Listen to My Nerves Hum is a selection of 11 very short but often moving blends of piano, field recordings, and vocal samples. These sonic snapshots pair Fingers’ graceful and emotional playing against more grating or interruptive elements. You’re listening to the simple piano melody of “Road to Salema,” for example, which is fine as is, and out of nowhere comes a ghostly wisp of a woman’s voice, singing for a few moments. And then gone. Or on “Año Nuevo Acid Crackers,” where the piano is increasingly interrupted by what at first sounds like footsteps, but eventually becomes firecrackers and crowd sounds. Over the distracting (or meant to distract) noise, the piano just keeps playing. Which way will you turn your attention? Finger’s structures are based on slightly deviating repetitive forms; a phrase may come around with a note out of place or played differently–just enough to pique the attention. Dissonance, both borderline and quite full-on, can be heard at work in places as well. The start of “Sevilla on Tape” pairs a jangling, dissonant and chaotic line with recordings of children’s voices and will likely test some listeners’ patience. The dissonance and augmented repetition, though, lend an interesting sense of imperfection and vulnerability. “Leaving Linjevegen” is a piece that truly captures that sense, one of the few where Finger by and large leaves the piano to its own devices, allowing the sustain of notes to intertwine as they recede. What Finger is attempting to do is square off the calmness of his straightforward playing with more challenging concepts, and in doing so creates a more active listening space. You can relax and take in his playing, but sooner or later something will shake the chair and bring you more back to the moment. It’s not a formula that will work for everyone, but between the quality of Finger’s playing and the smoothness of the overall construction, this disc may surprise some people.

It should be noted that Time Released Sound is a niche/boutique label whose focus is as much on the art of the packing as the music, and perhaps a bit more so. At the time of this writing there were only two copies of this release available, for $85 each. But for that you get, in part, “…a truly over the top, deluxe limited version form, of a hanging sculptural/skeletal bird mobile made from the parts of antique pianos. The folded and disassembled sculpture comes in a extensively modified 8.5″ x 5″ chocolate box. The box itself is collaged inside and out, with 100+ year old, educational musical strips, is painted and stamped, and comes with feet made from brass piano capstans and nuts.”  (There’s more.) Other unique releases range from $15 to $55. The site does not suggest that a simple download is available as an option.

Available from Time Released Sound.

With his 2012 release, Between Empires, nabbing Best Electronic Album of the Year in the Zone Music Reporter awards, AeTopus (aka Bryan Tewell Hughes) set his own bar pretty high for his next release. Angels and Machines is a quick hit, with five tracks coming in under half an hour, but it’s loaded with Hughes’ noteworthy mix of classic electronic music and world music. The title track (the first of two thus named) carries a Celtic feel with lute-like strings, high, singing flute and the rap of the bodrhan. Mid-track, Hughes hits a shift in tempo that immediately modernizes it without dropping its old-world trappings. “Reflecting in the Glass” takes on an Eastern tone; the main sound is similar to a Japanese shamisen, backed with wood-block percussion, and overall the piece reminds me of Azuma, a Private Music artist from the 80s. It’s catchy and light. Vocalist Vivian Lee offers a chant over a hurrying sequencer and drone on “Origins.” Here the tone is dramatic and a touch tribal, driven along by drums and the urgent tone of the sequencer. Hughes builds this one nicely to its sacred music-inspired conclusion. “Alley of Dust and Soul” creeps in on twanging, resonating bass strings and a plodding rhythm. Flute makes a great counterpoint, the balance of low and high, dark and light. The second “Angels and Machines” closes the disc with a similar feel to “Alley…” It’s a bit on the shadowy side at first but blossoms into a pleasing New Age tune in spots, prancing in on plucked strings reminiscent of harpsichord or duclimer before paring paring back down and snapping shut. Hughes is an extremely detail-oriented composer, and Angels and Machines is a disc that needs a close listen. There’s a rich depth at play, and the interplay between even the smallest sounds is complex and vital. I’ve enjoyed this disc not just for its diversity of approach, but for the dynamic changes that happen within each track. Hughes tells stories, and they’re quite clear. Yes, it’s something of an appetizer in length, but there’s a lot of flavor to enjoy. AeTopus is an artist to keep an ear on.

Available from 12 Ton.

