Nick Storring - Qualms (Never Anything, 2019)

The Toronto-based composer Nick Storring is a favorite around these parts.  He’s active in keeping the Canadian modern exploratory music scene alive and thriving, but his musical interests and activities hover within a great many genres and modes.  Yet his compositional chops and one-man-orchestra instrumental prowess (which we’ve heard dubbed ‘solorchestral’) are truly where he triggers the most pleasurable of pressure points.

Qualms finds Storring continuing to work in the ‘solorchestral’ sphere, in which he composes a work and then plays every instrument involved in the composition.  There have been times in the past – such as on Gardens – where Storring has deployed over sixty distinct instruments in the realization of a work.  With this release, the arsenal is a little more stripped down (you’ve got cello, bass, voice, mandola, violin, guitar, sarangi, piano, percussion, duck/goose calls, and a bunch more) but the atmosphere is tremendously more sinister.  Composed to accompany a choreographic work by Yvonne Ng, the piece – which spans two sides of a cassette – is a slow-burning but heightened exercise in building tension.

The moodiness of the piece works incredibly well.  Although on the surface it appears very environmental – almost like a backdrop to a series of emotional vignettes – when one dives into the music, there are many incredibly intricate elements that slowly take shape and burst forth from their surroundings.  Mid-way through the first half of the piece, a veil of violin and cello barely allow what appear to be flutes and plucked strings to dance around melodically, until it all tumbles into a multitude of rubbed sticks and percussive clangs.  Similarly, at the mid-point of the second half, an almost military-style percussion, melodica and kazoo marching band (I’m sure there are dozens more instruments in this part) meanders down a blind alley, only to collide into a brick wall without missing a beat.

There are many evocative moments to be found on Qualms, and it’s the joy-filled task of the listener to unfold the intricate layers and dive right into it.  It’s this act of beckoning for the listener to explore that makes Storring’s music both fun and adventurous.  I urge you to head over to the Never Anything Bandcamp and experience it for yourselves.

Daniel Klag - True Neutral (Muzan Editions, 2019)

Around here, we’re big fans of Canadian ex-pat Josh Stefane and his Endurance project.  So we were happy when he dropped a line and filled us in about the latest batch of tapes from his Muzan Editions imprint.  There appears to be a common theme across the trio of cassettes, enhanced by the mighty layout skills of one Joe Bastardo.  The stark black-and-white background and snugly-fit text paint a bleak picture, which belies the warm drones that permeate the magnetic tape itself.

Of particular note is True Neutral, the latest from Daniel Klag, who hosts “Dense Liquid”, a bi-weekly radio show hosted by the Brooklyn-based Newtown Radio station.  Klag is new to us, but has released music for labels we love, including Patient Sounds and Constellation Tatsu.  Here, he offers up a pentalogy of tracks that incorporate drones and subtle rhythms in an ever-so-slightly sinister concoction that nevertheless goes down incredibly smoothly.  “Hard Pass” starts things off with a mild shuffling thump over which Klag lays luscious clouds of pseudo-orchestral brilliance.  There is a duel of timbres on “Divine Horsemen”, in which a sawtooth swoon parries the subtle attacks of a synthetic string section.  The effect is rather entrancing, particularly as the two sides commingle near track’s end, when a barely audible pulse appears.

The title track leads off with a repeated snippet of melody that is joined by an ever-evolving tapestry woven of lush drones.  Klag allows this track to set its own direction as the melody drifts away, leaving a rhythmic pattern behind to anchor the tonal soup and provide a sense of locomotion.  With “Mutagen”, he lays down an incredibly emotional drone piece, with a noisy crescendo that will pierce the coldest of hearts with its warmth.  This fundamental limbic-triggering drone wizardry continues into “Ancestor”, which closes out the proceedings.  If you’re not in tears by the time these last two tracks have stormed your hypothalamus, then you must be a sociopath.

To sample these tempestuous drones, all you need to do is visit the Muzan Editions Bandcamp.  Be forewarned: have some tissues at the ready… …you know, in case you get something in your eye… …or whatever.

Ron Thomas & John Swana - Serenity (Galtta Media, 2019)

The folks over at Galtta fly in some interesting airspace.  They play with bizarre-yet-smooth pop, and then they’ll throw a curveball at you with a record like Serenity.  This beast is a kosmische maelstrom courtesy of two jazz types who moonlight as electronic conjurers.  Swana is a trumpeter who also wields the EVI (electronic valve instrument) and Thomas is a pianist and composer whose ivory-tickling strays into the electronic keyboard and synth realm.  Together they romp around the house built by Tangerine Dream and it’s to great effect.

