When an artist talks about how his album was born out of one of those moments where you “look back at your life,” I almost feel like I need to tread lightly. Deep and fragile personal feelings and all that. Plus I’m always reminded of the Robert Fripp quote, “Whenever a musician is interested in self-expression you know it’s gonna suck.” Luckily in this instance, The Wind Blows Summer from the Trees by The Glimmer Room (aka Andy Condon) manages to not suck while still being acceptably and distinctly personal. I have to admit that in my first listens, Condon’s fairly heavy load of field recordings threatened to put me off. Children’s voices, cawing crows, bleating sheep (“Little Puffy Clouds,” anyone?), carnival music that gives way to some clog-stomping folk dance… At first it all felt like it was being given too much prominence, and it took some getting used to. After a few repeat listens, although they were still a bit up front for my personal tastes, they began to make more sense. What had once seemed almost like random drop-ins took on place and purpose. What also helped me change my attitude is that the foundation of the whole thing is a set of truly beautiful pieces that vary from very soft ambient drifts to melodic songs bearing light touches of rhythm. There are long, field-recording-free stretches where Condon opens up his sounds and presents wide, gentle vistas that are often quite breathtaking–to the point where I began to feel like I wanted more of these, alone and unaccosted. With the extra sounds in place, however, what comes through is the smooth forward motion of a narrative in sound. Condon lets his inner reflections rise and define themselves and the listener is pulled in by the depth and complexity of what’s being said.

Condon remarks on his web site: “…never before have I put so much of myself into a composition…” The effort pays off. The Wind Blows Summer from the Trees is an intimate piece with a strong impressionistic streak. C0ndon’s voice is firm and focused, and the more you listen, the more you both hear and understand. At a scant 49 minutes, it’s a pleasantly brief tour of the past 43 years of Andy Condon’s life, and one you’ll likely enjoy.

Available from The Glimmer Room’s web site.

If you don’t get an immediate jolt of feel-good in the midst of “Night on the Roof,” the opening track from Uwe Gronau’s new release, Visions, then a) this might not be the disc for you and b) you might be dead. In fact, the majority of the 20 tracks here, which Gronau offers up as soundtracks to a movie in your head, are upbeat pieces of pop-song length, equal parts New Age and contemporary instrumental, and they’re catchy. Pete Sayers’ guitar on “Under the Pont Neuf” rings with a folksy flair before Gronau beat-drops it with magnificently weighty synth chords–and yet the undertone keeps its simple charm. “Old Man in the Rain” takes a similar tack, but with Gronau’s lyrical piano and the sound of rainfall. For pure uplift, head to “A Passion Play.” Gronau pushes huge keyboard runs out of his Hammond B3 while supporting it with whistling flute tones and raw guitar lines carved out of his Virus synth. The tracks just roars with a soulful feel–I keep going back into it! “Summer in the City” also has energy to spare. Gronau’s piano here is light yet potent, a melodic base he pumps with speedy synth lines. It may put some listeners in mind of (for example) John Tesh, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s another song shot through with true joy and it just revels in its happiness. Some Visions tracks work in a jazz feel–Gronau cites Joe Zwainul and Weather Report as early influences. Matthias Keidel’s sax on “Through the Backyard Window” pairs off Gronau’s electric piano and synth backdrops to give it a perfect smooth-jazz/fusion tone. Again, if you don’t find yourself caught up in this, tapping your toes and feeling it, seek professional help. “Oasis” presents itself simply but effectively with a small-combo feel. Hand percussion (synthesized) and rimshots make a backdrop for electric piano.

Visions is a very pleasant ride courtesy of a multi-talented artist. There’s a lot to take in, but as Gronau keeps the songs in fairly similar territory it’s easy to get comfortable with it. There are a couple of tracks that feel weaker than the majority, but in a set of this size, they can be shrugged off. The hook here is the positive energy throughout; there are truly uplifting moments, those points where music does what it’s supposed to do–affect you directly. If you’re in need of something peppy and fun and well-made, Visions is a firm choice.

Available at CD Baby.

