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- Albums and Singles
March 31, 2009
US CD Killer Pimp PIMPK010
- This Room Seems Empty Without You - [MP3]
- Lost & Losing
- What I Wouldn't Give To Feel Alive
- In Crowded Rooms, On Empty Streets
- What Stays And What Fades Away
- Himmelschreibenden Herzen
Thomas Ekelund - all music and artwork
Recorded December 2005-March 2006 in the bedroom, Kortedala. Mastered by Rashad Becker, Berlin, May 2008. I stand on the inside looking out. www.deadwords.org
Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words is the ghost by which Thomas Ekelund performs sonic exorcism, unleashing his bleak and twisted vision into the material world. Culling found sounds from his habitat, twisting in inspiration from 60's girl groups, and molding it together with the last gasps of vinyl noise, Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words gives birth to what one might name concrete drone pop.
From bleak to bleaker, grimy sounds emanate from the sewer, while rays of hope sneak through the broken glass, reflecting on the blood stained shards on the street above.
Thomas Ekelund currently resides in Gothenburg, Sweden, and is a graphic designer, musician and visual artist. He has released music under a long line of guises both solo and in constellations such as The Skull Defekts, Dead Violets, Normal Music, Teeth, Kill Kill Kill For Inner Peace and Dub Industrial Sound System.
Regarding Lost In Reflections, Ekelund says, "Eighteen months ago I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, a both vile and many-faced disease that inevitably drapes every aspect of life in shadows that range from shades of grey to coal black. It causes a polarity of mind, everything is either or, never in between. It makes you feel isolated and alone even in the most crowded rooms. Slowly this imagined isolation becomes a real isolation. You do not allow anyone inside the carefully constructed walls, built stone by stone by a mind so completely preoccupied with guilt and shame that you in fact become unhuman (sic). An empty shell containing oozing, black bile and nothing else. You become the disease.
I never look into mirrors unless it's absolutely necessary. Because I don't see the reflection of man, I see a specter, a phantasm, a distorted human-like figure to which I can't relate. I never look into the eyes of anyone I talk to because I am terrified that they will see the same apparition. I try to achieve invisibility, but in lack of that I hide my true appearance behind meticulously molded masks.
At the time of diagnosis, Lost in Reflections was already half a year old. Still it deals with the aforementioned disease and some of the aspects of it. It is strange how the mind can be so aware and unaware at the same time.
Now it's two years later. And though I in some ways have a better grasp of my ailment I am nowhere near being rid of it. Most of the time I feel suspended, as if I was waiting for some great revelation of thruth, a stroke of magic that will transform me into someone like you. The person you see in the mirror. A human.
It has taken me two years to come to terms with this album. It's in many ways my most accessible work to date, but in other ways my most difficult and demanding. I can't listen to it objectively. In fact I have a hard time listening to it at all."