A blizzard of sound washes over a thick, rubbery bass line as “Message” comes into focus.  A series of synthetic murmurs morphs into a siren call that really draws you in and wraps you in the duo’s web of intimate sonics.  And yes, these sonics are intimate: like a warm embrace by firelight while you’re looking out the window to watch the snowflakes fly.  This comforting resonance continues through to “Rainforest”, with its amalgamation of birdsong and synthetic clouds of bliss.  The tones wash over you as you explore ever deeper into the piece, uncovering unclassified species of sound.

With “Foundation”, the duo take the proceedings in an extraterrestrial direction.  This is the longest piece on the cassette, which gives Thomas and Swana plenty of space to explore other realms of sound.  Stars collide and nebulae transform before our eyes as the ambient drift goes ever onward.  The title track brings these dreamlike events to a close.  The elastic bass from earlier reappears, anchoring the experience to our home planet, even as the uncanny resonance leads us toward the heavens.  Eventually, one by one, each tone evaporates, leaving us wiping our brow in exalted exhaustion.

You too can find serenity by heading over to the Galtta Bandcamp.  Buckle up and prepare for liftoff!!

1127 - Tqaseem Mqamat El Haram (Nashazphone, 2019)

I’ve been loving the Egyptian label Nashazphone for ages now, and really try to digest what I can from this leading light in experimental sounds.  Those not schooled in the ways of this expertly-curated imprint should know that they pretty much release vinyl records only, and they’ve got albums by Sun City Girls, Ashtray Navigations, Sunroof!/Skullflower, Smegma and Blood Stereo and many, many more purveyors of zonked tones in their catalog.  These folks are the real deal when it comes to the wonderful and the strange.

The latest batch of LPs includes this doozy of a release, the debut from Cairo-based electronics wizard 1127 (Discogs says the person behind this project is named Amr El-Alamy).  There isn’t all that much biographical info around the mysterious producer, but there are a few digital releases and tracks on Bandcamp, and there appears to be some affiliation with the Nkisi/Angel-Ho/Chino Amobi-helmed NON Worldwide crew.  At any rate, this artist spits some seriously skillful electronic sparks from their fingertips, crafting a unique concoction of abstract sonics that stands completely on its own.

There are drills and jackhammers feeding back onto themselves as “White Lie” brings Tqaseem Mqamat El Haram into focus.  This is a frightening yet beatific pummeling that strays into the obliquely shattered “Fragmented. Thought Train”.  Here, a glitchy series of sonic shards are blended into a slurry and spilled across a piece of sheet metal.  There’s a pseudo-melodic interlude before the proceedings get extrapolated into the fourth dimension.  “Renaissance” takes a subdued approach, its thunderstorm bass sliding beneath angelic pads that would be dreamy if not for the stabbing happening over in the corner of the sound field.

On “Colander”, the producer fuses the preceding approaches, adds a little melodic/rhythmic magic, and then borrows some techniques from the early electronics maestros for good measure.  It’s a whirlwind of a piece that stands out as one of the most evocative tracks I’ve heard this year.  It’s definitely worth the price of admission here.

There are far too many moments of blown out bliss to mention in a short blog post, so I suggest that you take a spin over to the 1127 Bandcamp, where you can digest this album digitally, or be directed to a distributor for a taste of the physical.  Either way, Tqaseem Mqamat El Haram is an indescribably stunning debut from someone to keep thine eyes on for more greatness that is sure to come.

Talugung / Family Ravine - 1/2s (Power Moves Library, 2019)

The Toronto-based Power Moves Library imprint is back; I believe the last release to feature “original” material was the split CD-R/zine between label head Kevin Cahill (Downer Canada, East of the Valley Blues, et al) and British weirdo Posset from 2017, but I could be mistaken.  The label hasn’t exactly been quiet, however, as there have been about five or so editions released since then of the “Excavation Series”.  These are digital mix tapes that feature a variety of global moods and environments, available for free from the Power Moves Bandcamp.

This edition splits a reel of cassette tape between Ryan Waldron’s Talugung project and Cahill’s newest moniker, Family Ravine.  Waldron’s side is a series of what appear to be ethereal gamelan ruminations, ghostly percussive emanations that stretch endlessly toward the heavens.  Listening to these evocative pieces is akin to invading the privacy of a stalwart percussionist who has been experimenting with psychedelics and exploring the outer reaches of their various instruments and implements.  I feel like I should be stepping away from these gorgeous tones in fear of intruding, but I just can’t do it.  On the flip, Cahill offers a series of what he calls “no frills, just plug and play” electric guitar meditations.  Numerous lines and motifs run in parallel, intersecting and interweaving.  There’s a dizzying effect present as the melodies and harmonies unfold kaleidoscopically in bursts of tone.  The feeling becomes almost visceral as my brain seeks to unwrap and explore each note and chord as they pass by my ears.  This is true mastery of craft, right here.

