dep’s new release, Start Loving the Robots, starts slowly. Almost too slowly. There are points where the  hanging pauses between notes in the first track, “Waking Up With You,” seem almost erroneously long. By the time dep drops in a beat, I find that I’m not sure I want to keep listening. (It doesn’t help that one day while listening to this track my wandering mind picked out a melodic resemblance to a certain Counting Crows song, and now I have to sing that each time I listen.) But it’s my role as a reviewer to stay the course, often against first impressions and, luckily for me, Start Loving the Robots proves, eventually, to be a pleasant batch of, as the artist puts it, melodic electronica.

But it takes dep a couple of tracks before he offers up anything beyond shrug-worthy club-tune pulses and beats–and so, a couple tracks before warranting my attention. He gets it with the pounding piano line of “On a Friday Afternoon.” This is the first point where he shows a willingness to break form. It’s also the point where the sound gains any real depth, any sense of build. To that end, he hits his stride with the following track, “Red, Blue, Green,”  with carefully piled layers that rise to a dramatic height, each additional piece deepening the interest. Here dep adds some softness, which better offsets the steely, mechanical touch of  the previous tracks (and the disc overall, really). I also like how he echoes the pounding from the previous track, but lighter and less demanding. The closer, “Who Knows Where We Go From Here,” is probably the best of the batch. Starting as a soft wash, it takes on a glitchy beat and softly sung half-awake vocals.

dep is offering Start Loving the Robots on a limited-edition, custom-made USB thumb-drive–shaped like a robot, of course.

Available at dep.fm.

As a rule, I don’t review music that I download for myself. And while I don’t randomly download stuff often, there are occasions when I do (it’s called “boredom”).When I find something I like but aren’t going to review, I put it here, in the Off the Grid post. I’ll try to keep it monthly.

Dreamhub’s Moments in Space is quite simply one of the most engaging, pleasurable space-groove CDs I’ve heard in a while. Kim Pedersen deftly switches between hushed drifts, melancholic melodies and borderline-IDM rhythms as he guides the listener through his version of space. This is one of those discs where, if I have my iPod on shuffle and a song comes up, I have to see who it is. An excellent release from Earth Mantra.

I often can’t remember how I come across my Off the Grid discs. Sometimes it’s from the Featured Netlabel box at StillStream, sometimes it’s a link off someone’s Facebook posting. However I managed to find NCThompson’s Another Quiet Winter, I’m glad I did. (In fact, I just had to Google it to remind myself that it came from the very nice folks at Soft Phase.) This is laid-back, downtempo goodness that gets right to massaging your temples and telling you to relax. Thompson’s soul-filled piano playing anchors many of the tracks with absolute grace. Been listening to this one a lot.

To the best of my recollection I don’t think I’ve ever reviewed a CD by Darshan Ambient, altho I own at least three. This is because I can’t wait for his label to get around to sending them to me. (Kidding. The guys at Spotted Peccary have been good to me. I’m just impatient when it comes to Darshan’s work.) From Pale Hands to Weary Skies is another perfect set of songs from Michael Allison, another stroll through his sonic art gallery. Each piece is richly unique, cinematic and engaging. The depth of Michael’s music is what pulls me in, the diverse melding of electronic and organic instruments. There’s so much to listen to at any moment, and it all works. (Watch for his new release, A Day Within Days, coming later this fall.)

That’s what I’ve been enjoying…Off the Grid.

Max Corbacho returns with a long-form disc of his signature lighter-than-air drifts in Ars Lucis. Corbacho’s constructs float in higher registers, airy choral sounds occasionally lifted by a bass rumble updraft. This is, as the cover art suggests, a soundtrack for watching light filter through stained glass in a sacred space. Notes spiral angelically upwards in a slow dance, gracefully filling the air. There’s a delicate feel to the work here, as though a single touch would shatter it into glistening fragments. Ars Lucis is a disc that truly comes into its own when played as a low-volume loop, and it’s an ideal meditation CD. Although split into seven tracks, it plays as a seamless flow. The music here clearly resonates with Steve Roach’s influence on Corbacho’s style—I hear it in the slow-motion layering, the depth and soft elegance of sound that calls to mind the Quiet Music series. (I also hear hushed memories of Giles Reaves’ Sacred Space.) But influences aside, this is true-to-form Corbacho, with all the gentle beauty he’s exhibited in his past releases. It’s a welcome return from a talented ambient artist.