"Lost in Reflections" is the fourth main album from Swedish artist Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words (Thomas Ekelund), packaged as a limited edition 7-inch/LP combination. Two years in the making, its creation spans a period in the artist's life marked by pivotal struggle, a time in which a debilitating psychiatric diagnosis must have both explained everything and shattered the world. "Lost in Reflections" is a mirror of that realm, a lens through which the listener can discover being set adrift in a sea of introspection, otherness and isolation. Ekelund here reveals the mechanisms underlying his work, in so doing giving a sure glimpse of the very humanity present in that terrifying vessel he inhabits: himself. From the first resonant note, repeating in sinister sincerity, "Lost in Reflections" uncoils with the utmost patience and care. "This Room Seems Empty Without You" continues from that note's deep recurrence, blossoming into spatiality with a rhythmic, three-part beat, joyless guitar plucking and anesthetic background chatter. On the 7-inch's reverse, "Lost & Losing" then deconstructs the peaceful enclosure from without, interior succumbing to exterior pressures of a vast, windblown expanse, fed by guitar drones and discomfiting, surging noise. "On Empty Streets, In Crowded Rooms" reminds of factory innards, chemical swamp gurgling, as machine whirring embattles forlorn guitar notes. "What Stays & What Fades Away" lends a subterranean atmosphere with directionless rumbling and unseen mewling creatures. Later, an insistent strumming seems just out of reach, as if behind opaque glass. The final nineteen-minute epic, "Himmelschreibende Herzen", begins with rippling drone swells, among which soft bass hits rise, and finally, orchestral notes gape and breathe. It is a somber, protracted march, yet ends with these notes hanging poignantly in the air. Whether this symbolizes daybreak, escape, absolution, or something else, it is doubtless hopeful. Unlike most drone acts utilizing guitar to construct sounds, Ekelund's is furnished with an undeniable tangibility, present as a distinct role in his soundscapes. Guitar provides melody where there otherwise would be none, emotive prickling in an environment of shifting black and white. It is the key to communicating a disorder's solitude, the lifeline stretching between parallel worlds. "Lost in Reflections" is not all void and darkness, shrouded apparitions and pervasive melancholy. Full of warmer tones, richer hues and softer timbres, we can accept that ensconced somewhere among the meticulous layering is a mind at odds with its environs, and by no choice of its own. - Dutton Hauhart, Connexion Bizarre
The cover art of Lost in Reflections depicts a sort of bizarre, surrealistic roundtable of clones in business suits, sitting with their arms folded and staring at each other as if they had all just swindled one another in the most heinous way possible. The rest is black. It's truly a strange scene, one undoubtedly meant to be a reflection of the album's vaguely spectral title. Thomas Ekelund (the man behind Dead Letters...) writes of the album that it is, to a large extent, an outgrowth of his diagnosis and subsequent battle with borderline personality disorder, and the attendant feelings of alienation, isolation, and the perturbation of the sense of self. He describes his personal degeneration as having gotten to the point where his image of himself was of "An empty shell containing oozing, black bile and nothing else." For all this marked doom and gloom, it's interesting that the most salient feature of the album is its approachability. A listener going into this album would be right to expect a plunging, pit-of-despair excursion through black fields draped with mist, the moaning intestines of glacial caverns and abandoned, decaying toy factories, and at points, we do get those sorts of typical dark ambient tropes. However, much more often we are submerged in a more subtle, profound, and strangely comforting seclusion. Set adrift on a sturdy but pliable raft of electronic snaps, crackles, and pops, we are borne gently to and fro by layered currents of iridescent guitar melodies and rolling swells of delicate fuzz. There is no doubt a strain of loneliness and pain suffered in solitude that runs through each of these songs, but it's the kind of neurosis that you can bring home to mom. As hard as this album tries to be tortured and inaccessible, it can't shake the fact that it's actually a very beautiful and generally pleasant experience. This is not to say that we've got an I'm From Barcelona album on our hands here. There are a couple tracks ("Lost and Losing," "In Crowded Rooms, On Empty Streets") that at least break ground on that pit of despair, alerting us to the darker side to Ekelund's project; but even these moments end up resolving themselves into graceful phantasms of melodies. I suppose that these subtle swayings of emotion are just another manifestation of the album's theme, but as illustrations of an ailment that Ekelund says "inevitably drapes every aspect of life in shadows that range from shades of gray to coal black," I can't help but feel that some of that terror and despair has not been fully transcribed. If this album is meant to be a declaration and relation of feelings of anguish, existential anxiety, and sequestration, I must say that it has failed. However, there is a type of invitation here, a form of calling into loneliness. We are not asked to empathize with this album, and we are not dragged screaming by its tendrils into the heart of darkness. Instead we are nudged, led quietly by our hands to a place where someone has found something of value, and then we are left there. A child's fortress inside a giant rotting stump deep in the forest, a dock with no boat or house on the shore of a lake long since turned to swamp — we are left alone, sure, but we are also left with the hope of coming to terms with that fact and of finding something worth being alone for." - Gabriel Keehn, Tiny Mix Tapes
