On their new album, Philadelphia electronic duo Metasplice deals in cerebral, high-frequency warbles and damaged rhythms. Mirvariates is certainly a noisy album, with its piercing glitches and distorted rumbles, but it clearly has more goals in mind than aggression and harsh textures. It has those things too, however; opening track “Cirrension” is a swirling range of metallic timbres, an abstract wall of sound whose oscillating tones and mechanical groans shift lazily along a liquid current. Even here, when Mirvariates is at its least structured, the muffled, woozy rhythms that ground everything are present; and they only become more apparent as the record progresses. After the breathtaking “Vase Weight Re-Route,” middle tracks “Aridtaq” and “Subaltic Render” present a less violent approach, with much of the distortion absent in favor of drifting synth clouds. Metasplice have achieved something really special with this balance between calm and confrontation, and it’s what makes Mirvariates that much more diverse and immersive, even with its already captivating arsenal of textures.

Attilio Novellino and Collin McKelvey come together once again to create an ambitious album of disjoint electronic collages. Metaphysiques Cannibales, their second collaborative release after their Hypehunt split series cassette, is a haphazard amalgam of an impressive range of sounds. The pair utilizes granular synthesis and other techniques to process instruments, tape recordings, and synthesizers, creating cryptic and complex sonic mixtures. Overlooking the insufferably pretentious description of these processes on the album’s Bandcamp page, the results materialize in truly unexpected and amazing ways. Part I begins with cut up stutter-steps of noisy contortions and travels through a whirlwind of unpredictable maneuvers before culminating in a beautiful ambient passage, whose unceremonious disintegration ends the piece. Part II is more subtle, building from foggy synth frequencies to lethargic, swirling frequencies that lift to reveal mechanical recordings and a distant speech sample. The conclusion of this part is my favorite part of the record, and sees distorted keyboard chords battling with oscillating noises and disturbing background sounds that resemble the gurgles of some horrible monster. I don’t think Metaphysiques Cannibales is as complex as the creators and/or label think, but it’s definitely incredible and is one of the most fulfilling releases I’ve heard this year.

Whenever I listen to a new black metal demo or album, I always feel a certain apprehension before the vocals come in. At least for me, this is the element that can make or break a band for me, especially in this type of music because I consider them to be one of the most important parts of building the depressive atmosphere that I look for. Thankfully, when the desperate, throaty screams of guitarist John Gossard enter the fray on Enantiodromian Birth, it’s one of the demo’s most powerful moments. Together with the fluid blasting and doomy amblings of the drums, the muddy distortion on the guitars, and the pestilent, rotting aura that presides over the whole tape, Dispirit succeeds in constructing an overwhelming darkness. Each of the two tracks will take up a full side of the pro-pressed cassette (the version available now is a self-pressed C60), but there’s no dragging indulgence to be found. “Besotted by Feral Whims” progresses purposefully from its sludgy intro to its desolate middle section and finally to a driving, almost melodic climax, while “Golden Scar” focuses more on repetition, expanding on a tense halftime double bass riff throughout; and neither track feels anywhere near their twenty-plus minute durations. Overall, Enantiodromian Birth is a fantastic release, and while it could have used a better mastering job I’m hoping we’ll get that with the pro-pressed version.

Matchess, also known as composer and singer Whitney Johnson, has created a reserved yet deceptively powerful album with Sacracorpa. She layers her delicate, hazy vocals over minimal electronic percussion and sweeping synthesizers, yielding a sweetly hypnotic effect; from the very first minutes the music gently takes your hand and leads you on a peaceful journey through the clouds. Despite its dreamlike blissfulness and immersion, Sacracorpa is more sparse than lush. Every single one of the few elements that are present feels necessary and important, from the soft pulses of rhythm to the new-agey synths and even occasional nature recordings, and this purposeful simplicity is what makes the music so profoundly intimate. Johnson describes the music as being “dedicated to the healing love of women,” and though I and many other listeners may not be women it is impossible not to feel the love she has so reverently embedded within it. Sacracorpa is modest, wispy, even reticent, but it’s also one of the most emotionally resonant records I have encountered this year. Every listen is like a warm hug from a special someone, a bundle of comforters after a long walk through snow… it’s been a long time since music has brought me this particular type of happiness.

The only thing that does a better job of crafting a vivid environment than the title of Alison Cotton’s new album is the music itself. All Is Quiet at the Ancient Theatre is a mysterious, spacious album; one of the first things I noticed is the cavernous, reverb-filled production, which frames the sounds throughout in much the same way as I imagine a high-ceilinged, shadowy, dusty chapel would. Cotton’s drones, played on viola, recorder, and her own voice, ring out through the darkness, coexisting with the weighty silence as they materialize and dissipate. The compositions are lushly layered but not in a boring way; instead of simply piling each note and instrument on top of each other, Cotton operates each element individually, bringing them in and out separately to create shifting complexity with only a few components. The album is only about 35 minutes, and it’s over way too soon. I felt myself wanting Cotton to utilize her powerful voice more; the mainly vocal piece “The Bells of St. Agnes” and the latter part of the eponymous opener are hands down the record’s best moments, and they introduced a great contrast without disrupting the hypnotic atmosphere. Regardless, All Is Quiet at the Ancient Theatre is a fantastic solo effort, capturing both the majesty of an orchestra and the intimacy of a single performer.

