The French avant-garde quartet, four years in, improvising with instruments from Western, African, Middle-Eastern, and Far-Eastern cultures. Recorded for Futura in 1971, this is their sole album. “We just wanted the sound, the raw sound-texture, before being treated and shaped by any cultural code.”

‘Heartbreaking clarity and economy of expression… to the accompaniment of pianist Iyer’s wistful melodic fragments and pregnant clusters. Smith can project a tender fragility through a single lingering note, reminiscent of Miles at his most thoughtful and noirish circa Ascenseur Pour L’Echafaud’ (The Wire).

Eight charged, intimate meditations by Julie Normal and Olivier Demeaux, playing a rickety ondes Martenot and an old church harmonium.
Gripping, detailed, stately improvisation — a bit like the ùrlars in classical bagpipe music — which nervily mixes the sternly doom-laden with precarious, other-worldly wonderment.
(The ondes Martenot is an amazing twentieth-century instrument — beloved by Messiaen, for example, and Varese. The theme-song of Star Trek is a vocal forgery of its sound. ‘J’aime cette fragilité qui côtoie la capacité de te décoller le tympan sur certaines fréquences inopinément,’ says Julie. ‘Je tiens une bombe dans les mains. J’aime son instabilité, son humanité.’)
Wood, breath, blood, eggshells… on the night of a purple moon.
Very warmly recommended.

Samo lived in Hong Kong for a bit. He rescued a dog and brought him back to Stockholm. He skates but that’s not him on the front. He put together one of the best very records on LIES but this four-tracker kills it dead. Ben UFO’s been rinsing it. The dog’s name is Denzil.

None other than Blawan on his lonesome ownsome — after collaborations with Pariah as Karenn, and Surgeon as Trade — returning to the blood-drenched scene of his heinous Why They Hide Their Bodies.
New name, new sound; heavier and slower than his Ternesc output. The title track is the banger. Acid techno — deliberate, widescreen and ominous.

A cosmic, percussive jam and bitter-sweet electroid house — both veering sharply into dark, steely, dubwise self-harm. Allegedly the fiftieth utterance of our favourite dance music label in the world. Hats off! More worries!

Improvisations between Greenberger reading texts from his massive archive of old people’s testimony, Jones playing banjo and guitar, Corsano on drums.
‘Despite the dark and sad feeling of some of the texts (dealing with aging, memory loss etc), there is also humor, joy and grit. The album is a rollercoaster of emotions, a glittering patchwork of sonic atmospheres and an oral encyclopedia on dozens of subjects, like coffee, cigarettes, planets, art ... life ... and death.’

You can’t make sense of this, clicking through mp3s, on tin-pan computer speakers. Put the record on, though, and set the controls for the heart of the bloke next door, and it’s terrific. The drum-less, throbbing, droning, wailing, sawing, twinkling reconnaissance of Nothing, with massive, unnerving swoops, throttling and surges.
Beatrice Dillon and Kassem Mosse.
Great photos by Anne Tetzlaff on the sleeve.

Terrific excursion on the great Sleepy/Santic/Rockers Problems rhythm, by the Maytones’ Vernon Buckley, with a knockout dub.
Pure vibes. Bim.