Ljudverket celebrates its tenth release with this characteristically skilled, open-air blend of field recordings and organic, dubwise techno in the tradition of Basic Channel, filled with keen senses of its own particular natural terrains and atmospheres.
‘The thunder and rain of Bas Emfas passes to blue skies above shimmering water, in Luminös Klang. The cerebral jam Konflux Sekvens gives way to the deep emotions of Sonisk Morgonsyn, to close the journey.’
Hyvää syntymäpäivää.

‘Recorded across East London, South-East Kent and Snaresbrook Crown Court during what is described as “the UK media’s attempt at divining integrity from the orchestrated turbulence of Brexit”, with the record setting out to “juggle the documentation of this particular moment with the desire to discern motivation from despair”. World In Action takes in field recordings, woodwind freakouts and percussion from Valentina Magaletti amongst other elements’ (The Quietus).

With ERP and Convextion remixes!

Heartically dubwise, rugged and raw essays in classic grime, UK garage and dubstep from a new London-Berlin collaboration, with stuff like Horsepower’s In Fine Style galloping through its nervous system.

Up from down under, following crucial releases on his own Body Language imprint, LJ shifts gears and steers his intricate sound-world — torn between house and ambient, with Larry Heard’s Alien LP coursing through — into deeper, more techno-infused waters.
Watch out for The Centre Of Time, evoking over its twenty minutes both the arctic vapour of Vletrmx21-vintage Autechre and the expansiveness of Vangelis in full flight.
Next-level stuff from Berceuse Heroique.

A stirring, percussive four-tracker. Wintry and submersible; smudged with mist, then silvered and clear as a bell, by turns. Bitten Dream is dark, atmospheric, hypnotic; Via Tekh summons vintage Objekt; Shrine despatches twisted 8-bit granularity into early Livity Sound and Carrier territory; lulling, ambient Catharsis lets go.

‘Imagine the opposite of a snake shedding its skin: slithering among the debris of 21st-century music, a porous body, its viscid skin picking up bits and pieces along the way. Rusty, discarded remnants; scraps. Amongst them the jewels of crowns, unglued and fallen from grace, now recovered by this makeshift form. Where does a body end? Does it end where these prostheses begin?
‘This Soma — ‘body’ in Greek — is a palimpsest. Up close you can trace all sorts of DNA microarrays across its surface. Bristol voices, Detroit electro hums, the amen break, an all-encompassing dub haze. As with all palimpsests, they are simultaneously one and a multitude. The body lives, its prostheses live. The body moves.’ 

A new label from Stefan Schwander (out of Harmonious Thelonious) and his mate, cooked up during their deejay sets at the Salon Des Amateurs in Dusseldorf.
Johenson chips in an infectious, glitchily dubwise, somewhat sacrilegious crossing of ska and Rhythm & Sound.
On the flip, Leroy Versions clops squelchingly East, bleeping and bubbling, with minor keys and stately, trombone-led brass.
Good fun and beautiful looking, too.

Bumpin’ citizen JFM knocks back some bleep before trumping his FXHEs with two sides of rough, get-loose house like we like it. Warmly recommended.

A new album by one half of the mighty Pilotwings crew. Guillaume Lespinasse convenes a sublimely alluring, ambient seance, invoking the spirits of Jon Hassell and Terry Riley, as befits the soundtrack of a dreamt Jacques Rivette movie. Imagine an impossible, questing collaboration between Les Disques Du Crepuscule and deep ECM. Imagine the long-awaited return of Berceuse Heroique and pinch yourself.

Baby Whale doses a cross between classic Chicago house and E2-E4 with a no-prisoners boogie bassline and piano chords glistering in from Rimini. JV’s signature spaced-out production assures a head-turning dancefloor banger for the 4am crew.
Adam & Eve is an intriguing mix of exotica and Arthur Russell. ‘The sound of Matisse,’ says the label.

Pure worries from Leipzig — three club burners steeped in Detroit traditions, distilling the explorations in collective, nervy hypnosis of KM live sets. As the music slowly unfurls, there he is at every turn, subtly tweaking its parameters, redistributing its weight, pricking its grooves into a state of utterly infectious perpetual movement.
The two visions of Chilazon track opposite pathways: the first is twelve minutes of gorgeous, dubwise, aquatic techno, spattered with kicks and razor-sharp hi-hats, and smeared with ghostly echoes; then a terse mesh of broken drums, escalating to a quiet yet feverishly intense peak. Lanthanum is calligraphic swordplay, its toms and bass stabs warily circling one another in a graceful steppers’ dance, spaced-out and fathoms-deep.

Fierce, subtle music, radically strange and unafraid of the deep, but with a killer understanding of rhythm. Lush drum-machine nocturnes, gnarly electronica and glorious flowerings of zoned-out dubspace: an evolutionary music, continuously engaged with experimentation both in the studio and the club.
Whether prepared solo, or jointly with his spar Mix Mup, a Kassem Mosse recording is less of a stand-alone creation than the next thrilling installment of an unstoppable groove. True to form, Disclosure dazzlingly extends some of the most mystical, essential dancefloor-rooted music of the last decade, from dusty, dream-state techno on Workshop and Mikrodisko, to frazzled beatdowns on Trilogy Tapes and Nonplus.
Pedigree techno and house are the lifeblood of Disclosure, yet with something newly microscopic about them. Its mesmerising juggle of pointillistic percussion, melting-wax chords and fleshy bump’n’grind suggests biological processes at work, as if Mosse has zoomed right into the cellular metabolism ticking away at the core of the music.
These textures are woven into some of KM’s richest and most emotionally complex material so far, constantly enlivened by forays into jazz, dub and beyond. Check the farty-bottom, broken-down, steel-pan minimalism of Collapsing Dual Core, just the job for coursing around Detroit in a car at night; and Phoenicia Wireless’ dastardly, intricate combination of glowering John Carpenter synths, heavy static and junked consoles on remote, as if the beats are fighting a wave of dirt, soot and fossilisation. The frantic, interstella tarantella of Galaxy Series 7; the wonky bump-and-hustle and heavy-lidded drama of Purple Graphene, to close.
Expertly pieced-together and paced, Disclosure brilliantly registers all the self-contained coherence and artistic authority of an album proper, yet shadowed throughout by the open-ended and questing spirit so vital to Mosse’s music. Its intimate enactments of non-closure, and its sense that anything could happen at any moment; its thematic play between excess and incompleteness, babble and tongue-tied stutter, and-you-don’t-stop grooving and entropy, wobble and the pause-button.
Trash and ready in a spiffy Bankhead sleeve, too.
Double bim. Bim, bim.

Sparky, engaging, inventive kitchen wave — on a mission to connect with you, cheer you up, and make you dance — rolling into TTT by way of Incienso and Workshop.

Also check out Kiki’s online cooking programmes and get pickling.

The Bristolian bad boy, ex of Skudge and R-Zone, touting a blazing cocktail of acid mayhem and Wormhole-era Ed Rush. Other bad influences, by turn: Bunker and mid-90s Metalheadz; the tension and darkness of Torque; the Vangelis whoosh.