On this self-titled debut tape from Ontario duo (ph)authers, tension is built and released with masterful ears. They craft delicate but substantial pieces from field recordings, synth and guitar ambiance, even the occasional bowing of string instruments, and the dynamic movement this palette creates is breathtaking. The tape is barely twenty-five minutes long, but at its end I felt contentment and closure rather than dissatisfaction at its short duration. This is largely due to the careful dynamic structure previously mentioned; (ph)authers have managed to cultivate an incredibly natural gait within their music, both tracks ambling along at a comfortable but deliberate pace, ebbing and flowing and rising and sinking in the way only great ambient music can. With this stuff it’s sometimes easy to fall into the trap of predictability, but thankfully that hasn’t happened here. (ph)authers forego constant crescendos and cheesy climaxes in favor of organic drifts and more reserved catharsis, a perfect example of the latter being the soft recording of rainfall that emerges at the end of “Beneath the Tide;” certainly much more effective and impacting than any cliches I could think of. (ph)authers is a debut release that displays the thoughtfulness and skill of a much longer-running project, so needless to say I am excited for what the duo comes up with next.

When Charles Barabé reached out to Austin, TX label Astral Spirits about releasing something for them, he described the recordings that would become De la fragilité as “something like a new turn in my work… and it’s quite different from what I release in the past…” Unsurprisingly, Barabé is quite correct in his assessment of his own art, and De la fragilité is quite a departure from the MIDI electronics of Les dernières confessions and even the lively collage work found on both Cicatrices releases. Instead, it seems to be more informed by contemporary classical, both by the abstract sonorities of serialism and the synthetic contortions of early musique concrète, but as always the overall style is unique to Barabé. The six movements make use of a wide range of sounds, with Mouvement III delving into manipulated choral passages and Mouvement V mixing low rumbles with sparse string plucks, but everything is unified by the consistent piano chords that provide both tension and resolution throughout the album. As someone who wasn’t a huge fan of either of the aforementioned previous Barabé releases, De la fragilité is the first instance of me truly connecting with his music, and I am excited to see where he goes next.

The mind-numbing ennui of a corporate office workplace is reshaped and manipulated to yield unexpected beauty on Andrew Fogarty and David Lacey’s new collaborative tape The Wig. Mostly composed of recordings collected via “ingenious subversion” on company time, the two artists stitch together the mundane and dubious sounds of copiers, printers, shuffling boxes, and others I can’t place, using synthetic tones and crackles as needle and thread. While the unremarkable origin of the recordings is, in my opinion, crucial to the final product’s strange appeal, each sound is merely an ingredient, used on equal footing with the others to create unpredictable texture collages. It’s this coexistence of method that makes Fogarty and Lacey’s approach interesting, not really neatly fitting into either the principles of musique concrète or the area of field recording exploration. But, of course, uniqueness is never almost never a bad thing, and I’d say that the inscrutability of The Wig is what will bring many back for repeated listens, as we try to unravel these mysterious sounds.

The most beloved, enduring producer/rapper hip-hop duos are the ones whose members bring out the best in each other. With their debut self-titled record as Marlowe, Solemn Brigham and L’Orange have joined the greatest of these, and I couldn’t imagine a better pairing for both of these artists. Despite the difference in experience – L’Orange has been actively producing for over seven years, and this is the first full-length release on which Brigham has appeared – both work together to create something greater than either could have accomplished on their own. From the very beginning, Marlowe is playful and theatrical, but in an abstract way; Brigham’s messages are heavily veiled in his cryptic, cascading bars, and the occasional crackle-marred sample interjections don’t further illuminate anything. But I prefer it this way. There are few things I dislike more in hip-hop than annoying transparency, and I love the fact that I have to actively try to figure this record out. I recognize that not everyone shares this opinion, and the fact that Marlowe is just as strange in style means it’s probably not for everyone – but those who will like it will really like it. Brigham’s droning, monotone delivery is perfect atop L’Orange’s dynamic and driving beats, with both always pushing each song along at a meditative pace. I found myself bobbing my head similarly to when I listen to Neu! or Boredoms, and I’m grateful that I’ve finally found a hip-hop record with this sort of rhythmically hypnotic effect. The skits are short, entertaining, nondisruptive; the pacing perfect; the ending conclusive and satisfying despite my never really knowing what was going on. I really can’t say enough good things.

In what is presumably a release halfway between EPs 1 and 2 of Vytear’s series on Occult Research, the producer (aka Jason Begin) far surpasses the limits of last year’s Kingtrips EP1 and delivers an ambitious C60 of twisted techno and concrète contortions. While the “EP” seems to be loosely organized into tracks, its two thirty minute halves aren’t split up in any way, mirroring the music’s meandering and free-form nature. The rhythmic beat music of EP1 is still often present, but it’s even more effective and appreciable amidst the tumbling, whirling collages of synthetic sound. My favorite instance of this is midway through side B, when a hypnotic, bouncing groove is built up after a long period of aimless noises, and after it worms its way into your head it morphs into a new, even weirder rhythm, which in turn begins to collapse back into chaos. These changes are dizzying but not in any way sudden or unwelcome; Begin displays a masterful control of every sound he makes, and despite EP1.5′s less-than-concise structure everything feels well planned out, maintaining a sense of direction even during the most stagnant sections.