I’m not sure I can describe Torn Ivory any better than musician Michael McDermott does in his press release: “a saturated forest of delicate acoustic piano framed by a flickering stream of static textures.” With that firmly in mind, you can concentrate on dipping into the intricacies of McDermott’s machinations and manipulations as he pulls, snips, splices and mutates his original low-fi piano recordings. This culminates in a kind of dream-haze state of listening where the sharp, solid notes of the piano pick out their halting melodies as the air around fills with fresh sounds, echoes, and fading resonance. Against it all, the non-intrusive crackle of the static peppers the flow with its hint of imperfection. McDermott keeps the proceedings soft and almost meditative; the mix of elements gel even in their disparity. If anything, the constant deepening and refinement of the sound pulls the listener further into each statement, and the space between pieces becomes a waking moment before the next begins. I have always appreciated McDermott’s detail work, and it’s in full force here. Torn Ivory works nicely as an ambient listen, but close attention points out the elegant construction and the no-wasted-sounds philosophy at play, further clarified by the mastering job done by renowned ambient musician Taylor Deupree of 12K. Dive ears-first into “Black and White Boo” to hear this at its most complex and engaging. McDermott respects negative space and the note untouched, and knows that the listener can and will fill each pause with their own meaning. This is where Torn Ivory derives a good deal of its emotional power.

With its minimalist framework, charming piano base and deeply hypnotic treatments, Torn Ivory has kept me intrigued through many repeat plays. It gives the listener space in which to think, but at the same time is continually presenting focal challenges–do you pay attention to the thoughts and feelings the music is pulling up, or will you peer more closely into McDermott’s artistry? The best answer is to just listen again and see what happens. A superb release from Mikronesia.

Available from earSnake.

A background of creating music for plays and films informs the feel of The Gift of Affliction, the compelling debut release from Athens, Greece-based Zinovia Arvanitidi. Loaded with crossover potential, The Gift of Affliction pulls together hints of jazz and textbook contemporary instrumental structures and anchors them with a solid glitch core to create a deeply enjoyable listening experience. Each piece here packs its own narrative/cinematic feel, bringing a story to tell or a vista to share. The central focus is Zinovia’s superb piano work; she plays with pure technique and a healthy dose of passion. The piano shines against ambient-wash backdrops and the click-and-hiss rhythms that drive each piece forward, and she shades the songs with plenty of other tones, but instrumental and thematic. Tasty melodica gives an Eastern flair to “Entangled” while a 1-2/1-2-3 bass line lays down the unwavering cadence. A great jazz feel courses through it, with Zinovia giving herself long enough–seven minutes–to stretch and play. “The Blue Shade of Dawn Covered Your Skin” glides in slowly and seductively with breathy pads, a rich low end, and more melodica. (It’s here a fair amount, and I quite like the feel it gives.) What works here is the way Zinovia gives each element a fairly simple phrase to speak, patiently layers and joins them, then drapes a gossamer symphonic-string feel over the top. “Chimera” is lounge-smooth, with strong glitch-work, gently placed wordless vocals, star-twinkle sequencing and a shift toward a rising tone in its second half that creates a genuine “ooh” moment. “Attached, Our Eyes Wide Open” closes the disc quite simply, spotlighting the piano in a perfect contemporary instrumental space, lightly accented with string sounds. I absolutely adore the very last moment here for its bare honesty, its “and we’re done” declaration.

The Gift of Affliction offers a lot and delivers on it. The electronic side of it is handled nicely; the sounds take their place as backup elements to the piano and they fill out the sound without getting in the way. The piano, as noted, is crisp and affecting. I’d love to hear a solo piano album from Zinovia. The shifting tones provide welcome diversity, yet Zinovia manages to keep things tied together thematically as the release proceeds. There’s a through-line of thought that’s well managed. This is a great end-of-day disc, one that’s laid-back but still manages to draw a lot of attention to itself. And headphone listening reaps some tasty rewards, too.

Available from Tympanik Audio.

