The Mind Has No Firewall


A Column

Black Lodge/Eiko Ishibashi & Darin Gray/Khalab/Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch/Nozomu Matsumoto/Francis Plange & Crys Cole/Pontiac Streator & Ulla Straus/Resina/Ekuka Morris Sirikiti/Topdown Dialectic

“For humans, time has an ambiguous and perhaps paradoxical quality to it. In some ways, it is something that we seem to push to the back of our thoughts in the same way a timepiece sits unthreateningly on the walls; it is ‘simply what the mechanical clock and Gregorian calendar display, a neutral and enumerated dimension in which life unfolds’ (Hom, A. R. – 2013 – ‘Reckoning Ruin: International Relations Theorising and the Problem of Time’). Yet, it is also a mysterious concept that has always slipped into the human mind’s ideas about change, impermanence, and mortality” – A. McKay

Temporality, the politics of time: a perpetual state of tragi-comedic duality. It’s all about the timing. This flowing river, hyperaware of becoming the sea. Neither heads nor tails, merely a coin spinning in the air, perpetually. Stuck somewhere on the dial between zero and one. An undefined figure, neither a plus nor a minus. Emitting dots and dashes: dot-dot-dot; dash-dash-dash; dot-dot-dot; S.O.S. All hands on deck, this bird is sinking.

As Tommy comes marching home again, hurrahs fill the cyber streets. The FLA throw Nazi salutes, along with traffic cones, bottles, coins, fake memes, photoshopped j-pegs and anything else that comes to hand. They’re coming by bus or underground, armed with clubs and fists and spurious facts, dressed in brown. Your face, lit blue by the light of  the screen, as you watch the You Tube clips of this animal scream. The NEU-SA Party army, marching in over your head. You may live to regret hiding that radio under the stairs. Regret the fact that you got caught out unawares. The NEU-SA Party army, marching up your stairs. You failed to recognise that it’s happening again. You took your eye off the football lads alliance. Your frantically polished BMW may have pride of place on your drive. The sun may be shining. Your kids may well be outside in the garden, shouting loud. Except the sun is shining through a crack in the cloud, and only shadows will be falling when Tommy comes marching home.

Change, impermanence, mortality, all generational signifiers for a boy from 1962. In the month since my last missive, everything has changed for me. The temporal reality of time itself, stretched to incredulity. There’s a battle outside and it’s raging. It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls. For the times they are a-changing:

HELEN: “Is that the time?”

MIKE: “No, time is an abstract concept. This is a wristwatch.”

Sadly, we are no longer the young ones, time has caught up with us. It’s pissing on our parade. Bury me in my motorcycle jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Bury my heart at wounded knee. Everything is temporary. My assumed identity: recoverist, single-parent, communist, literally, speech-bubbled on a sea of floaters, blood pressure rising. Creating freedom in a hypernormalised construct requires a new context; a new language; a new identity. How do we stop this propagandist osmosis when the mind has no firewall?

Dystopian nightmares demand dystopian soundtracks, and thus we commence this month’s trawl through the record box that time forgot with an esoteric phalanx of detritus expunged from the annals of Mancunian legend: Black Lodge – ‘Bitter Blood (A Collection of Archival Recordings)’ (Disciples), released in tandem with a hitherto unreleased set of jams originally recorded for Mo’ Wax, out now on Arcola, sees former Badly Drawn Boy remixer Dan Dwayre‘s Black Lodge moniker exhume twelve corpses from the graveyard and the ballroom. Surprisingly fresh, uncannily contemporary, this enigmatic collection will appeal to both lovers of Demdike Stare and aficionados of library music in general. Intrinsically psychedelic, in both colour and hue, ‘Bitter Blood’ exists on a spectrum of improved accessibility that is enhanced greatly through repeated exposure. A quirky nonchalance, a resolutely lo-fi sensibility, denote this release as far superior to the Arcola sides, clearly identifying ‘Bitter Blood’ as a watershed moment, unlikely to be repeated. It is this very sense of uniqueness that recommends itself for inclusion in your record collection.

Previously collaborators largely confined to the virtual shadows of collective works, Eiko Ishibashi and Darin Gray emerge from the shade with ‘Ichida’ (Black Truffle) to capture our hearts with their progressive future-free-jazz, eloquently expressed on this pair of long-form exercises. Originally recorded live at Tokyo’s Super Deluxe, back in March of 2013, these recordings have been buffed and polished by Jim O’Rourke, furnishing a 40-minute set that strides purposefully through a mannerist canvas rich with Ishibashi’s flute, underpinned by Gray’s strident yet inventive bass. Augmented by doom electronics and delicate piano flourishes, ‘Ichida’ flows through time and space effortlessly, effusing a combination of emotional maturity, venturesome audacity and cinematic intelligibility.

Created with unprecedented access to field recordings from the archives of the Royal Museum for Central Africa of Bruxelles, ‘Black Noise 2084′ (On The Corner) sees Italian DJ Khalab harness these ethnographic/historical insights into the cultures of the region over the last 500-years to fashion arguably the logical successor to Barney Wilen‘s 1970 classic, ‘Moshi’ (Souffle Continu). Assembling an impressive cohort of collaborators, including Shabaka Hutchings, Moses Boyd, Tamar ‘The Collocutor’ Osborn, The Master Gabin Dabir, Tenesha The Wordsmith, Tommaso Cappellato and Prince Buju, Khalab diligently summons the spirit of Wilen’s intervention in a seance of creativity to carve out a contemporary niche alongside the output of Kampala, Uganda’s Nyege Nyege Tapes (see below). Over ten songs, in the space of just 35-minutes, Khalab orchestrates a sonic revolution to establish a new order of Afro-futurist expressionism. This is a journey, a journey into sound. One that Geoffrey Sumner himself would doubtless have approved of.

