I’m not going to suggest to you that either of these releases is particularly good. They’re both difficult, beyond-the-edge, clamorous pieces of noise that will be inaccessible to most listeners. What I will suggest is that, taken strictly in context of intention, they both manage what they set out to do. Melted Cassette’s The Real Sounds from Hell Recordings is a full-on case of anti-music assault and battery with intent to kill.  It’s what you get when you run 80s hardcore punk through a coarse meat grinder while beating a cheap synthesizer to death with a baseball bat. Angry screaming with the mic cranked up over the top, mangled electro-sounds and the tacit understanding that this duo pretty much don’t give a shaved rat’s ass what you think. It’s driving, dirty, desperately energetic and rages on for thirty-four relentless minutes.

Cheezhead make a slightly more approachable go with Circumstantual Pestilence, but keep the listener at bay by never offering anything solid to latch onto. It’s got moments of plunderphonic intention, dropping spoken-word tidbits into an endlessly churning and randomized storm of sound, but the chaos of it all makes it a migraine waiting to happen. There are two places in which Cheezface manage to latch on for me. One was with (I can’t believe I’m typing this) “Let Them Eat Urinal Cake,” a comparatively low-key blend of industrial grind and an electro-beat that would do early Devo proud. The other is with the closing track, the longest here at six minutes, “Ultra Violence in the House of the Chord.” Almost inexplicably, these guys manage to carve out a slow-moving hiss of sound that frequently erupts into bursts of electronic frenzy. I had to check to make sure I hadn’t switched to an entirely different album. The comparative subtlety was totally unexpected; this is the most readily listenable stretch on the disc. Circumstantial Pestilence is a scant 24 minutes long, but if you’re not prepared for it, it’ll leave you wondering what the hell is happening. Which, you have to figure, is the intent. Consider that the source material is recordings made in truck stop bathrooms; you’re already six steps into experimental land at that point, you’ve already decided that you’re on a course of shock and awe, and there’s no going back.

I do have to say that I took more away from the Cheezface disc than Melted Cassettes. I’ve been exposed to a lot of experimental music in my time here, and while I can’t say I like what Cheezface are doing, I certainly appreciate how they’re coming at it. What seems random isn’t, for the most part; there’s too much thought showing behind the craziness. Same goes for Melted Cassettes, who, if I may be so bold as to suggest, are much more about the performance side of this and their stuff needs to be ingested more in the context of a live show. Those who can open their heads to a very experimental mindset should look into these. All others, I’ve just saved you the cost of ibuprofen.

Available from Mind Flare Media.

Recording as Synthesist, Christopher Pearre presents Dream Slate, a set of electronic works inspired by music he heard in a dream and infused with chakra-resonating tonal structures and Solfeggio Frequencies which, according to Pearre, “were believed to impart tremendous spiritual blessings when sung in harmony during religious masses.” High-level stuff, indeed. What comes of it is a mix of pieces that range from retro-feeling analog-style rides to deeper ambient delvings. Within that mix, it’s the simpler pieces that rise above their counterparts. While the opening track, “Ocean Sunrise” and the closer, “Soaring” are well-made songs, they stray a little too far into early-New-Age territory for me. “Ocean Sunrise,” in fact, reminded me of how much I liked Suzanne Ciani’s Seven Waves back in the day. When Pearre moves into a driftier space, the work shifts to a whole new level. There’s a calm and interesting stretch beginning with “Gong Song,” a smooth drone with flute, light percussion and, yes, the occasional gong. Nature sounds twitter and chirp on the background as Synthesist wraps your brain in dark silk and sings quietly to it. He keeps it going into “Soul Frequency,” lifting up waveforms and letting them slowly melt into resonant echoes that blend off into the distance. Truly one of the highlights of the disc. He hits it spot-on again in the soft, warm washes of  “Heart Chakra.” Although it’s only five minutes long, it stretches time and would continue to work had Synthesist afforded it even more space. Again, this is not to downplay the other tracks here. “Star Fields” in a catchy piece that mixes a delicately pulsing beat with sweeping chords that would be right at home on any spacemusic track. “Sixth Chakra Suite” bumps right along with downtempo chill and a smoky attitude. For me, though, Dream Slate is at its best when Synthesist gives himself over to the flow. It’s a solid first release, and I look forward to hearing more from Synthesist.