Often one can ignore the background details for a given recording without handicapping the listening experience too greatly. There's no question, however, that one's appreciation of Lost in Reflections by Thomas Ekelund, the man behind Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words, is enhanced by an awareness of the extremely challenging hand the Gothenburg-based composer has been dealt. Almost two years ago, he was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, a disease that permeates one's entire being and coats every moment in darkness. By his own admission, Ekelund's been reduced to a mirror-shunning spectre who can't bear to look into the eyes of others. Now fully aware of his condition and attempting to cope with it, he admits that he not only can't listen to Lost in Reflections objectively but has "a hard time listening to it at all." The severity of the affliction can't help but have affected the character of the album (more precisely the first two songs are paired on a 7-inch while the other four are on LP), and the material is as relentless as one would expect. Though the album apparently was recorded prior to the formal diagnosis (specifically, Lost in Reflections was recorded between December 2005 and March 2006), its gloom-laden spirit is clearly audible; consider as evidence the multi-layered dronescape "Lost & Losing" where electric guitars scream amidst the merciless howl of sweeping winds and lurching noise swells. Much of the fifty-minute recording sounds as if it was recorded outdoors by the seashore during a stormy night; hear, for example, the faint traces of string scrapes and guitar strums that struggle to penetrate the vaporous haze consuming "What Stays And What Fades Away." Surprisingly, the release isn't wholly downcast: "What I Wouldn't Give To Feel Alive" exudes a placid and peaceful spirit that's not bereft of hope, and pealing guitars and chirping electronic squeals bob to the surface of "Crowded Rooms, In Empty Streets" too. Nevertheless, a zenith of sorts is clearly reached in the closing piece, "Himmelschreibenden Herzen," when it unspools for a psychotropic nineteen minutes in a manner that suggests some inward plunge into madness. If one ever wondered what form a sonic portrait of Hades might assume, one need look no further than this grinding colossus. But be patient: while the deranged wail of a thousand tormented souls holds the first half hostage, epic melodies played by what sounds like strings, mellotron, and bells gradually rise to the fore during the second half. "Himmelschreibenden Herzen" hardly provides an easy exeunt to the album but it's definitely an incredible one. - Ron Schepper, Textura
Lost in Reflections takes, as its physical manifestation, the form of an LP with a seven-inch which is intended to be heard in the correct sequence as a single musical statement. Plangent studio-based guitar and effects recordings, in multiple overdubs, produce some of the most intensive and incredible slow drone sounds you've ever heard. Read the insert for a startling confessional text from its creator, Thomas Ekelund, but no matter what he tells you about his psychological condition nothing will prepare you for the ever-changing slew of emotional experiences that this work dares to unleash — veering from the ecstatic to the suicidally miserable, with a range of new and unknown emotions in between. Ekelund's painful personality dilemma is also expressed via the stark monochrome cover image, itself a pastiche of a well-known surrealist image. The sensitive listener had best be prepared for a record of relentless passion and power, yet its music is unspooled in a deliberative and contemplative manner. Chillingly beautiful! No wonder it took four record labels to release it. - Ed Pinsent, The Sound Projector
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March 31, 2009
US CD Killer Pimp PIMPK011
- Bloodlust
- Peri
- Secret Rapture
- Damascus
- Showa
- Black Nature
- Voice Untouched By Conversation
- Horizon - [MP3]
Ken Ueno - voice
Jon Whitney - 808
Thomas Worster - guitar, nord lead
Recorded 2006 at Deadverse Studios by Oktopus.
The second full-length release from Blood Money was the first to be both conceived and recorded completely together. For this, the trio of Ken Ueno, Jon Whitney, and Tom Worster joined Dalek's producer/sound wizard Oktopus in the Deadverse Studios to commit to tape songs formed through dedicated rehearsals and perfected in their live performances.
In the three years since the debut, Axis of Blood, Ken Ueno has spent a year in Rome (winner of the 2006-2007 Rome Prize), had numerous orchestras perform his works worldwide, and has accepted the position of Assistant Professor at the University of California, Berkeley. Tom and Jon remain in Boston and are now forced to collaborate over long distances.