Naming Ghosts work hard to defy categorization on their self-titled debut release, offering up a shifting blend that encompasses chillout grooves, hushed ambient, and an arc of subtle darkness. Musician/producer B.J. Schweinlin teams with pianist and vocalist Eva Zimm on these 10 tracks, pairing acoustic instruments with electronic treatment and turning out work with solid impact and plenty of depth. There’s strength in diversity here, for the most part, and none of the changes in tone seem, forced. The duo can handle a piece like “The Light and Shadow Show,” where a slow moving, darkly twinkling opening rises up to spin into a sort of Oldfield-style flair on string sounds and acoustic guitar. The symphonic side here conjures thoughts of Ommadawn, had Oldfield chosen to temper it with extra electronics. They can also nail the techno/lounge smoothness at play on “Deep Green,” coolly laying doing a punchy, steady riff on organ chords and thickening up the feel with more rhythmic elements as the piece progresses. It’s infectious. And there’s the hushed side, evident most clearly on a piece like “Early Transitions,” hanging long chords out to travel and fade over round chime tones. There’s a nice half-dreaming sense here, and the balance between the soft lines of the pads and the more solid texture of the chimes is perfect. As much as this album works for me, Naming Ghosts do lose me briefly during “False Sunrise.” The clatter of bells, while appropriately dramatic for the piece itself, just feel bombastic and distracting compared to the rest of the album’s subtler flow. Nothing else pulls me out of the moment here, and considering that Schweinlin and Zimm keep me fully involved during all their musical costume changes, even having one moment where my focus is crunched makes a difference. This release has been a pleasure to keep on repeat during my review listens. A strong debut that leaves me looking forward to more.

Available from the Naming Ghosts web site.

 

When I consider the deep effect Bvdub’s Born in Tokyo has had on me through several repeat listens, and that this is Brock Van Wey’s 20th release under this name, my first thought is, How did I miss the first 19? On this outing, Bvdub entices the listener with a blend of styles that encompass EDM, New Age and dream pop. Typically, within the melodic electronica genre, songs tend to run at pop length–three, five, six minutes, tops. Bvdub takes the feel and the framework and stretches it out to the 11-14 minute range, and in doing so gives his pieces more room for expression and more potential for impact. It allows him to work movements into the pieces, full-on changes of tone that dovetail neatly and keep his grooves going strong. It’s an influence that comes from Van Wey’s background as a DJ–the man knows how to craft a smooth blend. These shifts are, for me, one of the strongest points in an already very effective album. “Reach for Me (Awake For the First Time)” begins its run with deeply emotive piano playing under airy electronics and a will o’ wisp vocal. If you pulled everything out but the piano, you would have a very lovely New Age piece. The core of it, the strong phrasing and passionate emotion, would (and does) stand on its own. Van Wey’s atmospheric additions act as amplifiers, buffing up that content without sullying the clean, simple foundation.  The song glides through a short ambient passage and emerges coated in a cool sequencer line. Shuffling glitch beats, a heavy low end, and dreamy, washed-out vocals complete the transition. Your first time around you may find yourself checking to see what this new track is. But it isn’t. And that’s the cool part. Check another great crossover on “We Love Together (It’s Our World).” Symphonic washes float like warm breath on cold air for the first 90 seconds or so–then you get a quick drop and Van Wey brings in sweet lounge chords and a house-style beat. On this track he’s assisted on the vocal side by Jenny Mayhem to take into a club-perfect space. It’s slick and sexy as hell, an aphrodisiacal slow groove that hits its emotional peak as the voices plead, “Why won’t you stay the night?” “Don’t Cry Mamii (To The Sky)” backs its way in with reverse-echoed notes and gentle guitar. Van Wey builds in layers by deepening his vocal loops, rich with more echo, developing a delicious interweaving of individual lines that strengthens with each pass. When, this, the closing track, sighs to an end, I would bet good money you’ll immediately start it up again.

I would not be surprised to learn that Born in Tokyo was crafted out of the highest quality silk. It’s unbelievably smooth and fully wraps the listener in its glistening textures. The perfect balance of hush and groove is immediately infectious. Van Wey’s pure confidence shows in every track. He knows how good his transitions are and he knows you’re going to love them. This is a release full of “oh,yeah” moments. A genuinely fantastic release from Bvdub that you must hear.

Available from n5md.

