On Louis Schumacher’s second release as Jiang XiaMeng, he aims to “take onkyo and noise from their usual contexts and place them in the mundane world.” This is accomplished via the duality found on both tracks, each composed of extended field recordings and active improvisations using the components described in the album’s title. The contrast achieved is an interesting one. On “真っ白,” impossibly thin feedback loops and the quiet use of objects form unique harmonies with the sounds of people entering and exiting a library, while “真っホワイト” sees much noisier mixer and pedal manipulation placed atop a recording of a busy road at night. These juxtapositions are odd, to be sure, but also fascinating and pretty. There are subtle similarities to be found here: the opening and closing of the metal door on “真っ白” bears resemblance to the mechanical feedback, and the artificial whooshings of “真っホワイト” are not unlike the distant sound of the cars passing by. It’s an unlikely result that gives the album a charm despite its obstinance, and allows even the most unusual and difficult sounds to have their own beauty.

Un punto donde todo se desvanece is an album that toys with beauty, teasing you with moments of gorgeousness amidst tension and darkness before they dissolve and you’re left wanting so much more. While the first two tracks eventually reward patience with majestic climaxes, the third, “El llamado imperceptible,” works magic through tantalization. Its airy choral samples and distant electronic flairs expand and contract with amazing ease, with brief respites in anticipation only occasionally granted throughout its extended length; a structure that somehow makes it even more sublime than the wonderful songs that preceded it. Argentinian musician Dyb displays a tremendous patience and compositional skill on Un punto donde todo se desvanece; this is music that really takes its time, but at nearly an hour in length it doesn’t even feel very long. Nothing feels forced or pushed along faster than it needs to be, but nothing overstays its welcome either. It’s a fantastic release from this promising artist, from whom I would definitely love to hear more in the future.

Anything involving the passage of time through the four seasons inevitably reminds me of one of my favorite movies: Kim Ki-Duk’s masterful Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring. While The Nightfall and Naviar Records in general are more concerned with the connection between Japanese haiku and music, and the aforementioned movie is about Buddhist monks in Korea, I view their portrayals of the seasons to be quite similar. Ristić, a Serbo-Croatian sound artist whose previous release Fairy & the River Teeth was reviewed here last February, weaves together a variety of sound elements to create immersive, poetic interpretations of each season. Like nature itself, these pieces are beautiful and detailed, yet unwavering; they pass without concern for anything else present, a passive backdrop. Sure, I can sit and listen; thunder rumbles in the distance, birds chirp and children play, the faint rustle of leaves in the wind touches my ears… but The Nightfall gives the unique sensation that it would all still be happening even if I wasn’t around to experience it. This approach bears similarity to that of Kim’s film, where nature is a rewarding but impartial force, sometimes comforting and others terrifying, the only consistency being the steady, unyielding passage of time.

Amuleto’s third album, Misztériumok, continues the duo’s explorations in unique blends of electronics, acoustic instruments, and recorded sound. Expansive drones are forged from resonant strings and sputtering manipulations, seamlessly moving between beauty and intense, primordial darkness. There never seems to be a ton of things going on at once, but every moment is thick and lush; even on closing track “Nebeltanz,” when a single droning cello and occasional bassy clunks are the only elements present, there is a pronounced, warm density to the music. It’s hard to tell whether these pieces were improvised or composed; I would guess a combination of both, because each track is very fluid and free-form but the overall movement and dynamics seem more tightly controlled. Regardless, Amuleto members Francesco Dillon and Riccardo Wanke demonstrate their abilities as masterful sonic craftsmen, layering sound objects in just the right way to conjure a vivid atmosphere. The musicians were apparently inspired by photographs from early twentieth century Europe, and their depiction of “an ephemeral serenity with an imminent sense of crisis and loss”; a profound, intangible state that is somehow evoked equally well by the music on Misztériumok.

