Ethan Helfrich, recording as Rest You Sleeping Giant, serves up a big cupful of guitar drones on his debut release, Peppermint Tea. This album makes for an excellent backdrop listen. Helfrich’s drones and washes are very quiet, moving slowly and gracefully. He layers in just enough distortion in spots to give it some texture and edge–the closing track, “Under the Desert Sun,” is a great example. It’s about the loudest the album gets as Helfrich piles on intense layers of harmony, yet it retains a calm overtone. There’s a lot of depth and dimension in these five tracks, and Helfrich does a great job of controlling their interactions. Everything feels balanced, with an organic growth and decay. The only small mis-step here is the abrupt start of “Those Who Come at Night With Dagger in Hand.” Feels like a blown edit, and it results in a jarring moment—all the more noticeable for coming at the end of almost 30 minutes of off-to-sleep drifts. Granted, what follows is the album’s most uptempo piece, an interesting break in the flow that gives us acoustic guitar in a post-rock, folk-inlufenced tune washed over with electronics. But the start could be smoother.

Peppermint Tea is a very good introduction to Rest You Sleeping Giant’s music, and I’m hoping to hear more soon. It’s very good ambient guitar, perhaps almost a bit too hushed in spots, but with the ability to quiet a room and change its vibe. Loop it a few times and see for yourself.

Available from Bandcamp.

In the name of full disclosure, I will admit that when I saw that Numina and Zero Ohms had joined forces, I made a happy sound. I have been following and admiring both artists throughout their careers, so the idea of these talents merging sent me into a bit of ambient-music-lover overdrive. Broken Stars Through Brilliant Clouds is pretty much everything I expected: a lush, deep, far-reaching journey built on Numina’s synths and Ohm’s electronic wind instrument. It is also exceedingly quiet, reveling in an underplayed, droning breathiness that sets the mind drifting. This is the music you want playing quietly in the background as your night winds down, and it’s music you want whispering through your headphones to take you as far down as possible. While the music is crafted in gossamer wisps, there is still ample movement, dynamics, and detail. Ohms’ flute rises in places, deliciously organic and solid amid the flow. The opening track, “Secrets of the Treasure House of Stars,” is about the “biggest” piece here, the one with the most up-front presence. The duo bring it up from near-silence and guide it toward a great spacemusic feel, a classic sound of big-yet-soft pads floating off to some distant spot and a well-balanced hint of drama. “A Day Without Time” brings the flute and EWI toward the front and truly sets us drifting. The pads here move nicely in your head, rolling gently back and forth like waves and every bit as lulling. From here, Broken Stars… gets very quiet, more of an insinuation of feeling than a conscious listen, its strong moments not intrusive enough to bring you back to the surface but able to stir something in you. The title track has its breathtaking moments, but manages to do so just through some shift in harmonies, or the brightness of a chord. On “Night of the Falling Planets,” the duo nudge us toward darkness, but even there we watch from a distance, still adrift and unconcerned, as it rolls in and we watch it make its way past. This track hits a point of sparseness that show how much these two can do with very little, and that they know when to bring the ride back around. A nice piece of drone-centered work. And then, as if to welcome us back from this very deep journey we’ve taken to elsewhere, we arrive at “Of An Uncertain Mythos.” This is an interesting surprise, so I won’t reveal it here—trust me when I tell you that it pays off, and its drastic departure from the tracks before it feels actually quite cleansing. Soft drones are at play here as well, with long notes from the EWI playing quietly in the background. It’s an unusual choice, but they make it work.

Broken Stars Through Brilliant Clouds needs to be given its looping space. This is where it really thrives, its softness quietly expanding to fill your space. Its emotional core comes through at any volume. Of course, headphones will just augment the intimate feel of the album. Regardless of how you listen, this is a must-hear. Numina and Zero Ohms are a perfect pairing and they have created a standout album. Look for this on your “Best of 2015” lists. I guarantee it’ll be there.

