Here’s your winner for Best Use of Theme. Muscially exposing “the machinations of the extremism of all points of view present in our current time,” Purity & Revolution offers a mix of soundbites, martial industrial music and punchy moments of EDM to create an overall work that comes off as cinematic and cautionary. In something like this it would be easy to grossly overload the soundbites, but K. Holewczynski doles them out strategically to move his story along. They’re always secondary to the mood and the music. The disc opens with a tinny anthem reminding us that the “machinations” in question go back across time, then fires into a EDM beat over somber chords. A drop and then the energy rises; this is “W.T.O.”, and listeners who are familiar with Holewczynski’s cited influences, bands like Front Line Assembly, Front 242, and Skinny Puppy will be in familiar territory. The drums pound, the bass pulses, and you get that blend of the adrenaline of an uptempo beat and the potent acid of darker emotions. All of this comes together particularly well on “Architects of the Third World.” Another anthem plays and speeches are delivered before drums and grit-blasted guitar cut in. In places, Holewczynski pulls out a big, symphonic feel that not only carries his underlying theme of bombast and manipulated hyper-patriotism, but also works as a counter to the heavy drumming. The title track is like this, built on string pads with some brass-like accents, placed over a hurrying sequencer line and another pounding beat. Headed toward the end, he drops it out to nothing but the drum and the sequencer, and the sparseness of that last minute works well.

I’ve enjoyed a lot of deep listens to Purity & Revolution. Holewczynski’s sense of creating imagery is very strong and he manages to deliver his message without clubbing the listener with it. You listen, and you get it–you hear the anthemic swells; the words in the speeches blur into so much blah blah; you feel the armies marching; you see the repetition of history. This is dark without being too dark, and weighty without being overly heavy. The beats drill directly into you to evoke a pure, primal response. This is one to listen to with the volume up. If your tastes run toward 80s and 90s industrial or martial industrial, this is right in your ballpark. If not, you still need to dive in.

Available from Carbon 12.

Ecotone is an intriguing collaboration that takes its listener through several zones of sound, all along the way cleaving just enough to Eno’s definition of ambient music, without being immovably adhered to it, to make the comparison valid.  James Johnson and Aperus center their work  in that same gracefully deliberate delivery of each note, the sense of airy sparseness that manifests in keeping a respectful if not meditative distance from one note to another. It can be played at an innocuous volume and still retain its strong emotional force, and reveals in close and focused listens an amazing amount of depth and small-sound detail. And on top of all that, it’s flat-out gorgeous, whatever form it happens to be taking at any given moment. The duo improvised and recorded two hours of material in the studio, after which Aperus (aka Brian McWilliams) went back in to work a little remixing/restructuring magic.  And so we get, on one hand, Eno-esque explorations like “Crow Over Walnut Canyon,” with echoing piano, a soft underscore of pads, and hints of thunder; or “The Long Goodbye,” with its patient Thursday Afternoon-style keys, raspy punctuations of guitar, and subtle field sounds, all floating on rich pads that roll in like a textbook ambient swell. On another hand, the opener, “Descending Arc,” exists a bit on the shadowy and near-dissonant side in spots. Chimes reminiscent of gamelan clatter and call as bass notes, piano and bird songs fill the space. “The Moth Jar” somewhat follows suit, using a clashing metal sound in places to add that air of dissonance to play against wavering, dream-haze keys. It’s an effective use of the sharp in the midst of the soft, and it’s not overdone.

Ecotone is an amazing piece of work. You need to dedicate several listen to just tuning in to the small stuff, the random sounds and field recording, the clicks and hums and clatters that form a sort of sonic scrim hanging in the back. The intricacy at work here is stunning, and more so for the fact that it works at low or normal volume. As a background listen, the pervasive calm–even in the darker spots–works its way into you, and there are points that just make you need to stop and be in that moment.  It has a lyrical quality that’s slowly and beautifully meted out. You will end up keeping this on loop. If Ecotone doesn’t make every “Best Of” list out there this year, it can only mean that whomever didn’t include it simply never heard it.

Available from Geophonic Records.