On his new two-disc release, Computerchemist (aka Dave Pearson) tries an interesting strategy. He gave drummer Zsolt Galántai sets of time signatures to follow, then had Galántai improvise what were essentially long solos. Pearson then went back in and, in tried-and-true Computerchemist fashion, attacked them with the dual weapons of progressive rock and Berlin school concepts. The outcome is a long stretch of fiery, flaring, feel-good tunes that will have you turning up the volume. I will gladly confess to being a huge shill for Pearson’s guitar playing. It’s inspired and passionate and howls with a classic rock ‘n’ roll lack of restraint. These discs give plenty of that, particularly the second. “Strangeness in 13” kicks off that disc with Pearson grinding out soulful solos while a piano slyly offers up whispers of the beginning of Tubular Bells. This leads straight into “Goodbye, Moszkva Tér,” which is essentially Pearson and Galántai strapping you into a chair and pumping a constant stream of high-grade art-rock adrenalin straight into your veins. Then the man gets downright aggressive with his axe, strangling screaming banshee wails out of it for “Floor Zero.” Meaty keyboard chords fill in the background. On the first disc, Pearson hits the guitar mark when he revisits an old track in “Landform 2012.” This is a perfect blend of guitar and sequencer, Pearson holding long, soaring notes heavy on the reverb. Pure, gorgeous Berlin. “Zsoltimatic” is another nice guitar track with a bluesy edge.

The other element to Signatures is Pearson’s spot-on sequencer work. He lays down neat geometric patterns for the drums and guitar to flow over, their stringent borders just able to contain the energy. Analog lovers will eat them up in all their T-Dream-influenced glory. (Here, we go back to “Zsoltimatic” and its followup, “Corporatosaur,” as prime examples.)

It must be said that, to some degree, Signatures is a Must-Love-Drums offering. They’re here, they’re big and full of fills and flare, and Pearson doesn’t relegate them to the back seat. Which means, admittedly, that sometimes they take over and the two sides of the equation feel like they don’t entirely align. It becomes more like a game of catch the drummer. I like the playful charm that runs through “Broken Daliuette,” for example, which starts off with a feel like a lost Oldfield track, one of those pieces that meanders around an old folk dance. (Excuse the two MO references in one review.) But when Galántai hits the scene, it feels like the drums are vying for an undue amount of attention attention. The closing couple of minutes, where Pearson comes more in line with the framework of Galántai’s staccato attack, work better. These just-off-kilter moments are far more the exception than the rule on the Signatures discs, but with the drums given so much prominence, it stands out a bit when it happens. When everything comes in line, however, as it does in most cases here, it creates huge, exhilarating, face-melting gobs of prog-fueled joy. Come and get it.

Available from the Computerchemist web site.

As the title suggests, Peter DiPhillips’ Mystic River Reflections is an introspective set of synth-based pieces, ranging from lightly pulsing songs to extremely deep drifts. It’s a short ride, just over 45 minutes, and there’s barely a bump in it. DiPhillips offers up a set of sonic vistas painted in hushed tones and crafted with real depth and dimension. On the driftier side of things are “Whiteface Mountain” and “Plum Island Moonrise.” The first is washed through with a long, cold sigh of wind, the sound of it rushing up-slope, whispering its way against a quietly stated, slow-moving chant. The feel is genuinely reverent and spiritual, its minimal nature giving it a simple potency. “Plum Island Moonrise” is one of my favorite tracks here, a very calm wash of sound with a slight romantic tinge to it. It’s only because I enjoy it so much that I find myself slightly disappointed with the way it ends–it just feels like it gets cut off before it finishes saying what it has to say. Up to that point, it’s superb. Then there’s the title track which glistens appropriately, wavering watery tones flecked with high, twinkling notes like sunlight on waves, and a breath-easing sense. DiPhillips’ pads here rise up boldly and pass like cloud shadows. He touches on the darker side, too. “Ogunquit Beach” opens feeling a bit tempest-tossed, wind-swept and a little aggressive. The sounds clatter and clash like the dull thud of storm-tossed rocks. DiPhillips pares this one back mid-track to a lonely sigh of pads, the stormier parts having passed over but still in view. He then takes you into the murky and haunted surroundings of “The Sunken Forest.” The chitter of electronic bugs fills the space immediately and intermittently. Drones rise and fall, and a punchy melody with a kalimba-type tone catches hold of you. A very atmospheric track. In among all that, “Montauk Point” and “Blue Mountain Lake” offer somewhat more uptempo rides with their own cool personality. “Montauk Point” comes at you with a bouncing, rising three-note pattern that drops off to make room for shadowy drone structures, only to come back still humming its simple ditty. “Blue Mountain Lake” feels like a mildly deconstructed lounge piece, its glitchy rhythm and smooth chords finding themselves a bit displaced, again working in uncertain concert with hissing underlays. The more I listen to Mystic River Reflections, the more I find to listen to. A great looper that stands up to deep scrutiny. Nice work from Peter DiPhillips.