Ready to get your introspection on? Let Last Days’ Satellite be your soundtrack. On his fourth release, Graham Richardson burrows into the listener’s soul with a set of pieces that straddle the line between electro-acoustic ambient and quiet post-rock. It’s an album where the smallest sounds matter as much as the larger ones, and the blend creates some serious emotional impact. This is a well-made exercise in pairing straightforward melodies with disparate, contrasting sonic touches–rough edges that challenge the listener while they are attempting to connect with the comparative simplicity of the music beneath. “Escape Velocity” is a great example. While Richardson slowly plays, the constant crackle and muffled roar of a rocket engine during takeoff plays out in the background. In “After the Flood” a 50/50 balance is tenuously struck between water sounds, which border on being too loud, and a beautiful post-rock song that comes in first on strings and then adds guitar. Here the treatment feels like it’s staying in touch with the theme. It’s the way in which the water sounds are vying for attention, rather than settling in as background, that ramps up the interest level. This is not a place where the edges of the two sides of the equation are harshly rubbing against each other. For that, listen to the way a metallic grinding, not unlike the overamplified sound of a subway train, works its way into and eventually takes over the melody in “Expecting Miracles.” By the time the track is done, the softer side, the acoustic and musical side, has been overwhelmed by its opposite and just disappears. These are the balances and imbalances at play on Satellite, and Richardson handles them with grace, understanding, and subtlety.

The music here is moody and inescapably sad, but it’s not an off-putting sadness. Rather, it’s a common, shared sadness, a feeling that appeals to that portion in all of us that is willing to embrace this state of being. We’ve been here, and Richardson is just putting a sound to it. This is about looking back the way you came and trying to understand how you got here and what you may have left behind. Satellite has a very human resonance; it presents its own frailty openly and honestly, which is why it works so very well. Put the headphones on, brace your soul, and have a go.

Available from n5md.

While I’m not inclined to burn a lot of words on a 4-song release that skates by in under 30 minutes, Umbrose’s debut, Final Nights, is worth bringing to your attention. It’s something of a showcase release, giving the listener four sides of Umbrose’s musical personality. The opener, “How Many Winters,” would lead you to believe this is something of a New Age disc. Rain, a wolf howl, then strings, flute and keys set the tone. Light electronics fill in the background and a beat with some tribal pedigree knocks out a tempo. It’s the vocal drop-in late in the track that suggests this isn’t a by-the-numbers New Age outing. And with the first rap of the snare drum on “Crushed Like Velvet (Velour),” it’s confirmed. Now we’re in a somewhat jazz-infected space. The drum plays a simple, slogging beat as a piano offers a half-awake tune. A woman’s voice slips out of a dreamspace and into our hazy awareness. Melancholy drips onto the floor. Again, don’t get comfy. Those are warped carnival music sounds you hear as “MMN” opens, but they give way to an even more stupor-draped chunk of post-rock. Some of the sound here is muddy, dimmed and fading, half here and half not. Then there’s my favorite track, the one that takes the disc to a completely different and quite unexpected place. “The Crying Mask” is an insanely catchy thing that’s basically the theme music for a lost 50s B-movie about spies and aliens, with a surfing contest thrown in for good measure. Wailing theremin sound, snappy snare drum, groovy licks on dirty guitar… If you don’t hear just a little hint of the rockin’ theme from The Munsters, well…it’s probably just that you’re younger than I. But it’s there. And it’s cool.

On their Facebook page, Umbrose notes themselves as a “dark ambient” act. If this is dark ambient, it’s really light dark ambient. It’s moody, for sure, and draped in gloom, but overall it’s too bright in tone for that designation. No dark ambient rocks out the way “Crying Mask” does. Whatever you want to call it, Final Nights is a solid, fun and interesting debut that makes me look forward to something longer from Umbrose. Have a listen.

Available at Bandcamp.

Olekranon is back to douse his listeners in his well-practiced blend of raw-edged industrial, aggressive noise and meaty post-rock. This is Danaus, and it would probably like to hurt you. Or hypnotize you. Or a bit of both. Ryan Huber handles both aspects well. When he gets his aggro on and lays in with beats that feel like they’re being meted out via machine press, Danaus takes on a huge, bellicose aspect. It snarls and spits and vents–walk into the beating that is “Bellow,” for example. Metallic clatter, thick distortion, and beats that literally punch. Throw in a vocal drop that gets crushed underfoot and you’ve got a signature Olekranon piece. When he piles on hissing drones in massive layers, the resultant cliff-face of sound becomes hypnotic, a rough-hewn susurrus that forcibly lulls you into a trance space. I like “Severed” for this; it shows how Huber can effect that dronescape and still work in texture and punch. A variation on this theme comes again on the next track, “Marionette,” with the additional allure of being built on a pretty straightforward post-rock frame. A follow-along beat, an identifiable melody via chords, and that big hissing brain-shower. “Libertine,” which closes the album, is a perfect blend of white-noise drone and a steady, almost subtle beat. A subliminal groove, if you will. As the album moves along, the line between beat(ings) and mesmerizing washes blurs and shifts so that regardless of where you are, you are engulfed in Huber’s soundpool and taken out of your normal flow.