Alas the cassette edition of this glorious song cycle has long since vaporized, but astute heads already know that Cahill makes all of the Power Move Library editions available digitally at no cost via the Bandcamp.  Do yourself a favor and lap up these delicious sounds.

Daniel Guillén - Inner Vision (Muzan Editions, 2019)

Back in April, we wrote about a cassette by Lunaria, the alter ego of Spanish ambient musician Daniel Guillén.  That tape focused on somnambulist meanderings and luscious drones; it was the perfect soundtrack to inward exploration.  Now Guillén has dropped a new offering under his given name, the lovely Inner Vision, for the Japan-based Muzan Editions label.  This release expands on the overall Lunaria template, adding plucked string accompaniment and a melodic sensibility to the thick drone tapestries that one might be used to.

“Celestial Friend” is a storm cloud of thick organ chords and alien synth pads that commingle to become a dangerously powerful sonic brew.  The music slowly builds into a frothy madness before petering out almost imperceptibly.  There’s a new age sensibility prevalent on “Rainbow”, which features plucked strings that are granularized into tracer-laden echoes ad infinitum.  These improvisational meanderings are laid atop a gelatinous fog of drone that is nearly opaque in nature.  The two elements are fused together in a beautiful marriage of disparate elements.  Synergy, it’s called.

Melodic and celestial.  That’s “Shooting Star”.  A pretty synth line laced with stardust to become a shimmering beam of light.  Loveliness incarnate.  And then the angels start singing and my heart stops and 8 minutes later I wake up to the nocturnal beckoning of “Inner Space” in all its synthetic glory.  The doppelganger of that piece is “Angel in Nebula”, during which we escape from Earth’s orbit and travel ever outward past glorious clouds of brightly lit dust and gas.

“Afterlife” comes on with drone in full-throttle mode, closing out this cassette with just as much beauty as it was entered into, albeit softer and with an unusually active sense of mystique.  Such a delicate orbit is meant to be explored, so I implore our readers to drift over to the Muzan Editions Bandcamp and experience Inner Vision for themselves.

Sea Moss - Bidet Dreaming (Crash Symbols / Feeding Tube, 2019)

Oh, it’s been too long, people.  Our apologies, but the summer plays tricks with all its sun and heat and fun and such.  But we’re back over here at Nine Chainz HQ, albeit briefly before another adventure looms when we head to Lake Erie to wrestle with water flora and sand and flotsam.  But we’re here now, so let’s dive into this beast of a record by Portland duo Sea Moss.  These cats are wonky in a post-punk meets post-cyborg meets post-noise meets post-shriek meets post-electrons sort of way.  And it’s a delightful wonk that they purvey, a crafty zaniness that is nearly indescribable.

Snazzy drumming reigns supreme, courtesy of skin pounder Zach D’Agostino, who also lays down some ‘tronics.  Noa Ver is they of the Kazu Makino meets Deerhoof meets Caroliner vocals-as-telephony trip and this individual also won’t let us forget that they are wrangling electrons too.  Describing the sound that this pair emanates is particularly difficult, as they defy comparison and stretch beyond genre boundaries.  There are definitely songs here, but they’re wrapped in modem squeals, fuzzy time signatures, ray gun gurgles, and the hypnotically high-pitched voice of Noa Ver.  I smell Lightning Bolt at times, but there’s way more funk involved.  The aforementioned Deerhoof or Caroliner?  Maybe a dollop.

Forget it.  Just sit back and listen up, kiddos.  Bidet Dreaming is where it’s at.  There are no duds here, as all songs are rocketry incarnate, incendiary in execution and energy.  Take “Knock Knock Joke” for example.  It starts off all coy and sparse but ends up coming to a boil in no time – a screaming across the sky, as Thomas Pynchon might put it.  This track is the decoder ring from which all remaining songs can be deciphered – it contains all of Sea Moss’ many moods in one tight package.  And there’s a lot to love: the thunderous drums paired sommelier-style with Noa Ver’s shrill siren call; a DIY electronics aesthetic that takes its time sliding into top gear; a cantankerous rhythm that hangs together precariously.

It’s not enough for us to describe the mayhem of Sea Moss, you must experience it.  So sidle over to either the Crash Symbols Bandcamp or the Feeding Tube Records website and become wrapped in the warped sensibility of this dynamic duo.