Available from Spotted Peccary.

Perhaps if it weren’t for minimalism’s ability to mesmerize with its abundance of repetition, Matt Starling’s all-flugelhorn rendition of Terry Riley’s Dorian Reeds might come off as, well, annoying. The blame here, what little there is, lays entirely with Riley, not Starling. You will need to be firmly in the “I love minimalism” camp to enjoy, let alone get through, this composition. That being said, kudos to Matt Starling for taking this challenging work, originally written to saxophone and tape delays, and transcribing it for brass. (Not to mention raising the backing for this release on Indiegogo.) Computers are used to approximate the effect of the delays, and Starling recorded large amounts of the individual modules that make up the piece before editing it into the form offered here. The structure of Dorian Reeds is built from increasingly complex loops of those modules—phrases, as with Riley’s In C—that the musician plays, only to have them spat back at him almost immediately by the “delays,” creating a sort of duet (or deeper, as the sound goes along) with himself. The layers of repetition turn into drones and the drones turn hypnotic, but more often than I might prefer, there are sections where the horn starts poking you in the forehead over and over. I do find myself, however, trying to peer into the math at play, looking, aurally speaking, into the way the lines cross and weave and how passages evolve interdependently, thrive briefly in their latest form, and then disappear.

Dorian Reeds (For Brass) is one of those recordings that makes me feel that if I was perhaps a bit more worldly in my musical tastes, I would “get it” better. I do like minimalism a la Riley and Reich, and quite enjoyed Starling’s other dip into Riley’s oeuvre, the Salt Lake Electric Ensemble’s superb take on In C. But this is super-aggressively minimalist, and its appeal is probably more scholarly than pedestrian. It must be noted that this is the first time the work has been created using something other than Riley’s recommended sax, and it works well (I would think, in my layman’s opinion) as a study in the composer’s style and its possibilities. Starling’s work on this is exemplary. He put years into its creation, and it shows. It is complex, rich, challenging, and excellently realized. Coming at it as a casual listener, however, I find it somewhat above my head and outside my tastes. Listeners more attuned to modern compositional works should most definitely come in and experience this.

Available from Matt Starling’s Bandcamp page.

Madoka Ogitani’s EP Take A Walk is a bit on the precious side, with its folk music influences, playful inclusion of toy piano, and its bright springy tone, including chirpy nature sounds. It suffers a little bit from too much of the tinny, sharp notes from the toys. Which is a shame, because the core of what’s here is great acoustic work on piano and guitar. It’s clean, richer than its simplicity would suggest, and a bit uplifting. At under 20 minutes long, there shouldn’t be time for the more sugary aspects to make you tired of them, but for me they tend to get in the way of the good stuff. The first two tracks, “Wind” and “Humming,” share a central theme—so much so that I went back in to re-listen to see if this is one of those releases where the artist just twists a central conceit over and over and calls it a day. It’s not, as far as I can tell, and the difference between these two tracks is just enough to make the idea work. Well, until the tinny stuff comes in. “Wind” begins primarily as a duet between guitar and piano. Other elements lace in lightly to round it out. “Humming” ups the precious ante by giving the main duties over to the toy instruments. From there it tends to be more of the same: good acoustic music just alike enough to make you wonder if you just heard it, intruded upon by too much cute.

Take A Walk will work better tucked into a deep shuffle than it does as a straight-on listen. The core idea, as noted, is solid and Ogitani’s playing is precise and pleasant. In the times when I’ve had my review queue on shuffle, it arrives into the mix as a shiny and happy thing, and that brightness is welcome. But there’s too much sameness of sound and over-the-top precious play stuffed into so tight of a space. I like Take A Walk, I just need it spread out more. Have a listen and decide.

Available from La Bél Netlabel.