Olekranon’s work is not the easiest to get into, but I find that I’ve developed a taste for it. I appreciate the restrained aggression, the way there’s always a path through the sound even at its densest, and the carefully paced-out shifts of tone. It’s always worth giving a close listen because Huber is not a noise-for-noise’s-sake artist. Get down into the details and take in what Danaus is offering. The effort is worth it.

Available at Bandcamp.

My hand hovered dangerously close to the “skip” button as “The Weight of Dreams Against the Harsh Wisdom of the World, Part 1,” the short opening track of Misdreamt’s Apophenia, hissed and gurgled its way out of my speakers at me. My eyes rolled. Another dark ambient outing full of, well, hissing and gurgling. Then the track changed and lo, there was guitar, which suggested something more interesting. Suggested. Because while this four-part piece pairs dark atmospherics with guitar, said guitar spends its entire time sounding like the beginning to every deeply thoughtful Metallica song you’ve ever heard–without ever wanting to leap to something further. The mix of elements isn’t bad; the guitar work, while sort of standard metal-issue fingerpicking, is solid, and the atmospheres are appropriately dark and mysterious. But the lack of forward movement wears thin in short order and the work overall never feels like it wants more from itself. For me, things didn’t get much better from there, nor do they get much different. “Contemplation of the Dust” is more of the same in a different chord, and the two-part “Shadows Remain” gets little more than a shrug.

Available from the Misdreamt Bandcamp page.

Don’t worry–no one is going to fault you if you mistake Solarization, the new release from Janneh, for a long-lost Jean Michel Jarre album. It sounds like the artist snuck into JMJ’s sound library and whisked away all the good stuff, then blended it into seven short pieces. Which is not to say they aren’t original, but they do lean heavily on the nostalgia button for the album’s 35-minute run. Which isn’t so bad; old-school music lovers like me will enjoy having that particular pleasure center pinged over and over. That swirly, breathy whoosh that’s in virtually every Jarre release? It’s here. That twisty, ripply downward sound-squib? That’s here, too. So you have your music-genealogy waypoints in place. But let’s put that aside and consider Solarization on its own. I have enjoyed everything I’ve previously heard from Janne Hanhisuanto (this is the fourth release I’ve reviewed), and while I think this is not as strong as his other work, it has its spots. Part 2 is one of those distinctly Jarre-inspired pieces–it puts me in mind of some piece about a train (maybe?). A big, rubbery Berlin-style bass sequence holds down the low end for the high, sunny-day melody. And oh, those whooshes… It all drips with tasty retro, but I do have to say that the electronic drums, kicking out a steady beat, have an artificial tinniness that can wear thin quickly. Some things are retro because we stopped enjoying them. Part 3 is a charming song that lopes along on an easy rhythm. Great guitar work in this one as Janneh lays a soulful solo over the top. Part 5 is my favorite track, packing a light Middle Eastern flair, including some very nice (sampled, maybe?) hand percussion. It’s a serpentine, dancing bit of work, pushed ahead by a pulsing sequencer line that has just a touch of club-music pedigree to it. Great layers at work here. The closing track finds Janneh closer to the ambient side of things, carving out a comparatively minimal feel where the space between moments is emphasized, punctuated with a simple, percussive chord that echoes off into the distance. Keys take the front here, placed over quiet pads, picking out a meandering melodic line. The blend works very well–the droning backdrop, the casual leads, and that very cool and very consistent accent sound.

Solarization is quick and pleasant. Hanhisuanto skirts the edges of being simply derivative and delivers another good chapter in his ongoing musical story. Give it a listen.

Available at CD Baby.

Id|entities is one of those dark experimental works I have to admit I can’t get into and don’t really get. This Finnish artist started off collecting a lot of samples from various media, mostly films and television, then “recontextualized [them] to form new dialogues.” And it must be said she certainly didn’t go light on them. If you love soundbites, you’ll love this release. It’s thick with them. Too thick for me. In fact, Ovro almost lost me on the first track with endless repetitions of a single phrase from one source. The disc boils down to the repurposed audio forming a sort of disjointed narrative that gets a little bit of atmospheric treatment. It’s like listening to a slightly schizophrenic radio play. For me, it’s a bit ponderous and doesn’t do anything to hold my attention. Fans of dark ambient or plunderphonics might get more out of it.

Available from Some Place Else.