With guest drummer Ren Karlmann and Rough credited with “other machines”, and probably edited together in the studio from numerous takes and sessions in the tradition of Pink Floyd, who took much longer over it and still ended up with pompous, boring, emptiness. End Of The Line is indeed a Euro-synth rack journey by super-powered Metro train into the worlds beyond, with many diversions into invisible and menacing dimensions as we pass over one “event horizon” to the next… (02/04/2024)

Low-key tones from Indalaska on their Musique Des Sables (ZOHAR 272-2) album. The French brothers Olivier and Frédéric Charlot evidently enjoy finding expression in many different band projects, even when it’s the same duo – previous manifestations were Maninkari (classical-ish played on obscure instruments) and Sphyxion (heavy on the synths). I quite liked Sphyxion, but this new incarnation doesn’t manage to engrave any new lines on my tusks; it’s (roughly) their take on cold and minimal wave ambient-drone, and the label tells us it can be enjoyed as frames from a slow-motion film of some sort, unfolding at a very relaxed pace. This “sandy” material feels thin and under-nourished to me; not enough concrete events, or a sense of moment, going down onto the tapes. The promised visit to “unknown endless spaces” never really materialises from these spidery notes, lacking depth and perspective.

Mektoub: 1001 Nocy Paula Bowlesa (NO NUMBER) by Rafał Kołacki is, of all things, a radio play. It uses droney music and field recordings with readings from the work of Paul Bowles. On it, Kołacki aims to express the charismatic nature of this writer and say something about his epic journey to Tangier. We’ve got sounds captured from streets and markets, and (inevitably) the muezzins calling the faithful to prayer, a sound which seems to have appeared on every record made by a European or American in this part of the world, from Muslimgauze to Justin Bennett. One would perhaps hope that Tangier itself is teeming with vitality, or that the story of this unusual beat writer who decided to emigrate there would inspire a bit more interest; instead, Kołacki fails to spark a single moment of excitement across 45 minutes of listless aural tedium.

The three persons behind Deep Fields (ZOHAR 285-2) have spent a lot of time in 2021 and 2022 researching cosmological things, and giving lectures in scientific institutions about outer space, more specifically promulgating information to do with magnetic and acoustic wave phenomena. Calling themselves Voices Of The Cosmos, they’ve now decided to pool their efforts on these nine tracks of sounds, in celebration of the great Copernicus – it’s related to his 550th anniversary. Rafal Iwanski, Wotjek Zieba and Sebastian Soberski appear on the inside panel artwork all wearing identical black shirts with their logo, which may resemble an Egyptian eye of Horus and possibly represent another link to Sun Ra (Copernicus appeared on the cover of The Heliocentric Worlds Of Sun Ra Volume 2). No quasi-scientific lectures appear on the record, but there are plenty of radio telescope sounds hopefully captured in their private observatory, spliced with synths, tone generators, drum machines and effects – producing the sort of identikit electronic drone that this label loves so much. Kinda process-heavy material, but compelling in a low-key way; it may not convey any truths about such things as white dwarfs, electrons, pulsars and sounds of the sun, but I suppose what we’re really hearing is simply cosmic energy transformed into radio. Voices Of The Cosmos might have added more depth and illumination when they delivered their lectures, but they don’t do so here. Sun Ra himself would be asleep by this point; at least he tried to actively engage with his chosen subject matter, effectively making his own mind and body into a radio telescope, and when seized with inspiration from the galaxies, his synths would breathe fire like a supernova. This CD simply emits a faintly warming glow.

I’m feeling more agitated by the music on Learn The Hard Way (ZOHAR 283-2) by Exit Electronics, but I’m not at all proud of that feeling. Justin K Broadrick of Godflesh fame has recently embarked on this solo project and emerged with a souped-up form of power electronics set to punishing beats; apparently he’s trying to distance himself from the “industrial techno” tag associated with his earlier work, unless I’m misunderstanding the finer nuances of the press note. What’s clear is the sheer aggression of the music, where every note, every layer, is beefed up to maximise distortion to create a concrete wodge of industrial blackness – an unbelievably closed-in sensation for the listener. The aggression is further amplified by the horrible track titles – all of them pretty much telling you that you’re completely wrong, your life is hopeless, and you’re going to get beaten up (either by life, or by an abusive partner); all nasty sentiments which are underscored by the use of shouty full capitals…still, full marks to Exit Electronics for coming up with the innovative term “filthstep” to describe this deeply unpleasant assault from his two fists. This record may be a reissue with two extra tracks of something that came out digitally in 2022. If our Polish friends don’t offer him another deal after this knockout punch, I for one might well expect to see him surface next on Cold Spring Records. The usual “strong meat” warning applies; listen with caution.

