Call me shallow, but first impressions count with me. (I know I’ve mentioned this in past reviews.)  So when I open a disc from an experimental collective called PAS and it turns out that PAS stands for “Post-Abortion Stress”… I think I can be somewhat forgiven if I burned the disc into iTunes with more than a touch of trepidation. Despite reading in the press release that the term refers to those who “have been aborted by society,” the material on the disc (I refrain from the word “music” here for reasons noted below) reinforced the idea that trepidation was warranted. Pure Energy Output Sessions is, as noted in the release, “music from the fringes of perception . . . [not] defined by any particular conventions or viewpoints.” Which is to say, anything goes once PAS gets started, guided by their mission of free self-expression. The work here is more sound sculpture than music per se, and it is, by and large, aggressive sound sculpture, dynamic and tending toward assault. As such, it will challenge the taste and, perhaps, tolerance of most listeners. Pure Energy, by design, is a disc solely for the unbiased, wide-open, art-focused mind that can embrace a very abstract, unfettered approach–and I’m honestly not sure, having listened, if that’s me. Sample PAS and decide if it’s you.

Available from CD Baby.

On his latest album, Under the Sodium Lights, Slow Dancing Society (aka Drew Sullivan) comes through nicely once again with his signature mix of processed guitar washes and slow, melancholic melodies. The tracks melt together in your head, but if it’s due to a sameness of sound, then I have to say it’s a pleasing sameness. What works best here is that Sullivan’s straightforward playing has a real crispness to it, a strength and clarity that doesn’t just ease the playing over his reverent, almost church-organ-esque washes–it makes it pop. I also love the sound of Sullivan’s laid-back, country-bred slide guitar work and the shot of unexpected spice it brings to the sound.

There’s always a sense of fading sadness to Slow Dancing Society, but it’s a sadness on the verge of getting over whatever it was that set you off all melancholy and brooding in the first place. There’s a sigh of hope under it all. It feels at times like the soundtrack to something we’ve all been through. It’s sitting, thinking, sighing and then deciding to just get on with it, caught in a very enjoyable listen.

With four excellent discs under his belt and the SDS style firmly established, there is part of me that would like to hear what else Sullivan is capable of creating, whether it’s a deeper guitar ambient sound or more straight-ahead guitar playing. I’ll always welcome the chance to drop into the easy familiarity, consistent quality and emotional depth of Slow Dancing Society, but I also feel that there’s much more Drew Sullivan yet to be heard.

Available from Hidden Shoal Recordings.

Get a taste of Slow Dancing Society’s music with this Hypnagogue Half-hour Spotlight: http://bit.ly/ay9w8A

The old show biz adage is, always leave them wanting more. With this offering on Malignant Records, Johan Aernus ends his 15-year run as Wolfskin–and he goes out on what, for a realm as downbeat, minimalist and chokingly cloistered as dark ambient, could be considered a high note. I only came across Wolfskin last year when Malignant sent me the re-release of O Ajuntar das Sombras and I’m not the most dedicated dark ambient fan, but there is a un-nameable quality to Aernus’ shadow-thick work that appeals to me. And it’s certainly here on Stonegates of Silence. With Anders Peterson, aka Last Industrial Estate, at his side, Aernus skillfully guides us through an expanse of fog, fear and unpleasant sensations. It’s suitably relentless, rumbling like the turn of a massive grinding wheel, washed through with echoes of oncoming storms and whispers that hint at the truth of an inescapable hell. Grim and isolationist, it’s not an easy listen–but then, if you like dark ambient, that’s not what you’re looking for in the first place. Wolfskin departs with his legacy intact.

Available from Malignant Records.

Representing the best of 22 years of collaborative efforts between four artists led by Tim Risher, Gnosis ranges from easy ambient constructs to folksy meanderings to complex experiments in sound. The idea of each piece is to improvise within the framework of a set of rules: a group of chords or a shifting rhythm, for example. The result is usually something tightly interwoven and redolent of a quite workable chemistry between musicians. Even when things go a touch left-field, as with “Hello,” the oldest track here (dating from 1987), it’s not entirely objectionable. That being said, however, Gnosis is at its best when the work builds around simplicity and depth of sound. “Aubade,” with Risher and Ted Stanley working a bowed piano while Tom DePlonty offers a piano meditation, takes its time forming itself in long chords, a bit of abrasive texture and a clockwork rhythm. There’s a similar quality to “Liquid Sifting,” a 2010 track from Risher and Charles Baker–that slightly hesitant rhythm, an almost uncertain (but charmingly so) pacing. There’s an element here to Risher’s melody that reminds me of a Gary Burton piece, the name of which I can’t recall. The highlight here is “Cork on the Waves,” a 10-minute track with a tone-poem quality that takes added character from a spoken-word element by DePlonty that eases in and out. (I chose this track to open my podcast #39.)

