I am a big enough man to admit that I initially dismissed moduS ponY’s Dandelion Isle as a silly little throwaway thing, a very small dish of admittedly zesty musical sorbet that I would just taste a little of before moving on. I mean, you listen to “shoes, shirts, service,” which is just a boppy little limerick of a thing at best, and you think, “How cute.” But then you’re digging on it and you’re listening to it again, and ta freakin da, Matt Ackerman has you where he wants you. There are a couple throwaways on this 16-minute EP, but the other stuff? Infectious. The over-simple repetition of “transactioN blisteR” should be dull as fuck, but the house beat laid down behind it lends funk, and the silly-ass thing just leaves me smiling. “nut like flavoR” combines cheesy keys, tippy-tap percussion, and an IDM-worthy vocal sample, and then drops a sweet jazzy break into the middle of it. Ackerman does a smooth job of matching the title phrase to his rhythm. Again, fun. It’s just fun, and you should take the time to go get a spoonful. Easy to dismiss at first, it’s not long before you understand that moduS ponY might be winking at you because you both realize there’s something smart happening here.

Available at Bandcamp.

Often, when I dig in to an album for reviewing, I’ll get a word about it stuck in my head, and it becomes central to my opinion. In the case of Where Moss Grows from Hidden Rivers, that word is “pretty.” Now, this may not be the descriptor Huw Roberts was hoping for, but the fact is, this is a pretty set of music. It exudes an air of contented calm, it offers up laid-back beats and sweet melodies, struts some serious old-school cred, and it’s just a pleasure to play. Roberts’ tones are shiny and cool, and he confidently sets his sounds to a relaxed-but-vibrant framework and never finds the need the crank up either volume or intensity. And it works for me—which is to say, I want this playing while I sit near the ocean having cocktails and watching the sun set. Roberts uses just synth and drum machine on this album, and leans heavily on rich sequencer lines. In fact, it’s the old-school vibe present in several tracks that catches me most. “Red the Sun’s Cold Disk” skirts the edge of the kind of sounds that made some ’80s EM a little cheesy—and I love it for that. The tone of the lead line brings up memories of iffy detective flicks from back in the day, and the irresistible nostalgia of the hand-clap synth is like a guilty pleasure lifted intact from early electro-pop. “Futureproof” comes away like a lost Tangerine Dream track, packing signature bass sequencer work with high keys launched over the top. On “White Light Peak,” the crisp lines of the sequencer matched up with floating chords spins out the album’s most soulful moments. “Awash” is a great example of the simple cool that winds through the songs here. A lazy beat, yawning pads, and an easy sway take hold—and, yeah, it’s pretty.

Roberts throws in a couple of tidbits that clock in under two minutes. They’re fine for what they are, little breathers between better tracks, but as is often the case with short pieces, it feels like they leave before they’ve had a real chance at expression. “Circa 96” in particular grabs my attention with its potential for interesting cool, but then it’s gone. The opening track runs just 1:40, and I don’t pay it much mind until it steps the more upbeat shine of “In and Out of Days.” Snippets are never my cup of tea, and I feel like these few little moments get lost in the shadows of the better music around them. Overall, Where Moss Grows grabs and holds my attention, will fit nicely into the kind of playlist that accompanies me and my drink out to the deck, and leaves me wanting more from Hidden Rivers. Definitely one you need to dip into.

Available from Serein.

In past reviews of Forrest Fang’s work, I often focused on the range of ethnic instruments in the mix and the signature cross-cultural vibe they bring to the music. But for The Sleepwalker’s Ocean, Fang’s first-ever 2-CD release, all my focus is on the overarching sense of dreamy calm, the way lightly rhythmic lines melt into graceful ambient waves that carry me off, and the welcome invitation Fang extends to do nothing but drift and listen for two hours. “Gone to Ground” opens the disc by coming toward us like dawn through a misty fog. Then a deep, reverberating note of mallet-struck strings signals a change in tone. It’s sudden and surprising, but but not unpleasantly jarring. That dulcimer-like tone then slips back under a thick wash to become points of brightness. If you are familiar with Fang’s work, it probably goes without saying that the layers on this album run very deep and complex, so do get in for a close listen. On “Message in the Sand,” Fang gets an assist from Robert Rich on flute. This track picks up the rich chime tones that work through a lot of Fang’s music. It’s the sound that first turned me on to him on “Gongland.” This is a catchy, percussion-nudged ambient groove with a softly serpentine Eastern flair. Rich’s flutes course in like a vocal, airy and ghostly. From there we enter into the first disc’s opus, the six-part title track. Covering just over half an hour, it opens by putting us back into a cloud-soft space of deep pads and flecks of electronic twinkle. Each piece shows its own distinct face, from the eerie airs and dark-ambient density of “Bog” to the calm washes and telltale clicks of “Geiger.” The shining, energetic open of the final part, “Waywards,” is a fantastic wake-up call to a mind gone wandering.