An object of seraphic beauty, on every conceivable level, Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch‘s ‘Époques’ (130701) sees the London-based French pianist and composer return with her second long player for Fat Cat‘s post-classical imprint. Hot on the heels of 2017’s much-heralded Dmitry Evgrafov release, ‘Comprehension Of Light’, ‘Epoques’ confirms somewhat of a purple patch for the label. Alongside Resina‘s ‘Traces’ (see below) and the forthcoming masterpiece from Maarja Nuut and Ruum, this fascinating collection of compositions for piano, viola, cello and electronics veers between fragile passages of shimmering delicacy and more coruscating sections of analogue discourse. Intimate yet agitated, ‘Époques’ manages both to entrance and to threaten. Ominous clouds descend to envelope the implied lightness in a sonic miasma, adding the gravitas seemingly required to tether the record to the ground, to stop it floating away. Draped in reverb, Levienaise-Farrouch’s beatific keys radiate from these recordings with sonorous grace, none more so than on the record’s titular centrepiece. Warmth, honesty and despair combine to construct a linear narrative that allows the album’s purpose and potential to expand exponentially into the future.

Continuing a lineage firmly established with Sam Kidel‘s ‘Disruptive Muzak’, Nozomu Matsumoto‘s incredible ‘Climatotherapy’ (The Death of Rave) presents an imaginary soundtrack to a fantasy movie in the form of a personal health assessment narrated by Amazon’s Text-to-Speech interface, Polly. Part hauntological concerto composed of Universal Studio-esque strings, intermittent R&B-tinged female vocals and operatic deviances hovering above low-end disturbances, part exploration on the morality of Artificial Intelligence, ‘Climatotherapy’ is a staggeringly original work of art in every sense of the phrase: edition of 300, one-sided whitelabel with holographic sticker, plus a 12×12” insert, transcript designed by Mark Fell.

Worth the entry price for the cover art alone, by Australian painter Anne WallaceCrys Cole & Francis Plagne‘s ‘Two Words’ (Black Truffle) has been gaining relentless hype from most every quarter these past few weeks. Canadian sound artist Crys Cole (partner of Oren Ambarchi) and Australian songwriter Francis Plagne combine to blend their wilfully differing approaches to music making. The record begins on a tide of abrasive texture, as colliding surfaces bring to mind a sea of sand waves crashing onto a shore of paper. Plagne’s electric organ floats in downcast chords on a pool of Soft Machine, whilst Cole punctuates the mix with eccentricity. The second half of the record features Plagne singing monotone two-word texts by Berlin-based poet Marty Haitt, as the organ padding grows ever more functional. There’s something strangely disconcerting about this release, from the cover art to the final note. A fascinating attraction that begins as greater than the sum of its parts, ending in unison with a sense of enormous satisfaction. The vocal melody reminds me of something I just can’t put my finger on, and that probably contributes to the sense of unease.

Recorded in a bedroom in Chicago on a post-clubbing comedown, Pontiac Streator & Ulla Straus‘ ‘Chat’ (West Mineral Ltd) presents a meditative quartet of similar tribal tropes inspired by absorbing too much late night communication and insipid right wing propaganda. Vaguely reminiscent of Dominic Fernow‘s Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement, the vibe is strictly humid tropicana. As with a number of this month’s releases, there is a vague sense of unease in the undertow, just below the surface. Following on from uon‘s recent killer 12″ for the label, West Mineral Ltd are also on a roll right now. Edition of 200-copies on clear wax.

The second indispensable artefact this month from Fat Cat‘s post-classical imprint comes in the form of Resina‘s ‘Traces’ (130701). Polish cellist Karolina Rec returns with her second long player in as many years, and it’s a truly breathtaking body of work. Cello, electronics, percussion (courtesy of Maciej Cieslak) and Rec’s own wordless vocals shape this 47-minute epic, weaving from spectral elegance to pounding rhythmic insistence amidst the omnipresent dark energy of resistance. The album’s title alludes to the power of memory in shaping our lives, reflecting the unstable times we are currently experiencing. Recorded in 2017 at drummer Cieslak’s studio in the Wola district of Warsaw, the record bears the aforementioned spirit of defiance associated with Jewish resistance and the Warsaw Uprising that centred around Wola in 1943.

Recorded direct to tape from Ugandan radio, circa 1978-2003, ‘Ekuka’ (Nyege Nyege Tapes) collates the recordings of Lukeme maestro Ekuka Morris Sirikiti. Only the label’s third vinyl offering, the collection features twelve tracks pressed onto a double gold wax set. Hailing from the Langi tribe of Lira, Northern Uganda, griot Ekuka Morris Sirikiti was a regular on the local festival and market scene, busking his intricate music with just the use of vocals, a kick drum and a Mbira. The twelve songs here move backwards and forwards in time, between 1978 and 2003, but in the end it doesn’t really matter. The inconsistencies in fidelity and the constant hiss of ferric particles only serve to render these recordings as fresh as the day they were first broadcast. Subject matter varies between authority-sponsored messages of the dangers of tax evasion, alcohol consumption and unprotected casual sex, to everyman observations on the importance of being a gentleman, a good husband, father and citizen. Sirikiti was loved by his people, as both an artist and a role model, and now he can be loved again by us, as a temporal traveller.

Finally this month, we round off our selections with the debut self-titled long player from Topdown Dialectic (Peak Oil). The eight tracks here began life as a set of software strategies, manipulated and stretched to create the finished articles we hear here. In reality, the results are far more compelling than such a creation process would suggest. Encapsulating elements of the classic Basic Channel sound, alongside elements of Shinichi Atobe, ex-Aught stablemates Topdown Dialectic join De LeonXth Réflexion and Agnes in their transition from tape-based artists to vinyl avatars. This set has been looping away on repeat for the best part of the last month, and despite the alphabetical realities, we really have saved the best till last. Absolutely stunning!

Jean Encoule - August 5th, 2018

Nietzsche Versus Nurture


Abul Mogard/Acolytes/Bad Tracking/Kali Malone/Mark Fell/Steven Legget/Tribe Of Colin 

‘The harms being caused by the war on drugs can no longer be ignored. It is time to leave behind harmful politics, ideology and prejudice. It is time to prioritise the health and welfare of the affected populations, their families and communities” – Support Don’t Punish

Much like the War On Terror, or any war, for that matter, the War On Drugs is essentially class war. In a society that profits from your self-doubt, liking yourself is a revolutionary act. Shaped by conditioning, wounded by trauma, marginalised by anxiety, defined by deviancy, the need to escape consequentiality hampered by the external stigma that informs internal stigma. The political implications of operation escape-from-self have ramifications that tear families and communities asunder. With drug deaths rising and drug treatment budgets falling, the implicit correlation between capitalist surrealism and the death of self-love has never been more explicit.