In a pair of 35-minute tracks, Steve Brand takes an electro-acoustic path to showing that “one of the most fundamental and immediate ways we can connect with our essential selves, our core being, is through our connection with nature, its processes and metaphors.” Field recordings, bells, flutes, rain stick and more are carefully woven in and around Brand’s signature slow-motion synth pads. It’s not long before the listener is fully immersed in the calm, meditative space  Brand carves out in the first track, “True Nature.” Break out the headphones for this; this artist pays a lot of attention to sound placement and movement to create rich dimension. He also covers a lot of ground in each of these explorations; there are distinct shifts of tone and feel as well as density of content. Where “True Nature” starts with a lot sound and a lot happening in your ears, its middle stretch becomes delightfully sparse, leaving you with windy pads, quiet movement, and the call of the flute–and then that gives way to simple nature sounds. Brand imbues this moment with reverence; it’s a very cleansing passage. There’s an interesting, almost dark turn at the end of “True Nature,” with thunderous rumbles, echoing whispers and rain stick. After several listens I still can’t decide what I think of it. It does, however, make a great counterpoint to the bright and almost energetic start of “Genuine Nature.” The melodic start slowly spreads and quiets, to rise again with cricket sounds and more bright, swirling synth lines with a string feel. Brand brings the piece back around on itself in the closing minutes to drive home the sense of a journey undertaken and completed. On both tracks Brand does an excellent job of moving the listener between states of pensive quiet and bolder, more active stretches, and the balance between the two is superb. There is time to take in Brand’s careful construction, and there is time to simply listen, breathe, and be within yourself. Our True Nature is a disc that should be listened to closely to get its full effect, but also thrives in a subtle, low-volume listen. As always, excellent, spirit-moving ambient from Mr. Brand.

Available from Relaxed Machinery.

Drawing from ideas and sounds the composer developed to accompany butoh dance performances, Bernhard Weiss’ re memeber is an eclectic mix of experimental pieces that alternately exhibit either a crystalline fragility or an aggressive rawness. It’s not an easy listen, but there’s a lot to listen to. Weiss’ constructs mirror the widely abstract, often minimalist, outsider-baffling art of butoh; one musical moment does not necessarily lead to the next, or not the next you might expect. On the one hand, you’re floating through the light environs of “linger on,” where Lilian Fritz talk-sings her way, in a tender and almost choked-up voice, through poetic lyrics, surrounded by soft chords and rain-spatter drops of microsound. Her voice plays double duty here, one version processed to sound tinny and telephonic, the other left alone but brought in intimately close. On the other hand, Weiss will challenge your patience with the electric grind, random soundbites and repetitious chopped and stitched vocal sample in “Hashime.” Or perhaps you’re guided through the misty washes of “Skin,” as Aiki Kazuko Kurosaki recites Japanese poetry and Christina Galsmeier lays down crying violin that fades like a ghost’s whisper at the end, both standing on superbly hushed pads that barely break the surface of your awareness. And when you least expect it, hiding toward the end of “sun shine,” you briefly get a reasonably straightforward touch of EDM, the thumping club beat initially feeling out of place until you realize it’s a bit of familiar relief in these unusual landscapes.

There are a few moments I could have done without as a listener. The harsh avian squeals at the start of “birdie” are off-putting and the piece as a whole feels a little wayward. There’s the odd, squelchy might-be-a-vocal-sample at the end of the title track, which is about as pleasant as someone twisting styrofoam in your ear. The minute-long high-pitched whine at the end of “thin line” made me worry that I might have tinnitus. I’m sure there’s an artistic rationale for all this, but that doesn’t make it less grating.

It took a number of listens to get good and comfortable with re member. Finding a point of entry is not easy, and the disc will sit best with listeners who appreciate a more avant garde compositional approach. But there’s a lot of impact at work here, and much of it comes from the depth of detail and the careful construction of sound. Headphones are required for full effect, because there are a lot of very small elements that figure into the overall mix. Even at the points where it threatens to grate, re member still manages to be interesting–again, in an often difficult way. Well worth giving a try with an open mind focused on the effect of music.

Available from Cords Records.

