Simon Scott makes another artistic shift on his upcoming album. His name is most often associated with shoegaze gods Slowdive with whom he recorded two defining albums - Just For a Day and Souvlaki – and afterwards left. Then came more than a decade of silence which was followed by abstract ambient-drone solo debut Navigare (Miasmah) which documented his departure from former drummer job and found Scott painting hallucinogenic blots with his reverberated guitar and bass. Some short releases came later: more ambient EP Nivali;, lullaby-oriented Silenne composed for falling asleep; and unexpected limited vinyl Depart, Reveal where he unveiled his singer-songwriter talent.

Darkness and shades have always been an inherent part of his music as well as never-ending need for re-invention. Now we find Scott embracing Miasmah again and following the suit of obscurely existentialist artists such as Kreng or Kaboom Karavan. Black-humour seems to be the most prominent influence for the concept of his second full-length named Bunny (out on October 7th). See the cover, hear the doom-jazz flavoured groove, experience the layers of massive dizziness. That’s what Radiances, the first song from Bunny, sounds like. Even though this looks like what he did on Navigare, what you hear is quite different. Heavy drums with a shoegazing guitar and drowned vocals bring to mind early 90s music while the epic, relentless nature of Radiances pushes the song even further. Where My Bloody Valentine or Ride would switch to another song, Simon Scott is evolving his echoing guitar agony into extreme, untouchable obscurity. Radiances is a heavy piece of music which won’t let you sleep; it’ll haunt you like the eerie cloudy bunny. But still, it’s just in your mind. (This feature was originally written for my primary Tumblr blog)

Ladytron were once known as revivalists of electro-clash (do you remember of their classic Seventeen?), but their ambitions were higher; inspirations by My Bloody Valentine-sque shoegaze came later (on third Witching Hour) and a shift into slower and darker Gothic synth-pop followed on Velocifero. The quartet releases the tempo again on their fifth full-length Gravity The Seducer. Influenced by Brian Eno-like synthesized ambient these Liverpudlians make a trip into more meditative and reflective areas; still, don’t expect ambient Krautrock of Neu! or haze of Harold Budd. Ladytron preserve their drive and glamorous approach towards accessible and elegant electro-pop.

The fourth single Mirage from Gravity The Seducer is another proof of their smart style with intense flavour of dream-pop. The desert where all the mirages occur in Ladytron’s case is a metaphor to relationship, of course. However, the flute-led melody and groovy tempo nicely evoke something more exotic and fantasied what is well paired with the ambiguous lyrics about “you do not exist / you’re mirage.” As always, Mirage is an easy and catchy song, but on the other hand, it’s a piece of sophisticated and chick simplicity. (This feature is originally written for my primary Tumblr blog)

Depression, its difficulties and effects are a common theme for artists. As if the severity of their incurable trouble needed its own expression. Or as if the burden of their talent cut through their skin and forced the artist to materialize its heaviness. It’s hard to say what was first and uncover the causality between mood’s disorder or depression and the art. Reading through Virginia Woolf, Edgar Allan Poe or listening to Portishead evokes the idea that depression and unusual gift for art come hand in hand. They stimulate to awesome results and then destroy the artist.

Depression is the main theme of Daniel Thomas Freeman’s debut album The Beauty Of Doubting Yourself. Right from the beginning – even before hearing its first tones – the name shows the complicated relationship between the illness and the patient. Freeman, who was suffering from strong depression for many years, tries to find a beauty in his distress. On one side this may be a strange form of dolorism, but I rather suspect that the name of his album expresses his effort to look back into the years of the greatest suffering with detachment. As if he was saying that those times were hard, almost impossible to live through, but the life was his very own and will never be substituted for something better.