“Global society is drowning in addiction to drug use and a thousand other habits. This is because people around the world, rich and poor alike, are being torn from the close ties to family, culture, and traditional spirituality that constituted the normal fabric of life in pre-modern times. This kind of global society subjects people to unrelenting pressures towards individualism and competition, dislocating them from social life” – Bruce K Alexander

In terms of solution-focussed approaches, the twin pillars of Maté (Boaz) and Alexander (Jachin) guide us towards the salvation of shalom. This duality is at the beating heart of the Recoverist dichotomy. Only when we frame our collective demise as the consequence of unenlightened thoughts can we embark on the pathway of education, agitation and organisation necessary to reclaim the self through emancipation. Our antecedents here are hidden in plain sight, amongst the rubble of neoliberal capitalist surrealism: the ghosts of the Chartists, the Suffragettes, the Fabians, the Tolpuddle Martyrs, the spirits of emancipatory freedom from the symbolic violence of abstract systems.

The concept of Nietzsche versus nurture can thus be seen as a truly holistic exploration of the nihilistic drivers informing the deviant behaviour perspective of the ruling elite; a philosophical deconstruction of the Kantian right versus the Benthamite left. In the common ground between the ABCDWP-driven Recovery Agenda of government policy and the traditional liberalism of the Harm Reductionist left, lie the fertile pastures of possibility through purpose: an Aristotlian flourishing, Eudaimonia, achieved through re-identity, a process of shared learning shaped to redefine self as a revolutionary act of emancipation.

The process of pain management through self-medication suppresses our dreams, as well as our sense of self. Addictive substances affect our ability to achieve REM sleep. By losing consciousness instead of sleeping soundly, we wilfully aid and abet the forces of oppression by building our own prisons, acting as our own jailor. The crime of allowing our pain to steal our dreams is intrinsically self-harm.

“To be, or not to be? That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep – no more – and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to – ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life” – William Shakespeare, ‘Hamlet’ (Act 3, Scene 1)

As Nietzsche himself observed, life without music would be a mistake, and this month’s selection have been instrumental in shaping my personal response to those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. We begin, then, with ‘Above All Dreams’ (Ecstatic), Abul Mogard’s expansive follow-up to 2015’s ‘Circular Forms’ (Ecstatic). To this day, Mogard’s true identity remains shrouded in mystery. The party line of sexagenarian Serbian sheet metal worker recreating the sounds of the factory through modular synthesis may be prosaic, but according to my Serbian contacts, the name itself is distinctly un-Serbian. Theories abound as to exactly who is moonlighting here, but it doesn’t really matter that much. Whatever the absolute truth, the relative truth is that ‘Above All Dreams’ evolves in front of our ears, seamlessly, from where ‘Circular Forms’ closed, three years earlier.

For those of us who joined the party late with ‘Works’ (Ecstatic), 2016’s collation of Mogard’s VCO output from 2012-2013, ‘Above All Dreams’ may appear somewhat slight when disconnected from ‘Circular Forms’. It is imperative that Mogard’s development be heard as the progression that it undoubtedly is, instead of some kind of gradual osmosis into the ambient wallpaper of magnolia world. Those of you yearning for the harsher elements of ‘Works’ need to overcome those expectations before embracing the hauntological mindfulness of ‘Above All Dreams’. This is a domain of spiritual sanctity, achieved through artful composition, an emotional ephemera of love and light in six movements. Between the drones we discover salvation in oscillation. On ‘Where Not Even’ and ‘The Roof Falls’ in particular, we hear nods to Sarah Davachi‘s ‘Let Night Come On Bells End The Day’ (Recital) and the ghosts of panoramic ’70s progression. Abul Mogard has staked his claim to greatness, and with both ‘Circular Forms’ and ‘Works’ already hailed as classics, it can be confidently assumed that ‘Above All Dreams’ will ascend its forebears to assume hierarchical precedence in the Mogard cannon.

Described elsewhere as the ‘best record Alter have ever put out’, Acolytes consciousness-altering ‘Rupture’ (Alter) is computer music with a lo-fi aesthetic. Moody, visceral and relentless in its approach, ‘Rupture’ pixilates the angst of symbolic violence in byte-sized chunks. Dysfunctional rhythms contradict the topography of their sound-beds in a jarring juxtaposition that struggles to impose much sense of form on first listen. Repeated exposure gradually pulls shape from the miasma to reveal the man called D. Shan’s modus operandi. Slimmed down from the group-based set-up that delivered Acolytes s/t debut back in 2015, ‘Rupture’ is an altogether more enduring work. Echoes of Gábor Lázár‘s acidic tekno shade the palette. Dub sensibilities elongate the space between tones. Tribal beats and samples litter the terrain. ‘MXE666′ squelches from the speakers, dancing above the melee like a sprite atop the flames of a ritual campfire. This autocannibalistic approach to sound-craft is utterly mesmeric. The esoteric vibe of ‘Rupture’ is something we will be returning to below with Tribe Of Colin. ‘Night Air’ draws proceedings to a close in enigmatic fashion: a swirl of backwards scratches herald what sounds like a bastardised melodica refrain, introducing a vaguely ‘East Of Of The River Nile’ vibe that somehow retro-informs all that has come before it to leave us with a real sense of culmination. ‘Rupture’ is a masterful accomplishment, a dark art from a dark heart in a dark world. Is this the best record Alter have ever put out? Find out for yourself here:

Following their 2017 vinyl debut on Bristol’s Mechanical Reproductions, West Country pioneers Bad Tracking (Max Pearce/Gordon Apps) return with this 4-track monster on FuckPunk. In a hail of recrimination and hissing arpeggiation, the duo roll the overdosed spectre of industrial electronics into the recovery position and pump in the Naloxone. With the ambulance on its way, the patient is not overtly pleased to have regained conciseness. This escape from self-imposed oblivion results in the weaponised, beat-driven, animalistic squalls that we hear as ‘Mayday’ and ‘Clanger’, and their accompanying dubs. This is the raw sound of the city’s revenge. City, baby, attacked by rats.  This edition of 88-copies comes complete with an additional pink rubber-banded C35 bonus-tape, containing unheard material and Bad Tracking live jams.