Floating White Abyss nestles comfortably in the place between long-form ambient and spacemusic. In this place there is a lot of familiarity, but through the three tracks here Darren Rogers provides a consistently soft and calming sensibility that works around the idea that you’ve heard this before. To some degree the music is constructed simply; Rogers’ layering is not deep, but each element that goes in has a soulful feel. Overall, the album is full of genuine emotion. There are points where I feel it starts to fall a little too much into the play chord/hold chord mode, but then Rogers will hit a swell of pure beauty, and it’s like a reminder of why I started to enjoy this music in the first place. Still, when “Floating” goes through a stretch with scale-ascending tones repeating over choral pads, it runs the risk of tipping the cliché balance toward the unfavorable. But it goes away and the track gives itself over to a classic spacemusic feel—you know the one, where we’ve cut the engines and are just drifting in the vast, shiny void—and all I want to do is listen to it. “White” is built on whisper-quiet textures and a droning hiss of wind. Of the three, this is perhaps the most meditative. Rogers indulges in the occasional burst of angelic voices, but otherwise keeps this one on the down-low. “Abyss” opens with title-contradicting chime tones that ring brightly. It eventually finds its way into a slightly darker place that draws on an approachable dissonance, but largely remains warm and welcoming.

As by-the-book as Floating White Abyss tends to be, it is deep and quiet enough to have merited a number of long looping sessions. I find myself often aware that I might prefer more density to the sound, but there is something about the weight of emotion here that lets me work through it. This one will resonate more with listeners whose tastes run to the Demby/Serrie side of things, that off-to-space-we-go sensibility. Definitely worth a listen.

Available from the Imagineer Records Bandcamp site.

System VII is an album that is either trying to do too much or simply does certain things considerably better than others. Sometimes it wants to be an industrial album; sometimes it’s experimental; sometimes it heads in other directions entirely. It’s when artist IX decides that this is an industrial album that it fares best. That’s how it opens, with “Breaking Faith” building up slowly on deep pulses, a too-cliché voiceover, and a cool beat before busting out some big power chords. Having established its potential for gritty energy, it then unfortunately proceeds to let the air out of its own tires with the next track, “Recursive Functions.” It plods forth, repeating itself with a woodwind phrase and some artsy electronic treatments. The album recovers on the next track, IX, and returns to the potency of the opener, but by now we have established a sort of indecisive imbalance that carries through the rest of the album. For me, things don’t get all that interesting again until “The Machine (Parts I-III).” It come off like a lost Tangerine Dream number with a little more emphasis on powerful drumming. There are meaty low chords that would do Klaus proud, and its chugging meter turns catchy pretty quickly. Fans of older analog will dig into this right away, and will love the last couple minutes. “Master Race” offers one more blast of power. It gnashes its teeth at you the whole time with heavily distorted snippets that come in bursts. Drop outs reveal an underlay of tick-tock rhythms and a little chipset influence. The electronic drums here can feel a bit thin at times—although perhaps appropriately so, given the track’s overall late-80s feel. You’ll get it when you hear it.

As for the other tracks, they don’t raise much more than a shrug from me. The more experimental tracks, like “Division by Zero” and “Disparity Fields,” have me reaching for the skip button. “Immortal” and “Serena’s Lament” bring us to a quieter place fronted by piano. But the sonata-esque line in “Serena’s Lament” over-repeats itself and the pseudo-classical feel is a bit heavy handed. “Immortal” features a single, high, repeating note that, after a solid minute, feels like getting poked in the forehead. And it keeps going. System VII has spots where the repetitive elements just wear out their welcome. IX has also tucked a bit of a science-fiction narrative into the album via vocal drops, most notably in “IXIAN Archive Entry 119-27.” But it’s not enough to keep me from wishing more of the album was the meaty industrial-influence stuff that works best.

Available from Bandcamp.