And I quote: “Undara is a relatively open project which congregates musicians…from different musical corners…on a common vision or principle: to work on the symbiosis of organic and synthetic elements to create pieces of hypnotic and introspective nature.” Well, that’s a mouthful. Let me sum it up: Traveller, the debut release from Undara, makes full use of the conclave’s cited influences, from Steve Roach to Jorge Reyes to Tuu, to deliver a journey with its feet rooted in tribal textures but ranging into broad sonic spaces.Percussion, including udu and darbuka, plays a central role in delivering that gather-the-tribe feel, assisted by ocarina, didgeridoo, bowls, and, believe it or not, goat hooves. The earthy elements are underlain with soft synth washes and atmospheric sounds, and all this together makes Traveller a very solid tribal-ambient disc. Traveller kicks off in a shadow-thick and serpentine space, with growling drones offset by the sharp ceramic rap and hollow gulp of the udu taking the percussive lead, particularly on “Seed of Storms.” I catch aural glimpses of Roach’s Spirit Dome in the backdrop washes here, but my attention is firmly taken by the udu. There’s a nice ritualistic feel at play, and the rhythm grabs hold of you. “Hearts of Darkness” folds didgeridoo into cool, dark washes. Distorted vocal samples make a call to prayer, and the whole thing lands right in my tribal-digging sweet spot. There’s a lot of depth of sound, a space to fall into, guided by the persistence of the beat. The disc touches its darkest point on the droning, sometimes clamoring movements in “Dawning Ecstasis.” At this stage the disc has taken a logical, organic route downward, showing an appreciable sense of narrative and structure–and this pays off even more when, beginning with “Cosmic Drift,” it heads slightly the other way. The energetic beats return, the pads lighten slightly, and the transition is handled with appropriate slowness and without entirely giving up the darkness at the edges. When you get to “Islands of Fog,” it takes a surprising turn. This is a beautiful, slow-handed guitar piece, with A. Guerrra piecing out a quiet melody over windswept pads. It’s got a dreamlike quality that begs for a close listen. The interplay between guitar and electronics is subtle and spot-on. “Perpetual Motion” walks a fine line between light and dark, pairing didge yelps and rising choral pads, grumbling low ends and near-uptempo beats. The closer, “Ascension,” finds it way back toward a darker feel with a slow pace and big, bass drones. In the end, however, the sound takes a rising-sun turn and deposits the well-traveled listener in a safe place. 

Traveller is loaded with elements that will very familiar to tribal ambient fans, but still manages to avoid coming off as simply derivative. The track-to-track movement shows a lot of forethought and a distinct through-line. There’s a story at work here, and it will hold your attention. Through the contributions and talents of seven artists, Traveller becomes vibrant, diverse, and quite effective. It marks a very promising stepping-off point for Undara.

Available from gterma.

So this is what despair sounds like. Please expect no respite from the darkness here in Shadowland, for none is forthcoming. Christopher Alvarado, recording as Twilight Transmissions, begins the assault from the first note–and he’s not interested in taking prisoners. Oh, sure, he’ll temper this industrial beating with some irresistible iron-press beats on tracks like the powerful, addictive “Ebony Encrusted Ruins” and “Lost Monuments,” and let you burn off some of that dark energy, but you’re never allowed to forget that these beats are surrounded by a dark, oppressive sound-pit that’s feeding and feeding off your very visceral response to what’s happening here. Remember when that guy said “Anger is an energy”? Yeah, that would be this. This is soul-crushingly dark and massively industrial–decidedly not for the musically faint of heart. But Alvarado’s not one of those dark artists who leans on the keys for an hour. There’s a lot of shifting tone and tempo here, and a lot of attention paid to balance–the balance of the weightiness of sound and the anchor-point of rhythm that makes the disc retain a scrap of accessibility. This is what I like about Shadowland; I know I’m being set adrift in a churning mass of heavy sound. I know it’s not meant to be all that pleasant, and that it’s meant to drag a little anger and primal response out of me. But at the same time I’m being pelted with these infectious, tribal/techno beats and I’m responding equally to that. Check “Pillars and Fog” for a prime example of this. The sound is a morass of bass and electronic squibble, but under it is this magnificent heavy-handed pulse slamming out the time. Just bring out your inner animal, already. “Skin Walker” leads with the drums, but this time it’s less about dancing and more about ritual. The sound is underscored with rough,  inhuman snarls that let you know not only are you not alone, you’re also not safe here. If you do happen to be one of those listeners who love the simple, heavy crushes of sound dark ambient’s known for, the title track, among others, quite fits the bill, laying into you sonically with a relentless electronic wind backed with shifting, unidentifiable sounds coming from all around you.

