Another big dollop of sonic acid trip from the twisted mind of Dissolved. Please remain seated as this glitch-fueled ride takes you through synapse-frying beats, enormous hammers of dance-music memes, and wayward sound-clips from an obscure horror movie. Your pulse rises with the BPMs as Dissolved convinces your body to groove along with the madness whether you’re aware of it or not. A sure hand on the throttle lets Dissolved confidently ramp the pace up and down, curving the ride through spaces of weirdness and discomfort, only to come blasting out the far side at speed, strapped to a beat that’s ready to explode. It’s not easy to encapsulate all the things going on in a Dissolved disc; what matters is that it all comes together feeling like you’re in the hands of a sonic craftsman with a mischievous sense of humor and a deep inner groove. As off-putting as it can be at first, the further into you go, the more you understand. Give The Amber Surrealizations a shot. The payoff is waiting.

Available from Daddy Tank.

An open mind and a touch of patience are good tools to have on hand when going into Stephen Christopher Stamper’s debut, Begin Anywhere. Like many of the experimental releases on the Runningonair label, this disc steps off from a pretty heady theoretical perch, involving “natural VLF radio phenomena…algorithmic composition… prolonged experimentation with the Debian GNU/Linux operating system, Miller Puckette’s Pure Data visual programming language…” and more. This initially manifests itself in aggressive, static-laden, generative-sounding tangles that border on being unapproachable. A piece like “Crackle On and On (Version 1),” the longest track on the disc at 12 minutes plus, stands a very good chance of putting off less adventurous/tolerant listeners. A random-feeling, constantly changing backdrop of sounds rebound their way through a minefield of (appropriately so) electronic crackles.  There’s intent and movement in the piece, but after a while the interference overpowers the mix and can be a bit exhausting. A saving point in Begin Anywhere is that as Stamper proceeds, he shows that he can use his array of sounds in a way that’s less threatening, with fewer barbs and prongs. Deeper emotional threads emerge as he exhibits an ability to coax a response out of the listener rather than chasing it out. The calm-but-textured roll of “Growth” comes after a series of Stamper’s more out-there tracks, and the switch in sound and approach comes with a degree of relief. “Fata Morgana” and “Cantus in Memoriam” both carry a hint of sacred music; the former in its church-organ-like tones and latter in a certain meditative, hymnal quality. Begin Anywhere is not an easy listen, but there are spots where the effort pays off substantially. Stamper’s fearless compositional stance promises interesting things going forward.

Available from Runningonair.

A drum-driven deep meditation and supra-spiritual launching pad, Shaman’s Heart II is 70 minutes of potent shamanic sound-medicine. A steady heartbeat on frame drum sets a confident-guide pace as Byron Metcalf works to open a space, and the journey along this path continues uninterrupted. Metcalf’s array of drums, rattles and shakers work across a stretch of signature sound-swirls from Steve Roach. Metcalf and Roach both contribute serpentine didgeridoo calls to the mix as well, the throaty sounds imparting the feel of lower-world vistas. (There is a point, about 40 minutes in, where the didges blend with a growling chant and ominous pads–here is where we truly find the gate to the lower world, the realm of the serpent, and its intensity and soul-saturating effect is amazing.)  As with Metcalf’s previous excursions along these lines, the trance-inducing repetition of the percussive elements lulls the mind to openness and the soft soundcurrents help slow the breath; in tandem the elements carry the listener into some very deep places. While this disc can be listened to casually, and it works well, it’s truly meant as a focused medium for guiding you through inner- and lower-world exploration. I can tell you from personal experience that Metcalf’s brain-salving beats are fully effective even in a non-focused listen, neatly displacing reality chunks of minutes at a time. There’s a familiar feel to the disc; Metcalf and Roach are working within the same sonic framework that informs, for example, the set captured on Roach’s Live at SoundQuest Fest, with some tweaking. Shaman’s Heart II also, obviously, follows Metcalf’s sonic algorithm of bringing you into an inner space through drumming, cutting you loose briefly to drift on the Roachian flow, ushering the drums back in like he’s returning your heartbeat to you, then dropping out for the last few minutes to let you very gently float back to the surface of consciousness. The familiarity doesn’t detract at all from the simple, primal beauty in the flow here or the very effective ability of this disc to displace you from your body for a while. Metcalf’s drumming is rich, layered and energetic, and the power it conveys is immediate. I have fallen under its hypnotic, spirit-releasing spell many times since receiving it, and will continue to use it to open my own gates and journey.

Available from Projekt.