Available at Bandcamp.

Let me say from the outset that Upon the Edge of Night, the latest release from prolific electro-acoustic composer Robert Scott Thompson, is one of those albums that brings to mind the old quote, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” It’s not a release that will benefit from a written review; it needs to be given a deep, focused listen. While I don’t do “Best Of” lists, I would have to say that this easily stands out for me among the releases I’ve listened to this year. Across 13 tracks, Thompson touches on classic ambient drifts, neo-classical structures, and light sequencer music, all with equal grace and mastery. This is my first exposure to Thompson’s music, and I’m amazed at what I’ve been missing. Upon the Edge of Night is actually a collection of pieces “culled from a large number of studio sessions” for three upcoming releases–which makes 2013 a very promising year for listeners. It also accounts in part for the diversity at work here. Thompson opens the disc with the very soft ambient tones of “Strange Lines and Distances.” The piece has a lush, warm sound, punctuated with quietly repeating piano notes. Then, having spent 16 minutes convincing you you’re in a very good ambient disc, he greets you with “Glass is the Enemy of the Secret,” an almost playful little tune on the edge of electronic chamber music. It reminds me in spots of a slightly tamer Roedelius. And the changes continue from there, all the transitions smoothly made. He again takes the listener deep into a dream-like realm with the gorgeous flow of “The Misty Place.” Organic touches and a distinct progression of sound mark the journey here. There’s also a rich sense of emotion, admittedly on the melancholy side, that connects and draws you in. The slow piano of “Far Side of the Sky” is paired off with long string pads, Thompson letting the space between notes and the fading resonance have their say in the story. The twilight-hued “In Situ” is a borderline drone piece, sizable pads moving in a slowly advancing line. Another track that just takes hold of your mind and holds it still while Thompson works on it. “Variation Reveals” is like a pastorale on piano, flute, and strings, a straightforward, classically oriented piece. “Pale Fire” closes the disc with energetic sequencer constructs and interruptive sound manipulation. Spacey and a little odd…I like it.

Thompson takes advantage of the basically limitless size of digital model and provides a full 90 minutes of music here. That time glides by as he wends his way through styles. Nothing feels out of place or contrived; Thompson simply has this range, and he covers it well. A fantastic release and well worth looking into.

Available from Bandcamp.

JC Mendizabal and his crew are back to put sound through the wringer and shape it to their liking on the latest Radio Free Clear Light offering, The Labyrinth of Ohgel. Eclectic is the name of the game here. Each of the 14 “chambers,” which are based on “unique interconnected web installations,” presents a new vision, built in part around interesting swaths of found sound. “Chamber of Stone,” for example, has perhaps the finest musical use of the Star Trek transporter sound effect you’ll ever hear. Mendizabal is joined by Etanna Sack and Lydia Harari on what’s listed only as “noise makers [and] vocals” and Keith Yates on clarinet and sax. Whatever sound these folks conjure is then manipulated by Mendizabal and mixed with his own offerings, including their deconstruction, and the output is turned into a shifting maze of sonic impressions. Always a bit on the dark side, often kicking into a light techno vibe, The Labyrinth of Ohgel truly conveys the sense of passage and the forward motion of story.