The second disc, “An Alternate Ocean (The Salton Sea),” is genuinely magnificent. A single piece of classic ambient running nearly an hour, it is blissfully and completely immersive, a slow-moving dream made of soft sound. Fluidly dynamic, its rises in intensity and subsequent moments where it settles back down into breath-slowing ease come naturally and organically. The ride is uninterrupted even as it morphs through subtle changes. Let your mind’s eye take its time describing these vistas. Put this on repeat and let it go.

I would tell you that this is Forrest Fang at his absolute best, but having listened to him over the years, I feel that this is just the next amazing waypoint in a career that somehow manages to get better with every new release. Perhaps there is no apex for Forrest Fang; he just continues to find new ways to enthrall his listeners. The Sleepwalker’s Ocean is destined to be a landmark ambient recording.

Available from Projekt.

As If (aka Kenneth Werner) is back with a pocketful of dub influence to mix with laid-back, borderline ambient constructs on Havet. I like what I’m hearing here, but I’m surprised at how soon it excuses itself and recedes into the background, and never seems to come back forward much. Werner sets his keyboards to a sort of wah-wah tone, puts the drum track on “Bass” at the requisite BPM, and plays a bit. This is not to say it’s not pretty good. The overall tone is warm and soft, the beats work their way into your system, and the casual vibe is nice enough. I want this playing while I wind down with a cocktail, but perhaps laced in with other music. The 12 tracks on Havet cover an hour and 20 minutes of music, and the tone doesn’t change much at all. (Though I do like the pulsing sequencer work at the core of both “Klippe” and “Tågen.”)

In thinking about Havet, I’m reminded of how Earth is described in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: “Mostly harmless.” Havet is not going to challenge you and it is not going to insist that you listen to it at any point. Given the chance, it will do its job, which is to chill you out, when it’s blended into other music. Werner knows his way around the downtempo format; it’s just that here he hasn’t chosen to do much with it. Have a listen, form your own opinion.

Available from The Lost Gterma.

While it is my policy to not review music that is lyric-based, now and then I get albums where the vocals take on the role more as wordless instrument, and whatever lyrics are there melt into the mix. I can’t say I always follow the words on Amy Faithe’s The Ascent, but neither do I think I need to as I go deeper into the mix of her delicately powerful, silky voice and flowing (if by the numbers) spacemusic architecture. By the time I get to the end of the ten-minute opening track, “Moments,” I have long since stopped thinking that this is not technically Hypnagogue material; I am thinking, this woman has a gorgeous voice and I’m just going to enjoy it. Faithe’s range is impressive, and every note is simply smooth and rich and commands attention. As a listener, given my own personal preferences, here and there I briefly get stuck on the overt New Age trappings, like the waves and birdsong backing “Serenity’s Call,” but contextually, they’re spot on. To that track’s credit, listen to what Faithe is able to create out of a virtually unchanging droning undertone, her vocal explorations, and those field sounds. That’s the kind of realization I’ve come to while listening to this that let me set my biases aside and just dig in. “Peace Be Mine” comparatively ups the energy ante with a pulsing bass tone. I can’t tell you by what percent Faithe’s plaintive vocals are slower than the pulse here as she sings a prayer/chant, but they weave together perfectly. While the music supporting Faithe’s voice is not richly original—it’s mostly spacey drones that go on forever—it’s not really the focus of the album. It’s decent set dressing, and it does its job supporting Faithe’s vocals, but all I need is that voice.

The Ascent is an album I have come to prefer mixed in with other music, but I’ve also put it on as a low-volume listen many times and let it run. The music is unobtrusive, and Faithe’s voice simply rises up and fills the space. You get a little bit of prayer and a whole lot of mind-quieting beauty in one go. New Age fans will scoop this up and love it, and it’s well worth checking out even if you think it’s outside of your usual listening sphere. Amy Faithe’s voice will transcend your expectations.

Available at CD Baby.