Blood Brotherhood is notably more song-based yet stays very close to the heart of the group: the intensity of noise, the freedom granted through improvisation, the power of rhythm, and the humanity of introspection. While the introduction of a professional studio has granted them the ability to multitrack numerous layers the group has, for this recording, chosen to remain with its main instrumentation: vocals, Nord lead, and Roland 808, with very slight guitar added on one song.
An LP edition of Blood Brotherhood is in the planning on the Community Library label.
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Quiet Design
While the music represented on Spectra is often excellent, I am somewhat perplexed by the album’s focus and ambition. First of all, all of the artists included are quite similar in sound: only a very specific strain of 21st century guitar music is represented. Namely, guitarists who apply for art grants and describe themselves as composers (with some exceptions, obviously). Secondly, it seems bizarre and misguided to attempt a survey of contemporary experimental guitar without Fennesz, Peter Rehberg, Jim O’Rourke, Stephen O'Malley, Sonic Youth, etc. I demand a title change, Quiet Design. Perhaps Electro-acoustic Minimalism in the 21st Century?
That said, there are several rather exceptional tracks here (despite the absence of the aforementioned luminaries). “Six” (by Sebastian Roux and Kim Myrh) is a slow-building piece erected upon a foundation of wavering drone and plucked harmonics. Gradually, electronically manipulated scrapes, whines, and backwards noises are added until it coheres into a rusty lurching rhythm.
“Nylah” by Texan "surrealist studio sculptor" Mike Vernusky is an excellent drone piece that manages to simultaneously rumble and shimmer. The swelling washes of feedback are nicely complemented by dripping water, creaking, and a metallic industrial hum. This is quite expertly composed and produced stuff. Vernusky has an excellent feel for dynamics and texture. Austin’s Cory Allen also turns in a striking drone piece. “Fermion” begins with an unadorned low droning tone that slowly becomes enveloped in a buzzing and pulsing cloud of textured digitally processed sound and disintegrating washes of static.
Most of the other pieces on the album are chromatic, minimalist acoustic pieces (although Turkey’s Erdem Helvacioglu bucks the trend by occasionally adhering to conventional scales and melody). The notable exception is Keith Rowe’s (AMM) live rendition of Cornelius Cardew’s "Treatise", which sounds much closer to an ambient Merzbow than anything guitar-based. Eventually it winnows down to simple and recognizable feedback, but there is quite a bit of white noise, grinding, industrial roar and clatter, and possible powerdrill usage before that point.
The album closes with a Jandek track (“The World Stops”) that characteristically rides the line between genius and unintentional comedy. It is intriguing that the album's curators chose this particular track, as Jandek’s playing seems to consist solely of arrhythmic open string strumming on a standard-tuned guitar. However, it features some truly demonic atonal harmonica wailing that would make a nice centerpiece for a future Quiet Design survey of harmonica in the 21st century.
Samples:
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Peasant Magik
Peasant Magik have provided a cryptic, evocative, and hyperbole-filled description for us: “Endless repetition. Keys spin over down-tuned sludge, FX-ridden guitars suffocate themselves, and utterly massive swells consume all laid before.” Notably, the only one of those descriptors that actually applies to all four songs is “endless repetition.”
The album opens with “Creswellian” (a British Paleolithic culture), built upon a vaguely medieval-sounding down-tuned doom riff that is very much in the Stephen O'Malley/Sunn o))) vein. As it repeats (endlessly, of course), a great deal of haunting, trebly, chattering weirdness is piled on. Unfortunately, Dukkha’s ambition and imagination are scuttled by his very limited production/recording budget. The main riff should be crushing, but ends up sounding like a muted bass hum and the “black psychedelia” occurring around it is buried too low in the mix to be fully appreciated.