While it’s not entirely necessary to take the music and the web installations together, it definitely heightens the experience. The disc is one way to listen; the 14 stations at the site also play the matching track as you click your way from room to room. It makes for an interesting, direct glimpse into each piece’s inspiration. Get to the clockwork rhythms and metallic overtones of “The Grinding Wheel” and you’ll immediately feel what’s written about it on that page–“The monotonous grind of eternally turning cogs. Their mechanical chug and whine fills the air with metallic clangs and the deep rumbling of an engine…” Enter “The Chamber of the Salamander” and listen to how the crackle of flame works through the sound, rising and falling–according to the narrative–with the beast’s desires. The glitch of “The Gauntlet” captures in sharp focus a “tangle of diabolical machinery…having the appearance of a tangled orgy of mechanical insects gnashing their pincers at you as you intrude upon their intimate encounter.” In addition, the chambers are not lined up according to the track listing on the disc. You literally make your way through the maze, clicking your choice of chamber, following a path of your selecting. The art at the site is interesting too. Look closely. Yes, those are Legos.

As with all of RFCL’s work, there’s an inherent challenge to listening. Leave your preconceptions at the door and open a little space to appreciate an impressionistic approach. Even in the noise-oriented places–and there are plenty–there’s always a sense of purpose, of moving ahead with the plan. The depth of sound is strong; Mendizabal can firmly pack a piece without overloading. There’s plenty there to feed your imagination. And it doesn’t hurt that when he does kick out a groove, it’s solid and barbed with hooks. So when you’re ready for a little adventure in sound, head into The Labyrinth of Ohgel.

Available at CD Baby.

While Darker is dark, it’s not as dark as the name might imply. This is not grinding, crushing dark ambient, but it is without a doubt an hour spent fully cloaked in dense shadow. Phobos (aka David Thompson) escorts the listener through four long-form works, managing to create atmospheres that are equally as mind-salving as they are lightly unnerving. This is very much a headphone listen because you’ll want to soak up all the small details as Thompson pulls you inexorably down and in. The path starts early on in the half-hour-long “Seance,” with Thompson’s void-born drones welling up to surround you. This is not isolationist ambient per se; rather, it takes on the feel of willful dissociation as the sound drapes over you, alternating between thick, growling pads and the occasional distant howl of rising wind, and you agree to leave yourself behind. The amorphous, constantly folding washes of dark continue through “Descend” and “Hell’s Gate,” at which point Thompson opts to unleash a little discomfort on you. You’ve passed through his veil of shadow, slipped between worlds, and your reward is a gnashing, edge-of-industrial snarl of sound, the darkest space you’ll encounter on Darker. As the track moves forward, the sound tempers toward a softer edge without quite leaving the unnerving sense behind. It’s meant to deposit you into the last part of the journey, “Decomposing Lust.” As befits a well-planned excursion, Thompson arcs the sound upward toward the light here, his deeper sounds rising in tone and feel, stopping just short of the ever-popular angelic choir pads–but still coming off soft and warm enough to relieve forty minutes of sonic tension. Don’t get too comfy, though–in the closing moments there’s just enough dissonance slipped in to leave you with a touch of worry.

Darker perfectly skirts the border of dark ambient, evoking a lot of the same visceral responses without resorting to the ultra-heavy, cloying assaults of sound that often typify the genre. This is more like ambient music with the brightness turned down. There are no harsh edges save for the beginning of “Hell’s Gate”; the effect it has on is eked out of your own darkness rather than being thrust upon you. I like it for the fact that it’s oddly comforting in its discomfort, which is a tricky thing to balance. I’ve had this disc on repeat for several hours, just letting the sounds find my own shadowy nooks and reveling in what comes out of them as a result.

Available from the Phobos web site.

