Experimental Electronic Music
For listeners expecting linear progression or clear melodic arc, Tracker Mini Works will feel incomplete. For those who understand that fragmentation and glitchy manipulation can be more emotionally resonant than perfect production, this will feel exactly right.
Ouroboros emerges as a fully realized assembly of extraterrestrial circuitry, endlessly bent, folded, and reconfigured into excitingly unique forms.
Across The Dreamers Of Dreams, Bowman detonates maniacal braindance mechanics, electro errorfunk ripped into synthetic ribbons, and a cut-and-paste sampladelia that early Coldcut would likely have fought over releasing.
A decade and a half hiatus since his last (Awash, 2012) brings new skin for the old ceremony with True Bypass on familiar ground yet with a sense of refresh.
Like Manual, Billow Observatory purveys work of delicacy and poise, and Resina is never less than engaging, frequently compelling.
tsx and Sue Tompkins have carved out a niche so specific that almost no one else occupies it. recur⁷ is further proof they’re fine keeping it that way.
This is not merely an album about pessimism, collapse, paranoia, or sepia memories. It is an expertly crafted and beautifully sustained paean to the enduring presence of the motion of Goodness—often obscured, often wounded, not-for-profit, but somehow still capable of outliving every system designed to extinguish it. A balm for balmy days and long dark nights of the soul.
Empusae and Maris Anguis have crafted a fantastic album that rewards repeated listening and offers a welcome step toward a more spiritual and cultural focus for their label Cryo Chamber.
Originally published in Melody Maker on May 11, 1996, Mark Roland’s review of Meat Beat Manifesto’s Subliminal Sandwich captured the arrival of a record that would go on to become one of electronic music’s most influential and genre-defining releases; republished here with permission, 30 years on.
Air Signs rests at its distinct sound. Everything is pieced together very well, and all the noises, melodies, and synths are family—they all align track after track. Deschamps has a gift for cohesion. Even when he’s working with degraded loops, reversed recordings, and heavily processed guitar, nothing feels fragmented. Everything belongs.
Broken rhythmic structures, exquisite sub-bass stutters, and destabilized funk mechanics colliding into something gloriously unhinged. It’s machine music with bloodstream heat—tactile, sensual, and absolutely devastating at volume.
The waters here are torrid. But the result of swimming in them is to emerge somehow richer than before. The sound of subtraction through propulsion: the old and archaic riotously stripped away to leave space for the new. A violent recalibration disguised as transcendence.
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