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.

 

No sound is safe from Markus Mehr on his new release, Lava. Each one is subjected to an array of sonic surgeries that slice, pull, invert, roughen and deconstruct them even as Mehr reconfigures them into abstract structures. The yawning waveforms that open the first track, “Agenda,” stand as about the least molested sounds here–and about four minutes into what seems like it’s going to be a fairly standard ambient/drone work, Mehr starts manipulating the sounds and things proceed to get more interesting by degrees.

I find that I’m more involved with the music on Lava when Mehr keeps his machinations subtle. I’ll take the calm grace of “Hubble,” for example, my favorite track on the disc, over an aggressive now-hear-this experiment like “Up Sturz.” There’s still a lot to listen to in “Hubble.” Mehr puts a slightly coarsened edge on wavering synth tones to keep the thing from just being simple. There is still some effort involved in listening, a minor barrier for you to get around, but it’s not alienating. It’s a well-meant challenge. He plays with this idea again on “Everyware,” where a straightforward electric piano melody has to vie for attention against the wayward splashes of sound Mehr flings at it. Simplicity at odds with complexity–this equals interest. At least, as long as the complexity’s not too daunting. For me, what it comes down to is that the smoother rides offer a deeper level of listening because I’m not fighting against what I’m hearing. Or, more to the point, what’s being forcibly jammed into my ears. It’s only a minority of tracks here that pull me out of the listening experience. For the rest, Mehr has my full attention, which he duly rewards with an interesting set of compositions. The sounds here are viscous and rich, layered and neatly woven. I’ve gone back for many repeat listens to make sure I haven’t missed anything, and I look forward to more from Mehr.

Available at Hidden Shoal Records.

There is a scene in the movie Amadeus where the King complains that he did not like one of Mozart’s pieces because it had “too many notes.” Mozart wisely advises the King that if his majesty would simply point out which notes he objects to, Mozart will have them removed.

I bring this up in regard to Brokenkites’ solid IDM offering, No Sun So Brightly Shines, because when I listen to it I find myself thinking that there’s a bit too much of the repetitive WHUMP thump WHUMP thump of a techno/IDM beat. But more to the point, I think it obscures the quality of the rest of the work. On pieces where Brokenkites exercises a bit of percussive restraint, the songs really catch my ear without pushing my hand to the “next” button. There are places where it certainly works better than others. The racing pace and tinny, old-school sound of “Analepsis” picks up its soul from that programmed beat. Same goes for “Opian” as it smoothly changes identities from pulsing dance number to suspense-movie soundtrack and back. One of my favorites here. But listening to “Prolepsis,” I know for sure that Brokenkites can be just as effective when the WHUMPage is dialed down, and it makes me want to hear more of that subtlety at work. He’s got a good feel for a well-chosen beat, but the density and sameness of his choices sometimes pulls the music down under the weight.

Beats aside, No Sun So Brightly Shines is filled with strong melodies that stay with you and a nice mix of sounds that keeps things fresh, track to track. There’s a thoughtfulness of composition that comes through, a sense of the artist having something worthwile to say. In a mix, where one might get a respite from the drums, the disc truly (ahem) shines. I’ve also been listening to his 2008 offering, Fugue State, and delving into both makes me honestly look forward to more from Brokenkites.

Available from CD Baby.

Start your CD with the sound of an old dial-up modem carrier tone grinding its way over something like a bossa nova beat and you’ve certainly got my attention. Then, however, you’ve got to keep it interesting. Jason Sloan does exactly that–on both ends–on his new release, corruptedHorizon. Sloan builds upward from a base of gauzy guitar washes peppered with sharp beats, drum loops and intriguing, inventive clips of sound. The mix of texture and smoothness, ease and complexity, is perfect. Affording this disc a very focused listen is an absolute must. Although there are six pieces here, they move with a well-thought-out flow, and it feels like there’s a thread running through it. That much becomes clear when the modem sound rears up out of the wash later like a reminder of why you’re here.

Every track is stone cold solid, but it’s worth calling out the 10 minutes of bliss titled “dryANDabsolute.” This is a dynamic, intensely layered piece that rides on a percussion line/loop with a hand-drummed feel–a little touch of tribal. As this piece twists and curls around you, it takes on a deep, hypnotic groove. Well worth listening to over and over. “forward” is another standout, starting off cool, slow and sparse but always in a state of constant motion. Guitar chords spatter the air almost randomly while glitchy cut-ins and vocal samples keep your mind occupied.

While the real star here is Sloan’s processed guitar work, it gets a definite boost from his well-honed eye for sonic detail. The smallest touches pack a lot of depth in Sloan’s hands. It’s all purposeful, never forced or out of place. This is his 13th studio album, so he’s definitely had time to lock it all down. The effort that’s gone into the sounds shows in every moment.

corruptedHorizon is smart, laid-back and extremely well constructed. The downside is that it’s only about 50 minutes long–but it’s a pretty incredible 50 minutes. corruptedHorizon is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Jason Sloan’s web site.

If I was reduced to having to review CDs in a single word, the only appropriate word to describe The Crossing, the new offering from Jon Jenkins and David Helpling, would be “big.” This is a bold, hefty, cinematic work, moving and panoramic and dramatic enough to frequently take your breath away. Each track here is the sonic equivalent a long, sweeping aerial shot over some sort of stunning vista–towering mountains, rough-hewn gorges, angry seas, parched stretches of primordial desert and vast blue lakes. The Crossing moves from grand, emotional and densely orchestrated pieces to airier, more thoughtful offerings with ease and without a bump. There’s no disruption, for example, going from the powerful, crashing drums of the superb “Two Paths” to the meditative, deep-breath subtlety of  “From the Smallest Seed.”  The droning wash that eases through the first five minutes of the remarkable “For the Fallen” is as expertly realized as the end of the piece, where the music swells and blossoms into fuller melodic life. The like-minded chemistry that flows between Helpling and Jenkins creates a singular essence of thought that expresses itself brilliantly in these songs, whether the focus is rock-inspired guitar, sweeping New Age keys or tribal-infused drumming. (Lose yourself in the percussion in “To the Ends of the Earth,” as I do.) The eleven tracks here are logically matched one to the next with a sense of  narrative intent that simply works. Listen to The Crossing once just to get the feel of it; then go back and listen deeply to take in how much is going on musically at any given moment. Cass Anawaty’s mastering job brings crystalline clarity to each track.

Particularly for fans of well-orchestrated New Age music, The Crossing is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Deepexile.com and Spotted Peccary.