Leila Abdul-Rauf says on her Bandcamp page that the pieces she creates are “not so much composed as captured from dreams.” The songs on Insomnia certainly fit that bill, in two regards. The first is that they are deep, shadowy things made of mist and wayward thoughts, each one a walk through a hazy, shifting landscape. The second is that they tend to end a bit too abruptly, fading off mid-thought to wake you from reverie. I’m sure it’s not arbitrary in the artist’s mind, but quite often throughout the album a song would face and my only thought was that it seemed…sudden. That may be expected, given that the longest of the 10 songs here clicks in under five and a half minutes, but as a recurring thought, it tended to be distracting. While they drift along, however briefly, the pieces on Insomnia skirt the edge of true dark ambient, slipping the listener into a grey twilight space. Abdul-Rauf’s voice figures prominently, loaded with reverb as she keens wordless songs over shifting pads. “Drift” layers in trumpet, again heavily reverbed and set back into the soundscape. “Edges of A Mirror” is a lush drift of quiet sounds, a short and beautiful meditation. “He Sits in His Room” pops up as a bit of a surprise as it opens with a twanging line against a tremolo backdrop. The solidity of that twang is a great touch. Again here, Abdul-Rauf’s voice wafts in like some dark prayer, layered on itself for dimension and harmony. The trumpet returns as counterpoint, launching high arcs that sound just a touch—deliberately—dissonant. I like what it adds, and should probably that my sense of its dissonance is likely a personal thing.

With its dreamy, dark feel, Insomnia will appeal to listeners who prefer to not go too far into true dark ambient. It has a rich, ritualistic tone in places and would make for an excellent low-volume listen.

Available at Bandcamp.

If the music world were fair, and it is not, then the same kind of mainstream attention that’s been deservedly heaped upon violinist Lindsay Stirling would also fall upon Ryan Avery for his work as Chance’s End. Almost Home is Avery’s fourth full release, but it’s my first exposure to his music and I, for one, am utterly hooked. Fiery violin roars and soars against meaty, ultra-funked-up electronica, and the mix will make your heart race. You get thick bass, you get jittery glitch, you get drops, and then you get unspeakably gorgeous violin lines that draw aural references to Jean-Luc Ponty, Charles Bisharat, and Jerry Goodman—and yet still belong solely to Avery. The hushed opening notes of the title track don’t hint at the potency to come, with long draws matched with echoing pizzicato, the sounds layering into a full weave, and then in comes this bass line, then the familiar snap of electronic percussion and away we go. From the first fluid wails of the lead line, I’m all in with Almost Home. Avery does excellent layer and texturing work throughout the five songs here, so listen closely. “Man in the Middle” wastes no time in setting the groove, and Avery mucks with the sound of one string element to give it a raspy edge that instantly grabs your ear. By mid-track, he’s launched us into a hurricane swirl where his violin dances with blistering glitch and distorted techno tropes—then yanks us out for a quick breath and the final smooth ride to the finish. “Culte De La Femme” is a gypsy’s dance with an electronica beat. The bass line here nabs me. It’s got delicious funk cred all over it. I thank Avery for giving it its own little solo mid-track. The final little trill as the song sees its way out is a pleasant piece of flair. “Telling Truth” is just two minutes long, but it’s where Avery showcases the purity of his playing. Accented with plucks and a very light touch of percussion—perhaps the sound of tapping upon the violin itself?—it is a quiet piece whose effect lasts beyond the final note. “Slow Descent” may put you in mind of Shadowfax. It’s got a touch of an Eastern groove, the way the lines curl and twist. The violin sings its verses smoothly as clap-along percussion marks the time. Right around the three-minute mark, Avery hits the effect pedals and bam—I. Am. Owned. What comes next is just pure fun, perfectly executed.

Have I said enough good things yet? Have you gotten the idea that one album has put Chance’s End smack on my favorites list? Now, I will say that sometimes the slight sameness of the electronic percussion picked at my ear a little. But it’s a sound that’s common to the sub-genre, and as a backbone for the idea at work, it’s fine. Plus, when you’ve got Almost Home shuffling in your personal mix (and you will), it’s going to infuse some funk and power into it. So for me, it works. The album goes on, the volume goes up, the bliss begins immediately. If you are not yet familiar with Chance’s End, the time to start is right now. One of the best releases I’ve listened to this year.

Available at Bandcamp.