Elegy And Rapture (For Margaret) is the penultimate track on The Beauty Of Doubting Yourself and its most straightforward. Freeman as a one third of ambient-drone outfit Rameses III is well-experienced in compiling thick layers of heavy drone and layering abstract noises into the beds of classical samples. Yet this composition is much more accessible and in one word: graceful. The initial murmur of a steady strings’ harmony induces peaceful atmosphere which is later evolved by a short fragment of a melody played by a duo of violins. The pulse of the horn in the background along with the tender reverberated guitar evoke the milder work of Canadian-born eclectic composer Kyle Bobby Dunn. The calm tranquility of Elegy And Rapture (For Margaret) amazingly reflects its main message: Freeman’s dedication to the late years of his mother who died more than ten years ago. Even though this ten minutes long composition is the most traditional piece on the entire album it’s an experience of mysterious serenity and mournful splendour. Still, The Beauty Of Doubting Yourself deserves your full attention since it’s one of the most emotional and complex experimental records this year. Hear on my Tumblr blog.

When Amiina’s second album Puzzle was released last year I quite didn’t know what to think of it. Before it, they were known as Icelandic strings quartet who accompanied Sigur Rós on the extraordinary nameless album ( ) and later released their own debut, Kurr, which mostly consisted of hushed self-made percussion and lush, minimalist strings arrangements. As if Amiina’s music confirmed all the kitschy preconceptions about Icelandic instrumental music – luckily, in the most sincere and purest form. After collaboration with musicAddicted’s favourite noise-maker Ben Frost and many other artists Amiina expanded into sextet; drummer Magnús Trygvason Eliassen and electronics-master Kippi Kaninus joined the entirely female group. Besides gender variety their arrival meant deepening and electrifying Amiina’s translucent acoustic sound and ended in the surprising addition of vocal solos and move towards an unexpected and bit odd kind of electro-ambient-folk-pop.

Sicsak, penultimate song from Puzzle, was the most thrilling and accomplished composition of their entire career. While the sextet was gradually building tense during the whole Puzzle, most times it was released before peaking. Sicsak is different – Amiina work slowly and persistently, add layers and tempt the listener with the patience. This live version even emphasizes the power of Sicsak. Girls and boys are seen changing the instruments, sampling and echoing, taking their artistic mission as a play. After all, Amiina’s music is a play – with sound and its infinite forms. The most exciting thing about this live footage is their analytical and serious behaviour and its contrast to the lightness and effortless flavour of the song. It’s obvious that music is their life. This truth is fully palpable during Sicsak’s full seven minutes of slow building the fulfilling climax. This music is a pure satisfaction.

Canadian gothic synth-pop trio Austra are naturally most recognizable through the distinct and vigorous vocals of Katie Stelmanis who also takes care of songwriting. Subsequently this makes her seem a leader of the group and somehow hides the prominence of two of her similarly talented band-mates: bassist Dorian Wolf and drummer and programmer Maya Postepski.

Maya’s one-woman project Princess Century (strange name, isn’t it?) focuses on her primary instrument: drums and electronic arrangements. Crummy Bones, one of her early demos, demonstrates Maya’s passion for stark rhythms and bursting beats which reach the strict sound of a machine gun. Bits of late 70s krautrock are traceable in the monotone raw bass line, inspirations by early industrial which drew from krautrock are hidden somewhere deep too. The cold washes of old-school synthesizers and analogue organs move the song towards its climax and despite their cool nature make Crummy Bones somehow more human and tangible. If this is just a demo, I’m really curious what will come after more focused work. Postepski’s feel for sharp rhythm and brisk melody is more than promising. (Download the song via Wears The Trousers’ SoundCloud profile. This feature was originally written for my primary Tumblr blog.)

What happens when two genial minds pair and create something together? In pop music it could end as a collision of two strong egos, but in the case of Hildur Guðnadóttir and Hauschka the worst scenario might have been just a lack of chemistry. Mastering the violoncello and composing solely for the single string instrument from Hildur’s perspective is much different from preparing the piano and working on a scale from symphonic orchestra to house music inspired by classical one. However, what connects these two musicians was much more intense than the difference between them. Playfulness and desire to explore undiscovered possibilities (or seldom heard) is a common characteristic of both artists as well as their experience in collaborating and working simultaneously on solo and group objects.

