lost in a sea of sound

These are the true sounds lost at sea, from current time stretched back over decades. They have survived the isolated duration, finally washing ashore and being nursed back into current existence. Their stories of burnt days, monstrous waves, ships passing in the distance and infrequent revitalizing precipitation can all be heard. Tones cycle from curious to catastrophic, tranquil to taxing, all collected and reconstructed by Whettman Chelmets. Most of all this is an experience, an aural transcript of time, distance, and the conscious physique. The newest Whettman Chelmets composition Doesn't Remember​.​.​., speeds through vast amounts of duration and substance. Slightly over twenty one minutes, divided over seven tracks, repeated listens will be desired and necessary. Many of the selections on Doesn't Remember​.​.​. are fragile objects in beautiful states of decay. Almost like creased or torn photographs laid flat on a viewing surface, Whettman Chelmets takes disintegrating

There is difficulty in describing the tranquility of music. The first obstacle and probably the most consuming to navigate is the feeling these unperturbed sonic landscapes impart. Cognitive processes filled with tones and sustain, all working in opposite of analysis and relay. Thoughts are gently pushed away from the consciousness. How can words be written when the music asks only for singular focus or nothing at all? In the case of this composition, Music for Peter Hutton, the energy behind it gave additional texture to the silent films of Peter Hutton. In the most beautiful fashion, Chris Brokaw has accomplished what these words try to do, taking creativity not initially meant for an ancillary descriptive medium, beyond it's own existence. From the depths these guitar passages have traversed, there is a place, a ledge that can be scaled. Perched just above the immense surge of tranquilizing flux, thoughts are partially your own. Back down... and the world becomes Chris Brokaw&

Thema Sophie, the third track on Y Côd Da Vinci has been on the listening heavy rotation for weeks now. An eight minute thriller with grooved out ties to all things futuristic and fiction, but the controversy regarding this entire release kept chipping away at the pure bliss of it's allure. Every track filled with highly refined components of spoken word, in Welsh, and sinuous synthesizer melodically permeating all natural gateways in the consciousness. This slick cassette released by Strategic Tape Reserve is fantastically just "to cool". There is already worry stemming from the many repeated listens if some internal reprogramming has been accomplished.  Even the source of Y Côd Da Vinci is blatantly an issue. Why did I keep listening? Sure the back story was intriguing, Y Côd Da Vinci, a Welsh phenomenon of bootleg acclaim. The publishers, Gwasg Gelert, seemingly persecuted by English authority, gives affinity towards the creators. And of course Strategic Tape Reserve

A sonic landscape exuding delicate qualities of what can be understood, but this is only a fragile mirage of a unexplored vastness. Rambutan sends listeners back through time, to ancient civilizations where celestial knowledge factored in with life itself. Tranquil serenity, saturated over centuries by the cosmos and the voice it renders. Mystic tones dancing through cyclic rituals, their interaction with distant worlds is only imagination in present day. This is the natural beauty of Temple of Echo 3, a shimmering focus on past enlightenment. The sounds on this composition slowly engulf thoughts, like fog surrounding mountain tops or tides taking land away, the process is difficult to fathom. Much effort is exerted in trying to connect Temple of Echo 3 with current similarities, but these tones remain elusive. Melodies configured in friendly guises, yet containing sharp edges of disrupt. Rambutan taps ancient energies, from times when beauty and danger were the composition of all li

From crystalline tones to distorted droning haze, Walker imparts qualities of the world around us. A paned window in an old house, the glass is etched by years of exposure. The crisp clear view now hazy and filled with heavy nostalgia. Either condition holding their own merits of beauty, but "well worn" takes time to achieve and is held by deeper roots through the physical fabric. Bitter Fictions rests in these foundations. Beautiful sounds that have tolled for ages, clarity replaced by virtues that can not be duplicated. The sonic path is specially eroded and filled with unique tranquility. Like the incomprehensible amount of time this world has seen, Walker breathes slowly and deep. Forty minutes on this cassette, divided among six tracks. From the beginning, "stumbling down that hill", sounds travel from clear collecting pools, through sparse and rugged terrain, then finally disperse into the myriad of frayed ends. Like the cassette itself has deteriorated over

