The third in our monthly round up of releases we haven’t covered in full but don’t want to slip away unmentioned. Reviews by Andrew Bowman, Rich Hughes, Scott McMillan and Matt Poacher.

Khyam Allami – Resonance/Dissonance (Nawa Recordings)

I last saw Khyam Allami sharing the stage with the Master Musicians Of Bukkake at last year’s Supersonic festival. While there is plenty of scope to debate the provenance of that particular band of fakirs/fakers, this debut release leaves you in little doubt of the masterful Allami’s own credentials. An oud player of Iraqi descent, he recorded Resonance/Dissonance in London’s School Of Oriental and African Studies. The album is accompanied by a DVD of a performance in a rough, featureless warehouse (it could be almost anywhere, only the green emergency exit signs give away that it is in the UK) and there is something quite captivating about watching Allami, accompanied only by the occasional touch of daf, completely in communion with that large space, letting these stark, sparse notes ring out and resonate. The tracks on Resonance/Dissonance are all composed by Allami, with the exception of a version of a traditional Iraqi Maqam Nawa, here entitled “The Descent”. It is a beautiful piece which balances sections of near silence with angry strums of strings, and long, melodic phrases on traditional scales which vibrate with tension and weep with emotion. Like that blank warehouse, the presentation of Resonance-Dissonance gives absolutely nothing away, meaning-wise; however the overwhelming darkness of this music says it all. (SM)

Altar of Plagues – Mammal (Profound Lore)

For an album constructed on a mulch of Emily Dickinson and explicitly about the role of death in our lives (what Saul Bellow called the ‘dark backing that a mirror needs if we are to see anything’) Mammal is a curiously enlivening experience. And let’s be clear it is an experience: 50 minutes of atmospheric, haunted post-black metal spread across four tracks that have a tidal rise and fall and a similarly oceanic sense of grace and power. It’s Ireland’s Altar of Plagues’ second full length album, and whilst the signs were there on their debut White Tombs (and their two most recent EPs, Sol and Tides) I don’t think anyone expected such an ambitious and fully realised record. In terms of the band’s precursors you’d probably think of Wolves in the Throne Room and Isis as they contain the formers real sense of dynamics and ability to build lengthy tracks that never seem overlong, and the latters at times industrial approach to sonic space – though Altar of Plagues do somehow retain a scrubby, lofi aspect that gives them telluric feel, earthy and raw. In terms of individual tracks, it’s hard to pick a standout, but ‘When The Sun Drowns in the Ocean’ (I know, I know) is conspicuous for its inclusion of an audio recording of a funeral lament, an ancient custom in which a woman, a relative of the deceased, would sing over the body of a dead man, recreating his life in creaking, high tones. The state of near-collapse is difficult to listen to, a signature bleak and powerful moment on a superb album. (MP)

David Andree – In Streams (Sunshine Ltd.)

In Streams is David Andree’s first tape release (for Florida based Sunshine Ltd.) but he has a broad archive of audio and visual work that complements his sound which is quiet and contemplative and buoyed on a sense of being and observing the natural world in process. Some of his past audio installations have consisted of collaborations with artists across the world who have collected field recordings from their local environments as the earth completes a full revolution – recordings that function as an aural snapshot, preserving snatches of sonic events that are part of something approaching infinitely large. His figurative and canvas-based art is individually created but does explores similar themes, using simple graphite and pencil drawings and decoupage-like techniques to capture the ways in which we perceive and experience the natural world.

As a title In Streams perfectly captures Andree’s visual and processural aesthetic; and his music very much fits into this wider set of values. It is a begulilingly simple sound, made from warm pulses of treated strings and softly rising and falling synth washes. It resembles most closely Tired Sounds of… era Stars of the Lid, or the more recent work of Kyle Bobby Dunn, but Andree’s method is to record in single takes, the tracks and the overall album mirroring the perception and reception of natural phenomenon in real time. Experienced in a single sitting, the effect is cumulatively startling as you gradually fall into Andree’s perceptive stream, surrendering to a separate and distinctively other time frame. How much of this is suggestion and listener-imputed reverie and how much genuine sorcery is kind of a moot point I suppose but I was certainly swept along by this release. Recommended. (MP)

Brigid Burke and Ollie Bown – Erase (Not Applicable)

