On the Malignant Records web site there are snippets from reviews of Skorneg’s Foehn from artists and reviewers more versed in the dark ambient arts than I–or, at least, more into them. These reviews talk about how good this album is. If you are a dark ambient lover, I suggest you take their word for it. When I listened, I found myself getting part way into each of the four tracks and then skipping ahead. I guess I was looking for something more because to my ears this is Dark Ambient 101 stuff, and I’ve heard enough Dark Ambient 101. Yes, it is big and loud and dense and it captures the austere feel of yet another barren wasteland. But there’s the issue for me: it’s one more barren wasteland, rendered in howls and the occasional bit of iron-on-iron percussion. Does it take you to some bleak, hopeless place so you can question your own existence? Of course. Does it have long stretches that border on hypnotic as viscous grey drones wrap around you? Of course. Because that’s how dark ambient does its thing, especially in its simplest form. Maybe I’m burned out on a surfeit of the stuff and there’s more going on here than I’m hearing. But what I’m hearing is straightforward, drone-laden dark with nothing outstanding to offer. Dark music fans are welcome to have a listen and then tell me why I’m wrong. For me, Foehn is simply a miss.

Available from Malignant Records.

My main issue with this release is that I’m not sure what I’m meant to come away with after listening. There’s a lot of sound manipulation from a wide scope of sources, but much of it feels like either the sounds are being randomly selected or someone happened to press the wrong button just then. Mechanical drones buzz and hum beneath most of the work here and at times it can achieve kind of a soporific effect, but it also feels very static to me. I lose interest in it quickly. With nothing catching my attention, where’s my need to listen? “Tesla’s Lab” ups the ante a little by lacing in some piano phrases, but it doesn’t go far. Listeners who are into very experimental work or who are more into how the sounds are created than how they come together may want to try this one out. For me, no further research is required.

Available at Bandcamp.

As I did with his previous album, I’m going to let Guy Birkin explain this to you first: “The Mathematica in the title refers to the algorithmic processes and number sequences that are used as the basis for the melodic parts of the music, and also to the programming language that is used to code the algorithms and generate the sequences. Tintinnabuli is Arvo Pärt’s compositional method. In this project the method is coded in Mathematica and programmed to generate harmonic parts by transforming the melodic parts.” You see, in this generative music project, melodic parts (M-voices) are created using algorithms based on stochastic methods and integer sequences, and the harmonic parts (T-voices) are created using algorithms that transform the melodic parts, based on Pärt’s method. Okay, I copied that off of Birkin’s site, too. But let’s set the heavy math aside. This release is the result of three years of work from Birkin, and while the math and the concept are typically heady, the music is–for the greater part–quietly pleasant and, I would suggest, best suited for background listening. I like how Birkin has chosen to represent his mathematically rigid constructs in small, bright tones like chimes or bells. Their softness and fading resonance nicely offset the comparatively straight lines coming out of the crunched numbers. In some tracks Birkin lays in rise-and-fall, pad-like elements that provide a break to the bounce of the chimes. Overall, the created harmonies linger and soothe, and the dynamic motion of the tones as the mastering moves them around the space acts almost like a binaural effect. Simply, this can be a pleasantly meditative release. I say “can be” because I do find the second track, “2b-G” almost too shiny, for lack of a better word, for my liking. I prefer the softer, warmer tones at play in “4e2”; they convey a deeper emotion without drawing attention to themselves. Also, there is a stretch of rough sound in “5d-f” that chucks a wrench into the otherwise calm flow. I’m sure that for Birkin it’s a matter of mathematical proof of concept. It does show that range of the idea and the sound itself is big and textured and interesting, but Guy…it’s like I was just getting comfortable and drifting off and you roughly shook me. Tucked in here are two tracks I really enjoy, pieces where Birkin shifts into a slightly higher gear and ends up with a sound that’s close to retro electronica, and is just a lot of fun. “9f3” and “10b7” are energetic and feel like straight-up analog synth constructs. If you’re not hearing a little echo of your favorite old T-Dream track in “9f3,” you’re not listening closely enough. And “10b7” sounds like Birkin mixed Ray Lynch’s soda-pop effervescence with Steven Halpern’s chakra-cleansing tone-scale-runs for a pure of dose of soul-deep feel-good.