Available at CDBaby.

Jason Sloan’s new release, (s)END is a flowing electron mist that washes past packed with downtempo beats, mutated sounds and transmitted vocal samples that feel like they’re trying to tell us something. The overarching vibe of (s)END is one of sophisticated, unhurried cool and patient evolution that’s constantly on the move. There’s an interesting softness to the sound here, like Sloan is keeping it at a short distance to let us look at it more fully. The distance also lends a dream-like quality; it’s there but it’s not quite there, yet the sound is still distinctly affecting us. As a sound manipulator, Sloan likes to build thick layers, and it’s a pure pleasure to listen to him ease the elements into place. The opener, “warmANDfading_light,” is built on dovetailed repeating note motifs and long drone-ish chords. Light beats poke at the structure. Here’s where we get the first vocal sample, a woman’s voice repeating a series of numbers through a haze of radio static. It’s a meme that Sloan plays with across the six tracks, and through its repetition forms a cryptic narrative core for us to latch onto. The artist’s slick hand is best seen in the way he takes “statikAether,” a 90-second test-pattern of hissing drone, and spirals it directly into the chilled beat of “asFragile.as.” That’s another signature element in (s)END; when Sloan puts in a beat, it doesn’t change. While that might suggest that he’s risking sonic stagnation, it instead functions as a working pulse, a steadfast touch in a shifting space. It works. Sloan’s guitar lines shine through wherever they’re placed, but perhaps no more so than in the closer, “(a)SEND,” where he laces it with a tinny echo that rings as notes ricochet off to the distance. Density comes from police radio transmissions woven through the groove and a dramatic descending three-chord sequence backed by airy pads. The beat takes unforgiving hold. Late in the track, the voices return to join in reciting their particular number sequences like a prayer in cypher and the story within (s)END fades to completion.

With 13 previous releases to his credit, there’s no surprise to the fact that Sloan has a cool and confident compositional hand, but he’s also quite willing to chart fresh territory for himself. (s)END is perfectly constructed and executed, a balance of sound, style and story that demands repeat listens. (s)END is a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Jason Sloan’s web site.

There’s drama aplenty to be had as Seizon (aka Renato Zampieri) reflects on the breadth of his career, from his days in the death metal band Gaia’s Vestige to orchestral to ambient, including a 10-section, 20-minute suite based on the exodus of Moses and the Jews. This piece, the titular “The Last Vestige of Gaia,” is the best stretch here. It is, as noted, quite dramatic, but it’s also reasonably restrained. Zampieri clearly has a strong story in mind, and he lays it out in bold, cinematic scenes. The music is like soundtrack-ready New Age, and for those 20 minutes, it’s a very compelling piece of work. Zampieri’s playing is solid and certain, especially on guitar. He moves easily through styles, from the Spanish-tinged dance of “Bellum” and the later parts of “Caeleste Signum” to the slow and moving “Ira,” which pairs potent post-rock guitar chords against the gorgeous vocals of his “Ghost Choir.” (Digging around for more info on this turned up nothing.) Unfortunately from there it gets a little overdone as Seizon moves into the “orchestral” mode with “The Dark Movements II.” (“The Dark Movements” is apparently a three-part piece inspired by H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulu mythos. The first part is a full album Seizon released in 2008.) He falls into a degree of compositional bombast that borders uncomfortably on self-parody–especially when the composer takes us through a stretch of flamenco-inspired music complete with braying, da-ta-da! horns. He recovers with “The Mask Said,” which is the saving grace of this part of the disc. It gallops–and trust me, when you hear it you won’t be able to not see our hero racing on his steed along high cliffs over the sea–and sings with a Celtic flavor. A few well placed clangs of a church bell and the image is complete. The closer, “The Dark Movements III,” doesn’t suffer from the issues plaguing its predecessor. It’s got a post-rock side that mixes well with Seizon’s tendency for Spanish flair. This one is more in keeping with the suite, and ends the disc on a good note. Take out that middle piece and The Last Vestiges of Gaia becomes a very strong collection of instrumentals with stories to tell and images to share. Definitely worth checking out; samples are available.