The ability of harmony to affect psychological change is a concept explored by Kali Malone on her follow-up to 2017’s ‘Velocity Of Sleep’ (XKatedral/Bleak Environment) ‘Cast of Mind’ (Hallow Ground) explores this concept through the exclusive use of the Buchla 200 synthesiser, in combination with acoustic woodwind and brass instruments. Born in Colorado in 1994, Malone has been living and working in Sweden since 2012. As well as her solo work, she is also an active member of Sorrowing Christ, Swap Babies and Upper Glossa. Working in a similar genre pool to the aforementioned Sarah Davachi, alongside other notable contemporary composers such as Kara-Lis Coverdale, Teresa Winter and Christina Vantzou, Malone utilises unique tuning systems in minimalist form for analog and digital synthesis. ‘Cast Of Mind’ delivers over four-pieces, moving from the woodwind hunting calls of the titular opener, eerily reminiscent of an ambient black metal vignette, through three variations, ending with the drone-dominated roulade of finale, ‘Empty The Belief’. The sum of these parts is a rich aural tapestry, sonically sewn in intricate detail. At 37-minutes, ‘Cast Of Mind’ never outstays its welcome. This is an incredible record I find myself returning to time after time, every listen subtly altering the way I feel about it as a work of art. In that sense, the overarching concept is proven.

June must be the month of rhythmelodic cadence. This time last year, I was obsessed with Robert Aiki Aubery Lowe‘s ‘Levitation Praxis Pt. 4′ (DDS), a pair of incredible recordings made with Harry Bertoia’s sound sculptures. This year, it’s the turn of Mark Fell‘s ‘Intra’ (Boomkat Editions), a suite of soundscapes performed with Drumming Grupo De Percussão on the Sixxen metallophone system: a set of six microtonally tuned instruments, originally conceived by Iannis Xenakis, back in 1976. ‘Intra’ comprises eight complex polyrhythms, delivering a 37-minute meditative Carnatic therapy session, connecting us to the future primitivism of John Zerzan. ‘Intra’ is a work of art that resolutely rejects the thesis that time and technology are neutral scientific realities, positing instead that they are carefully constructed means of enslaving people. ‘Intra’ connects to the justified and ancient inside of us all. This is so much more than a slight return.

Originally recorded in the Turkish Baths of Newcastle-upon-Tyne’s City Pool, and subsequently augmented with field recordings gathered on the islands of Paxos and Loutro, South Crete, Steven Legget‘s serene ‘Bathhouse’ (Firecracker Recordings) is one of the most stunning electroacoustic amalgamations I have discovered thus far, an innovative blend of environmental drone and illustrated neo-classical. Aquatic sounds, ambient samples, electronic interfaces and immensely expressive cello combine to create spectral beauty of unfathomable import. Ten widescreen compositions lead us on an hour-long journey through water, submerged in the warmth of a rarified atmosphere heavy with condensation. All profits from the record are being donated to clean water charity, Waves for Water.

“It’s a signal, and it’s a signal that’s saying wake up. It’s a signal that’s saying take a look. Take a look at yourself. So, two things basically drive change in human beings. One of them is suffering, and the other is, you meet somebody, and in the presence of that person you realise, here is a human that’s found something, and is listening to something, has become connected to something, and I want to know what that is for myself, so, it’s inspirational, and its conveyed by quality of conciseness in someone else that makes you say: ‘I want to take a journey’, and usually what that person says is: ‘you’re a really beautiful human being and you’re struggling with the kind of things you’re meant to be struggling with, and lets take a look at how you can struggle in a constructive way’ ”

So begins Tribe Of Colin‘s ‘Lions Print Complete In Ten Thousand Practices Thus Come One’ (Chant). The synchronicity of these words within the narrative of this month’s column cannot be understated. That’s the second time this week something vaguely prophetic has occurred out of the blue. This record arrived in this morning’s post, but after only two spins it’s safe to say it’s already up there with my treasured copy of ‘Wide Berth’ (Label Unknown) and the recent Docile 12″  on Trilogy Tapes with John T. Gast. Gnostic, esoteric, ritualistic and compelling, Tribe Of Collin throw skanking tekno shapes into a vat of acid in a vivid display of end-of-times provocation. My favourite record of the year so far, six months down, this one’s a keeper!

Jean Encoule - June 29th, 2018

No War But Class War


A Column

SKRSINTL/ZamZam Sounds/Sophia Loizou/Gabor Lazar/Aspect/4625

“Workers have no country. You cannot take from them what they have not got” – Karl Marx

4,500 pairs of shoes, laid in front of the Council of the European Union in Brussels, representing every person killed in the Israeli/Palestinian conflict over the last decade. 500,000 (approx) lives lost in the ongoing Syrian conflict. 10,000 people dead as a result of the war in Yemen. 7,000,000 people on the brink of starvation as a consequence of the war in Yemen. 230 people dead due to homelessness in the UK during the last five years. 120,000 deaths linked to Neoliberal UK austerity policies. 215 fatal stabbings in the UK in the 12-months leading up to March 2017. 30,000,000 pounds of taxpayer’s money spent on security for the marriage of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

Capitalist surrealism just won’t stop taking it to the T.O.P. on the D.E.X. tonight. Hypernomalisation as comfort blanket. We barely flinch. Rewind. Seemingly engrossed in the promise of love, amidst the hatred of war, the stench of poverty. Escalating military conflicts, primarily in a huge arc from Yemen to Ukraine, the rise of xenophobic nationalism, increasingly pointing towards preparations for global conflagration. Coalitions of confusion, breeding grounds for ideas that are diametrically opposed to revolutionary perspectives and solution-focussed critical thinking. The right wing, the left wing, merely wings of the same bird. This bird is sinking. This not-so-sweet bird of untruth.