Small, unexpected sounds are the guiding force in composer Robert Scott Thompson’s Pale Blue Dot. Or, rather, they are the texturing force, the element that takes Thompson’s contemporary compositions and nudges them to a place that gives them the power to be more challenging. In this, the listener is put in a spot where the question becomes, are those elements distracting or are they transformative? Answering that question requires deep listening, an exercise that Pale Blue Dot rewards. Thompson finds balance in adding these elements. The album opens with “Perigree,” where a frenetic tangle of electronic fireflies flit and spin over slow chords and airy vocal pads. It’s an interesting blend where the elements seems to be both fighting for the space and sharing it. Thompson melts that down into a calmer stretch focused on warm chime tones and flotation-device pads. A similar steam of thought emerges on “Skyway”: the piano at the forefront plays within an atmosphere of windy pads, tones that jiggle across the scene, and a nicely subtle almost-static crackle that appears and fades, just there enough to make you notice it. So your focus is constantly being pulled from the piano, but you’re also aware that it’s all one thing that you’re hearing. The title track is a slow moving, hypnotic churn of sounds that feels like Thompson is standing like a  conductor before his array of sources, thoughtfully pointing to each in turn, triggering them to have their say and then moving to the next one but always coming back. A slightly dark, dreamy wash courses behind it. It’s a glacial symphony, beautifully immersive throughout its 16-minute run. “Latticework” is kind of the cool outsider kid of the bunch, a somewhat retro hit of star-bright sequencers. Go deeply into this one to enjoy the rich interplay of Thompson’s lines. There are a few times when the abundance of small touches and the challenge of, for example, jangled versus smooth, can be a little confounding for me. On a recent listen, as “Slow Rotation of Stars” played in the background, I became convinced that I must have had some other sound source open, and that it was something along with Thompson’s track. Not the case, and perhaps that is part of the composer’s intention. It was when I gave it a more focused listen that I was able to sort out its cluster of sounds. It’s busy, and works it way into a sort of mechanical chugging against high, shining piano notes, and has grown on me with repeat listens.

Pale Blue Dot is another deep and thoughtful release from this talented composer. It makes you think, it makes you listen closely, and it makes you hit “repeat.”

Available at Bandcamp.

 

More often than not, when a release says it’s about “tribal” music, we’re talking about the tribes of the American southwest, and filling the space with drumming echoing off red cliff walls and out into the desert night. On Inuksuk, Jack Hertz and Mystified grab us and head north—way north, to the indigenous peoples of the arctic, “who have coexisted exclusively with nature for thousands of years.” Having said that, we’re still in drones-and-drums territory and we’re still being given that guided tour down into our primal selves, the stuff that makes me love tribal-oriented work in the first place. Overall, the work here is as dark an an arctic winter. Throaty drones like didgeridoo (having clearly lost their way…) circle through, snarling against the organic clatter of percussion. “Tcakabesh” and “Forever Night” take us deeply into these realms, in which we clearly do not belong. (And in which, yes, I find myself spiritually right at home.) The course goes steadily downward into the duo of “Adlivun” and “Nepcetaq.” In this stretch, Hertz and Mystified go the sparse, minimal route, and place us firmly in a state of dark meditation. “Adlivun” describes our descent into the Inuit frozen underworld, one you reach by going down, down into the black ocean depths, via ominously moaning bass drone and cold-wind washes. It flows out to “Nepcetaq,” a bare piece built in breathy drones and light taps of percussion.Tonally, things brighten beyond that, ending up with thick walls of sharp tone in “Static Horizon.” Compared to the tracks before it, this one has the effect of sun on an endless stretch of snow and ice—its highest registers can almost make you wince, and I mean that to point up the effectiveness of the sound. Having  been immersed in grim tones and low notes, we get the balance in brightness.

Inuksuk is a deep album, and Hertz and Mystified take full advantage of the meditative aspects of the sound here. The drum-driven pieces open the space for us, and then it’s pared back as we are guided into our darker spaces and allowed to immerse ourselves there. An excellent exploration of a tribal sensibility of a different kind, it also shows us that deep down, we’re all one primal tribe, our rituals connected.

Available at Aural Films.

When I reviewed Carey Moore’s debut release, Trout Ribs, I noted that while I liked his style overall, the work there seemed somewhat thin. Given the number of times I have found myself thoroughly lost within the pieces on his latest outing, John Donelson’s Ghost, it’s safe to say he’s overcome that issue. Most of the work here falls into a hold-and-release motif, with long tones and pads meditatively breathing their way along and weaving through each other, accented with sonic textures. From the quietly hymnal quality of “East Cumberland” to the dream-soft haze of the title track, these moments are the pure heart of this release. In fact, when after the first two tracks “Clover Blossom” comes along with dingly chimes and electric piano notes, I’m a little taken out of the flow. It’s not a bad track, although the chimes get a little sharp for me, but the more amorphous, hushed material is so much more compelling that I just want it out of the way. I would rather have more of the warm-mist surroundings of “Lincoya” or even the slightly more active pulses of “Working Alluvial Fields.”  The latter takes on a nice spacey feel and twists slowly into an easy, hypnotic wash. “Mending the Rain” builds from high, breath-slowing drones reminiscent of Roach’s quieter works. Moore uses dimension well here, adding textural sounds at the periphery for a waking-dream sensation.

In my opinion, John Donelson’s Ghost takes a solid leap ahead in quality from Moore’s debut. Quiet music fans have plenty to dig into here, and other than those couple of places where it raises its voice, it makes for a great background listen.  All in all, a good outing from Carey Moore, and a release that hints at more good things to come.

Available from Bandcamp.