Consider the wild tangle of sound that builds up at the start of “Tailing Wind,” the first track on Forrest Fang’s new release, Animism,  the orchestra warming up. Here, in one increasingly complex mass, you hear a wide variety of the sounds and instruments Fang is bringing into play. It’s a rich rainstorm of tones and timbres and feelings that Fang drenches you with before proceeding to pull out an energetic melodic line played on the kulintang, an array of  small gongs struck with mallets, playing across a synth-wash backdrop. Thus, Animism gets underway, coasting and soaring on Fang’s mix of electronic foundations and earthy, acoustic instruments. Rich strings sounds form the basis of many of the tracks on Animism; Fang’s arsenal is globally sourced–bandurria, marxolin, baglama, and đàn bầu, along with their less exotic cousins, violin and mandolin. Between strumming, plucking and bowing, their pure organic feel and rhythms breathe life and vibrancy into Fang’s tracks. In “The Chameleon’s Paintbox,” all those modes of playing fall together and layer into a mesmerizing strata. It opens with a plucked melody–given its swarthy Eastern flair, I would guess it is the Turkish lavda–abetted by the singing notes of bowed strings. Other instruments step briefly out from the chorus, then rejoin the swirl of collective sound. Animism carries a very strong narrative feel as Fang spins out his scenes. “A Tributary Unwinds” begins in a dusky, dense place where careful clatters of percussion and vocal groans peek out from behind the trees; a violin, clear and high describes the course of the water. Fang modulates the pace beautifully as the voyage continues, hitting meaningful pauses that elevate the sense of story and movement. There are also deep ambient drifts on Animism. Long synth pads create the relaxed sigh of “Evening Chorus” as gentle, gong-like sounds resonate in the background. This track has a calm warmth and fading sense that really conveys the passage through twilight. “Resting Point” closes the disc out, 10-minutes of gliding, meditative washes and a wonderfully cleansing feel. Animism is another superb release from Forrest Fang, a rich work that rewards both deep listening and the many repeat plays it will undoubtedly receive.

Available from Projekt.

Droning ruminations on organ and guitar carve out a deep space just under an hour long on Wastelanders’ second release, Cosmic Despair. Despite the names of both artist and disc, the work isn’t dense and dark and disturbing. Rather, Dean Costello coaxes out slow-moving, pensive soundscapes with a slightly dark tone that lightens over time. There are no harsh edges or blasts of grit here, just big, cloudy masses of thought turned to sound and set to drift waywardly through your head. A solid low end ties the listener back to the ground. Costello opens the set with the thick, bass-laden, hang-in-the-air organ chords of “The Beginning,” then shifts, abruptly but effectively, to their airy, higher counterparts for “Abstraction.” There’s a wonderful sense of patience at work; these sounds arc gently and hold their space as they fade. The title track rides on beautiful, gently wavering waveforms, the tone suggesting melancholy without falling fully into it. This feel of patience weaves through all these tracks, and is particularly effective on the two longest, “Expanding Mental Universe” and “The Crossing.” “Expanding…” is built on a sort of Morse Code-style set of notes, soft beeps that leave their trail in a light echo, the remnant sounds interacting through their individual fades. Costello gives it a sense of room-depth; the tones feel like they’re bouncing off distant walls. The sound has that sort of hollowness that comes from large spaces. The tones eventually grind upward into the roughest stretch of the disc, an over-amped, distorted crush of guitar sound. The dichotomy works as the softer tones continue beneath and the rough sounds take charge. This is as close to dark ambient as Cosmic Despair gets. In “The Crossing,” he takes the intriguing route of playing a very straightforward and improvisation-sounding guitar line over light synth washes. It creates an in-the-moment feel, the playing occasionally seeming hesitant as Costello picks his way through. Tapping percussion helps mark time and brings a little more depth as well. Again, there are points where Costello cranks up the distortion but pushes the easier side through, expecting you to follow, then brings the disc overall to a soft close on his drones.

Cosmic Despair came as a pleasant surprise to me, and I think this can be seen as a problem for the artist when it comes to pushing the piece out to the listening world. Nothing about the way this disc is presented, from names to packaging to disc art, accurately conveys what’s going on here musically. The superficial expectation–and first impressions do count–is of the cloying noise and assaultive sonic behaviors of dark ambient. Instead, what awaits is well-designed, drone-based movement through textured, shadowy spaces that for the most part aren’t all that dark, emerging into an interesting, lighter but still captivating zone.

Available at Glorious Wasteland.