I’ll start by saying that I enjoy Frore’s Cyclic Movement, but then I have to temper the statement by wondering out loud if I like it because of how much it reminds me of my favorite Steve Roach tribal works. I say that with all due respect and appreciation; this album lands smack-dab in the bullseye of my musical wheelhouse, nails every tribal trope that I like, and sends me into a fairly deep groove. But if you’re going to follow footsteps, you have to accept the “sounds like.” Frore (aka Paul Casper) does a good job of pairing off airy washes with familiar percussive sounds. The tracks here tend to start small, leading off with a quiet passage or drone, then build intensity through layers. While we’re on the subject of intensity, Frore piles it on in the opening track, “Spirit Call.” From a fairly innocuous start, this piece rises up on waves of percussion, from the clatter of sticks to deeper drums. Flute brings in a breathy organic tone over chants that come up out of nowhere. And then, just to drive the ritual home, there are screams. (Just wanted to warn the faint of heart.) “Northern Winds” and “Gavia” are the most Roach-influenced tracks here. There’s really no escaping comparison, but they’re still good tracks. Which, again, may be more a function of how many of my standard tribal-ambient pleasure centers they ping. “Gavia” brings the combination of lush pads and interwoven percussion lines, accented with the occasional call on ocarina. I find that there are places on Cyclic Movement where I become too aware of the loop I’m in. Although it’s the nature of the beast, and plenty of this music relies on repetition, artists do need to be mindful of the dynamics and the need for shifts, however subtle.* While a loop can become hypnotic, if the repetition is blatantly noticeable, particularly in the use of forceful elements, it can pull a listener out. This came to mind in listening to “Fading Embers.” Like “Gavia,” it’s pads and percussives, with a sequencer line pulling it forward. To my ears, the sequencer gets a bit static and then I’m out of the moment. Other listeners’ experience may vary.

Cyclic Movement has a lot to offer tribal ambient fans. It may very well be that I listen to far too much music, so the associations and the things I pick out as library elements may temper my experience. Hear things enough and you recognize things. But there is good power here, and it’s worth checking out.

Available from Relaxed Machinery.

*I feel, for whatever reason, that I need to justify here that this is my opinion as a listener, not someone who can actually create the music.

After two years of not recording anything, “the internal clouds began to part” for SourceCodeX (aka John Patterson) and out came Rebirth, a suite of healing music pieces. Created using microKorg and Akai Miniak synths, the music here is for the most part soft and slow, calm and meditative. Patterson finds places to darken up the proceedings somewhat, as on “Winter Night,” where the requisite cold-wind sounds issue out of his synths. That sound effect carries over into “Northern Lights,” at which point Patterson goes a bit overboard with it. Theme is one thing; hammering a theme is another. The core of Rebirth comes in a trio of longer pieces, “Daybreak on the Sea of Galilee,” “Clouds Parting Soon,” and the aforementioned “Winter Night.” They are all deep flows, “Clouds…” being the best of them. There is something very affecting in its bright, patient tone.

Rebirth is probably better enjoyed at a lower volume. I find that up close it sounds a bit thin. Patterson doesn’t layer a lot of sounds at any given time. Much of the work here seems to come down to play chord, hold chord, move to next chord. His core sound set doesn’t change up much, either, so while the tone is consistent, it sometimes begs for a shift in sound. Played softly, the warmth and quiet of Rebirth come through. Pull out the “darker” tracks and this would make a good backdrop for meditation or massage.

Available from CD Baby.

