PABLO PICCO “The Bombastic and Repetitive Sound of Tashi Ling Buddhas in Pokhara, Nepal” C40 (More Mars)


Pablo Picco, of Argentinian outfit Bardo Todol, traveled to Nepal and did some field recording there. He recorded chants and other indigenous performances and here presents them as an ethnological exhibit, much like Alan Lomax did with folk music back in the early twentieth century. Side A is reserved for voices, as chants and throat singing featured in a Buddhist ceremony make for a mesmerizing experience before fading into a different ceremony, one with a bit more percussion. Side B includes recordings from a “river, caves, and a wedding band,” and showcases the fascinating trademarks of a full-fledged musical experience from a culture that I’m not terribly familiar with. (Maybe I should change that.) The droning chants once again return by the end of side B.

And this is just a taste – Picco and companion María Victoria Arener filmed their experience traveling through Buddhist sites and released it as a film called Kalinga Uktal. I think it’s time to dig a little deeper.




--Ryan

ILLUSTRATEUR “Tonalism” C30 (self-released)


Asheville. North Carolina. Illustrateur makes with the drone; Illustrateur makes with the ambient noise. Originally released for “Noize Fest 2019/Burger Records Revolution 7” (ew), the tape itself is long sold out, so don’t hurt yourself trying to find a copy. Maybe Discogs has your back. Or maybe Discogs has turned its back on you. You never know with Discogs.

Tonalism presents long-form dronalism, with snippets of sound of course. A piano appears through the crispy static; the sources warp in and out. A track like “Dirge” subverts convention and hits you with a bombast of sonic gravel. A track like “As the boulder breaks into feathers/The Glass Princess weeps” sounds exactly like a boulder shattering, becoming feathers, and a weeping Glass Princess. Well, in a sort of representative way, anyway.


--Ryan

JOSHUA AARON “Thick Skin Vol. 1” C40 (Flophouse)


You need thick skin if you’re going to do this. You can’t have people like me – “critics” – harshing the buzz of creativity and bringing you down before you even have a chance to get going. So Joshua Aaron is ready for me – he’s pretty much ready for anything on his Flophouse debut, Thick Skin Vol. 1. Does he need to be? Probably not. I’m in a pretty good mood, so I’m feeling pretty generous about the words I’m going to dole out to him. Plus his tape is a solid blast throughout.

Each side contains a 20-minute sculpture, synths and samples processed to a darkly psychedelic extreme, like a black-on-black lava lamp in the throes of demise by cheese grater. Each manic session captures Aaron at peak paranoia, his wordless voice a chanted OM conjuring magical defense. I’m white-knuckling it even in the more subdued passages, because I know there’s a tension that’s bound to arise at any moment, and it invariably does. But the ride is the key feature here, and there’s no telling where Thick Skin is going to go at any time. You just gotta be ready for whatever comes.



--Ryan

TYRESTA “Always Ending” C40 (Otherworldly Mystics)


A steady arpeggio initiates Always Ending, punctuated by delayed notes like raindrops on a pond that ripple and fade as the forward momentum of “Slip Away” continues unabated, constant. It’s a funny way to think about concept of Always Ending, these blips that appear and disappear throughout the unending chug of progress. Maybe their exit is the intended focus, but if it’s a repeated exit, then there’s a repeated entrance, yes? Always Ending thus introduces itself in cycle, a vision of finality through the lens of continuous generation.

And it tricks you into the zone. That arpeggio becomes a soothing foundation on which to build (or to rest), but you gotta let it do its thing after you notice it so clearly at first. And that’s what Tyresta, aka Nick Turner, is good at: creating instantly recognizable features and allowing them to metamorphose throughout their runtimes into immersive experiences. As such, Always Ending almost feels like a long fadeout, each track coming across as the beginning of the denouement, ready to let its identity blend with the mist and fade into nothingness. But not before making a mark first, oh no! By the time the damaged-pixel synth of the title track is ready to buoy us into the beyond at tape’s end, Always Ending has already impressed itself upon your psyche and your soul, and it sticks with you as a calming presence. It’s in your mind, ready to start up that ending all over again, whenever you want it to.



--Ryan

MORE EAZE “Mari” (Orange Milk)


There’s never a dull moment when it comes to a More Eaze tape. The Austin-based electronic composer/producer/musician has dropped some of my favorite releases when it comes to the tape game, and I’ve been covering it for a while now. So each new release is a sit-up-take-notice type of thing for me, and Mari is no exception. The semi-self-titled record by Mari Maurice, the mind behind the Eaze, twinkles with self-confidence and elfin mischief, like Pop Rocks fizzing in a ginger ale – again, a trait I’d often ascribe to More Eaze’s work.

This time, though, is a little different. I’m used to the splatter approach, where melodies and textures come at you at a breakneck pace, only to resolve themselves the more you listen to them – a result of automatic writing. This is not an unusual practice within the Orange Milk stable, but More Eaze has always been able to do this with a deftness and dexterity that allows for quick immersion and a more instantaneous gratification. For Mari, More Eaze dips a toe into the frantic world of PC Music, who specialize in a “hyperproduced” brand of pop. The comparisons aren’t immediate, as it takes until track 4 “t34rz” and track 5 “i don’t want it” to truly stack up against PC. Of course we get a stutter-start before these two with “progress in therapy,” a glitchfest featuring percussionist Claire Rousay, which turns out to be surprisingly tuneful given Rousay’s more abstract, freeform work.

Rousay isn’t the only guest on Mari – Diamondsoul makes an appearance, as does Amulets on “gender dysphoria trauma bonding.” Transitioning and identity are distinct themes throughout Mari, which celebrates More Eaze’s own transitional period. Indeed, Maurice’s voice plays a huge role, a much greater one than on previous albums, and it’s a welcome inclusion. Cloaked in effects and accompanied by a rich variety of sound sources, Maurice’s singing emerges as an element intertwined perfectly and appropriately with its surroundings. Digital meets flesh and blurs into itself throughout Mari, highlighting the impossibility of separating one from the other. I think that’s just how it’s supposed to be on this one.



--Ryan