#294 is the first fragment of their improvisational concert in London last year. Its distinctly non-linear structure allows both artists to endeavour, entertain and play with their part with no collision or disharmony coming. Even though the composition is played with no score #294 consists of persistent waves of thrill and release; as if their minds were telepathically coordinated. Of course, their common language is music with the words exchanged for tones. Hauschka’s use of piano as a percussion instrument is charming, but the moment when he starts play it in a traditional way is the real beginning of #294 which was being built from cello vibrato with rushes of his prepared miracle for more than two minutes. What firstly sounds as a variation on a particular motive is soon thrown away with a stream-of-consciousness-like drive and vigour. #294 is just the first composition from the upcoming album Pan Tone (released on September 23rd) which contains the recording of the entire concert. Once again, another brilliant contribution to Sonic Pieces’ extraordinary collection. (This feature was written for my primary Tumblr blog.)

After an upbeat pastiche of imaginative dance music and warm ambient captured on outstanding album There Is Love In You, Kieran Hebden, better known as Four Tet, is set to release a 59th contribution to Fabriclive series. Four Tet’s compilation of 27 tracks contains mixes and songs from his collaborator Burial, Ricardo Villalobos or Floating Points, but more importantly, he comes with three yet unreleased tracks.

One of those unheard-before is above-streamed track Locked, eight-minutes long meditation that closes the entire Fabriclive mix. Typically for Hebden, it features a massive but translucent beat and touching groove that are later accompanied by a synthesized melody of guitar and few idyllic flutes. Locked features one of Four Tet’s sweetest melodies that evolves, morphs, quiets and grows again during its approximately six minutes. Still, below the lovable melody Four Tet works with percussion and bass in a playful and lively way to reach a living, organic song created by machines. Symbiosis of these two antagonistic elements is more than amazing in Four Tet’s hands. (This feature was written for my primary Tumblr blog.)

Ben Chatwin who performs as Talvihorros is a man of conceptual projects with a deep affection for guitar and pedals. First, he caught wider attention with his second full-length Music In Four Movements which was basically four variations on droning guitar existing somewhere between ecstasy and agony. Epic evolution of a simple motive was then captured on following EP called Guitar Improvisation II; true to its name it consisted of a single improvisation with unexpected turns and uneasy nature. Epicness and even greater emphasis on a concept remain the main characteristics of Talvihorros’ upcoming album, Descent Into Delta (out on Hibernate on August 26th) which deals with changes in waves frequency between a state of mind in gamma waves, when the mind is awake and delta, when humans sleep.

Gamma/Beta, the first “single” from Descent into Delta, nicely illustrates these changes and alterations. Typically for Chatwin, this song consists of several acts which are interconnected by a morphing, unstable guitar drone under the uncountable echoed layers of guitar and bass. In contrast to Tim Hecker and pleiad of his ambient drone-addicted contemporaries, the darkness of Gamma/Beta is warm and charming. It’s probably caused by the natural sound of guitar strings which always find their way through the droning mass. Even when Chatwin counts on the heavy bass and the inner tense inside, the composition doesn’t cross the border from melancholy to depression and persists in the area of pleasant mourn. It’ll be more than interesting to hear it placed into greater context of Descent Into Delta. For now, my mind is fully thrilled even though it should be in Gamma/Beta state. (This article was written for my primary Tumblr blog.)

It’s impossible to say what’s more important or essential about iamamiwhoami’s artistic appearance. Is it the music? Jonna Lee, Claes Björklund and their crew (whose members have stayed in hiding for more than a year and half) are musicians whose previous career was always about composing and singing or producing, respectively. Or are the bottom line of iamamiwhoami their videos? Those imaginative, film-like, sometimes shocking, another times soothing footage of a mandragora, man in white briefs, animals and nature as the missing component of our post-industrial lives? Or is it the special way of a communication? Talking to their fans just through months of silence, then a release of a new single with accompanying video, some cryptic message left on an unsearchable site and then silence again?

For the main aim and sense of this blog music is the underlying key to the greater understanding of iamamiwhoami’s presence. Not only does their sporadic way of releasing new songs with no studio album in coming break the rules of contemporary pop music, but it also maps their artistic evolution – something that belongs to the most obvious subjects of their persona. Evolution of ideas and musical emotions in contrast (and concert) to the evolution of a human. Of course, all of their motives are in highly symbolic way narrated through supernatural characters living on the border between fairytale, horror and a cold reality.