When I see that I have something new from Black Note Music, I get ready for an interesting sonic ride. This is the realm of Mr. JC Mendizabal, sometimes known as Kyron, sometimes wearing his Radio Free Clear Light outfit, and always packing a full-on arsenal of micro-sounds to juggle, customize and alchemize into a fresh set of stunning tunes.  The backstory on Other Things That Happened involves three immortal beings creating life from their heartbeats and breath electronic pulses; the songs here, the story goes, are “12 vessels carrying the seeds of alien life into your nervous system.” And, let me point out, taking it over. I’ve used the term “infectious” before, but Other Things That Happened genuinely takes relentless hold from the first beat. Hit the smoky groove, trippy soundbite and four-note bass foundation of “Pipio” and see if you stand even a chance of resisting. What Mendizabal is offering up this time through is a pack of clear dub influences wrapped around and jammed through constructs made of pieces of sound and rendered moments. The bass that runs along the low end is thick and rumbly, the way I like it. His percussion of choice is dub’s best friend, the single sharp rap on the snare, sweetened with that light touch of echo. It’s everywhere, but I particularly like the way it cuts through the haze on “Flaminis.” Unidentifiable snippets of speech are a favorite tool of Mendizabal’s, and they’re here, too. The opening track, “Anhelavi,” is built around a clip like an uncertain utterance cut short; “Aurae” blends a quiet mumble and another utterance and grinds them against a snappy, grab-hold-of-youir-brain beat. On “Circumvolo,” he takes the tempo down, lays in some quiet atmospheric sounds/field recordings, gives it a bouncing beat and a very cool vibraphone-sounding melodic line. Track upon track Mendizabal finds new ways to use his sounds, but never relents on the deep grooves that absolutely energize the flow. To listen to Other Things That Happened is to come away feeling a little uplifted, but with your mind still trying to come to terms with the flood of simple sounds that make up this very good release. Mendizabal continues his streak of pleasing his listeners with intriguing and unique soundcrafting.

Available from Black Note Music.

Craig Padilla finds the perfect balancing point between spacey electronics and heartfelt New Age piano (with an extra dash of romance) on his superb new solo release, The Heart of the Soul. The disc opens sitting squarely at the border of poppy late-80s electronic music with the infectious, dancing rhythm and into-the-cosmos breadth of “You Were Here.” If Padilla had stayed with this feel, good though it is, the disc might have soon worn out its welcome. But the moment the rich piano of “Sense of Wonder” arrives, so too comes the understanding that this is not another retro paean. Choral pads sing angelic counterpoint, but Padilla makes sure this sweet ballad’s story is told mostly by the keys–even when the piece shifts and grabs a bit of uptempo verve. Here, too, is where you get the first strong dose of the emotion that underlies the whole disc. Padilla has said in interviews that this disc comes out of a place of major personal change and fulfillment. The music here resonates the way only a soul-level connection can. (All music is personal, yes; but sometimes the depth of the source is even more obvious and affecting.) The title track shows it, too, a piano melody that would stand quite nicely on its own but which gladly pairs off with synth strings and more choral pads. “Lost in You” follows suit, with the added sparkle of a glittering sequencer line and the sudden appearance of a nice laid-back beat. One of the many strengths on The Heart of the Soul is that Padilla has not moved too far away from his spacemusic roots. It’s down-shifted a bit, taking its assigned place behind the piano and crafting backdrops for the melodic elements to play off, but it’s fully effective. Here and there Padilla pulls it to the front, as in the excellent long track “Midnight Encounter.” Tasty sequencer lines weave back and forth, energizing the moment, and rushes of electronic wind blow through and leave a nice analog chill in their wake. This one amps up the power and finds a nice stride as Padilla increases the density of his layers.

I fully expect to see this title appearing on “Best Of” lists all over the place at the end of the year. It’s not hyperbole when I tell you this is a phenomenal album. It rings with honesty, it’s downright heavy with gorgeous emotion, and it has stood up to the many repeat listens I have given it. It’s narrative, it’s cinematic, it’s equally paired between electronic and acoustic, it’s got a retro tinge but it’s absolutely contemporary. Craig Padilla has always been excellent, no question; with The Heart of the Soul, he creates a whole new level for himself.

Get. This. Disc.

Available from Spotted Peccary.

Do yourself a favor, and before you listen to NMTRv1 from the collective called The Nothing Machine, go to their web site and dive into the backstory. Kudos to these folks for crafting their own very cool and detailed mythology around the release. As far as the music goes, this is an hour-long deep dive into minimalist noisescapes, where rough-edged drones scrape across a wasteland scoured to the bone by sound. There’s a lot of vastness and emptiness at play, and a suggestion of something sinister pulling at the edges of reality. After all, these are the sounds required to stem the effects of the telomeric shortening that affected the technicians when the actual Nothing Machine managed to tear a hole in reality. You don’t get “nice” out an industrial accident like that, after all. This stretch of the disc is very good isolationist ambient, the textures held back enough to pack them with unpleasant emotional impact, a distinctly creepy feeling that pervades you even as the hypnotic dronework burrows a sinkhole in your ability to form conscious thought. At the halfway point a repeating beat drops in out of nowhere to mark a change of direction. A great touch that saves the disc from being a one-note work. Electronic skitterings run around the edges of the sound. (Which, to my ears, borders–in an interesting way–on being tribal.) NMTRv1 changes faces a few times before it’s through, going from sparse electronic pulses to near-silence to grinding stacks of conflicting noise. Every new redirect is handled with expert-technician cool, and each recalibration of the Machine gives you a new dimension to try to push through. Fans of dark ambient will want to fire up this machine immediately; others should approach with caution. NMTRv1 is capable of distorting reality. The effects can be surprisingly mentally liberating.