I was grabbed from opening seconds of odd Moog sounds and thereafter found it all a compelling listen – what I’m enjoying most is what I think of as the “open” structure – free from compositional structure and four-beats to bar, allowing musicians apparently to freely move about a proposed and vast imaginary space. Bourne is throwing a few jazz piano shapes when he reaches the “table mountain” area, but likewise he’s also providing tasty cosmic sounds on his “memory moog”, seemingly a new analogue toy from renowned vendors Linn. Switching freely between the two keyboards (thanks to his new “pivot” chair), Bourne manifests wiry strength on the acoustic piano and delicately subtle tones and empathy on the moog, quite a few lightyears away from the untamed raw style of Sun Ra on that instrument. Meanwhile there’s also Chris Sharkey, known to us as leader of The Geordie Approach, a trio who realised their “northern krautrock” vision on the Shields album for this label not long ago, and who also added his guitar licks to Archer’s Anthropology Band. Sharkey produced today’s record, but more to the point he’s also credited with “live processing”, and clearly there’s a zillion zappulating effects on the magic board which he brought into Airedale on the day, which he uses now sparingly, now generously, depending on how freaky the players may be, mutating into octopoid chimeras and tripping over their long hair. Sharkey’s futuristic guitar blonks also exceed Robert Fripp for audacious overly-disguised ingenuity, allowing many mournful seagull plaints to ensue. Rhythm section is Andy Champion on electric bass and Joost Hendricks on drums.

The music emerged from two full recording sessions of playing (and there’s a plan to release more of it on Volume 2); ‘Functional’ was, impressively, the first take from the first day, and it’s here in its entirety. Going to assume this means no edits, no overdubs. Label notes hint at much pent-up energy (after lockdown and over hurdles) being unleashed in the studio when the team pushed in through the fire doors. Label notes also wisely make no claims for “modern jazz-rock fusion” or “detectable kosmische influences”, which is refreshing and earns bonus points, and in places we might say the group are inventing something quite new of their own, purely by ingenious mix of instinct and craft. It’s sufficient for us in the audience to just enjoy the very confident free playing, the exciting instrumental combinations, and above all to drench one’s bones in the very satisfying sound of the recording – vivid, upfront, maximal…you bet…you’d think Sharkey’s high-quality production services would be in high demand from every band that calls themselves a “free improvising” combo, but perhaps his phone number is ex-directory. Also there’s the all-yellow cover with plain black typography, attempting perhaps to emulate an Incus sleeve. Very good indeed. From 12th January 2023.

Lead singer and guitarist is David Shuford, who also plays a mean mandolin, joined by drummer Rob Smith and bass from Jimy Seitang, who also contributes keyboards. They seem to favour instrumentals, sometimes quite discursive at that, which is fine by me as Shuford’s mannered baritone growl of a vocal somewhat sours the milk in the churn for this listener. From the opening track ‘Stanley Stood Still’ I thought we might be in for a Grateful Dead tribute band, so accurately and knowingly do these clever New Yorkers emulate the country-inflected riffs of Garcia and Weir, but by the time of ‘Croz’ which ends side A we’re starting to drift into “spacerock” territory with the meandering melodies and infinite horizons suggested by these ingeniously interlaced guitar lines. Although it’s tempting to imagine a double LP of side-long pieces by this band, they fare better with short tracks and compacted ideas; then again, we have the 11-minute ‘Runnings (Out Of Dreams)’ which locks into an impressive syncopated groove for its second half, though Al Carlson’s irritating soprano sax doodlings don’t add very much to the collective effort. ‘Kabylian Peaks’ which closes the album is another highlight, showing how Seitang’s understated synth drones can really help to underpin the guitar escapades.

