A split release originally issued on limited edition vinyl, Modular Anxiety offers two distinct takes on experimental drone music. First up is Dino Spiluttini, whose pieces range from jaggedly angular, clattering constructs and rich, distorted bass to surprisingly smooth drones–mind you, the former more than the latter. On tracks like “Anxiety” and “Crawling,” the sound is aggressive and big, elements constantly interrupting each other in a tug of war for your attention. There’s a semblance of a beat at play. “Downer” and “Wallow Wallow” take the quiet side, nudging pads along slowly. On “Wallow Wallow,” Spiluttini adds some nice rough textures to the sound for added interest. “Weak Love” is a gentle piece of work built on a hissing underlay as a slightly croaking, unsteady melody wobbles out. Quak’s pieces, by comparison, are less dynamic, more droning, and bleaker overall. Things move in slow motion, restatement upon restatement with an almost agonizing patience. “Octagonal Journey” is more like his partner’s work, sounds jumping back and forth in quirkily mathematical manners. Quak loses me completely on “Duet for Modular Brass”; the weirdness is just too deep for my tastes.

You can look at the two sides of Modular Anxiety as being a study in contrast and complement, but for me Spiluttini’s half is the more engaging of the two. Quak’s work feels more like someone figuring out what the knobs do, whereas Spillutini seems more invested in things compositionally. Neither part of this holds a lot of allure for me, personally, but those with a taste for experimental work should find something here.

Available from Umor Rex.

Let’s call this impressionist ambient with a hints of a slightly dark edge. The duo Cosmic Mind Warp lay down a very listen-worthy ride that ranges from perfect spacey drifts to vivid mind-pictures crafted in intriguing sounds. Outside of the errant sound bite that opens “A Swarm of Ghosts” (sorry, guys, it doesn’t work), Zero Beats Per Minute is a smooth voyage. On the soft side, there is the lush and quiet “Fading Into Ether,” the album’s longest track. This is a 14-minute soother in an absolutely classic spacemusic style. Paired with its follow-up, “Zero Mass Particles,” the two create a very deep 20-minute glide. The pads here shift and cross slowly, the tone stays just warm enough and just on the edge of brightness. Conversely, “Inside the Mothership” comes off as cold, mechanical and angular, the remnant chug and hiss of an abandoned craft. Although there are no beats, as promised, the various sounds at work here go about their business in a dedicated pattern–you know, as machinery does–and creates something of an ad hoc rhythm. Close your eyes and look around to take in the details of this alien craft. “Infinite Void” depends on vocal drops to give it a mildly uncomfortable feel. Or perhaps that’s just my own monolingual insecurity at work. Minor chords and static hisses augment the off-putting mood. CMW will play with your head when you get around to “The Space-Time Continuum,” swirling droning pads back and forth, setting your mind spinning just a touch. Great spatial sense here, and once again the duo bring in a vocal sample, torn and distorted, to give a gently dark tint. Zero Beats Per Minute works very well as an ambient listen, particularly in its softer tracks. But this is one you need to get up close and personal with. The depth of sound is excellent, as is the overall dynamic. The music here slowly carves out well-detailed spaces for you to look around with your mind’s eye. So have a look.

Available at Bandcamp.

Prospero is yet another musical mask donned by prolific sound artist JC Mendizabal (Kyron, Radio Free Clear Light, Projective Module–all of which have been ). I find it interesting that Mendizabal calls the work here “ambient experimental electronic”–which it certainly is–but doesn’t mention that much of it is also infused with an edge of jazz. As ever with this artist, what we get here is a perfectly orchestrated mix of sounds small,medium and large, from cast-off found bits and vocal drops to mutated gurglings culled from deep within the electronics. Beats come and go at seemingly just the right times, and the sonic scenery, in constant motion, is laid out before us with depth and dimension. I’ve always found Mendizabal’s stuff to be straight-up hypnotic, and that holds true in many of the tracks here. “There Was This Woman” builds its way from a quiet batch of sounds driven by a clubby thump into recursive curls and swirls in heavy layers. A vocal sample gets torn and twisted over and over, a cool drill bit boring gently into your head. The titles track works with simple repetition, also nicely layered, its warbling tones soothing and a little intoxicating. The jazz tint shines on “And Then She Sailed Through the Caves,” coasting along on a Fender Rhodes vibe straight out the 70s. (Check in with your Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea references.) A laughing string-like phrase repeats as an accent. On “Flying People” an intimate trio of drum, bass and keys holds steady in the middle of a swirl of electronic scribbles and some form of mutated chant. The juxtaposition is superb, with the unwavering rhythm section laying down its toe-tapping groove as the electronics swoop and dive around you. The detail that comes from small sound is important to Mendizabal, and his attention to it plays out in tracks like “Excreta” and its followup, “In the Home of Electronic Dust.” Tiny crackles and clicks whisper in your ears, forming beats and textures as they do. The tracks here are quick, with 16 jammed into an hour, and the transitions between them happen fast. It can be a little jarring in spots, but never problematically so. It’s like watching slides. You’re taking one in and schwa-wup, you’re on to the next one with the last still registering. It’s a great blend of styles, beautifully handled, and you have to listen to this up close. There’s so very much going on. Another great outing from Mendizabal.

Available from Black Note Music.