Available at Bandcamp.

Lightphaser’s “new” release, Eternity, is actually a batch of remixes from his 2009 release, Flashback. Having not heard that, I can’t review by comparison. What I can offer is that right from the gates Lightphaser (aka Joseph Gogh) cranks out energetic, club-style EDM tracks that, for me, rapidly lose what luster they might have. Punchy electronic blips bounce and collide in a fairly predictable fashion and offer nothing new or groundbreaking. I’m four tracks in before something really catches my attention–which is to say, I don’t forward past it. “Falling Horizon” has a good 90s feel to it, an electro-pop beat that gets the toes tapping. It borders quite dangerously on becoming stagnant for its near lack of dynamics, but narrowly avoids that fate. The closer, “Deadlock,” is the only track that comes close to shunning the overarching coat every other track here wears. Slow-moving at first and reasonably dark throughout, it breaks into a complex sequencer groove that shifts gears to pass through an old-school-style, oscillating-waveform space and into a nice mix of modulations. For most of the disc, however, Eternity is a miss for me.

Available from Lightphaser’s web site.

Anyone who’s seen an ambient/electronic musician perform live would probably admit that aside from the visuals typically splashed across the space during the show, there’s not a whole lot to see. The artist hunches over a couple of laptops, lays hands on a keyboard now and then and, if you’re lucky, might break out a guitar or a didgeridoo. The upside of this is that it allows you, the listener/attendee, to drop into the sound and focus more deeply on the movement and evolution of the music as it emerges and develops, free of worrying that you’re going to miss a power-chord knee-slide across the stage or a massive eruption of pyrotechnics. You can be more deeply involved in what the music’s doing to you.

It’s that practiced sound-evolution and captivating narrative flow that marks the two concerts captured on Erik Wøllo’s two-disc release, Silent Currents. Recorded in 2005 and 2007 at the WXPN studios during broadcasts of the Star’s End show and immediately following live shows at Philadelphia’s renowned The Gatherings concert series, Silent Currents benefits from Wøllo’s post-concert momentum and the kind of flowing creativity that hits when you’re still performing at around two in the morning. Wøllo builds his sets from pre-established/pre-programmed grooves and soundspaces, then augments them with improvised passages.

Disc One opens in a strong ambient space, Wøllo paving the way in bold drones that build in thickness before settling back to a more open space. Five tracks in he subtly folds in a beat that bubbles along in the flow and the timbre of the piece begins to shift. A gentle melody replaces the drifts and Wøllo brings in the sweet sighs and cries of his signature guitar work, high notes that pair off against the pads. In track eight Wøllo brings in, for lack of a better word, church organ tones that play humbly over wavering synths. It’s another of those evolutionary moments that absolutely seize your attention without disrupting your personal place in the drift.  Track 11, although only two minutes long, is another, adding a potent pulse with the arrival of big, aggressive drum beats that ramp up the moment before Wøllo again lets things slide back down to a quiet, cleansing finish.