Listening and writing about music is like driving along and encountering sporadic road blocks. Very often, and it seems like this is exponential, a composition will throw question marks out. Just like the obstacles on the path, albums require time to navigate around. This equates to listening again and again, familiarizing and becoming comfortable. Amazingly during this process, sounds begin to weave their way into what makes us relaxed. PLEB TALK is an excellent example for this process. A deeply thoughtful collection of songs all turned slightly askew. Reality to dreams, consciousnesses touching, the physical world only held by one remaining tether. Trevor Coleman is both Gadgen and Caribbean Health. The first project name was used early in his work, connecting these tracks to fledgling creativity. Also good indication of how close to the heart these tunes are. The first side is filled with upbeat rhythms, a groovy haze of timeless song writing. There is a fragile quality, like the

Darko the Super and iAlive returning together to Already Dead Tapes and Records after a two year hiatus. The Hell Hole Store three is what the wait has been for. The composition dial has swung either way on the previous two releases, beat rich to vocal heavy. Three the Hard Way lands these two artists perfectly balanced on the center notch. Fourteen tracks excellently written and backed with the best grooves so far. Not trying to lessen what has come before, only making note Three the Hard Way is the perfect recipe. This cassette glides through time, sustaining loft from beats and rhythms through thirty years of existence. The first few tracks are good examples, "Blare In Your Face" has the feel of Three Feet High and Rising. A chilled out hold of the microphone with smooth and playful rhythms to complement. This moves straight away to "Breaking Free", beautifully connecting to Ghetto Music: The Blueprint of Hip Hop. Seriously simple beats with a high

Suspended in sonic fibers, delicate strands made fragile by their lengthy existence. The network of melodic tones woven through the consciousness, these sounds are part of the cortex. Flickering feelings, melancholy slowly surging then lifted to higher vibrations. Everything seems so distant, existence is only a point on a line with infinite ends. Peter Kris is the line at infinity, he is his own compliment, and because of this his own anticompliment. Taking thoughts and sentiment from those who will listen, sending everything back in echoing beauty. Afternoons In The Valley covers many aural square miles. Twenty three tracks across two cassettes. The shortest and longest selections ranging from two to six minutes. These sounds turn quickly, but there is a lazy feel to the entire composition. Melodies moving like Sandhill Cranes, a carelessness concerning the world around, momentum evolved over time periods most can not comprehend. The primordial sounds emitted spark wonder with how

German Army has run conduit through time. Connections with sounds from the early eighties, nostalgic and understood. Moving forward into the unknown future, sounds echoing wonder and intensity. This is the table setting German Army places down. Comfortable well worn aural landscapes making you feel at home, while serving heaps of fresh creativity never experienced before. The new composition titled No No Boy is a massive fourteen track en devour. Amazingly all of these selections are similar in length. This provides the ability to change throughout, but years of experience keeps the entire listen congruent and meaningful. The use of vocal tracks is heavier than past releases and with this attribute comes well manicured textures. Song to spoken word, present yet still distant, never overdone. Tried to do homework and connect No No Boy with great albums from the past. There are some loose threads, they would only serve to send readers on wrong paths, so none worth writing. German Army

Deep in the cortex of rhythmic tranquility, sounds sustaining zero gravity momentum. Tones are stretched through space, undulations smoothed into droning streaks. Cosmic debris is the only variance. Here the patterns fluctuate, sometimes chaotic vignettes are formed, but more often simplistic arrays of aural beauty. The energy moves on, past planetary wreckage, in the midst of microscopic dust fields, then emptiness again. Partials Volume Two is filled with the conscious projection of fourteen different artists. Each responsible for an onslaught of splendor, the trans-galactic endeavor all listeners will take. There is an abundance of excellent creativity to absorb on this compilation. The requirements... your attention is needed. Without this time, Partials Volume Two, will disperse it's energy before realization occurs. Case in point, at some point during track eleven, where guitar and voice are melodically emitted by Negra Branca, questions concerning the previous ten track