I quite like Alvarado’s work, both under his own name and as Twilight Transmissions. His attention to detail and layering is superb. He knows there’s more to dark ambient than weight; there’s the sense of narrative, the thickness of the atmosphere, and the culling of dark emotion from the listener. On Shadowland, he nails all this down in grimly eloquent fashion. It’s heavy, it’s heady, and it accomplishes what it says out to do–control you.

Available from Roach Clip Records.

Here’s what happened when I was listening to Prammi, from Icelandic ambient/post-rock outfit Stafrænn Hákon, fronted by Ólafur Josephsson. There I was, cooly grooving along to some jangly guitars and indie-rock edge, feeling like I wanted to be chilling somewhere near the water with a cold beverage (because this, apparently, is how I take my post-rock) and just soaking in the sounds, when after a few tracks, things…changed. I found myself adrift in a sort of whispering-wind flow of guitar drones and I thought, so this is where we’re going. But no–after a few minutes I was quietly deposited back in front of that post-rock outfit for a couple more songs before things changed again. The thing about Prammi is that it not only offers two different takes, it hits both of them spot-on. The post-rock work has a bit of a gritty edge to it, a garage-band, late-night jam feel. “Klump” and “The Son” recall the lo-fi vibe of Sebadoh, down to their wispy lead vocals, with “Klump” adding a borderline bluegrass tone beneath the more straight-on rock. “Hvarf-12” shuffles out its blurry-eyed, 2 a.m. shoegaze beat over wobbling tremolo guitars. An underlying drone offers a static-buzz baseline. And whether you speak the language or not, the charming lilt of “Raekjuhals” will stick in your head. With its mandolin and chimes, it’s like a musical smile, and it just infuses you with a dose of feel-good. On the ambient side, that first wash of drone, “A Personal Voyage to Meat Planet” (which is a great title), lays the foundation for the other tracks of its kind. It’s deep and warm, fuzzed out and hissing quietly in your ears. I was surprised to look over, out of my light hypnotic haze, and discover that it’s just three minutes long. It’s a time-stretcher. “Passage” takes the same route, adding in a slightly rougher texture and more distinct sense of movement. It’s shadowy without being dark, with a wonderful tentative sense hiding in the sound. The closer, “Wait,” ups the hold-your-breath ante. This is a very deep drone, quite mechanical, peppered in spots with the call and clatter of distant chimes.

It’s the blend of styles, obviously, that gives Prammi such unique character. And the thing is, I would listen to a full disc of either side of the equation. The post-rock lifts my spirits and satisfies the old indie rock guy in me, and the drone work is good food for my ambient soul. So it’s a win-win. You need to check out Stafrænn Hákon’s Prammi.

Available from Sound In Silence.

Given its subject matter and the fact that it’s the soundtrack to a planetarium show, Stephen Dubois’ 2012: Prophecy of Doom? perhaps understandably runs a bit heavy on theme and bombast in spots. But it’s also got its share of less affected music that treads somewhere between punchy electronica and standard-fare New Age. Dubois calls it “an interpretation of the past with a decidedly modern electronic twist,” and took his musical cue from a documentary that discussed an archeologist finding a mural on a Mayan temple wall that showed an orchestra with flutes, horns and drums. Dubois’ music is evocative enough to carry his story, but I find myself fading in and out of it. He catches me with the Ray Lynch-style vibe of “The Calendar Wheel,” a cool jaunt built on gurgling sequencers and light pads. “Doomsday” also has a nice analog feel, hurrying in on thick bass notes that convey a sense of urgency. Serpentine pads twirl around it, ramping up the sense of pent-up energy awaiting release. A flute flies in to cut the tension and add lightness–a nice touch.  “Sunrise on Dec. 22” is a picture-perfect New Age piano piece that nails its theme with a bright melody and light touches of electronics. “A New Era” blends a nice tribal backdrop with flute sounds for an uplifting world feel. Much of the rest of the disc glides by innocuously enough. The misses here aren’t egregious, and they’re probably not misses at all to a listener a bit more in tune with this type of work. The da da daaa symphonics that close out “The Opening” are just a bit presumptuous for me, which I realize sounds a little petty when we’re talking about the start of a presentation on doomsday. The chanting vocals in “The End of the World” and “Shadows in Stone” have me reaching for the “next” button. Thematic, I know; all I can tell you is that without a visual frame of reference to maybe give me better perspective, it’s not a sound I want to hear. By comparison, the lead male voice in “Shadows in Stone” works well. Feels like the officiant in a mass.