Disc Two opens in a darker space, shadowy and slow-moving with things lurking at the edges. Guitar shimmers and tinkling chimes drift in to lighten the space as Wøllo opens the scope of sound. Insectile analog skitterings, familiar to anyone who’s listened to Steve Roach lately, take over, making their tracks across softly rolling pads that rise in intensity to mark a new passage. Wøllo moves into a softly rhythmic zone with track four, and lets the guitar come forward. Around track five Wøllo takes us back into the darkness, heightening the gloom and unease across the next couple of tracks. By track seven it’s all around, a perfectly shadow-encased atmosphere that moves slowly forward. A guitar line in track eight accents the emotion, picking its way with sinister aspect through the fog. Here again is an example of Wøllo’s artistry; slowly the tone lightens and we emerge into a broader space, the guitar rising and brightening and the whole of the thing simply shifting to present a new vision–seamlessly. The transition is amazing. Meanwhile, back to those attention-grabbing moments–the short track 11 introduces a fresh electronic sound, like raindrops on guitar strings that, having done their job in basically introducing the last stretch of the disc, fade to make way for long pads. Wøllo closes out pairing the guitar with the sound of lapping water. A smooth analog rhythm comes up from under to energize the space. In the last five minutes Wøllo floats long, quiet pads through the space and, with a light hand on the controls, dusts them with disparate and contrasting sounds that fade to a final hushed sigh.

The concerts were just two years apart and Wøllo has a very distinct sound and approach, so the two discs can feel a little similar in places if they’re listened to back-to-back. But both are so smooth and elegantly constructed that similarity become a less-than-minor consideration. Taken as a pair of hour-long sonic moments in time they’re perfect ambient-music listens, exemplifying what one guy can do when he’s hunched over some laptops with a guitar. Not a lot to see, but very, very much to hear. Wøllo is a master craftsman and Silent Currents shows him at his best. It’s a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.

Available from Projekt.

The Tympanik Audio label has quickly established itself as a purveyor of interesting, melodic, glitch-based music that tends to push out the borders of the genre. While I sometimes grow a little weary of relentless, high-speed glitch, with a new Tympanik release I can typically go into a listening experience wondering how each will differ from the norm. Displacer’s Night Gallery is one of those discs that delivers both the punch of good glitch and the answer to the question, “What else you got?” Michael Morton unleashes waves of melodic eletronica powered by muscular bass lines. He keeps a steady hand on the glitch knob, unquestionably able to crank it up but more often showing a restrained and artful hand. Morton keeps the ride smooth for the first few tracks, borderline ambient pieces that take advantage of stretches of rhythm. “Wave” is two minutes of relaxing washes and a shifting waveform. Then “Radioactive” charges in aggressively and takes hold with an up-front glitch feel and that thick, gelatinous bass. Morton shifts tone on the next track, the ballad-like “Orchid,” but he keeps that tasty bass fully in play. This is the great thing about Night Gallery; it’s thick with hooks from start to finish and every track unveils its own little tricks and personality quirks. “Awakening” proudly flaunts its jaunty electro-pop side, “Ice Cold” pairs raspy guitar with spacey openness and “Falling” comes away like Morton went into a good Nine Inch Nails track and removed a little of the anger without touching the cool industrial groove and smoldering lustiness. At no point does Night Gallery fall into purely by-the-book glitch, but when Morton adds that as an aspect, it’s dead on, and the disc benefits from his slick ability to switch up styles at a moment’s notice.

Available from Tympanik Audio.

I would say that I have a love/hate relationship with Twiggy & the K-Mesons’ Technique, but it’s actually more of a love/what-the-hell-are-you-doing? relationship.  For every couple of groove-heavy, circuit-twisted, funked-up piles of danceable electronic car crash Michael Valentine West throws at me, there’s another ear-wrenching, how ya like me now tangle of electro-whatthefuck. West–who, by the way, is both Twiggy and all the K-Mesons–can charge through an absolutely catchy, low-end-worshiping bit of grim synthpop like “Preset Love” (which I think still has not let go of me) or hook into you directly with cool IDM like the quite infectious “The Right Place.” But I get to tracks like “Arcade Hotel” or “Bits of 369,” where it’s noise-powered nothingness and nonsense, and the only question is, Why? There’s plenty of fun to be had listening to Technique. “Mosco Disco Angels” thrives on its cheesy retro keyboard sounds and whumpwhumpwhump rhtyhm. If this one doesn’t make you smile, you have no sense of musical humor. (Thankfully, it’s also the last track where West insists on using an old-school computerized voice that had been wearing out its welcome. Well, “last” until the actual last track, “We Are the Boredom,” which has a great Kraftwerk-ish pedigree backed by chip-set touches.) “Dollar Mansions” turns into an adrenaline rush of glitch that’ll drive your heart rate up to a club-appropriate BPM, and comes with its own perfectly pulled-off tempo switch. And special mention goes to the quietly reflective “Requiem for a Dead Instrument.” It’s the biggest surprise on the disc, a nice blend of scratchy vinyl sounds, very light electronic treatment and a slow and simple piano melody. The imagery that West gets across is strong. All in all, Technique is worth a listen, particularly if your tastes run to high-energy electronica and a little bit of weirdness.