The second track, “Hordron,” works much better. It is based upon a simple, melancholy and undistorted minor chord progression (with some deliberate “wrong” notes thrown in). The production still sucks, but the lack of distortion prevents it from turning completely into frustrating sonic mud. While it may seem like an oxymoron, this song features some beautiful, tasteful, and inventive wah-wah guitar work. (Hordron Edge is a stone circle near Sheffield, if you are curious. I am amused that all I can figure out about Dukkha is that he is a megalith enthusiast and probably a Buddhist.)
“The Finest Clothes Turn To Rags” kicks off side two with some discordant, high-end tremolo picking that sounds like someone just broke open a hive of evil, distorted hornets. This is the only moment of the album where I perceive a palpable Black Metal influence. Notably, it is this point on the album that “guitars suffocate themselves” and “consume all laid before” and the song implodes. Lamentably, the awesomeness of this moment is ruined yet again by sludginess- I am sure that this sounded like a goddamn supernova when it was actually being played. Most unfortunate.
“Chromes Gone Home” closes the album with some dark and eerie droning featuring the sounds of children playing buried in the mix. It is much more spacious than the rest of the album and features some nice impressionistic feedback near the end. There appears to be some underlying concept to this song that involves..um... trucks, which seems like an odd aberration next to the album's other arcane and ancient themes. Dukkha is certainly an inscrutable fellow.
Interestingly, “dukkha” is a Buddhist term that roughly translates as “disquiet” or “suffering.” The goal of Buddhism is (rather notably) the cessation of Dukkha. I hope this guy does not achieve enlightenment before recording an album that better does justice to his vision or before forging a sound that is more uniquely his own. (This cassette-only release is a limited edition of 100 copies)
Samples:
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Peasant Magik
This cassette-only release consists of two very similar sounding ambient-drone pieces (perhaps two halves of the same piece) built upon what the label describes as "expertly crafted, drifting guitar feedback. Ranging from Sunroof!-esque shimmering skree to glacial amplifier buzz." It certainly is glacial, no argument there. As for the skree, I am not entirely sure. "Skree" is something of a pseudo-word that is not clearly defined, but I believe in this case it means an insectoid hum. That is equally apt.
Both pieces are based upon a sustained pure, wavering tone and a low drone, and slowly swell and ebb as additional tracks of feedback and hum wash in and out. It never becomes harsh, but abrupt noises intermittently stumble into the mix (backwards chords, radio noises, some vaguely sinister rumblings deep in the mix that may be mangled speech) to keep things from being totally predictable or one-dimensional. Listening to this album is not unlike (I suspect), lying in a field surrounded by crickets whose comforting whine is weirdly shifting in subtly psychedelic ways. Every now and then a darker or harsher tone breaks through the cricket hum, threatening to shatter the nocturnal idyll and remind you that there is an ugly world waiting just outside, but it is always overpowered by your helpful acid-cricket pals almost immediately.
Guitarists Pierre Faure and Thierry Monnier display a striking and egoless command of nuance, control, and patience throughout. The World Upside-Down never escalates, incorporates other instruments, or really changes mood. It just floats. Endlessly and hypnotically. At least, it does if your cassette player automatically flips tapes. Otherwise it only floats hypnotically for two twenty-minute stretches.
This is the first Peasant Magik release that I was exposed to. I have historically not followed the cassette-only noise genre too closely (even after being blindsided by the amazing Natural Snow Buildings). However, I have since heard some other releases from this label and they are also pretty unique and intriguing. This is still my favorite though. It is a shame only 99 other people will be able to share my experience (as it's limited edition to 100).
Samples:
- The True Is A Moment Of The False
- The False Is A Moment Of The True (excerpt one)
- The False Is A Moment Of The True (excerpt two)
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Anyone who has ever run a label, booked a venue, or reviewed a record knows what its like to be overwhelmed the volume of music vying for your attention. Between day-jobs, time-out, and catching some shut-eye, there isn’t enough time in the day to give every artist out there exposure, regardless of whether they deserve it or not. Faced with that dilemma, Cardboard Records decided to err on the side of generosity in the process of compiling this double CD.