There’s a reason a lot of hardcore “full-length” albums are very short. It’s difficult to maintain such a high energy level for so long; and on the listener’s end, that many breakneck tempos, blast beats, and screamed vocals in one sitting can be exhausting. Scottish band Sectioned, however, apparently doesn’t give a fuck about any of those reasons, and for that I am grateful. Their debut LP Annihilation is 42 minutes of ruthless, pounding mathcore, full of angular guitar work, infectious breakdowns, and some of the heaviest drums I’ve ever heard. Vocalist Jamie Christ is also a highlight, his guttural shouts rivaling everything else in the mix. The pace of this thing is absolutely relentless; it’s established from the get-go and never lets up. Some of the breakdowns let up on the assault somewhat, but you’ll probably be too busy headbanging like a madman to notice. Writing it all out here, it really doesn’t seem like Annihilation has the right to be as long as it is, but I really couldn’t imagine it any other way. The well-integrated noisy electronic textures help out in this area too, adding variety but never seeming out of place (excluding the bizarre beat tacked on the end of “Starved Lives,” which actually somehow works). I really can’t believe this is the band’s first full-length because it is so well put together and cohesive. It just came out today and is already a contender for my favorite hardcore album of the year, and even my favorite in general. So don’t let the length discourage you; check it out!

The two sides of Tokoshie No Oto are both very different approaches to composition using found sound, and both are done very well. Xtematic’s “Silens – 28.4.2016” was put together from field recordings he made in a shoe factory, but the source material is mostly unrecognizable, twisted and contorted into rhythmic techno beats. Though the unique process used to produce the track – and most likely the following “Assemblement” as well – is largely obscured by the final product, the pieces still have a uniquely enigmatic element to them that would not be found if a less adventurous technique was used. In contrast, Kazuya Ishigami’s contribution, “Drone Shrine,” largely makes its origins clear. The constant chirping of crickets, deep cavernous yawns, and electric crackles form a track that sounds exactly like the title; a mysterious, decrepit soundscape steeped in forgotten memories and displaced souls. While I enjoyed Ishigami’s side more, both artists brought great things to the table, and it is always pleasing to see the principles of musique concrète still being explored and expanded.

At the Still Point of the Turning World establishes tension from the very beginning. An ominous lone bass drum pulse is the only sound heard at the start of “Neither Flesh Nor Fleshless,” before it is joined by bursts of skin crawling strings. When piercing, Tilbury-esque chords and shifting noises enter the fray, I find myself deeply immersed and waiting for a satisfying release of the tension – but it never comes. This trend continues throughout the album, as Gama and Fernandes stack layers of dissonance upon each other, so much so at some points that the song seems too strained to stay together. The only catharsis obtained on At the Still Point of the Turning World is a frustrating one; it’s satisfying to witness the meticulous constructions decay and fall apart, but you’d expect at least one epic climax. That’s the thing, though – Gama and Fernandes have no interest in doing what’s expected, and it is this that makes the record as tantalizing as it is. Don’t get me wrong, there are moments I would call beautiful, especially the lush harmonies used on “Perpetual Possibility”; but ultimately it is these talented musicians’ admirable patience and reservations that keeps me coming back.

Élg’s Vu Du Dôme is an truly unique album. Taking a very different direction from Laurent Gérard’s already diverse body of work, Vu Du Dôme is sculpted from heavily manipulated acoustic sounds that pile on top of each other in bright, colorful collages. Gérard’s full, Chanson-esque vocals and lyrics are also a significant element, with the bizarre electronics shaping themselves into something more organized and rhythmic every time he sings. From what I understand, the lyrics are part intelligible French and part nonsense, exploring both denotative and more syllabic, sound-focused approaches to poetry. As you can probably tell, this is an ambitious record, and covers a ton of ground in its 30 short minutes, but feels totally complete and contained. Gérard forges the most successful balance between abstractness and pure, joyful fun, making Vu Du Dôme a record that I imagine everyone can appreciate.

Vu Du Dôme is available on streaming services, and the physical version can be purchased here.

It doesn’t take a lot of deductive reasoning to gather that You Sound Like a Broken Record was made by manipulating and sampling recorded material. But sound artist Paul Nataraj has a much more unique methodology behind the music on this album. He interviewed fourteen volunteers, who each brought a single LP that was personally significant to them. Nataraj then meticulously carved the participant’s stories onto the records they donated, poetically immortalizing them onto the medium which made the impact in the first place. The carved records were then used in the fourteen compositions found on the album. Predictably, the source material is oftentimes heavily obscured, but there are also times when each LP’s original contents surface amidst Nataraj’s abstract cut-up collages, a unique coexistence of old and new. As someone who has a very personal relationship with the music I listen to, You Sound Like a Broken Record has a concept that hits close to home, and I’m sure many of you share this with me.