I’ve become familiar with Tim Risher’s music through his work with Paragaté and Claus Gahrn, but was not aware that until this release, he had not done anything solo. On The Cracked Chimes, Risher twists and folds bell sounds into innovative forms, mixing them with piano, field recordings, and more to present pieces that range from “techno” (his quotes, not mine) to borderline dark ambient. It’s a good mix of sounds and sensations, eleven quick vignettes clocking in at just over 45 minutes. As with his collaborative works, Risher’s focus is always on sonic textures, the mix of rough and smooth, familiar and hard-to-place. “Caldera” stretches the bell tones into resonating harmonics that retain a sharp metallic edge as they swell and fade; Risher places them over a gurgle of oddly echoing secondary sounds, and so gives us the dichotomy. On “Ivory,” sampled piano notes knock into one another with an almost random feel (which, of course, isn’t). The sounds gather build over a long, underlying drone and the song hiding inside it eventually becomes somewhat clear. The title track, naturally, is altered bells and chimes, but here there is very little recognizability. The flow turns uncertain and dark, or at least a little ominous, a mass of sound ringing (no pun intended) in your ears. One sound-set comes out as a clip-clop percussive element marking time; Risher snaps it off at the very end, and effectively creates a very disorienting feel. The sudden silence is potent. The “techno” tracks are pretty straightforward. “Fissure,” with Paragaté cohort Tom DePlonty, is a bass-end, percussion-driven pulse that makes use of drop-outs and sequencing. “Fluctuations,” which kicks off the disc, is a churning, almost tribal piece, but in a sort of diesel-powered, steampunk sort of way. All in all, The Cracked Chimes is an interesting set of experimental works that show how Risher creates a catalog of new sounds out of similar sources, then carves out fresh, individual spaces in which to express them.

Available at Bandcamp.

Another round of well-made melodic electronica from the folks at the N5MD label. (ghost) (aka Brian Froh) brings an adept hand and a very personal touch to the overcrowded world of glitch on this debut release. It’s the very real emotional content that lifts this disc a little above similar outings.”Endless Road” is a great example of Froh’s ability to ping something inside you. A three-note phrase repeats under lazily rolling pads, and in spots Froh softly folds in a melody. Maybe it’s the hint of sadness behind the music, but this one should dredge up some feelings or at least put your head in a particular spot. You’ll know it when you get there. “Distance” has a similar effect; it feels extremely personal. Froh weaves his melody in and out of the glitchwork, and for long stretches leaves just the beats and silky pads. A straight-up piano sound later in the track is a great, unexpected touch. Froh peppers this track with a simple classic electro-music twiddle that falls in at all the right times. “Arrival, Departure” opens slow and low with minor-chord gravitas, then gently adds density in beats, distant whispers of vocals, and a nice bass line toward the end. You may hear echoes of Boards of Canada, one of Froh’s cited influences, in the half-awake drowse at play here. (Although he doesn’t note Carbon Based Lifeforms as an influence, my mind shoots over to them when I listen to “Abyss.” Something in the high notes that form the melody takes me there.) By and large, Departure is a straightforward blend of skittering beats and bass-drum thuds over stretched, laid-back pads–the usual equation for this school. It’s Froh’s super-smooth hand on the tiller, and the way he modulates the tempo of the ride, that keep the listener engaged. A strong debut. Looking forward to what comes next.

Available from N5MD.

There is a very strong chance that you will not find another disc that takes its inspiration from classes on polymer chemistry and physics, advanced NMR spectroscopy, and nanostructured biomacromolecules. On the other hand, when you do find one, such as Franck Condon’s Purity Hall, you’ll end up with long-form drone-based flows. Wim Dehaen is the man behind Franck Condon, and in grabbing hold of ideas brought on by the aforementioned topics while working on his master’s degree in chemistry, he furthers his alternative studies in the musical application of mathematical techniques and the visual representation of sound. The five tracks here cover a deeply hypnotic hour’s time and while each shows a bit of its own character, across the board it’s fairly straightforward drone. I like the almost church-organ-like sound at the front of “Deceptive Simplicity,” and the way it has a slight organic waver to it. Dehean makes a smooth transition mid-track to a rougher and more complex sound. “Umplong” is the deepest drift here. It’s soft and hissing, with good dynamics within its slow and calm movement.

Those who like drone will find a lot to dig into on Purity Hall. For the most part it’s fairly low-dynamic, without a lot of easily perceptible change going on. As a sort of mind-salving, time-stretching listen, however, it’s quite good; Dehaen doesn’t put any bumps or sudden stops in the flow, so the listener gets an hour of deep listening.

Available from Runningonair.