Let’s get the caveat out of the way up front: there was no way I was not going to love this album. Convocation, Borghi and Teager’s debut collaboration, blew me away. Their “jambient” style, blending processed guitar and jazz sax, is deep and soulful and gorgeous and pretty damn near perfect. So what more would I be able to say about Awaken the Electric Air, the live recording of the duo’s set on the Star’s End radio show following a concert at legendary ambient venue The Gatherings? Taking flight for an hour starting at four in the morning, Borghi and Teager lay down smooth, largely improvised tracks that use the tones and direction of the Convocation pieces as a stepping-off point. As Borghi explained to me via e-mail, “the tunes from Convocation that we did were only allusions to the originals, mostly because we just caught a vibe from the outset and stayed with it.” This puts the listener smack in the warm, drifting center of the jambient experience, where the chemistry between these two artists is heightened. Borghi’s ambient washes are ever so deep, quiet eddies of sound in constant motion, and Teager’s sax and flute find perfect expressions to complement them, whether it’s the rapid trills and fiery runs of jazz or long, breathy chords that twist their way through the air. Teager’s a truly expressive player, and his lines will work their way into your soul. Here’s what I suggest: get ahold of both Convocation and Awaken the Electric Air,  burn them both into one playlist, put on some headphones, hit “play” and just allow yourself to quietly dissipate into a cloud of unfiltered bliss. This sequel to what I considered one of last year’s best releases just amplifies how very good Borghi and Teager are. This is a must-listen.

Available through various outlets; see the artists’ web site for info.

I kept waiting for this to get interesting. That could sum up my entire experience with Detour to Nowhere from dark ambient artist World of Metal and Rust, but perhaps I owe it a few more words. The work here is dark enough, certainly, and packs that cloying and claustrophobic feel common to the style, but all in all it’s too repetitious for its own good. There’s minimalism, and then there is–no pun intended–going nowhere.  The same sounds seem to circle around you without ever upping the ante or intensity. Big piano chords drop in here and there, but it never fully feels like there’s a good reason for it. I’ve never been highly receptive to dark ambient, but some releases eventually pull me in because of the feeling they evoke or because the dynamics of the thing grab my head and make me listen. Not so here. Dark ambient fans can take a listen and see if there’s something I’m not getting but for me, Detour to Nowhere lives up to its title.

Available from Bandcamp.

 

Although I cannot really say why, I have always been partial to the school of music where one takes a fairly standard piece, call it post-rock if you must, and then has at it with bursts of noise and static, partially obscuring without completely defiling the base material. That mix of the recognizable and the subversive appeals to me. Which is why I like You Are No One from Canadian artist An Ant and An Atom. There are just five pieces here, and they shoot by in half an hour, but there’s a nice depth of sound along with that whole let’s subvert the paradigm thing. “The Bathory Allure” is my prime example. A simple, homey melody on guitar stuns patiently along, pleasantly catchy in its own way, and the air around it slowly fills with feedback and hissing static. It’s worked up to a point where the two sides of the equation gently nudge each other past the 50/50 point, with both agreeing to fade at the end. “I Left It In Places I’d Have to Forget About” takes the same tack, but fully immerses you in it, being the longest track here at just over 10 minutes. Fuzzed out and hypnotic walls of sound curl up and around a very post-rock guitar tune and the whole thing escorts you away for a while. It’s cool to realize that you’re somewhat relaxing to the effect of what’s actually a very coarse, grating sound in spots. And through that haze, the melody retains its own draw.

You Are No One is thick with texture and masses of small sound. Its layers run quite deep, and the balance of harsh and soft is handled nicely. A release that gets better with each listen, and it has made me want to check out the artist’s other work as well.

Available from the artist’s web site.

 

A quick 20-minute shot of textured drones that eventually blossom out into beats. Three of the four tracks here take up the first 11 minutes. There’s a lot to listen to, plenty of small sounds piled onto each other in shifting landscapes. “Bound in a Nutshell” makes a  good transition between light and shadow, actually feeling a bit uplifting in spots. Overall, though, these short tracks feel like they’re clearing a space for the nine-minute “Mantra,” which ups the ante and the interest. With a light tapping beat that picks up from the start, this piece swirls itself into a hypnotic spiral of reverberating notes accented by the deep layers around it. Rumbling bass notes at the very end are a nice visceral touch.

Somnium is brief but engaging, and leaves me wanting to explore more of the artist’s music.

Available from Sparkwood Records.

On this short outing, Caught in the Wake Forever (aka Fraser McGowan) guides his listeners through ethereal post-rock spaces and edge-of-ambient washes lightly coated in melancholy. This is rich electro-acoustic work, with slowly picked guitar lines and delicate piano melodies, also played with thoughtful deliberation and a potent dose of emotion. Listen to “A Morning Without Decay,” where the piano speaks softly over a perfectly understated stream of electronic washes. “At Least You Had My Cigarettes” takes something of the reverse approach; McGowan lays down a twist of electronic sound first, then lightly layers in meandering guitar. It’s got a still-awake-just-before-dawn feel about it. “Castle Semple Loch” is the fullest song here in terms of instrumentation, opening with a dulcimer-like sound that keeps pace throughout the piece, then adding bass and acoustic guitar. There’s a nice dreaminess to it, and just a hint of New Age-style romance. McGowan steps over into beatless territory with the wavering tones of “Black Nectar,” a piece that grabs a slightly rhythmic element from its own oscillation. Near-static noises burbles quietly beneath. It works very well and makes an interesting break in the flow.

False Haven eases through its 28 minutes without a bump. The blend of interesting electronics and heartfelt melodies plays out nicely. It’s a pleasure to listen to, and absolutely demands repeat plays. Find it and enjoy.

Available from Sound in Silence.