Available from Max Corbacho’s web site.

Maybe it’s because I’m rapidly closing in on 50, but when I listen to Anklebiter’s new release, I Will Wait, I hear echoes of the early-80s synthpop on which I cut my electro-musical eyeteeth. I pick up senses of gritty, Architecture & Morality-era OMD; the jerky, sequenced rhythms of New Order: the grey-sky pall of Depeche Mode once they realized that depression is more widely marketable than poppiness; even artful hints of Art of Noise. But it’s not just nostalgia at work here. Tanner Volz’s often grim, sharply angular songs can pack infectious hooks, and his array of sounds is decently varied while maintaining a distinct mechanical edge. The title track, one of the higlights here, also blends in a strong introspective sense that manages to not feel out of place. And speaking of highlights, I just fall into the slow groove of “132,” which feels fantastically slick, a scene cut from an android detective flick.

Admittedly, there are places where Volz loses me with too much unfocused noise (“O’Bannon”) or an overly thin feel (“Hawk Is Tits”) but they’re definitely the exception. I Will Wait offers up good, well-crafted laptop electronica–developed in part, by the way, while Volz was laid up with a “massively broken leg”–with depth that stands up to repeat listens. I’m looking forward to more interesting work from Anklebiter.

Available from Tympanik Audio.

In the short pause between its first and second tracks, Sebastian Ehmke’s new release, L36, does a complete costume change. Where the opener, “Chrono,” is a dark, rumbling abstract bit of work with dramatic chord bursts, its followup, “Stadium” kicks in the door,  guitar in hand, and catches your attention with a downright upbeat post-rock feel. (Okay, I had to hit Wikipedia to get a definition of post-rock after reading it on the Tympanik Audio website. I’m no expert. But it’s accurate.) And the thing of it is, “Stadium” is much more indicative of the catchy, thoughtfully constructed blend of the subtle and the forthright at work in L36. This is a disc I’ve gladly looped several times in a row. As SE, Ehmke loads his work with varied sounds and shifts of tempo, tone and temperament. L36 is filled with pleasant sonic surprises. Beats drop into flows at precise moments, formulated to get an “aw, yeah” out of you. And they will. Many of the pieces here start with the sort of low-level sonic bed felt in “Chrono,” and then build from there. A deep listen will let  you better appreciate how Ehmke crafts his layers. “Lily,” for example, starts with a stream of old-vinyl pop and hiss; a guitar comes in after a while; then another, playing off the first’s lead. Beneath them, choral chords float in to finish the depth of the thing. “36 HERtZ” is a 21st-century breakup song without words. And I have to confess that I absolutely get chills from Ehmke’s use of a heavily distorted voice in “Beton.” L36 is one of the best CDs I’ve heard in this genre. It’s inventive, expertly made and simply demands to be heard over and over. In fact, I’m going to go listen to it again. L36 is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Tympanik Audio.

I want to like this CD more than I do, and I say that because after a few listens I believe that Mark Heath, the man behind Mirada, has a lot more to say musically than he puts across here.

Vermillion Sky is a disc made for relaxation. It courses along mostly on rise-and-fall chords in the all-too-familiar swell/hold/release cadence. To that end, the disc is fine. With the exception of some excellent, almost proggish guitar work from Joe Greenwood on “Chasing the Lucent Twilight,” it’s quiet, soft and largely innocuous.

