Experimental Electronic Music
Trusted Farms retains something of that freedom. It carries it into music that feels more physical, driven by rhythm, repetition and synthesizers with weight, friction and substance. Many parts were played live and barely edited. Lines are doubled, distorted, recorded again, sent through other machines. They remain recognizable. They keep some of their roughness. They breathe. Perhaps this is where the most beautiful part of the album lies.
In WATERSHED, Markus Mehr transforms recordings from the early days of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine into an unsettling meditation on war, distance, and the responsibility of listening when looking away is always an option.
Morning Glories is strongest when it allows this material to breathe without forcing it towards the sublime. bvdub knows his own vocabulary extremely well and at times exposes it to its limits. The more accessible melodic openings give the album a different kind of light, occasionally close to a pop sensibility, always absorbed within durations and structures that belong to another logic.
Landscape 07 unfolds in breaths: slow waves advance, overlap, recede and return in subtly altered forms. The movement is continuous, yet it can escape a distracted listener. You need to stop, allow the piece to find its own pace and follow its changes as you might follow shadows moving across a field.
The Bug’s Ladybug 2 pairs his heavy, hypnotic bass pressure with Friday Night Plans’ hushed vocals, turning six versions of “Miss U” into a dark, immersive journey where dub, shoegaze, and electronic melancholy slowly dissolve into one hypnotic flow.
When the final sound fades, the small white emblem at the bottom of the cover comes to mind. A wave reduced to calligraphy, discreet while the blue occupies everything. Wind Paths works in much the same way: it passes through the listener, leaves behind a faint vibration and entrusts the air with carrying it away.
Hawgood has tied Folk Reels to the idea of a mobile archive, a repository for scattered works, old tapes and encounters. Live At Still Point 2026 introduces a welcome fissure into that archive. To preserve also means admitting loss and giving it an audible measure.
Giulio Aldinucci has made an album that seems acquainted with the unnamed part of human nature, the part that surfaces in sleep or in the few seconds before news capable of changing the course of a day.
On Islands Alight, percussion takes on a structural role, the bass gains weight, echo intervenes in the form, and the pulse alters the relationship between the different parts. The British composer points to the history of dub within electronic music as one of the project’s sources.
Olùsìn [Worshippers] moves with the gravity of a procession seen from a great distance: slow synth masses, vocal apparitions, soft percussive grammar, low harmonic pressure, field material absorbed into the body of the music.
Coniglio has made an album that honors the craft of earlier soundscape practice while carrying it into a private, contemporary meditation on cause, chance and presence. It is beautiful, grave, lucid, quietly overwhelming.