Nationalism, be it the xenophobic freedom-of-hate-speech Islamophobia of the FLA, or the emerging nationalist arguments around small-nation-thinking coming out of Scotland or Catalonia, only serve to weaken working class internationalism. Working class revolution is the only remedy to a world of exploitation and increasing barbarism. Amongst the furore around anti-fascism, the so-called defence of democracy, or the rights of small nations, workers have to remember that the main enemy is still within. The epoch of efficient capitalism has long since passed. Those who look for a progressive element in the conflicts between factions of capital will be left wanting. Internationalists concur that the only way to end this imperialist carnage is not to line up on any side, but for the world working class instead to educate, agitate and organise themselves in their own interests to fight against their exploiters.

Meanwhile, in the darkened dancehalls of the global counterculture of resistance, Seekers International continue to mutate the murderation in the form of ‘Black Mazda Soundclash’ (Liquorish Records). Here, SKRSINTL deliver 28-all-new volleys of rapid-fire mashup gathered from skirmishes across the globe: the spoils of sound clash war. Their most inspired outing yet, ‘Black Mazda Soundclash’ raises an already heightened bar to the rafters in a display of excellence widely considered to be world-beater material. SKRSINTL cement their reputation as one of the most forward thinking crews active on the world stage presently. Available on limited edition cassette or digital:

Formed in 2012 by Ezra Ereckson and Tracy Harrison, ZamZam Sounds‘ approach is resolutely artistic-over-commercial. Up to now, they’ve been releasing only 7-inch vinyl records in limited quantities, with meticulously executed artwork. Soundwise, ZZS procure the wildest dubman grooves: the freshest takes on roots, steppas and echo-tech, from all over the globe. Each record is packaged within hand-made, screen-printed sleeves, rendering each artefact unique beyond the sounds themselves. The label’s name refers to the traditional Muslim story of the Arabian ZamZam wellspring, which saved the lives of Abraham’s Lady Hagar and son Ishmael, and whose waters still run today. ZZS’ companion label Khaliphonic releases longer format vinyl 10-inch and 12-inch records, and the hype is simmering as I type for their much anticipated forthcoming release of Strategy‘s ‘Dub Mind Paradigm':

The long-awaited ‘Irregular Territories’ (Cosmo Rhythmatic) EP from Bristolian rave archaeologist Sophia Loizou has been kicking up a fuss in the tMx bunker this past month. Following on from her ‘Singulacra’ LP from 2016, this ruffneck six-tracker jacks junglist riddims into the swelling chords and arpeggios of rave culture detritus to detonate the ambience with ordinance. Digging up breaks from the past and launching them headwards into the future, Loizou’s approach is both hauntological and innovative. Shattered beats punctuated by gasps and sighs, the fragile facade of neo-classical endeavour splintered with inventive intent.

Gabor Lázár studied electronic music/media art at the University Of Pec’s Faculty Of Music and Visual Arts, before co-founding Last Foundation. His debut release appeared back in 2013, in collaboration with Russell Haswell. His style is hectic and unpredictable, eclectic and undefinable, battered yet composed. ‘Unfold’ (The Death Of Rave) finds him expanding over two sides of clear wax, through eight movements, in a stunning display of next level club sonics with scientific precision. Building on collaborations with the aforementioned Haswell and Mark Fell, Lázár strikes out alone here in his most refined presentation yet. There’s a timelessness to this record that screams ‘future classic’ at you from somewhere behind Dr Who’s settee, deep within the Tardis. ‘Unfold’ is a record that demands your attention, and pummels you into submission. Faultless in every respect, the sound of ground being broken in spades. Mastered and cut by Matt Colton at Alchemy, with artwork designed Daniel Kozma, as we approach the halfway mark in 2018, this is one that will surely be troubling the scorers come close of play.

Aspect – ‘Stand Clear’ (Droogs) – UVB-76 Music‘s affiliate label DROOGS, returns with their 2nd release, this time a primal offering from veteran UK producer Aspect. ‘Stand Clear’ and ‘Untitled’ are both explosive tracks in their own right that have been hammered unconscious by the UVB-76 core members, but ‘Stand Clear’ alone is worth the price of admission: as dark our collective futures, bound to give you nightmares. Ugly times demand ugly music.

An essential companion piece to the Aspect platter above, our final selection this month comes from Bristolian junglists, 4625. ‘4625-001′ (UVB-76 Music) is a collective vision, capturing the collaborative output of UVB-76 Music’s core members. 4625 continues and builds upon the foundation laid by the label since 2015, ensuring the evolution of their collective art at both the periphery and the core simultaneously.

Jean Encoule - June 6th, 2018

Was It Better When It Was Worse?


A Column

The Caretaker/Sarah Davachi/Sons Of Kemet/Head Technician/Steven Julien

“The slow cancellation of the future has been accompanied by a deflation of expectations” – Mark Fisher

Was it better when it was worse? Was I smarter when I knew less? Was I braver when I was naive? Truth is, I’ve never had ambition, the concept is alien to me. Even before I came to understand that being here now is fundamental to a peaceful existence, I always intuitively lived for the moment. In the moment, instinctively. In order to survive, I’ve trained myself to not look forward to things. What’s the point in eroding the experience of the now for the promise of a future that may never come? It’s a risky practice, looking forwards. It takes for granted that we will actually be around to enjoy the future, a lack of humility that for me borders on arrogance.

Despite the crushing weight of capitalist surrealism in these last days of reality, I have taught myself to live without medication; to ignore the news; to take responsibility for my behaviours; to strive to understand my place in this world beyond the confines of fragile ego. Ironically, the worse things get for the macro, the stronger micro-me becomes in overcoming any barriers I may face. I have hope, I have dreams. These days my dreams are so profound they wake me. They shake me. Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. This morning I woke to the reality that they do.

It’s not the slow cancellation of the future that has deflated my expectations. I’ve never had any expectations, great or otherwise. No future, Yes! future, pistols at dawn. Nothing ever plays out the way you expect it to. The more we imagine a situation, the less that situation resembles our imagining. As Raoul Vaneigem states, “People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints, such people have a corpse in their mouth”. I’ll face my future, one day at a time. I’ll continue my struggle, hour by hour. I will chose love over fear. Was it better when it was worse? It’s not better. It’s not worse. It’s just different.