And therein lies the problem. Vermillion Sky could be more than it is, and better, if it wasn’t suffering from a thin-ness of sound. There’s no real layering going on, no depth upon depth, the stuff that creates motion and vibrancy in even the slowest ambient. For the majority of the disc it feels like one chord just follows another, hand up/hand down, fade into fade. I find it hard to invest in the CD as a listener largely because I want so much more from it–and to me it’s clear that the talent to give me that is in there. I hear it in the relative intricacy of “Evening Sun,” a beautifully woven drone piece that feels somehow fuller and more concentrated than anything else here. This is what I think Heath can do very well, and this is why I feel he’s got more to offer.

Will listening to Vermillion Sky relax you, as Heath intends? Probably. It has a soothing quality. But play it low and let it move quietly through your space. Focused listens only call out the shortcomings I hope Heath overcomes with his next release.

Available, with samples, at  CD Baby.

I’ve been getting quite a bit of music lately that I guess falls into the “breakcore”/glitch-beat/IDM realm. Some of it’s quite good, but the problem for these artists sending me their work now is that their stuff has to have something that will elevate it over all the other quite similar releases that are landing in my mailbox a couple times a week. (This theme will repeat in upcoming reviews.)

Case in point, Rise, the new release from the German duo called Integral. This disc has something like that something–although what that something is is hard to define and, honestly, it’s barely enough to differentiate them from the pack. Most of the pieces on Rise fall into the framework of bouncing a barrage of glitchy, high-speed microsounds across a downtempo underflow, making for a contrast of calm and energetic that, while workable, doesn’t go far toward making it stand out.

Where Integral succeeds is in the places where some touch of difference, however minor, is worked in. The first place I hear it is in “Doors,” where the sounds of a door closing and someone knocking, whether actual recordings or software-generated renditions, come in as percussion elements. It’s an inventive idea that just works. A high, almost operatic vocal sample later also adds character. The title track has a machinework pulse powered by a deep, mechanical thrum. It builds to a breakout point and when it comes it just feels logical.

The most pleasant surprise is the last track, “Je Ne Trouve Pas La Sortie.” After the long electronic assault of the eleven prior tracks, the sound of an acoustic guitar drops in out of absolutely nowhere. It’s played with hesitant grace and gently flecked with electronic accents.

Overall, Rise is a good bit of straight-up, beat-driven IDM well worth taking a listen to.

Kudos also to cover artist Tobias Splitt for his stunning work.

Available from Tympanik Audio.

A good retrospective CD should do two things: show an artist’s musical evolution and movement over time, and highlight the consistency of the quality of their output. Pulling from 10 years of live performances, dreamSTATE’s A Decade Dreaming proves itself to be a good retrospective CD in both regards. Scott M2 and Jamie Todd, the duo that make up dreamSTATE, have been staples on the Toronto electronic music scene since the late 90s, turning out a wide variety of music, largely in the spacemusic vein with a strong emphasis on live improv. A Decade Dreaming captures not only that, but also their extensive collaborations with other like-minded artists and thus, the constant evolution of what dreamSTATE actually is.

On their web site they very kindly give “extended liner notes” on the performances here. This is a great resource as you listen–this way you discover, for example, that there’s a third synth collaborator, Eric Hopper, playing on the gentle tribute to Pink Floyd keyboardist Rick Wright; that Alan Bloor (aka Phlode), who creates free-form instruments out of hardened steel, the sounds from which he runs through processors, thickens the atmosphere of the dark industrial drift of “Elinvar”; that ambient artist James Johnson lends his soundcrafting to “Universe City Line,” which makes amazing use of a field recording of (if I had to guess) a subway.

All of which is to say that A Decade Dreaming presents dreamSTATE as a fluid, morphing thing that starts as a duo but becomes whatever it is in the moment, always existing to create, to experiment, regardless of form. That being said, there’s a unique sense of shifting energy, track to track, as new sensibilities are added. There’s a wide spectrum here. It begins with spacey flows, including the sad overtones of “Laika’s Last Orbit” and the fantastic but too-short “Jharna Revealed,” which feels like it has a soul of its own. On the other end are exercises in grinding avant-noise, like “The Storm Within,” which was part of a series of improv drones based on a certain key. Here, a treated cello tears through the sound in a wild tangle. It’s the sort of thing that loses me, quite frankly. “Elinvar,” which I noted earlier, flirts with the edge of tolerance for me at times.

