Articles by Jon Buckland
This final collaboration is a wondrous way to round off the majestic Split Series from Fat Cat.
With the clues littered throughout Luminol it feels like Midwife is leading herself out to us, just enough to catch a glimpse of her truth and for it to resound deeply within us.
Kevin Richard Martin has made an otherworldly work seem intensely personal.
The arc that IVIC moves along takes us from head to heart to gut and back again.
This was a soundtrack to nihilism. A hedonism born out of self obliteration. It’s carnivalesque. An embodying of the unsettled British mind.
Where Sunn O))) & Boris’s collab felt complimentary and respectful, this is a battleground navigated via a slim Venn diagram-shaped compass.
That our times are so tempestuous as to result in such stirring art should be cause for concern. How bad can things get? And, terrifyingly, how compelling can Skourlis’s music yet become?
A feedback loop destined to swirl round and round, every listen exposing a hitherto unheard element or emotional pang.
Drew McDowall seems on a mission to destroy our expectations of time.
It feels like, in 2020, full-bodied, earth-shuddering noise is just about the only sane response to the constant mental, physical, societal, and ecological unravelling that appears to be occurring around us.
A haunting and gloomy release that somehow retains the vigorous cadence of pregnant clouds rolling over uncertain lands.
The latest release from Brighton-based, obsidian-pop specialists The Academy of Sun takes a microscope and a poet’s tongue to the tiny traces of existence left behind following life’s unrelenting fall out.
In this cinematic quest, Sarah Lipstate takes us on a sonic journey that rides a breathtaking gauntlet of emotions but settles, ultimately, on tragedy as we reach its life-weary climax.
Sounds surge like dying light laying its last across sacred ground.
It smashed me into a thousand perturbed, titillated shards, scooped me up and reconstituted me down the road of Zorn, Tzadik, Kayo Dot, Secret Chiefs 3 – an unholy nexus of maverick compositional visionaries.
After the third or fourth listen it becomes clear that the welcoming smile, spread across the exterior of these sounds, is masking something sinister that writhes beneath.
An album that focuses the mind, cleanses thoughts and provides space for something greater, something higher to step in.
If Forever is to be considered that letter, then this is a precious correspondence to keep close and treasure.
These distinct portraits of wildly differing people lean trustingly into one another, carefully segueing from one slowing life to another.
a treatise on life, death, and that whole wobbly stretch of existence that straddles the two.
This is heavy music neither for display nor posturing but in a manner that attaches itself to somewhere deep inside of you. It feels heavy. Pins you to your chair like a form of wordless meditation.