is one of those disks that never failed to catch my attention when an individual track cropped up in shuffle mode. Taken as a whole, it’s a seamless ride into the murk of Rosin challenging himself and his listener musically and it’s well worth a listen—or several. A dense wall of noise hits the listener hard at the outset of the opener, “Room of Light,” a howling monster chord-cluster that, over the next ten minutes, will relentlessly charge again and again, abetted by voices and trying desperately and intriguingly to mutate into music. “Joy/Grime” introduces Rosin’s more melodic side—which is, of course, still dark. Piano, a church bell echoing into forever, fuzz-edged guitars and voices that carry a certain hymnal quality layer thickly and beautifully. This seems to be Rosin’s modus: how deep can I go? How many layers will it support? The answer is, many...and well. “Dusk on Glass” takes a quieter approach with slow-rising chords drifting into one another. It feels like a respite, a moment of clearer breathing along the way. The closing track, “The Weight of Paper,” is the highlight of the disk, heavy with emotion and tightly packed with sounds upon sounds upon sensations. Be sure to hit Rosin’s Web site to check out the lyrics that slide like a forbidden prayer just below the surface on each track. All in all, A City Out of Sight is beautifully constructed, unquestionably challenging, and well worth the effort to understand.

Available from the God Is Myth label.

Nelson Foltz and Tom Lynn, Still Life, Volume Three

Outside of the fact that it's a very pleasant listen, the thing to understand about Foltz and Lynn's third installment in their Still Life series is that it, like the disks the preceded it, is crafted strictly from acoustic instruments and found or constructed sounds. There are no electronics here, and yet the feel is of a lush ambient recording that could just as easily issued forth from a bank of synthesizers. The journey begins under the power of Foltz’s melancholy trombone, which to my ears pulls up memories of an old favorite of mine, Jon Hassel’s “Surgeon of the Nightsky,” with its slight avant-jazzy meanderings. Across its 45-minute length the music spreads, stretches and warms, evolving—or devolving, for that matter—into a brilliantly low-key and unobtrusive piece of work that gently prods the attention in places. It shifts subtly, elements smoothly swapping out to create new textures and ultimately paring back to a floating drone of gentle beauty. This CD doesn’t end as much as it dissipates. Foltz and Lynn have set out to create music that quietly co-exists with the listener, and they’ve quite succeeded here. In fact, the highest praise I can give this third volume in the series is to say that it makes me want to hear all of what came before.

Available from the Still Life Web site or CD Baby.

Midnight Sound Service, Aluminum Hymns

Midnight Sound Service’s Aluminum Hymns moves deftly from a mix of soft noise and undertone dub to thick theta-wave drones that feel like they're taking up permanent residence in your subconscious mind. After the pulsing semi-rhythm of “Sinecure,” the disk turns downward into a less tangible territory beginning with “Bodies Without Souls.” From this point forward, softly liquid drones shift and ebb through a hypnotic soundmist. There’s just enough of an electronically serrated sonic edge here to delineate a texture to each piece and yet it’s also darkly soothing at the same time. This is the soundtrack of a waking dream, the landscape of the sub-lucid mind. It is disquiet amidst quiet, attentive relaxation. The three Hymns for Sleep are the absolute highlights here. The first, “(For the Air Conditioner)” wavers across a relaxing white-noise hiss as tiny glimpses of more solid sound dart around the periphery. This is deep-immersion dronework. "Part 2, (Inf.)" , flattens the brainwaves further with six minutes of virtually unshifting but always deepening sound. And the closer, "Part 3 (Ice Again Again)" pairs a constant exhalation of arctic wind with a wavering drone to impart a sense of being quite finally but comfortably adrift. Headphone listening is a must with Aluminum Hymns--it's a sure way to get as lost in the music as Midnight Sound Service intends you to.

Available from the Midnight Sound Service Web site.

Mark Mahoney & M. Peck, The Gallery of Subtle Smiles

The Wife of Hypnagogue obviously ends up listening to a lot of ambient and electronic music. She’s made to sleep with it playing, it’s there on car trips, and it drifts down the hallway at night while iTunes just quietly shuffles the collection. Every now and then the Wife of Hypnagogue will stop to comment on a piece, and the highest compliment she gives is, “This is nice”—which she had to say about Mark Mahoney and M. Peck’s Gallery of Subtle Smiles. I have to agree. Blending vastly deep spacemusic overtones with sharp, melodic sequencer work, Mahoney and Peck craft a voyage that is by turns exhilarating and contemplative. And each track—each leg of the journey—is a stunningly realized electronic landscape constructed from the chemistry between the duo. I find myself at a genuine loss to try to describe the tracks in and of themselves, the elements are so rich and the music so immersive. The back-and-forth between Peck's washes and Mahoney's sequence work in the far-ranging opener, "Flight of the Nexxus Swan"; the mechanically rhythmic sensbilities of "Cosmic Visitation"; the dark intensity of "Follow the Swarm"; and the hypnotic pulse and flow of "Tin Cans and Tiny Cables." On this one, words are inadequate. It's simply amazing and just has to be experienced. Over and over. And over. It is most definitely a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available at the Limited Wave web site.