All in all, however, A Decade Dreaming is an intense, vivid trip through the duo’s history, filled with energy, art and possibility. It is available as a free download or in CD form for just $5. Either way, it’s a CD you must have in your collection. And here’s to another decade, at least, from dreamSTATE.

Available from the dreamSTATE web site.

The idea behind this 2009 release from Mystified is simple: foggy drones glide slowly past, shifting and rolling as they go, while light touches of percussion lend a faint tribal air. While I stand by that as an accurate description of how it’s done, I’ll also tell you that it sorely downplays what Mystified (aka Thomas Park) is able to do and convey on this disc with that formula as his starting point. Primal Mystification is one of those ambient CDs that innocuously burrows its way into your subconscious mind, persistently but patiently setting up its space in your head–and by the time you realize it’s there you’re really quite okay with it. Park’s drones are warm, grey things that move in otherworldly waves. He varies his approach, track to track, to keep each of the four long pieces here fresh. The opener, “Massive Turning,” takes its percussive sense from a gently played tabla, a sharp, solid and rhythmic snap over the wash. An echoing piano, played two simple notes at a time, wanders through. At first I found this an odd choice for a disc that’s so drone-based, but in Park’s hands it quickly becomes an integral element in the piece’s definition. “Departing Certainty” is abstract, shadowy, beatless and a bit foreboding. It’s the dream you can’t wake up from. I’m intrigued by Park’s choices of percussion in the last two tracks, “Not Knowing Where” and “Back to the Primal.” The first has a hand-drummed feel, a fire’s-edge rhythm with a strong tribal sense. I like the way he puts it up against a throbbing bass swell that, in its tone, is as unwavering as the drumming. (I’ll get back to this in a moment.) The percussive element in “Back to the Primal” is two-pronged: a flangey and metallic electronic beat squares off with more hand drumming. It is the sound of the computer-age tribe calling back to its ancestors, perhaps–and getting a distinct answer in kind.

Park drives home his musical intent in the form of repetitive motifs that change only slightly across time. Between the often-mellowing touch of the drones and the insistent metronomic pulse of the drumming, in any form, the listener doesn’t have much choice but to follow his or her brain as it slides and sluices down into Parks’ umbral constructs to touch the primal memory in all of us.

I enjoy this disc more with every listen, and the deeper I go, the more I like it. Primal Mystification is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Hypnos.

I have drifted my way through the four pieces in Steve Brand’s new release, Children of Alcyone, four times now–and by that I mean the recent now, in the past few hours, letting the thing loop quietly through my space, shaping the air, and quite content to have it do so. Children… is a straightforward ambient disc, designed for this sort of quiet, repeated and almost inattentive listening–but, as can be said for most good ambient discs, offering a lot of depth and interest to the focused listener. The content here is crafted in familiar, deep-sigh synth pads rolling in slow waveforms toward the horizon. Shifts in tone rise up infrequently to pull attention back to the music. (Again, as good ambient music does.) Brand shows equal strength in developing calming flows, as in the first two tracks, “Golden Cloud” and lush, 22-minute “Light Age,” and tenser, more dramatic musical scenes, evidenced by “Outside the Grid of Time,” which can at times be almost discomforting in its edginess. With the fourth track, “Into the Central Sun,” Brand folds in sparse percussion for a low-level, unobtrusive tribal feel. In handling all these sides of his ambient self, Brand effectively creates a sense of narrative, movement and completion of thought. Outside of the opener, which comes in just under nine minutes, these are long, patient tracks. There is movement within each, with Brand exploring and developing their distinct personalities and themes with a certain hand. This is my second exposure to Brand’s music, and my appreciation for the quality of his work grows, not just with each new CD, but with each listen.

Children of Alcyone is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Hypnos.