Available from Daddy Tank.

Sometimes it seems to me that artists on the Auraltone label are intent on trying to weed out the musical weaklings among us with the way they start their discs. Cuts, from Dentist, is no exception. Lou DiBenedetto created much of the work here while wrestling through depression; it’s reflected in the raw dissonance, the anger that surges through big, overamped chords and the barbed walls of sound DiBenedetto keeps throwing up between himself and the listener. You’re being dared to look inside what he’s fighting, every day. And as unapproachable as that may sound, there is a sense of motion, of striving very slowly forward, that keeps the listener–the bold listener–in place. It’s not easy. If you can claw your way through the sonic briarpatch of “Skies,” you just wind up waist-deep in the psychic mud and sludge of “Stranger.” And it doesn’t ease up from there. This drone-based sound is thick and slow-moving and often feels over-modulated. It rubs against your skin and pulls at your brain, and you respond to it in a base, visceral way. Cuts falls just to the more listenable side of dark ambient. It’s not, in any definitive sense, isolationist ambient, though you get the sense it wants you to leave it alone. It’s emotionally dark, so it doesn’t get quite into the sort of grinding, screaming grimness of pure dark ambient. It pulls you in rather than pushing you away; it’s up to you whether you stick around for it. DiBenedetto relents a bit toward the end. “Columns” is built on a hornet’s nest drone, but the tone feels lighter than everything before it. The closer, “Stacks,” comes in with a very surprising flute-like note and light, rising swirls of sound, totally out of character with the rest of the disc but perfectly placed as a reward for the effort. (Worth noting it also shows that DiBenedetto can do more than lean angrily on a keyboard.) With this soul-washing final track, Cuts finally lets go. The question becomes, do you go back? I imagine many won’t unless their tastes run dark to begin with, but the initial voyage, hard as it gets, is worth the effort at least once.

Available from Auraltone.

In just four notes, Steve Brand effectively sets the tone for his new release, Avatara. Within this one phrase at the beginning of the title track there is a sense of mystery, of revelations to come, of the curtain being pulled back as Brand opens his exploration of the persistence of the presence of the Avatar–the earthbound manifestation of deity–throughout cultures. For this portrait Brand chooses big, expansive synth pads that hang in the air and slowly fade for a classic ambient sound. At the same time there’s intimacy in the details. Brand is skilled at pulling the listener close to isolate the effect of small moments before releasing them back to see the bigger picture again. Brand’s timing is also impeccable; in “Morning Glory” he lets his drifts quiet to silence or near-silence, then suspends the moment before the next note, giving that stretch of time an air of contemplation and expectation. When that next note does arrive, it’s like an awaited, cleansing exhalation. Even when his constructs are at their biggest, they remain delicate to the touch. In the spacemusic-flavored track “Still Here (Breathing Space),” windchimes add an earthy accent to whispering electronic winds. The bold chords that form “Act of Creation” rear up to make themselves known, but then blend together readily on the way back down. There is power, and there is peace, side by side. Expertly, Brand revisits those first four mysterious notes in the closing track, “Avatara (Deathless),” and the listener understands that the story has come around to its conclusion. This also lets the disc seamlessly take hold of its own tail and begin again.

Avatara is a deeply immersive disc, a warm and vast blanket of meditative sound that’s a pleasure in which to find yourself enveloped. Repeat listening is a must, and the piece is ideal for low-volume play.

Available from Hypnos.