To my way of thinking, the music of Sensitive Chaos represents a near-perfect crossover zone between sharp, old-school electronic music and world music-infused New Age. Jim Combs has the chemical formula that lets angular, pinpoint-precise synth lines and curvy, sensuous melodies not just coexist in harmony, but thrive and fuse into a truly unique signature sound. On Amerisynthcana he again teams up with his Seeker After Patterns compatriots, the always-present saxophonist Brian Good,  Tony Gerber on electronic wind instrument (EWI), Paul Vunk Jr on percussion, guitars and voice, and Christian Birk on synthesizers. The disc has two solo live performances, along with pieces where Combs edited down versions of solo gig, then presented that template to his cohorts and let them add their own touches. Two pieces are revivals of tracks originally recorded in the 80s. The result is what I feel is the best Sensitive Chaos release so far. Right out of the gates, Combs hits the listener with a big dose of feel-good. “To Sleep, To Dream” opens with a plucky, harpsichord sound, throw in some carnival-music spirals, and Good finishes off the blend with sweet, smooth-jazz sax. There’s a great shift in tempo toward the end of the track that just ups the happy. “Contemplation of One’s Place in the Universe” is a full-ensemble, Berlin School piece that keeps the pace going. Combs’ sequencer constructs lead the way, deeply intertwined. Gerber’s breathy EWI coils, curls and floats. On the title track, Vnuk’s percussion work drives us forward as Combs and Good dance around the back. This track builds and builds, eventually blossoming into choral pads as Good takes the front. On the softer side of things, Combs floats quietly through the dreamy washes of his solo live piece “August Rains, Were Those Tears?” He makes great use of some rich bass sounds to add a little punch in spots, and rain-spatter sounds late in the track add theme and texture. “Floating,” one of the older pieces, was recorded on an alphaSyntauri synth. This is a classic, deceptively simple ambient piece, gritted up slightly with an electronic hum that rises and falls. The flow, track to track, is impeccable, with Combs guiding his listeners through energetic passages, then easing them into a quiet space before coming back around. Everything makes sense in its place, and the overall sensation, by disc’s end, is that you just had a really good time. (Even with the oddly growling, almost-out-of-place-but-not-quite, two-minute “Android Cat Sleeps in the Sun.”) Sensitive Chaos continues to get better with every disc. There’s a good reason Amerisynthecana has already picked up a lot of radio play on some of the major genre outlets. Catch it for yourself.

Available from the Sensitive Chaos web site.

I’m just going to put a post in the ground right here as a marker because I believe that Joe De Vita has managed to find one of the farthest acceptable borders of what I’ll consider reviewing here at Hypnagogue–and I like it. The Antihero is a noisy jazz/funk/rock/spoken word concept album ostensibly about a guy out to save the world even though he isn’t actually a hero and is “probably eating a cheeseburger right now and talking on his cell phone.” You with me so far? DeVita’s clearly taking a big dip in Zappa’s pool here, from the pitch-shifted voice work during the “Intermission” cuts to the sweet 70’s funk rhythm lines and complex structures. And then there’s the way he just power-sands your face off with high-caliber guitar riffs, cutting loose with fiery, distorted solos on “Infiltrating Snuff Boy’s Chicken House” (complete with weird synthesizer clucks) and “The Angry Crab,” then proceeds to crank out some soulful, bluesy wails on “A Letter from Purple Hazel,” which closes out the disc. He also offers up some catchy, straightforward jazz playing on “The Anti-Hero Theme Song” and hits us with simple acoustic guitar over church-choir voices and soft pads in “Infomercial.” On that track his own voice takes on a tone like a wispy and slightly unsteady John Lennon. And for good measure, there’s a dose of glitchy electronica powering “Mutnik  Goes House Hunting.” Because, you know, DeVita hadn’t gone there yet. Could I do without tracks like minute-long spoken piece “Angry Customer” and the odd break that is “Dick Aerobics”? Indeed I could. But as slots in DeVita’s twisted vision of his story, they have their place, and the rest of the disc is so strong and enjoyable that, after initial listens, those bits are skippable. The Antihero is a funny album in a “what’s coming next?” kind of way. DeVita’s twisted humor works just as well as his guitar chops. This is not a disc that’s going to appeal to everyone–which may very well be DeVita’s intent. It’s a unique album that again showcases the jazz-fueled madness of Joe Devita’s musical world.

Available from CD Baby.

Outside of a trumpet and a cello, every sound on this short release is made from a two-second recording of a seagull scream. Kudos to Ludvig Olsen for managing to wrench a fairly deep sound-set out of such a small sample, but Breathing Seagull falls a little flat for me. It’s minimalist drone/noise, heavy on hisses but, other than “Dramatic Retreat to Save Seagull Life,” lacks much of the shifting sensations of good drone. Too experimental for this listener, with not enough going on to convince me otherwise. Have a listen and see if this seagull catches your ear.