I find Tintinnabuli Mathematica to be far more accessible than the last Birkin release I reviewed, Symmetry-Breaking. Perhaps it is the nod to and influence of Pärt, whose work largely employed quiet, reverent passages, or perhaps it is the quality of the math-driven harmonies. Either way, Birkin has created a beautiful work, the easy grace of which belies its scientific genesis. It is very interesting in an up-close listen, but do take the time to set it moving quietly in the background; it’s just as good.

Available from Runningonair.

If the question is, what is the Weight of A Pronoun?, the answer should be measured in the force of its bass punches, the velocity of its glitch, and the gravitational pull of its grooves. Taking that into account, this latest batch of melodic electronica from Anklebiter (aka Tanner Volz) is a rock-solid heavyweight. Volz loves his big bass sounds and drums, and he unloads a barrage of them here, thumping and driving their way toward irresistibility. It comes at you early on, an uppercut delivered out of an opening twist of electronics on “Joey Gladstone.” It hits in straight jabs on “Tickle Monster,” laid in with squelchy tones and pneumatic hisses to keep time. Catch it on “Werewolf of Portland” (Mr. Volz wins 50 bonus points for the title), where it’s given a little extra impact courtesy of drops that open into broad pad structures. What really makes the release work, though, is how Volz dovetails sharp, angular hooks with smoothly curved surfaces. That secondary side of the scale comes from soft pads and emotional melodies laid under his glitch-based rhythms. “Never Like This” is a great example. Beautiful piano leads the way but soon gets tucked beneath Don Gunn’s perfectly clattering drums. In for the redemption comes Anomie Belle’s violin, lifting the melody and the emotional content high above the noise. Meanwhile, Volz keeps an infectious rhythm-section groove running beneath. “It Was the Truth, Darlene” slides in a deliciously retro sequencer line and chanting vocals courtesy of Princess. The sound here is very thick, intricately over-woven glitch and distortion and potent beats, and yet it’s almost weightless; your focus is fully on how damned catchy it is. And while “catchy” may not be the descriptor Volz was going for on Weight of A Pronoun, it’s fitting. These quick tracks are a pure pleasure to listen to, they all but beg you to turn them up, and between the hooks and the feeling, they stand a good chance of owning you outright. To me, this album is Anklebiter at the top of his game and just getting better.

Available from The Crime League, at Bandcamp.

Not to pander, but any friend of Djam Karet’s is a friend of mine–especially if they can rip and groove like DK, which Spoke of Shadows does on their debut, self-titled release. Prog fans take note: this album has the complex structures and algebraic time signatures you adore, ramped up by Mark Cook’s spot-on Warr guitar riffs. (A touch guitar with what is technically called “an assload of strings.”) Cook partners up with drummer Bill Bachman, whom he told to “Play what you normally would not be allowed to play in other bands,” and a host of guest musicians and together they just let it mother-effing rip. Bachman’s heavy metal thunder anchors the work here and drives a spike right through you to hold you in place while the band lights it up around you. It’s pure, well-tempered adrenaline. Cook kills with savage fretboard runs starting right off the bat on “Dominion,” and the energy rarely abates from there. “Harbinger” kicks off sounding very much like Tony Levin’s Stick Men–and trust me when I tell you that is a potent compliment. Hard notes are hammered on against gorgeous, twisting bass runs as it sets up its structure. Tempo shifts and jazzy structures are all over this piece. It’s a great display of the combo of technical skill and rain-hellfire-on-’em attitude that makes us love prog. I don’t who gets the flaming guitar solo around the 90-second mark, but kudos to you, sir. You may have briefly stopped my heart. This one throttles down nicely at the end, floating to earth on Bob Fisher’s flute. Fisher has a chance to show off his rock side on “Images” by cranking off spitfire trills that would make Ian Anderson blush. On “Tilting At Windmills,” Bachman lays into the double bass kicks as bass-heavy chords rumble the floor. Drops give Fisher more space here and allow the listener a little breathing room. Nice modulation here as the quiet passages get cut off by volcanic resurgences of the metal attitude. As is sometimes the case with prog, there are brief moments when Spoke of Shadows dwell a little too much in art-rock fanciness. The end of “Pain Map,” for instance, drags a bit and makes me think about skipping over it. Compared to the rest of the release, it just feels weak. But the strong parts of the album absolutely outweigh those very few lesser moments. This is a work to dive right into, give it plenty of volume and listen to these superb musicians rip it up. Many thanks to the lads of Djam Karet for bringing Spoke of Shadows to my attention. More, please.

Available from Firepool Records.