The same works for their music: synth-pop with so many ingredients that it’s not electro-pop anymore. Clump, their new single illustrates this eclecticism and evolution nicely. Here, iamamiwhoami go back to the more vigorous sound of their earlier singles O and T, but replace their straightforward catchiness with urge and dominance over the listener. Unlike most of their singles which are built of slowly-evolving introduction - often just instrumental - and opening passages (think of O, Y, ; John), Clump begins immediately. “I never dreamed I’d need someone like you” in the first line is a traditional usage of contrasts in their lyrics which foremost deal with then and now. But while the earlier songs were heavily saturated with a fear and doubts about love and life of a musician, Clump is more self-confident and resolute. She’s not uncertain about herself anymore what is aptly documented in another passage: “You never had a true friend like I.” Of course, that you are we, her listeners.

On the other side, the dissonance of heavy synthesizers and reverberated vocals somehow destruct this light approach and move the song into darker spheres – both in sonic and lyrical way. Clump is mostly about Lee as a musician and her fans as a group of her lovers. Because it’s not so easy and simple to produce quality, non-mainstream music frequently while freeing yourself from self-awareness of pop’s immediacy. Pop artists are in hard role of balancing symbolism with simplicity, but preserving catchiness effortlessness of melody and structure. This aspect also explains iamamiwhoami’s left-field nature and impossibility to reach bigger audience – they are too “complex” for mass. These themes of re-inventing yourself and dealing with the difficulties of creativity are intrinsic elements of the lyrics; in Clump it’s the very last verse: “Cannot wait until I see your smiling faces / And our love will be misunderstood.”

Choosing clump as the name seems more than fitting as the word means not only “a small, compact group of people” – people to whom their music may concern, but also “a small group of trees or plans growing closely together” – one of iamamiwhoami’s most frequent metaphor for fans. The ambiguity of Lee’s words is appealing too. Count the ways one could understand these words: “Cannot wait until I get my hands on you / we can do the things we said we would.” I believe that Clump is  a prelude to the upcoming concert in Goteborg. Still, the raw energy and dissonant subduing of iamamiwhoami is more than delicious with Clump being one of their most impenetrable singles.

Although Nils Frahm has released just one full-length album, a collaboration with cellist Anne Müller and two EPs, he belongs to the most respected artists on the contemporary classical scene. I believe it’s his classical education and training in piano playing since his childhood what differs his composition and way of musical communication from his mostly self-taught contemporaries. Firstly, it was Nahum Brodski – a student of the last scholar of Tchaikovsky, who taught him techniques and the “right” perception of the music. Later came Peter Broderick who became some kind of mentor and director during improvising recording sessions in Grunewald Church which resulted in Frahm’s defining debut, The Bells, one of musicAddicted’s favourite 2009 albums (article in Slovak language).

However, it doesn’t matter how many geniuses moved around him, it was (and had to be) Nils Frahm, who found his own voice; not only in the selected techniques, but also way of composing, arranging and finally, breathing in his unique signature. Luckily, he was more than successful in this task and his blueprint is an obviously personal, intimate relationship with piano and romanticist and emotional feel of his compositions which are advanced in the complexity of sound and technique. While most of his contemporaries bet on sentimentality and lush simplicity, Frahm goes beyond this – his work is dramatic and intricate.

Yet, his second full-length FELT (out on October 10th) finds him moving in new direction – towards minimalism and intentional calm. Unter is placed in the middle of FELT hints the future sound: delicate, inward sound where the rushes of piano’s hammers is one of the strangely warm stirs accompanying Frahm’s playing. The playing itself is surprisingly simple and straightforward with a clear line of melody and its short and simple variance. In spite or maybe because of the melodic ease Unter sounds overly warm and welcoming – it’s a composition for a sincere enjoyment. It seems that FELT will be another jewel to Erased Tapes’ admirable cont.–classical collection.

(This article was originally written for my primary Tumblr blog.)