I’m unfamiliar with the previous work of Australian clarinetist Brigid Burke, but judging by the resume on her website, she and the Not Applicable label are perfectly matched. With shared interests in generative music, improvisation, and collaboration, the combination with Icarus’s Ollie Bown unsurprisingly makes for a good half hour of realtime acoustic/electronic experimentation. As well as being relatively brief, the set is predominantly quiet and surprisingly sparse, with Bown using his self-developed Beads software to tease at fragments of sound, quickly processing and delicately arranging them, while Burke works with soft squeaks and split notes, occasionally peeling off into short melodic runs. Despite the low key appearance, close listening shows that it is beautifully conceived and executed, with some excellent dialogue between the two. Bown twitchily drops electronic shards amongst the staccato tonguing of ‘The Spasms Of Clark Nova’, and fusses samples on ‘Pixel’ into gentle pulsations which mimic the ululation of the reed. The centrepiece of the album, ‘Ecstatic Conversations Of A Whisper’, with its use of bird-like whistles and gamelan, twinkles with the exoticism of a Don Cherry solo record. Ultimately, Erase is as thoughtful and yet playful as I’ve come to expect from Not Applicable. (SM)

Carlton Melton – Country Ways (Agitated)

A swirling, improvised mess of an album that’s remarkably charming. It’s as if you’re evesdropping on a jam session that’s taking place in a shack in the remote reaches of Colorado. Picking out individual tracks seems pointless, everything flows in an almost constant stream of guitars and laid back drums. Carlton Melton have managed to capture the essence of an easy evening of improv-recording, a specific moment of time that’s won’t happen again. The guitar on ‘Harrington Fair’ reeks of moonshine, dirt and heat. ‘Night Flight’ reflects its name – an ambient piece that Briano Eno would be proud of as it slowly unfurls in a spiral of synths. There’s a looseness here that might not suit everyone, a lack of structure that some might find infuriating, a free flowing stream of coaxed guitar, simple drumming that’s joined by occasional electronic embellishment. It might be hard to find a way into it on your first listen, but playing it in rotation over a couple of months it unveiled a simple beauty. The other afternoon, whilst the room shook with thunder, illuminated with lightning and filled with the hum of rain, it suddenly made sense – it complimented these environmental sounds. This is music completely influenced by the everyday natural surroundings – that dirt, that remoteness is actually very real: Country Ways is the title after all. (RH)

Hacker Farm – Poundland (Hacker Farm)

Hacker Farm’s other album, a ten floppy disk set, isn’t likely to find many homes but in our one-click-and-pilfer culture, making music that’s inaccessible to virtually everyone is quite a statement. And on the strength of Poundland, I’d imagine the contents are as intriguing as the conceit. This, as their manifesto puts it, is “Broken music for a Broken Britain”, cobbled together from (commonly deemed) obsolete technology and instruments home-made from “post-consumerist debris”. In breathing new life into the lost and discarded, Yeovil bloggers Kek-W and Farmer Glitch seem to have awoken an anger within them: when machine blips and bleeps cut through Poundland‘s persistent pulsing noise they indicate only faults and alarm. Something’s gone very wrong indeed. Elsewhere squawking birds circle and clockwork toys whir and spin out of control. All the while, heavy low-end machinery clunks and lurches zombie-like towards who knows what. Maybe it’s heading for the high street or the Houses of Parliament. Titles like “Khaos Hospital” and “Austerity Measures” let you know they’re grinning as they stagger too. It’s all too rare that ‘noise’ records come laced with political purpose or a satirical edge, making HF’s glorious scavenger sound all the more precious. Every bit as entertaining as it is horrifying. (AB)

Huntsville – For Flowers, Cars, And Merry Wars (Hubro)

I’m not sure how much the trio Huntsville have, if anything, to do with the Alabama city. A band from Norway, their choice of instrumentation has taken in tablas and shruti boxes, and they are prone to getting into grooves which sound distinctly German in provenance. While their last album featured experimental guitarist Nels Cline, their new album features fellow very non-Alabaman Hanne Hukkelberg on vocals. So her involvement is bound to have resulted in a move away from the improvised pieces of Eco, Arches and Eras towards something more rooted in song, isn’t it? Well, sort of. The title track of For Flowers, Cars And Merry Wars which features the sweet vocals of Hukkelberg, lasts for the entire first side of the LP, its repetitive, rubbery, krautrock-esque bass gathering up layers of drones and percussion as it rolls on through. But by halfway through it is in fact all abstract sounds, flecks of guitar ringing out into wide open spaces, the band by now jamming on a He Loved Him Madly tip. Hukkelberg is – unsurprisingly – nowhere to be seen by this point. The second side does similar with a seemingly relentless drum riff, gradually submerging it, watching it become no more than ripples on the surface of an expansive pond. Despite the geographical confusion implicit in their work, it sounds like Huntsville themselves always have a pretty good idea about where they are coming from, if not always where they are going to. (SM)