I see Rhyton have been active since 2011 and had a few releases for Thrill Jockey, even so arriving a little too late to ride the short-lived spacerock craze that was surfed by Magnog in the 1990s. Pleasant and melodic music, and expertly performed, if not especially challenging; I’d love to hear the band inject a shade more of the unknown into their journeys, aim for an all-out intergalactic odyssey of several lightyears, instead of these pleasure-jaunts to the Moon and back. From 30/06/2021.

Both the title track ‘Mother Universe’ and ‘Ostara’ both start out with mind-numbing analogue thuds and pulses, which gradually spread outwards like ripples in the time-space continuum, to reach their own sunlit brand of trance-induced euphoria. Keeping it simple, minimising musical notes played per square inch, endless repetitions; all these formulaic approaches are reaping dividends on this light-years away trip to Jupiter. What could have ended up as sluggish, murk-drenched drone is rescued by frequent (but slow-moving) changes in the processed guitar decorations and effects that Wright lets fall from his axe shaped like a space-rocket, while the oscillations and pulses keep the music firmly on course. Hill plays a bass and an old-school drum machine, so it might be the latter that’s working so hard in the engine room to deliver propulsive churns. This originally came as two separate CDRs on two micro-labels, Universal Tongue and Small Doses, in 2009. Not since Spacemen 3 has there been such a felicitous blending of Suicide electronics with psychedelic fretwork.

Second disc is entirely solo Wright material, just him, his guitar, his Moog and his voice…again, two separate CDRs Mechanical Elements and Woolgather Visions have been yoked together, joining recording sessions from 2008 and 2010. At times, with this solo set-up and his rather romantic titles, one is tempted to compare him to Bill Nelson and his numerous solo records, although that comparison only holds up for five mins. Here, once again monotony is the guiding force as these 15-minute drones unspool their mysterious fuzz with largely unvarying textures and infrequent interventions from the guitar; the first two are mostly showcases for the Moog, tuned to a rather sombre key of C, and refusing to budge from that root note. I am intrigued by a title like ‘Hexed By A Devil In The Cemetery’, a title which would be meat and drink to any Black Metal band or dungeon synth droner, but I’m not sensing much of an evil or supernatural vibe from this rather static plodder. Equally unvarying is ‘You And Your Dreamcatcher Should Take A Hike’, which shows Wright becoming rather entranced by harmonic intervals held for a very long time on the keys, without managing to achieve much sublimation thereby. Wright has a tendency to sometimes fill up the atmosphere and space with his playing, which is why ‘Neither Here Nor There (A Study)’ is something of a relief, with its spacious minimal approach, hesitant guitar figures, and sketched-in synth backdrops. I’m not sure what it’s a “study” of, unless it refers to an imaginary space in his own mind; he seems prepared to stay there all week, if necessary. From 19th April 2018.

Well, recently he formed a new group, The Mickey Guitar Band, and we have their latest album From the Beaches. I see that Rinji Fukuoka is a member – the fellow behind Pataphysique Records, often playing his violin and accompanying the French guitarist Michel Henritzi on numerous droney records, and the man behind Overhang Party (also on Tokyo Flashbacks, of course); this multi-talented fellow also drums, which is what he does here. Plus there’s Hiroshi Hasegawa on electronics, another famed figure in Japan, most famous for the noise projects Astro and C.C.C.C. What a line-up…of course From The Beaches (BAM BALAM RECORDS BBCD 067) is not a psych-noise record similar to those heard on those 1990s comps, nor is it wild noise of the sort that Astro used to emanate. Instead it’s rather laid-back, hazy-dreamy visions of a golden Californian coast experience that never really existed, expressed as layers of droney guitar space-rock and very cosmic synth-electronic sounds.