Dubois adds on three bonus tracks–that is, non-doom-related, called “Constellations of the Zodiac,” and these offer a pleasant-enough, lightweight New Age feel.

2012: Prophency of Doom? will find an audience with straightforward New Age listeners. Dubois is a talented musician and these pieces are well constructed; I just feel like he’s a bit shackled by the heft of his theme here. Have a listen.

Available from Ancient Eyes Music.

Future Flows is the second piece of a triptych of discs that began with the excellent Soul Tones, and will conclude in a few months with the final, name-as-yet-unknown disc. As he moves into this next stage of the series, Steve Roach shifts from soft, cocoon-like soundscapes into big flows with more texture and a forceful presence, along with moments of encroaching shadow. In his press materials, Roach likens the music here to other “symphonic ambient” works like Mystic Chords and Sacred Spaces. The comparison is quite valid; there are distinct echoes of that four-disc masterpiece happening here, and they share a sense of remarkable depth and dimension. Counter to its predecessor, Future Flows rises initially on a big, almost ominous crush of pads and tones in “An Omnipresent Sense Prevails.” It’s a dramatic and powerful way to begin this journey, and a visceral one, too; the track holds its immensity until its waning moments when Roach agrees to release us and begin moving us into other territories. “Spectrum of Change” eases out of the opener’s power to become a warm, dreamy river of sound with a rich and resonant low end that touches the soul. It’s got a strong emotional core. “The Texture of Remembering” is a loose swirl of sound, a 10-minute cocoon with a distinct and familiar feel to it. There’s a slightly bouncy analog energy in the flow, but towards the end Roach again takes a hand off the controls and lets it wind itself down to a cleansing close. “Heart of Light” is a short, bright blend of crossing pads, like a sliver of Quiet Music offered into the mix. On the longest track here, “The Future Flows From Here,” my mind is pulled toward Landmass for a point of reference–that mix of broad, yawning pads underscored by rolling analog constructs that lends it some energy and urgency. The rhythmic elements glimmer against the quiet backdrop as the play off each other. When they fade out, you’re left with the quiet parts and the focus moves to their sonic textures and the shift into the final track, another rich and vast cosmic space grounded with a rumbling low end.

Roach is releasing the three parts of this series several months apart. They’re not necessarily meant to be taken as directly connected works; rather, he sees the space between releases as time to immerse in the discs. One can flow right from Soul Tones into Future Flows, however, and it’s interesting to hear the change of timbre as this new piece heads into a zone that is distinctly its own. The time I’ve spent letting Future Flows wash over me has been well spent. A definite headphone listen that’s also nicely effective at low volume. Let it loop, and look forward for the next one.

Available from Steve Roach’s web site.

Here’s how you make a return after 10 years: Release an album that’s just massively processed looped guitar and vocals, recorded in a single long take, live and straight to analog tape, with no overdubs. If you can pull that off and make it intriguing, dense and immersive, you must be lovesliescrushing. Major players in the 90s dreampop scene, guitarist Scott Cortez and vocalist Melissa Arpin-Duimstra hadn’t recorded together in 10 years prior to creating Ghost Colored Halo; well, it has to be said that the chemistry didn’t suffer any. What comes out is a set of big, drone-based washes that vary from ethereal whispers to heavier, bass-loaded soundscapes. The former you’ll hear in the soft but solemn tones of “The Tiger Hunts Alone”; the latter is best heard on the almost grim “Darklit and Crow.” Check out “The Wounds That Won’t Heal” and “Ghost Colored” for classic dreampop, the way Cortez and Aprin-Duimstra stretch out a standard song format and immerse it under a veil of layered sound. “Ghost Colored” takes on a hypnotic aspect with a steady throb of bass. Throughout the disc, Arpin-Duimstra’s voice is ghostly and distant, folded into Cortez’s constantly shifting layers, making it all the more effective in those moments when it rises above and stands out. loveliescrushing’s sound is something that simply surrounds you, particularly in headphones, and takes you in so fully that when the last note on the last track cuts out, your response to the disconnect is almost physical. The remedy is to hit the play button again; and you will. Ghost Colored Halo is a strong and welcome return from an important name in the genre.

Available from Projekt.