Juffage – Semicircle (Function Records)

A curiosity shop of a release this – a mixture of styles and approaches, all crafted in home of Jeff T. Smith, aka Juffage. The album opens with the sound of drawing a radio dial across the MW range: parts of music, talk shows and comedy sketches, greet you – an indication of what’s to come. A sombre cello and delicate, sparse beats make up ‘HHV’. The vocals are a forgotten extra, the song coming to life in the final minute when a ramshackle rhythm section bursts to life. ‘My Weakness’ adds a playful Casio wave to the palette. The vocals are, once again, hidden behind this clattering arrangement, a thick and dense musical cauldron in which the song is brewed, bringing to mind TV on the Radio at their most playful. Sufjan Stevens feels like a heavy influence and there’s a definite homemade vibe to it all, the warts and all approach of Steve Albini is never far away. The way in which the the sounds and instruments are placed and carefully layered is impressive, and belies the DIY attitude. This is apparent in the richness to the title track – the guitar bristles with the energy and colour of a field of hay, gently swaying in the breeze. Smith is exploring his sonic influences, trying his hand at different styles, unsure of where his true heart lies. It’s the sparse, intense pieces here that really shine – the warped lament of ‘Stop Making Music’ relies on his imperfect vocals as a piano twinkles in the background, occasionally joined by other instruments that just coax small notes into the air, before it swells in a wave of drums and instruments. Ultimately, Semicircle suggests he shouldn’t take heed of this. He’s crafted a debut album that suggests a very bright, and interesting, future ahead of him. (RH)

The Middle East - I Want That You Are Always Happy (Play It Again Sam)

A semi-religious Australian folk-rock band? Hmmm, maybe not something that instantly jumps out at you. But what The Middle East have crafted on their debut release is something surprisingly affecting and haunting. Coming across as one part Sun Kil Moon and one part Fleet Foxes, it’s a blend of sparse instrumentation with raw and heartfelt lyrics.  ‘Jesus Came To My Birthday Party’ is the exception to the rule. A straight up pop song that ups the positive vibes with boy/girl harmonies that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on a Jenny Lewis record. The pedal steel guitar and flickering acoustic guitar of ‘Land of the Bloody Unknown’ brings things back to earth with its dusty tale that’s worthy of Kerouac or Steinbeck as it tells a tale of tragic families and traveling woes. The rumbling piano of ‘Very Many’ is where the influence of Kozelek rears its head. The whispering vocals of a simply strummed guitar, the background filled with a haunting violin, strung out drums and echoes of other instruments. ‘As I Go To See Janey’ does remind me of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy TV theme tune, but that’s OK really. The epic penultimate track, ‘Deep Water’, is probably one of the standout Country / Americana tracks of the last couple of years. The eerie and affecting guitars are joined by those laid back vocals again, describing the falling cities of America and the lost connection with its history and nature. It distills all that’s great about The Middle East – a band that feels a little lost-in-time with their sound, but who comment on the creaking and crumbling society of the 21st century. Sure, there’s a religious element to this songs, but only in a way that offers an alternative hope, not one that should be taken over all else. It’s the tunes and the songs that win through as something special, not the doctrine. (RH)

Cian Nugent – Doubles (VHF)