Well, you could use ‘Falling Star Beach’ to pass muster at the next Hawkwind soundalike rock festival (MGB have got that mindless monotony vibe down to a science), and ‘Stoner Beach’ is their attempt at melding a nasty Seattle-grunge guitar sound with a mellow beat, but mostly this is one for baking in the roasty sun while letting the crabs snip at your pectorals. It’s very interesting that they require pretty long durations to make these beachy statements…and field recordings play a part sometimes. With evocative titles like ‘Hazy Morning Beach’, which lasts 20:03, we could almost be hearing an “art” record of environmental immersiveness, rather than space-rock. And the closer tune ‘Midnight Beach’ is about as abstract as a carton full of colour-field paintings sent to MOMA by Ad Reinhart, full of nervous guitar scrapings and synths imitating the sound of the tide.

This mode all takes me back to other long-form Japanese bands who, following to some extent in the footsteps of Les Rallizes Denudes, slowed the music down to the pace of a fossilised snail trapped in a bucket of glue and created many interminable records of agonised bliss. For instance Tsurubami, Miminokoto, LSD-March, and Chouzu. However, The Mickey Guitar Band are better players, not as keen on lolling in the garage-vibe; and also not as self-conciously steeped in the hippy-cosmo vein as Acid Mothers Temple, who produced so much material they soon started to look like pastiche. In short this is a very good and original record; good work, Ken. From 26 June 2019.

Building Instrument are a Norwegian trio, mainly a vehicle for the vocal talents of Mari Kvien Brunvoll of Molde. We noted their 2014 debut album but I think we missed their 2016 follow-up. Mangelen Min (HUBRO HUBROCD2608) contains 12 more examples of their craft, sung and played by Mari with assist from Åsmund Weltzien on synths and electronics with drummer Øyvind Hegg-Lunde. Mari Kvien Brunvoll has grown into a festival favourite over the years, occupying some unique niche that appeals to lovers of folk and jazz, she has a way of winning over audiences, and has been nominated for a Grammy not long after release of her solo LP for Jazzland Recordings. I can see how these folk-inflected songs with their lush-electronica settings would prove popular, and there’s evidently a lot of heartfelt (or heart-warming) sentiment; I also greatly respect her decision not to sing in English, and I think her chosen tongue is a local dialect. (10/01/2019)

The CDR Saat Vapaat Kädet! (MAGMA TONES MGTN10) is a 2018 reissue of their debut from 2009; this reissue is only 20 copies, but if you think that’s small-run, try and find the 2009 original which was an edition of eight. The packaging here is very endearing in brown cardboard with hand-painted and xeroxed bits; even the disc is wrapped in a napkin. This one is less of a crowd-pleaser; and I liked it better than the balmy cassette. The sound is slightly more sinister, and the duo aren’t entirely sure where their explorations will take them, adding a genuinely experimental flavour to these sullen, growly drones. Track I is my fave so far in this “let’s get lost”’ vein, though Track II might appeal to more space cadets – it’s like a minimalist remake of Hawkwind, done by a covers band who are basing all their assumptions on the strength of a grungey bootleg audience recording. Many thanks to Jusso for sending these. From 31 October 2018.

Trees Speak are evidently influenced by 1970s Krautrock and contemporary guitar drone bands, and would like to be considered “experimental”; in some ways this music wouldn’t have sounded out of place on Harmony Of The Spheres, that box set that compiled droney guitar music from Bardo Pond, Roy Montgomery, Jessamine, and other psych-influenced space-rockers. But that was in 1999. Sorry to say that Trees Speak don’t really do much to advance any of these musical styles, and I found the whole record rather ordinary. On the first LP, there are 15 tracks featuring Daniel and Damian, joined by second guitarist Michael Glidewell; as he used to play in Black Sun Ensemble I was hoping he might inject a bit of fire and darkness into these studio sessions, but I was disappointed. These tracks feel like unfinished studio experiments, many of them lacking satisfying conclusions; the playing is competent enough, but not imaginative and lacks innovation; the sounds are mediocre, despite their avowed interest in the band being a “sound laboratory” and “creating a sonic environment”. Their studio experimentation lacks boldness, adventure; the use of echo and similar effects verges on the cliché. The use of a Numbers Station sample on one track is one noticeable gaffe.