 
Billing scene-makers alongside basement-dwellers, this compilation aims at representing the current music underground as whole. A quixotic goal perhaps, but the sheer volume of artists (57 in total) gives a good overview current experimental rock. Though most of the songs on the compilation are previously unreleased, many of the more familiar bands opted to throw an album track. For instance, the Fuck Buttons contribution is just a truncated version of "Ribs Out" which appeared on Street Horrrsing.Yet for those small disappointments, completists looking for and exclusive track by their favorite band won't all be disappointed. My highlights include Gowns' mournful ode "What if not You" or Shooting Spires' cover of the Bad Brains tune "Sailn' On."
Thrown in with these prominent names are dozens of groups seemingly pulled at random from anonymity. Nice as the gesture is, the unknown bands contribute most of the weak tracks on the compilation. Whether Fat Day or Mr. Baby deserve obscurity is a decision that Cardboard has handed over to the listener. I'm flattered that they assume so much patience on my part, but some editorial restraint would have made the compilation flow a lot better. Listening through the whole thing can be a frustrating exercise, depending on your ability to take wild jumps in genre and recording fidelity. Over just a few tracks, the CDs will cycle between atonal drone music to political punk to folk music to noise rock.The songs are arranged alphabetically by artist name, preventing any sort of thematic cohesion. While listening to the completion, I often skipped forward in search of something better.
Though the intention behind Love and Circuits is good natured, the quality of the tracks varies too wildly. Camaraderie is great behind the scenes, but hard choices need to be made once you think about an audience. As much as I like Cardboard Records, I think some thinning would have made this compilation a lot better.
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![cover image](/brain/images/tetuzi_akiyama_kevin_corcoran_christian_kiefer-low_cloud_means_death.jpg)
If the ocean is indeed the inspiration here then this is an awfully loose interpretation aside from the track names. Where the ocean is an intimidating force whose scope is vast and untamable, this work is actually quite intimate and delicate in feel. Each sound is given ample space to make itself known before the ever-present silence (maybe this is the oceanic representative...) makes clear its presence once more, infusing the work with an atypical warmth and physicality rather than its standard role as an evoker of tension.
The lengthy "Drowned Arch" opens the disc by setting up its loose and relaxed sonic environment. Kiefer's piano trickles its notes about with clean flourishes that ring in near classicist drama while Akiyama's guitar floats beneath with angular, folkloric storylines somehow simultaneously reminiscent of Loren Connors and Derek Bailey. Given that the approach of the group is as spare as it is, Corcoran's percussion is often limited to brief punctuations and soft textural statements, a task which he approaches delicately and with a fine ear. Despite its length, the work has the same sense of drifting mobility as the rest of the album.
There is a near lazy approach here, never rushed or alarmed but always steeped in strange dissonances and eerie sonic spaces. "The Vision Ship" sees Kiefer pumping his accordion to create a voluminous, undulating drone for Akiyama and Corcoran to dabble atop on. The song's ship makes itself apparent in the form of slow wooden creaks that are perhaps a bit obvious; conversely, these are wholly submersive sounds immediately and easily associated with that very specific sonic moment, and the trio keeps the sound from becoming trite with their continuous interactions atop it. Kiefer's accordion improvisations around the creaks are as odd and intriguing as anything on here, often sounding nearly electronic.
While minimal improvisation has surely been done before—often with mixed results—this trio seems to have found their own angle on it. It is refreshing in these experimentally fertile times to hear a group doing something of this ilk without electronic assistance, a quality which allows for maximum control and instantaneous response times. The result is an intimate and, apparently, oceanic affair. Let's just take their word on that if it creates music this good.
samples:
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![cover image](/brain/images/kluster-vulcano.jpg)
The concert is, as near as I can tell, a continuous improvised work, though the label makes the wise choice of splitting the work into 23 short tracks, each of which bleeds into the other effortlessly while still managing to present individual ideas within them. This is clearly a carefully appreciated sonic artifact.