Feeling down? Rough day? No worries. Johan Agebjörn just showed up with a copy of Notes, and everything’s going to be all right—or at least seem that way for 45 minutes or so. Between slightly fluffy, sometimes jazz-tinged instrumental tracks and a handful of vocal offerings that range from shoegaze-y quiet to smoky lounge, Notes stuffs a lot of feel-good into just over 45 minutes. Some may have a small problem, as did I at first, getting through the sugar-glazed barrier that is the opening track, “The Right to Play,” but I came around to the thematically appropriate charm of its shiny little notes running up and down the keyboard. Just as a side note, my ears keep hearing the central riff as kind of day-glo revisitation of Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger.” (Though I must say, Johan—although it fits the title, the slide whistle is a bit much.) And unless my ears deceive me, and they may, that central riff finds its way into several of the tracks. I believe I hear it in the moody waltz of “The Boy Who Thought It Was A Good Idea To Cry” and later, slowed down, it re-emerges as the melody for “The Leftovers.” I quite like that track, with guest artist Loney, Dear sounding like a man talking to himself during a a walk in the rain. Agebjörn’s backdrop stays quiet, a combination of misty susurrus and a walking bass line, letting us focus on the rhythm and impact of the words. Agebjörn offers a particularly strong duo in the combination of “Will They Forgive Us” and his remix of Brain Machine’s “Alpha Beta Gamma.” The first is a nice blend of hurried sequencer lines and silky flute, with a thumping beat folded in. The mix of fast and slow works very well. Take a moment to admire how smoothly Agebjörn slips into “Alpha…,” the beat rising in force as cool electric piano notes lay down a jazzy lead. The toes, oh how they will tap.

As for the vocal tracks, which I don’t normally review, as I mentioned above, I very much dig the Loney, Dear collaboration. Sally Shapiro, with whom Agebjörn collaborates regularly in a project that bears her name, appears on two tracks to lend her high, elfin tones. Not my favorite moments on the release, but a fine addition. Canadian dream-pop band Young Galaxy bring the shoegaze element in the form of “You Passed Through.” Vocalist Catherine McCandless’ voice has a smoky ennui and mild sadness about it that works well on the track.

All in all, Notes is a nicely constructed, thoughtful album that’s easy to float through. Where it’s light, it’s very light. Where it wraps itself in a dreamy fog, it gets better. I can’t say for sure whether Agebjörn is playing with the idea of manipulating a central musical theme and seeing in how many directions he can take it, but there are moments that ring with a touch of sameness. Mind you, it works, but some might feel slighted at hearing the echoes. Still, an enjoyable release from Johan Agebjörn that you should hear.

Available from Paper Bag Records.

 

To be quite honest, on my first listen to “Its Fear in the Amygdala,” the opening cut from Splices and Phrases, I winced. Here we go, I thought, time to try to find something to say about noise and more noise. And, let’s keep it honest here, there is a lot of that on this offering from Soiled, one of composer Marcus H’s identities, and it’s only going to appeal to listeners whose tastes run toward the quite challenging. It’s created from bits and moments, and revels in its often overwhelming coarseness of sound. Things grate against each other, interfere with each other, and yet—in a fair number of spots—come together quite surprisingly. I can’t say I understand what Soiled is getting at here, or what the underlying idea is, but I find myself, through repeat listens, getting quite pulled into certain moments and how they come about. Late in “Caustic Surplus of Robotic Smiles,” an almost simple and very engaging bit of minimalist techno is rescued from a gnarled cluster of sounds. It may have been there all along, it may be cast off sounds pulled out of the mass—whatever it is, the change up grabs your attention. “Creepy Crawling and Drifting” opens with a spoken word sample drowned in static, then proceeds to change its face several times. Musical phrases repeat as Soiled dirties up the atmosphere with jagged noise. Rhythmic elements grind their way up as three hits on a cymbal strike out over and over. “Footsteps” takes what sounds like an over-amped acoustic guitar, briefly mangles the sound, and then just lets it play itself out. (Granted, the track’s just two minutes long.) There’s something in the straight-up approach that, again, catches the attention largely by making you wonder what the hell it’s doing here.

Splices and Phases is quite content to punch you in the ears and then ask what you thought of it. Its appeal will be limited, but it can’t be denied that there is a lot of work going on. Noisy, distorted, disjointed work, but work nonetheless. Its appeal lies in how it can almost drive timid listeners off, but still cause enough of a Hmm reaction to perhaps get them to stick around for a little more. Experimental music fans should definitely tune in; others, approach with caution.

Available from Elm Lodge Records.