Themes of inertia, bereavement, acceptance and nostalgia (for an age yet to come) haunt this month’s column. The passage of time, the frailty of mortality, both have weighed heavily on what passes for my mind these past few weeks. As Guy Debord wrote to Gerard Lebovici in 1973: “critique of the spectacle is also a critique of art. But art, so as to be critiqued and superseded, at first has the need to be free”.

Freedom? This contemporary montage, this capitalist surrealism, is but a patchwork quilt of relative truths, draped around the shoulders of the chimeric antibody of absolute truth. A comfort blanket of uncomfortable candour, a hair-shirt, masquerading as norms and values. A hypernormal world, transcribed into images, that are owned by everybody, and nobody. Totalitarian bureaucracy orchestrating alleged intellectual and artistic expression through the joyful division of communities and families. Pre-existing cultural data, re-used in whole or in part. Nothing new under the sun.

These days, according to a study conducted by Saga, older people are officially more fearful of developing dementia than they are of contracting cancer. When 500-adults aged over-50 from across the UK were asked which condition they feared the most, 68% said dementia, 9.44% said cancer. Meanwhile, just 3.88% said they were frightened of developing a heart condition, whilst only 0.73% were concerned about the risk of diabetes. There are currently around 800,000-people with dementia in the UK. As the population ages, this figure is expected to soar.

Much like the rustling walls in the House Of Leaves, the fourth ‘Everywhere At The End Of Time’ (History Always Favours The Winners) release in a series of six albums from The Caretaker is a shapeshifting, menacing, maze of corridors, documenting, as it does, the ravaging effects of early-onset dementia. Drawing us ever-deeper into a harrowing realm of fragmented narratives, the haunted ballroom’s resident DJ spins hallucinatory psychedelia, 78-rpm style. Over four side-long pieces, Leyland Kirby explores the post-awareness stage of moderate to severe dementia, through the mediums of confusion, frustration, and alarm. Previous visitations reappear like old friends we no longer formally recognise, only the vague sense of tenuous association remains.

Hipped to the essential nature of The Caretaker by Mark Fisher’s ‘Ghosts Of My Life’ (Zero Books), back in 2014, my relationship with Kirby’s art was initially founded on the universally-accepted brilliance of 2011’s ‘An Empty Bliss Beyond This World’ (History Always Favours The Winners). The ethereal sense of connectivity to the sounds that shaped the formative years of my deceased father was the hook that snared me. Listening sessions felt as if I’d somehow occupied his memory, hearing the music of his youth through a membrane, direct from the centre of his latent consciousness. Nostalgia for an era I’d only known through his memories, hardwired to my mainframe, by unconditional love.

The post-awareness stage is the darkest episode yet on this heartbreaking journey to oblivion. We are beginning to experience difficulty concentrating; decreased memory of recent events; difficulties managing finances or traveling alone to new locations; trouble completing complex tasks efficiently or accurately; in denial about symptoms; withdrawing from family or friends; socialisation is becoming increasingly difficult. Kirby captures these characteristics so evocatively. The sense of dread that prevails throughout is the pre-imagining of what stage five could sound like, and, almost incomprehensibly, stage six. With the final two stages due in September 2018 and March 2019 respectively, the promise that both ‘may be without description’ is ominous, to say the least.

As we age, we seek new domains in which to free our art. Consuming music in concert halls, as opposed to venues or clubs, is part of that maturation. The Elgar Concert Hall, at the heart of The Bramall, located within the opulence of Chancellor’s Court, University Of Birmingham, is home to BEAST x Bleep43, a summer festival of classical, gospel, jazz and electronic music. I was in town to witness a Sarah Davachi-curated evening of pre-recorded sound, featuring EMS Spectre-generated images created by Richard Smith. Canadian minimalist Davachi is widely regarded as one of the foremost explorers of sonic texture of her generation, and recent immersion in her simply stunning long playing debut for Sean McCann’s Recital Program, ‘Let Night Come On Bells End The Day’, duly rendered my attendance mandatory.

Following up the magnificent, entirely acoustic, ‘All My Circles Run’ (Students Of Decay), could have been a challenge for lesser artists, but Davachi triumphs ephemerally. Let Night Come On Bells End The Day’, her fifth full-length in six years, is sublimely constructed purely from Mellotron and electronic organ, over five improvisational, meditative drones, as sensuous as they are beguiling. Baroque melodies weave in and out of the expansive space between tones, decorating the ether with delicate leitmotifs of iridescent sheen. The disassociated spirits of Godspeed You! Black EmperorLed Zeppelin and La Monte Young flicker in and out of the record’s grooves, bridging links to post-rock, classic rock and pioneering minimalism.

When it comes to plagiarism, the British Empire plundered the seven seas to claim their seven wonders for its own work. Great Britain, a nation built on the profits of slavery, shaped by the diversity of multiculturalism, infected by the stench of institutionalised racism. Nurses, doctors, builders, tradesmen, skilled workers, all have made huge contributions to the cultural worth and wealth of post-war Britain, suddenly they find themselves in a hostile environment. ‘Your Queen Is A Reptile’ (Impulse), the third album from Sons Of Kemet, could be considered in some ways prophetic.

Led by saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings, featuring Theon Cross on tuba, alongside the twin-drum attack of Tom Skinner and Eddie Hick, Sons Of Kemet emerge headlong into the glare of the Windrush scandal with their heads held high and their papers in perfect order. The LP’s title alludes to David Icke‘s royal family lizard theory, and it’s worth remembering that Icke himself was filling stadiums at a hundred-pound-a-pop only five-years-or-so ago. Conspiracists are not the niche market some would prefer you to believe! The coronation of nine black women over the course of ‘Your Queen Is A Reptile’ represents the symbolic usurping of Albion’s reptilian monarch, replacing her with Ada Eastman, Mammie Phipps Clarke, Harriet Tubman, Anna Julia Cooper, Angela Davis, Nanny Of The Maroons, Yaa Asantewaa, Albertina Sisulu or Doreen Lawrence: a necessary social reordering, directly challenging the institutional racism that eats away at the collective conscience of this septic isle.