Available from the Nothing Machine web site.

And my sincere apologies to The Nothing Machine for sitting on this disc for close to a year.

Your ticket to bliss awaits on the new Martyrs of Sound release, Radhe’s Dream. Dr. Steve Koc, along with vocalist Sara Wiseman, percussionist Jason Carter and bassist Silver Sørenson, takes an hour out of your day and gently fills it with music that manages to fuse a quiet folk feeling, gorgeous Sanskirt/yogic chants and an unhurried New Age ease. Koc’s guitar takes the lead from the beginning, starting with “Song of the Universe.” He plays with a meditative patience and a sense of simple, soulful honesty. The ringing tones of the strings carry the sl0w-motion melody, paired off with quiet pads to lull you into a peaceful place. Think of it as unwinding music rather than meditation music. But you’ll do a lot of both. The tracks flow seamlessly into one another and the tone stays low-key and intent on relaxing you. Carter’s percussive elements slip in at the corners, from simple tapping to the snap of a tabla, never much above a whisper, but enough to insinuate itself into your personal groove. Wiseman’s voice, lush and silky and reassuring, reminding me often of Donna De Lory, first comes to us on the title track and begins the chant-oriented section of the disc. Sorenson’s bass anchors the track and folds in a character all its own. Koc’s guitar here sings in perfect counter to Wiseman, and his calmly paced solos just deepen the sensation. This is the longest track on the disc, and it completely takes you over. With “Govinda’s Dream” the tempo ratchets up just slightly; Carter’s tabla holds the lead here, catching your blissfully drifting attention as it opens the path to “Om Shanti” and the sensual gyrations of “Soul’s Tantra.”  The disc closes with the aptly titled “Beautiful,” reprising much of Koc’s melodic wanderings through the piece. Carter comes in with a friendly sounding melodica line, and Wiseman sings dreamily, reminding us that we are beautiful.

I can’t say enough about this disc. It’s fantastic. I have played it on loop for hours; it has accompanied me on quiet evenings on my deck, watching sunsets or counting stars; and yet it sounds fresh every time I come back to it. It’s a palliative, for sure, an hour-long therapy session at the end of the day–or any time. Even if you think your tastes don’t run to healing/yoga music, you owe it to yourself to try a dose of Radhe’s Dream. It’s very good stuff.

Available from the Martyrs of Sound web site.

If you’re looking for something charming and relaxing to listen to, look no further than multi-instrumentalist Mark Bruland’s new release, BEEing Human. Across 18 short tracks, Bruland provides warmth and kind smiles in pieces that clearly reflect his love for music and the life around him. (His liner notes offer the inspiration behind each track, which range from his daughter, who was diagnosed with a rare condition called Opsoclonus-Myoclonus Syndrome, to..well, honeybees.)  His music stretches over a broad range without feeling stretched. “Suite Honey Bee” is a straightforward New Age piano piece accented with swelling synth strings. The piano is crisp and clear, a gentle ballet for bees going flower to flower. “ELK and Little G” also showcases Bruland’s piano, and is so touching that it makes me want an album of nothing but piano from him. But, as they say, wait–there’s more. “An Afternoon with Steve” takes folksy acoustic guitar and pairs it with clarinet over quiet synth chords. A great laid-back feel. “A Cool Breeze for Louise” strides into view with a jazzy little attitude for itself and proceeds to sing its story. There’s a nice little sax break in here that should make you smile. Speaking of which, if “My Laughing Heart” doesn’t cheer you up, you may already be dead. The sweet laughter of a Bruland’s daughter ushers in an optimistic, uplifting piece with guitar, piano, congas, and some tasty bass. Just pure fun. Bruland wanders toward ambient territory with “Alexander’s Grove,” where soft synth notes sigh and hush, laying down a base for more heartfelt piano. (There’s a touch of Suzanne Ciani-esque romance in here.) I have to say that there are a couple of tracks here that pile on a little too much sugary cuteness for me, but they’re the exception on such a strong release. While the punny-though-charming title gave me pause when I first went to listen to BEEing Human, I am enough repeat listens into it–and quite gladly so–to say that Bruland has hooked me. His talent and his heart make for a superb listen.

Available from Mark Bruland’s web site.