That said, the work's continuous nature allows for the band to take their sound into pockets that fit well in this format; one minute the piece is filled with metallic synth attacks, and the next it submerges into echoing vocals and the hum of telephone wires. While this schizophrenic approach is often disastrous however, Kluster have the curious creativity and improvisational prowess to prevent the work from being crushed under its own weight. With ample space left between most of the proceedings, every sound becomes its own piece as it slides out across the room. The textural richness of each sound is given its due, allowing the whole to remain absorbing and interesting throughout. One can picture the trio hunkered down in wonder as they manipulate their homemade gadgets, only to be met with a sonic environment that appears as exciting to them as to any audience that may have been present.
It is this sense of genuine experimentation that pervades these recordings and makes them so exciting. Light percussive taps appear only to be supplemented by flute meanderings and mumbling synthesizer lines. Swampy decrescendos slip downward into static fuzz. Gentle whispers ride among circuit-bent punctuations before looped vocals decay across barren industrial soundscapes. This sort of brave, even reckless interplay fills the entire performance with strange and intriguing delights that remain unique, even by today's standards.
Perhaps Kluster's strength lies in their distinctly German stance. Far enough removed from the Haight-Ashbury scene, Kluster was able to partake in a musical realm that was open to those working in the relatively flowerless environments that they did without losing any of the social implications of a fully improvised electronic music. Pulling as much from Don Cherry as Karlheinz Stockhausen, the work represents a critical piece of German music at a time when the country was filled with it. That Schnitzler's Kluster remains as overlooked as it does can hopefully be remedied by loving and deserved reissues such as this.
samples:
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![Sistrenatus - 'Sensitive Disturbance' Sistrenatus - 'Sensitive Disturbance'](http://www.coldspring.co.uk/Covers2/csr108cd.jpg)
Artist: Sistrenatus
Title: Sensitive Disturbance
Catalogue No: CSR108CD
Barcode: 8 2356647112 7
Format: CD in jewelcase
Genre: Black Ambient / Industrial
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Blurring the lines between Dark Ambient, Industrial and Noise, Sistrenatus storms forth, shifting between oppressive aggression and unsettling atmospheres. "Sensitive Disturbance" is the third offering from this now legendary Canadian act, whose debut "Division One" was issued on Cold Spring in 2007. An aural journey through the urban decay of abandoned factories, scorched landscapes and underground passageways. "Sensitive Disturbance" is an abrasive rendition of the industrial revolution in its darkest phases.
Tracks: 1. Disrepair | 2. Frequency Contamination | 3. Rusted Earth | 4. Echoes From The Past | 5. Slow-Wave | 6. Lost Transmission | 7. Forgotten
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![Bleeding Heart Narrative Bleeding Heart Narrative](http://www.coldspring.co.uk/Covers2/csr109cd.jpg)
Artist: Bleeding Heart Narrative
Title: All That Was Missing We Never Had In The World
Catalogue No: CSR106CD
Barcode: 8 23566471325
Format: CD in digipak
Genre: Orchestral / Avant-Garde
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Reissue of the stunning debut BHN album from spring 2008 (Ltd x 200). Working with a constantly evolving autumnal orchestra of layered cellos, repeating piano melodies, hushed vocals and mutant textures of sound and noise, Bleeding Heart Narrative has constructed a unique, haunting and compelling album. BHN is the work of sole composer, artist and producer Oliver Barrett, working in the live spectrum as a septet. Presented in a digipak with the new and exclusive bonus track 'Blueskywards'. We can't recommend this highly enough!�
Tracks: 1. BHN | 2. As If Yearning Was All And More Than Enough | 3. Black Glass | 4. Braids And A Necklace | 5. Blueskywards |
6. A Nest | 7. This Is The World Before This Is | 8. Discovering Abandoned Houses | 9. Nothing Is Out In The Yard
10. Though Your Feet Have Left Footprints | 11. Finding The Door | 12. Lillian Gish
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