Musically, the album resembles a float moving through Notting Hill Carnival, absorbing and reframing the multiple cultures of a thousand sound systems in a frenetic sweep through Ladbroke Grove. The tuba’s role in dropping baselines present as electronic, at times, whilst the frantic Afrofuturistic rhythms of the twin drummers drive Hutchings’ horn in complex spirals of contortion. In places, weirdly, I’m reminded of The Clash, circa ‘Sandinista’ . . . on the cusp of ‘Combat Rock’, maybe . . . in particular, ‘Death Is A Star’ . . . are you positively absolutely? The vocal contributions of Congo Natty stylistically reminiscent of Paul Simenon’s luddite patois. Elsewhere, prevailing jazz sensibilities are infused with the reverberation of the Special AKA. I can imagine Jerry Dammers loving this record!

In the wake of Amber Rudd’s resignation, ‘Your Queen Is A Reptile’ could have claimed its first victim. In short, this record is a manifesto: it’s time to start again. The norms and values of neoliberal Britain, corruption and collusion, protect the few at the expense of the many. As Ben Okri states, “A people are as healthy and confident as the stories they tell themselves. Sick storytellers can make nations sick. Without stories we would go mad. Life would lose its moorings or orientation. Stories can conquer fear, you know? They can make the heart larger”. ‘Your Queen Is A Reptile’ convincingly states the case for reparation. It’s time to change the record.

This writer’s love of Brutalist architecture has doubtless come to your attention over the course of the last few years. My enduring love of bleep and roll has been less well documented. Both elements duly combined here on Head Technician‘s flawless ‘Profane Architecture’ (Ecstatic) is thus cause for much celebration. Pye Corner Audio head honcho, Martin Jenkins, dons his technical cap for this second outing for Ecstatic. Built using Roland TR-606, MC-202 and TB-303 boxes, plus the Roland System 100 modular synth, Jenkins raises audio edifices in sonic concrete that gurgle with acidic import when poured into your foundations. Detroit haunts the mix, Plastikman and Aphex Twin. This new brutalism is stark, hypnotic, towering in stature, monolithic.

Dedicated to the memory of Ikutaro Kakehashi, the much-loved Roland founder and creator of the TR-808, London based artist Steven Julien‘s ‘Bloodline’ (Apron) follows in the considerable footprints of his critically acclaimed 2016 debut, ‘Fallen’ (Apron). ‘Bloodline’ expands in seven cuts, documenting the unconditional love and influence of family, and the cultural heritage that has shaped his art. Relatively basic in sonic palate, but dextrous in delivery, Julien’s signature sound pays homage to the founding fathers of Detroit techno. His rhythms are steeped in the wisdom of the ancestors. The jittery funk of ‘Roll Of The Dice’, the electro swoon of ‘Queen of Ungilsan’, swimming in the same gene pool as Equiknoxx Music, this is dance music with one foot in the dancehall and one foot up on the coffee table.


Jean Encoule - May 1st, 2018

La Vitesse Du Son De La Solitude


A Column

Lucy Railton/154/Sarah Hennies/Mary Jane Leach/Eliane Radigue

“Fiction is one of the few experiences where loneliness can be both confronted and relieved. Drugs, movies where stuff blows up, loud parties – all these chase away loneliness by making me forget my name’s Dave and I live in a one-by-one box of bone no other party can penetrate or know. Fiction, poetry, music, really deep serious sex, and, in various ways, religion – these are the places (for me) where loneliness is countenanced, stared down, transfigured, treated” – David Foster Wallace

The philosopher Alain De Botton has suggested that we live in an era of loneliness, an age where disconnection has a direct correlation to contemporary literary aspiration. De Botton argues that we all feel we may have a novel, an autobiography, a biography, a travelogue, a blog, buried within us somewhere, just waiting to be exhumed: the fifteen fame filled minutes of the fanzine writer!

De Botton surmises that we write ostensibly because we have no one close that will listen to us. We record our thoughts, messages in cyber-bottles, and cast them into the virtual oceans of the world wide web, because we are lonely. Stranded, on the desert island of the cult of the individual. We write because no one is listening, they are all too busy with their own individual pursuits to take the time to embrace our obsessions.

In terms of my own writing, I find resonance in De Botton’s theory. I founded trakMARX in my mid-thirties, estranged from the vibrant cultural scenes of my formative years, already entrenched in love and marriage, like a horse and carriage. In retrospect, the musical connectivity that had been so important in sustaining my relationship with my then-partner had already begun to wane. Our tastes, once so collective, had begun to wend their own inevitable ways. My refusal to mellow felt like a statement of intent: I would not be going gentle into that good night. I felt the time fly, I felt the time crawl, like an insect, up the walls. The speed of the sound of loneliness.

Lucy Railton – ‘Paradise 94′ (Modern Love):

“We could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace” – Bill Hicks

This came at me out of nowhere. I’d heard the name, I knew of the association to Beatrice Dillon, but I had no preconceptions. No expectations. The sleeve shone from the pages of Boomkat, as records invariably do, on a daily basis. To be fair, they all look beatific, framed on the page, shining like distant galaxies, seemingly within reach, but a financial transaction and a postal journey away, exquisite works of art, demanding to be owned. As I listened to the snippets of sound available, I became immediately enraptured. Lifted up. Before long, I was on YouTube, considering ‘Pinnevik’, intently:

Within the space of this clip, the purchase had been made. I spent the ensuing evening on tenterhooks, awaiting the midnight hour, when I could redeem the download portion of my order, and begin my relationship with ‘Paradise 94′. The clock finally struck the appointed hour, the bytes began their flow down the wire. A river unafraid of becoming the sea. My first listen was thus shrouded by the weight of the previous day, as I forged a pathway into the new dawn. Despite the fatigue, I knew instinctively that I had found something idiosyncratic.