Available at Bandcamp.

Classic analog electronica and spacemusic drifts await on the latest release from Sensory++, Particles. Rife with all the familiar waypoints of the style, this disc is a fun and engaging ride. The opening track, “Alpha,” almost goes out of its way to run down the checklist. Big, dramatic galactic-vista pads? Check. Knob-twiddling Oxygene-style sound spirals? Check. Ear-filling “launch sequence” sounds? Check. Arpeggiated space harp? Check! Let’s go! Musician Joost Egelie is clearly well-versed in (and loves) the old-school style, and that translates here. He captures its energy and the low versus high/angles versus curves equation that defines it, then takes it for his own ride. His sequencer work is sharp, fast, and clear–listen to the bass-loaded run of “Beta.” Better yet, take the high-powered cruiser “Majorana” out for a spin. From the punchiness of the sequencers to the slightly tinny twang at the outset, this is the stuff us old guys fell in love with back in the day. A little bit Kraftwerk, a little bit Jarre, and plenty of TD. The melody soars, the bass anchors, and the listener is simply caught up in the wash. I also like the cool use of 8-bit chipset sounds, courtesy of the Vice for Mac Commodore-64 emulator, in “Gamma.” A fun and familiar blast from the past. Egelie’s drifts are calm and far-reaching in that “let me describe space for you” way. “Charm” is your point of reference for this. Long pads stretch toward the distance, the low end long and steady, the high end shifting and wavering. Sharp, hollow tones clink and clatter at the start, then fade back off, to return after a long, meditative stretch. Egelie keeps an eye on the space between notes here; nothing is hurried.  Also check “Ion,” a spacemusic ride that may get a bit too ta-da in spots, like when it shifts to march-like cadence. However, when Egelie heads back into a quieter space toward the end of the track, it lets you appreciate more what he can do with a less-heavy hand.

Particles should be on the must-listen list for those who cut their electro-music teeth on the early stuff and those who still worship at the analog altar. It’s not new, but it’s the old done well. This disc has gotten a lot of repeat listens at Hypnagogue HQ.

Available at Bandcamp.

You should know, going into Witxes’ new release, Sorcery/Geography, that bandleader Maxime Vavasseur calls this album “schizophrenic.” I’m here to tell you that a) he’s right and b) that might be okay, depending on your level of musical open-mindedness. This schizophrenia manifests in something that could be considered diversity but it’s abruptly changing, sometimes middle-of-the-road abrupt, disjointed-feeling diversity. The opener, “Unlocation,” is a prime example. It rises up out of a gauzy drone, twists into clattering percussion with jazzy, wandering sax lurking under the mix–and then everything stops. Not a little bit of stop, it just stops with one fading cymbal crash, and suddenly it’s acoustic guitar and cold-wind drone. But lest you think either of these are the direction in which we’re headed, the very next track is a deep, dark grind of drone, with rasping strings from Christopher Honeyman’s double bass. Vavassuer and company manage all these changes well. Each track, taken on its own, has a lot to examine, but they’re also flowed together well, so that you’re not given much of a chance to process one direction before the next kicks in. I like the sparse dronework at play in the combination of the mumbling, interference-spattered “Misscience” and the somewhat more dynamic “Dunes of Steel,” which starts with single, almost clumsily picked notes and then buries everything in a whitish wash of noise. Within that wash, though, you can listen to the movement, the shifting of layers, and a progression of chords. The sax on this disc, courtesy of Pierre-Loup Mollard, brings that excellent touch of free jazz in the reversed-sound-packed “Canyon Improbable.” Against another big wall of increasing sound, it plays with its own echoes in a growing tangle. (To my ears, on this track, at about the 2:45 mark there’s a change in the mix that sounds a lot like a mistake. It may just be Vavasseur’s way of manipulating this track, but it almost sounds like a channel cutting out–the sound suddenly becomes oddly thin.) The sax is at its best, however, in “Somewhere.” This is the surprise of the disc for me, with Mollard wailing away over shifting drones. Given the timbre of the rest of the disc, you keep waiting for it to suddenly bang out a left turn and head somewhere odd, but it never does. It moves in a simple, organic line that makes excellent sense. And just to keep you guessing, the disc closes with a forlorn folk song, just Vavassuer and his guitar. Because, you know, schizophrenic.

Sorcery/Geography takes some getting used to and getting into. It’s not easy, and its chameleonic tones don’t offer a simple anchor point for listening. Worth giving a chance but, as stated, bring your open mind.

Available at Bandcamp.