The second LP is taken up with a continuous suite of noodling music, called ‘Shadow Circuit’ and presented in two halves. Here the band are joined by guitarist Connor Gallaher, bassist Gabriel Sullivan, and drummer Julius Schlossburg takes over on the kit. About half of it is cosmic space-drifting with electronic enhancement, the other half is driving up-tempo rock in the Hawkwind mode (and might qualify them for inclusion on a guest spot on a Sulatron Records release). If I had to choose I would say this music at least has a little more drive to it than the sketchier LP 1, perhaps because there are more players in the room and together the personnel manage to fulfil the aim of “spontaneity” which appears to be one motivating force behind Trees Speak. They are at some pains to emphasize that they never rehearse anything and use the studio to capture the energy of the music as it emerges, to “capture a magical moment”. Even so, ‘Shadow Circuit’ has evidently been stitched together from a number of sessions to form a continuous suite. Nothing wrong with doing that (after all that’s how Pink Floyd assembled ‘Echoes’ and many other records too, probably); they admit to using the mixing desk to edit and assemble, but in their notes they have the hubris to compare that process to the work of Holger Czukay and Teo Macero, while I’m afraid they lack the radical ideas of either creator.

I think Trees Speak have it in them to make a punchier recorded statement, if they could hone their playing skills a bit more and waste less time in the studio; spontaneity is good, but I’m looking for more tension, passion, and original ideas. Full marks for the packaging on this one, and not the world’s worst debut, but the music is largely mediocre. From 4th June 2018.

If soundtrack imitation is indeed the game at hand, Lamanna shines best on the B side, where the tunes feel more polished and arranged, and are aided by two guest musicians which really fill out the stark sound without over-egging the zabaglione; I mean the electric guitar of Manuele Frau on ‘Mai Piu Come Prima’, and especially the flute of Luca Spagnoletti on ‘Futuro Domani’. This track is the one to spin to your soundtrack-collector buddies in a blindfold test, and watch them trip up as they try and assign a date and place to the track. The four cuts on the A side, which is Luciano with his modular synth, Juno-6, Oberheim and various effects, feel unfinished in comparison – but still retain a certain diagrammatic charm. The “dystopian science fiction” theme (drawing from books by Philip K. Dick and William Gibson) feels a bit over-played by now, but the cover art kinda dovetails with the idea, flashing the sort of op-art colours you might have seen if you were a character in Logan’s Run before Michael York shot you down. LP is pressed in white vinyl.

From same label, a solo record called Symphony for the Intergalactic Brotherhood (BORING MACHINES BM087) by Paolo Monti appearing here as The Star Pillow. Here the science-fiction aspect takes a vaguely “cosmic” turn, and the music suggests Monti would have been happy joining a covers band where the printed advert stated “must have complete set of Tangerine Dream and Popol Vuh LPs”. Monti is also a member of the quasi-occultist trio Daimon, whose creepster drones have been entertaining us for some time – last heard on their rather good 2018 LP Dust. However, he’s been doing the Star Pillow thing since 2007, sometimes with Federico Gerini, and there are a number of LPs for Midira, Setola Di Maiale and Time Released Sound for those who require more of this guitar-based ambient drone.

Unsurprisingly, he’s been invited to score indie movie soundtracks, and has done many live performances with his setup which evidently involves a fair number of effects boxes. Here, there are three long pieces of which the side-long ‘From Dust To Stars’ is probably the most effective; slow and lugubrious (like all the music here), but with a certain fascination to be found within the processed cosmic clouds of amplified strums and picks. In fine, he sounds like an entire army of musicians playing rusty metal cellos. Using simple repeated figures and short tunes, he mesmerises the listener and adds increased layers of fuzz, phase and echo as he goes along. This same technique, pretty much, is what he employs on ‘An Intergalactic Handshake’. On ‘My Dear Elohim’, Paolo reveals his predilection for tunes that are vaguely “gothic” in flavour, by which I mean they would be ideal for a 1960s horror movie featuring old castles, musty libraries, and thick velvet drapes lit by candlelight. So, while the intention was to send a message of “welcome space brothers” to alien civilisations, instead I hear something fit to invoke an unwanted visitation from a character penned by J.S. Le Fanu, bandaged up and wearing a nightcap.

Both the above vinyl LPs from 11 June 2018.