My only previous brush with Cian Nugent was his bright ‘When the Snow Melts and Floats Downstream’ from the third in the Imaginational Anthems series from Tompkins Square. That hadn’t really prepared me for the scope and ambition of Doubles, a 45-minute, two-song epic taking in post-Takoma explorations, dissonant drones and ecstatic, full band excursions into O’Rourke-inspired bliss. Nugent has said that the album is in some way a challenge to himself, and that ‘writing and constructing these long pieces was an attempt to exercise some control over my wavering patience’ – a very timely passion given the prevalence of franticity and ‘continual partial attention’. But what he’s constructed with these meandering, yet never sprawling narrative pieces is never mere virtuosity or showiness: there is coherence, power and emotional depths within these sinewy lines and forms. ‘Sixes and Sevens’ is probably the standout of the two tracks, moving from an almost Bacharach-like bounce to something more sombre and bleak at the midpoint (reminiscent of Gravenhurst in places, James Blackshaw in others) before wheezing to a close with a warm echo of the opening figures. It suggests so many potential avenues you can’t help but be excited for what Nugent might produce next. (MP)

Richard A Ingram – Happy Hour (White Box Recordings)

The announcement of the demise of the Manchester hard rock band Oceansize wasn’t accompanied by an explanation, but anyone paying close attention to what individual members were up to probably wouldn’t have needed one. In particular, Richard A Ingram (or Gambler, as was) had already embarked on a solo career which was dragging him into much deeper and more unsettled waters. Given that his debut Consolamentum took its cue from the torching of a French religious sect in the 13th century, you may well assume that the title of this new release is slightly tongue-in-cheek. And you’d be right, as track titles like “Chaos Fortifier” (you can take the man out of hard rock…) would attest – indeed, that track is in fact constructed from the kind of crackling and blistering drones that lit up his debut. That isn’t to say that Ingram hasn’t progressed, as Happy Hour shows a continued desire to experiment with sound sources. “Truncheon Tree” has some repeated, decaying piano and dub-like echo that places it midway between William Basinski and Moritz von Oswald, while “Retro Morph” has far more viciously treated tape loops than anything he has done before. That track creeps crepuscularly to the album’s conclusion in a haze of hiss and rumble, pointing you disconcertingly towards the dark spaces to which Ingram’s career continues to take him. Follow, with care. (SM)

Sebastian Rochford & Pamelia Kurstin – Ouch Evil Slow Hop (Slow Foot)

This really shouldn’t work. And yet it does. One of the pre-eminent jazz drummers of recent times, Seb Rochford, teams up with legendary theremin player Pamelia Kurstin. It’s a Sci-Fi extravaganza of futuristic noises: beeps, bleeps and growling beats shape-shift constantly, one instrument never fully taking control. It’s the soundtrack to a Japanese monster movie, two giant beasts fighting over a cityscape that’s being laid to waste. The seven tracks are split into ‘Ouch’ (1 – 2), ‘Evil’ (1-3), ‘Slow’ and ‘Hop’ – each a set of line-blurring movements of music. Each piece grows in its own way, exploring seemingly disparate threads of ideas, discarding some and augmenting others as necessary. The ‘Evil’ pieces explore dark and sinister themes: ‘Ouch’ a prickly and more spiteful realm of noises whereas the closing duet of ‘Slow’ and ‘Hop’ wouldn’t sound out of place on Polar Bear’s more recent LPs – certainly the former, with its more electronic based sound. Speckled sparks of noise spread over a restrained series of drum beats that are included sparingly, seemingly there to just to fill in the ambient space. ‘Hop’ finishes the record on a playful high, a blazing trail of theremin riffs that blur together over Rochford’s skittish drumming. It’s fitting that it should end on this note – this isn’t an album that takes itself too seriously and there’s an air of fun and frolics that prevails. This reflects what happened when I first played this album: a giant smile spread across my face. All music should do this. (RH)

Snowman – Absence (Remote Control)

The final words by a failing band from Australia might not be worthy of column inches you might think. Having released a couple of small scale albums, to little acclaim, the pressures of real-life have finally taken their toll and Snowman have, much like their namesake, melted into nothing. However, they’ve managed to leave behind, in the shape of Absence, an impressive closing chapter. An icy cool glaze prevails and the album is punctuated by quiet moments of self-reflection. With ‘Snakes and Ladders’ the guitar notes percolate through the slow, arcing rhythms like coffee into a pot, or, as its name suggests, being incredibly unlucky and hitting every snake on the board, continuously falling with no chance of respite. There’s an element of Portishead and the Cocteau Twins to their glacial tones. ‘Glaser’ and ‘The Knife’ make more contemporary comparisons, especially the latter on the title track as the vocals come through as clear as cut glass. ‘Hyena’ is something all together different – tribal rhythms and sounds bang and clatter over chanting vocals. But this is the exception. The rest of the songs are sparse, light and made of something impossible – if they were left by themselves they’d not actually exist, they’d slowly fall apart into their component instruments. Snowman have actually created the world in which they can exist. ‘A’ is a case in point. The shadow of Vangelis falls over it with a thudding, far-eastern influenced keyboards that work together, weaving a flowing rhythm of sounds. This rhythm itself a delicate thread which holds it all together. Whilst the band themselves are no more, they needn’t fret. This final act will ensure they don’t completely fade from memory (RH).