Lucy Railton, cellist, composer, performer, experimentalist, collaborator, electroacoustic artist, alongside the aforementioned Beatrice Dillon, has enhanced the work of Russell Haswell, Ensemble Plus Minus, and the London Sinfionetta. ‘Paradise 94′ is her debut solo album. A graduate of London’s Royal Academy Of Music, Railton has been keeping her solo powder dry since 2008. During this time she has amassed a wealth of archival work, location-specific material and studio recordings that have been sewn together here with care to create the tapestry of sound that is ‘Paradise 94′. Capturing abrasive aspects of industrialisation amidst passages of seduction and allure, Railton has assembled a spectrum of sound that fascinates as it beguiles. The immediacy of these recordings transcend their collaged presentation. The album’s 34-minutes slip by in a heartbeat. There’s a synchronicity with the space being explored elsewhere in this column by Sarah Hennies. The album reaches its emotional payload with ‘For JR’, an oasis of melody within a desert of dissonance, before gliding out on the looped glissandi of closer ‘Fortified Up’. I’ve reached a plateau in the elevation of my appreciation of the potential of sound with ‘Paradise 94′. Nestling amongst a palate of artists that include Beatrice Dillon, Sarah Davachi, Kara-Lis Coverdale, Sarah Hennies and Mary Jane Leach, Lucy Railton acts as a portal of possibility in a universe of conformity. Space: the final frontier.

154 – ‘Wherever You Go I Will Follow’ (Boomkat Editions):

14-years after his influential debut as 154, 2004’s exemplary ‘Strike’ (Delsin/NWAQ), Jochem Peteri returns with a post-everything symphony of stunning emotional import. Recorded in response to the birth of his second child, this a record that exudes a love of creation, celebrating the gift of life through passionate simplicity. Underpinned by two sporadic bass notes, the osmosis of digital and analogue elements eddy around the mix in a somnambulistic ritual that evokes the tidal movement of waves lapping on sun drenched beaches. Intensely sensual, spiritually liberating, meditative, ‘Wherever You Go’ condenses 8-minutes into relative seconds, only for ‘I Will Follow’ to expand the theme across a further 10-minutes plus. A sense of emerging into the light pervades, an aural depiction of something we’ve all experienced: our entrance into this world. ‘Wherever You Go I Will Follow’ is therefore a genuine born again moment:

Sarah Hennies – ‘Embedded Environments’ (Blume Editions):


Recorded in the bowels of Silo City, Buffalo, NY (above), ‘Embedded Environments’ marks Hennies’ debut for electronic/electroacoustic label, Blume Editions. Exploring similar natural reverberations to that of Áine O’Dwyer‘s investigations in Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s tunnel with ‘Gallarais’ (Mie), Hennies experiments over two sides here with a brace of compositions: ‘Foragers’ and ‘Embedded Environments’.

‘Foragers’ rumbles from the speakers, a rolling thunder revue that’s barely there, yet strangely ominous, nonetheless. Auspicious without recourse to either shamanic suggestion or hippy-dippy implication, the congruence betwixt created and atmospheric happenstance beats at the heart of this inherent duality. Silence fills the gaps: silence as instrument, silence as voice. ‘Embedded Environments’ is raucous by comparison, a heady clatter of rhythmic insistence, chasing shapes as they shift across graffitied concrete, colliding in space and time. In terms of psychogeographic and socio-political sonics, Hennies is challenging the norms and values of avant approaches with this astonishing, breathtaking record. Wrapped in gold dressing, enhanced by the trademark Blume obi, pressed to gold wax, the only thing that spoils this phenomenal package is the shocking proof-reading that reduces Bradford Bailey‘s (The Hum) sleeve notes to frankly amateur status.

Mary Jane Leach – ‘Pipe Dreams’ (Blume Editions):

Our second featured Blume Editions release has been biding its time in the pending pile since the death of last year. Resplendent in its deep purple jacket, obi and purple wax, ‘Pipe Dreams’ represents somewhat of a second coming for American composer, Mary Jane Leach. Recorded at St. Peter’s in Köln, Germany, during 1989, ‘Pipe Dreams’ is coupled with ‘4BC’, from 1984. A compositional pioneer of NYC’s Downtown avant-garde since the ’70s, Leach has released but two previous outings in all this time, and, astoundingly, ‘Pipe Dreams’ is her first ever solo vinyl release. A contemporary of luminaries such as Julius Eastman, Arthur Russell, Arnold Dreyblatt, Ellen Fullman, Philip Corner, Daniel Goode, and Peter Zummo, Leach is herself enjoying an artistic rebirth with ‘Pipe Dreams’.

‘Pipe Dreams’ itself could be seen as a precursor to Áine O’Dwyer‘s ‘Music For Church Cleaners Vol. I & II’ (Mie). Leach effectively forms a close personal relationship with the space in which she’s creating, the notes from St. Peter’s pipe organ cavort across the airwaves in a state of perpetual flux. ‘Pipe Dreams’ brings serenity to the party, invoking reverie, massaging aspiration, sewing seeds of hope where the weeds of despair have run rampant. Ultimately, the 23-minutes of ‘Pipe Dreams’ are a profoundly cathartic experience, exorcising negativity through being here now. Meditative sonic immersion, psychoacoustic healing at its finest. ‘4BC’, meanwhile, is a piece composed for four bass clarinets, a drone masterclass that snaps at the heels of Tony Conrad, John Cale, La Monte Young and Marian Zazeela.

Elaine Radique – ‘Feedback Works – 1969-1970’/’Vice Versa, Etc. 1970′ (Alga Marghen)

Originally released as a double package, both of these albums are available once again in new editions from Alga Marghen as separate entities. As a neophyte to the art of Elaine Radique, my introduction to her body of work has been revelatory. A student of Pierre Schaeffer and Pierre Henry at RTF’s Studio d’Essai in the 1950s, the birthplace of musique concrète, Radigue’s oeuvre has largely only come to the attention of a contemporary audience over the last ten years. With the aid of an ARP 2500 synthesizer, the tones created on this brace of astonishing records involved the manipulation of feedback loops, pitch-shifted to forge microtonal harmonies and ultrasonic frequencies radically different from those emitted under normal circumstances. A young mother at the time of recording, Radique worked at night while her children were asleep, bringing a profoundly nocturnal ambience to the recordings. When you consider that the approaches developed here almost 50-years ago are still emerging contemporarily in works such as Kevin Drumm‘s recent ‘Inexplicable Hours’ (Sonoris), Elaine Radique’s burgeoning reputation as a pioneering legend of experimental sound creation is entirely justified and ancient.

Jean Encoule - March 30th, 2018