I’m always intrigued by the chemistry between artists, particularly in this sub-genre where solo acts are the norm. Gnosis stands as a tribute to the enduring shared passions of Mssrs. Risher, DePlonty, Baker and Stanley, and offers a lot of good listening. Here’s hoping we don’t have to wait another 22 years for the next disc from Paragaté.

Available from Auraltone Music.

If the titular plant of the new collaboration between ambient icon Steve Roach and spirit-singer Mark Seelig were real, it would give off a lotus-like, drowse-inducing scent and have long, velvet-coated tendrils which would wrap around anyone lucky enough to succumb to its essence and pull them into the Lower World.

While we sadly lack the actual plant to send us on that journey, this CD will certainly suffice.

A dark meditation in five seamless parts, Nightbloom is perhaps as ritualistic a disc as Roach and Seelig have ever collaborated on, a hypnotic, symbiotic prayer of equal parts organic and electronic. Seelig’s beautifully eerie overtone signing, the blend of rich low notes and a flute-like whistle produced in the singer’s throat at the same time, become indistinguishable from Roach’s ever-changing soundpools and “terra grooves” in moments of perfect interplay. The disc moves with serpentine grace, a constant flow of shadow moving ever deeper into the cave of the mind. A long, intertwined and uninterrupted flow between Roach and Seelig clears the space to begin the disc, opening the way for the bold shamanic drumming that hammers in from the sides as skittering  analog beats define a path for your spirit to follow downward. The density and intensity here combine in an almost tactile humidity of sound, an atmosphere composed of intent. It goes deeper through the drum-driven second and third parts as the duo proceed to unfold your mind over and over. This makes the “cool down” of parts four and five, something of a reprieve, that much more effective as you’re released to drift, borne on Seelig’s vocals. The disc winds down to a space of silence, and you may find yourself unwilling to disturb it for several moments.

Roach’s sound design on Nightbloom has the kind of dimensional depth that makes you feel you can move through it, reach into it and part the sounds to create your passage. The layering throughout Nightbloom is stunning. There is no passive listening here; every sound, however slight, every nuance, is designed and set in place to bring you to a different state, a place well inside, to tap the primal. And it works, perfectly.

Because Nightbloom has taken me to amazing places and shown me incredible things every time I’ve listened, it’s most definitely a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available at Steve Roach’s web site.

If you’ve half an hour to kill, you might consider popping on Toaster’s Vacations to help pass the time–but be ready for a mixed bag. This five-song, 25-minute jaunt whips through a nice, bass-fueled downtempo groove (“I Think Everyone Has Gone”), an interesting jumble of rhythmically stitched-together noise (“Speaker’s Valise”), a gently hurried yet robotic sequenced joyride with glitchy percussive touches (“Drunk, Walk to Lake”), a mildly identity-challenged piece that shifts tone and tempo a few times (“Panties”) and an aggressive assault of electro-noise (“Practice Firing at the Clouds”). “Everyone” and “Drunk” are the standout tracks here, if only because they feel the most well-thought-out and listenable. I think this is where Toaster’s work is strongest. The noisier, more experimental tracks leave me shrugging and wondering why I don’t get it.

Check out samples or buy it online at Bandcamp.

My first hit of–sorry, my first listen to The Smokering’s laid-back-cool trip-hop offering, Mellow Majestic, immediately put me in mind of the great lounge-based stuff flowing out of the Waveform label in the last decade. Which was good enough on its own, but when the ride began to show signs of being under the influence of  late-80s jazz-inspired  dance/rap acts like US3, DNA and Digable Planets, and had the smooth and smoky aftertaste of pure 70’s funk, I settled right in.

Let me quickly get the few negatives out of the way. The Smokering’s style leads to a fair degree of sonic similarity as you truck on through the tracks, which makes the first half of the CD feel fresher than the rest. The duo have also relied a little too heavily on a string sample that packs some serious Barry White backing-band cred. There’s simply too much of it, and it gets old.