Recording as Another Neglected Hobby, musician Mark Cotton sets out on his newest release to create “a soundtrack to use while watching the movement of the stars and planets across Earth’s night sky.”  For your stargazing pleasure he offers the hour-and-a-quarter long Deep End of the Night Sky, an excellent long-form piece that shifts through several compatible identities as it moves along. Even with these shifts, Cotton never ventures into a sound-zone that disturbs the simple pleasure of listening and letting your mind’s eye create planetarium-quality starscapes. (And, yes, when New England weather allows it again, I will listen to this out on the deck while stargazing.) The moves and changes are organic and sensible. By way of illustrating the diversity at work here, I’ll tell you that one recent day I set this to loop in my office, then went about my day. It was interesting to note, each time I came back into the room, what tone this piece had taken on. At one point I entered a space that was cold and a little ominous, filled with low-end tones; on another visit, I was in a much warmer, calm floating space, immediately soothing. Cotton’s style is to launch far-stretching pads and let them slowly fade, the resonant sounds meshing easily with the newer formations as they rise. There’s a sort of easy complexity at work; you understand, in listening, that Cotton is manipulating and moving a lot of sound, but it all flows together without so much as a bump. This is also what allows those shifts to occur so smoothly. Deep End… is a big piece of work, packing a real sense of vastness and celestial beauty. Cotton spins his tale with practiced patience and a real ear for harmony. This is most certainly a disc to loop, as the journey melds end-to-end with ease and it’s likely you won’t want it to end.

Available from the Another Neglected Hobby web site.

CR Hougaard tries to show us “the charm in the weird and scary” on his new release, Aethereal, using synthesizer, guitars, and effects pedals “altered by an old tape recorder.”  He manages to get the weird and scary part down, but finding charm in this mix of noise will be a matter of individual taste. If you’re not amenable to noise, you may be put off by the clatter and screech of the 15-minute opener, “Eine: Reise ans Ende des Verstandes.” To his credit, Hougaard creates a distinct atmosphere, loaded to the brim with grim uncertainty and a touch of claustrophobia. But it’s a long ride to take and a lot of sonic debris to get through–again, if you’re not among those who appreciate the heavily experimental stuff. I find myself skimming through the first several tracks until I come to the other long piece here, “Liftoff.” It’s quieter than its predecessors, falling somewhere between drone and drift, but Hougaard works in some dissonance to give it an edge. As the track progresses, the sound begins to decay under additional elements and processing, the textures on the perimeter much rougher while he maintains much of the comparatively simple aspects of what’s come before. This, I’d assume, is the power of liftoff, and it’s well done. The later tracks are more spacey than the earlier ones, the mix of drone and drift without the heavy hand on the noise. “Pacific” is a great example of what Hougaard can craft that’s more along the lines of straightforward ambient. Long pads stretch out under a white-noise hiss, the two elements trading prominence.

I had no simple point of entry into Aethereal, and that may be the artist’s point. If I had to pin a narrative on it, we go from the metallic clatter of the industry required to develop a rocket, through the bone-jarring propulsion of takeoff, and finally into the cold and strange drifts of space. Getting there isn’t easy, however, and I’m not sure how many listeners will take the ride. Sonically hearty wayfarers will want to give this a go to see what they can find amidst the noise. An interesting and challenging release.

Available at the artist’s Bandcamp page.

 

 

If I’m understanding this correctly–and I’ve done what is, for me, an inordinate amount of Googling and surfing to come to this conclusion–the disc I received from 3AM Tone is not actually for sale, but it is a collection of tracks available for download. I think. Two of them appear to be on sale at CDBaby; others are at Soundcloud but don’t appear to have a download link. (This is what happens when you don’t send me any information, friends. I have to guess. And I’m lazy.) All that being said, if you like very quiet, quite soft ambient drifts, 3AM Tone is pretty much worth the hunt. This artist favors misty, warm pads that follow a classic rise-and-fall cadence. There’s nothing groundbreaking here, but it’s well-made ambient. The first track, “Some Are Asleep (Summer Asleep Mix),” owes more than a little to Mr. Eno, with its slow-paced piano threaded out across a hushed synth backdrop. I like the breathing cadence of “Purple Gloe,” which brings to mind some of Roach’s Structures from Silence music. “Phaze” is a workable drone piece that whispers its way through three minutes; there’s motion here, but it’s subtle and nicely so. 3AM Tone hits a nice ambient stride with the longest offering here at six minutes, “Velvet and Starshine.” It’s another whisper-tone ride of intersecting pads and subtle dynamics. All in all, a promising collection of pieces. Now if only it was easier to get them all at once…

Check it out at 3AM Tone’s Soundcloud page.