The Caretaker – An Empty Bliss Beyond This World (HAFTW)

I’m probably not the only one who on reading about the new Leyland Kirby (as The Caretaker) album An Empty Bliss Beyond This World, with its concept about the fading memories of Alzheimer’s patients, felt a vague twinge of disappointed recollection. He has already done this one, hasn’t he? Or was it amnesia he did last time? Ach, I can’t remember. Anyway, it is certainly familiar ground. And particularly given his recent, sublime, and very fresh sounding, Intrigue and Stuff 12″, I didn’t initially feel any strong urge to hear him trying to recall his past Caretaker glories. But this is harsh: anyone coming to this afresh, without the baggage of previous Kirby releases, should be knocked off their feet by this collection, which is for my money probably better executed than Persistent Repetition Of Phrases. A selection of short musical phrases (and, unsurprisingly, we are talking ballroom 78s, waltzes, pianos and muted trumpets) recur and fade, triggering that “Hang on, I know this” sensation in the brain over and over again. He does this without such heavy (and obvious) reliance on the use of distortion to denote the scratching out of memory as he has done before, seemingly making use of the brain’s own natural capacity to hear and unhear, to remember and to forget almost simultaneously. And perhaps a little vinyl crackle. In the brief moments of emptiness between loops, where the world is crumbling once more into that fiery pop and hiss, I actually find myself longing for the loop to return, to deliver me once from the darkness. (SM)

Tuusanuuskat – Nääksää nää mun kyyneleet (Fonal)

Tuusanuuskat is the duo project of the Fonal label boss Sami Sänpäkkilä, also known as Es, and Jan Anderzen, aka Tomuttonttu, and head of the Kemialliset Ystävät family. Initially, the cover of their new album looks a right lapphund’s breakfast, with far too many things going on simultaneously. That is until you realise that by sliding the plastic strip which holds the record together over the images, it filters out the noise, and produces a rather lovely twirling flower. Fittingly, the name Tuusanuuskat translates (nearly) from Finnish as “total shambles”, but from amidst a dense whorl of sound (which draws from Radiophonics, kosmische and improvised musical forms), moments of beauty emerge. Tracks typically start with a burst of noise, dense modular synth squawks and pulses, occasionally augmented by other primitive instrumentation and distorted voice, before reaching a clearing of very vaguely discernible melody and rhythms. The last track, “Tippa 5″ is its apogee, born in a cloud of twinkling frequencies, a repeated synth line leading us through a galaxy of glorious sound. The name must be something to do with the Finnish sense of humour: for a total shambles this certainly isn’t. (SM)

Vieux Farka Toure – The Secret (Six Degrees)

Vieux Farka Toure, the son of the late Malian guitar griot Ali Farka Toure, called his new album The Secret after hearing a clip of his father’s playing, and saying that therein lay “the secret of the blues”. Perhaps in an attempt to validate this claim, his new album features a number of guest musicians who know a bit about the blues, as well as its links to jazz, rock, funk, and other forms. So we have Derek Trucks from the Allman Brothers, Jon Scofield, Eric Krasno, and (ulp) Dave Matthews too. To say that they do not enhance this record with their presence would be an understatement. Farka Toure’s sparky, twisting guitar lines are far more interesting than the epic posturing of Trucks and Scofield, while the Malian’s own vocals effortlessly carry more real emotion than Matthews’s gruff over-earnestness. They just don’t seem to belong in this sort of company: when a recording of Ali himself appears on the title track, the twin guitars twist together like strands of rope, strengthening and reinforcing, rather than pulling in different directions. The Six Degrees label say that their aim is to break down walls between genres. And they are right, we don’t need those walls, but there is merit in retaining a fence strong enough to discourage those who have no place in this particular garden. (SM)

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