That being said, I could listen to “B-Girl” on loop and be happy. A thick, righteous bassline sidles up to a slick backbeat and some electric piano that feels borrowed straight from a Return to Forever album. Soundbursts drop in to flavor the mix. Hold this one in before you let go. It’s just sweet. The following track, “Internal Affairs,” is sexy but tough, a sidewalk stride that later picks up some additional cool from a muted trumpet. And “Nightcap” is clearly the hidden-away theme song from the coolest 70s cop show that never was.

Too much repetition takes a fair amount away from Mellow Majestic, but The Smokering, aka Ed Vichnick and Jason D. Kuhar, clearly know their way around this music. They may wear their influential hearts on their sleeves, and spend a lot of time pointing them out to you, but the vibe is there and the cool is there, and I feel like more diverse stuff will be forthcoming. Mellow Majestic will be in my shuffle queue for a while, where the similarities won’t matter as much. Right now, I’m going to listen to “B-Girl” just one more time.

Available from Global Vortex Records.

Having enjoyed Rudy Adrian’s MoonWater when I reviewed it a couple years back, I was pleased when his newest, Distant Stars, showed up in my mailbox. I burned it into iTunes, got it onto the ‘pod, sat down to listen…and then waited. Waited for it to be more than it is. Because while Distant Stars is a decent interpretation of a standard-issue spacemusic disc, it’s only that: a standard-issue spacemusic disc. It’s light and slow-moving, powered by long pads with the requisite rushes of sonic wind and glittering star-twinkle, but it never seems to aspire to anything deeper or more complex and offers nothing that truly sets it apart. From an ambient standpoint, Distant Stars does hit the mark fairly well. I’d suggest it works better as a quiet background loop than as a focused listen. Adrian is good at crafting emotive flows. Those are certainly here but somehow they lack weight or the sort impact that stops you in your tracks and makes you listen, which is perhaps what I kept waiting for. There’s nothing that I can particularly call out on Distant Stars as objectionable, disruptive or bumpy, and I can’t give a more distinct description of what’s lacking for me other than to say this disc is just there. I like Adrian’s music, but Distant Stars is something of a miss for me.

Check out samples at Spotted Peccary.

I have a winter tradition. When the first snow comes–and I mean the first real snow, not just some pre-winter flurry–I uncork a bottle of good red wine, usually a Syrah, then sit by my back window in the dark and watch the snow quietly blanket my world. It’s my way of paying tribute to the cycle of the seasons and welcoming the dying time. And now I have a soundtrack for my tradition: Altus’ lovely and melancholic Black Trees Among Amber Skies.

Respectfully somber without crossing over into being morose, Black Trees… is a perfect backdrop for introspection in any season. Mike Carss laces together long pads balanced on bass tones as solid as frozen ground, the feeling and pace suitably reminiscent of the slow and steady cascade of snowfall, of ice forming on branches, of the hush that ushers in the greyness of winter. In spots there are undertones of music both symphonic and sacred, and small swells of emotion that may cause you to momentarily have to catch your breath. This is one of those works that will find things in your soul that you had tucked away and ask you to think about them. (For me, this sensation is particularly strong in “Waiting for the Cover of White.”) This graceful hour-long flow is among the best of Altus’ extensive catalog and a prime example of how moving, deep and affecting ambient music can be. Please don’t wait for winter. Listen to Black Trees Among Amber Skies now. It’s a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Altus’ web site.

Re-released by the Spotted Peccary label, Deborah Martin’s 1999 album Deep Roots, Hidden Water is a moving work in a symphonic New Age style touched with Native American overtones. Exhibiting both grace and grandeur, this disc moves from moments of sweeping-vista musical dramatics to stretches of quiet contemplation. Aided by musicians such as Tony Levin, the duo Coyote Oldman, Jon Jenkins and others, Martin realizes a depth and diversity of sound that sets the disc apart. Throughout Deep Roots… there are touches that elicit a strong response for the way they rise above the rest of the sound: the smooth bass line that anchors the title track as it winds along like a stream; the frame drum rhythm that lends its pulse to “Crossing Plateau”; the throaty, earth-ancient voice of Levin’s bowed bass grumbling its way through the gorgeous narrative of “The Strength of Stones.” The soul of the disc really shines in the songs of the flutes here, offerings provided by Coyote Oldman (cedar flutes, medicine whistle and Incan pan pipes), Mark Hunton (Native American flute) and Greg Klamt (Chinese flute). These are the living breath of the piece, soaring sounds that take immediate hold of your soul and set it in flight. All in all, Deep Roots, Hidden Water is beautiful work that shines in this well-deserved remastered version. It’s a reminder of why Deborah Martin has been an ambient/New Age mainstay for almost 20 years.

Available from Spotted Peccary.