Canadian-born but based in Kobe, Japan, Tim Olive's work in the realms of abstract sound and composition is unique in that it rarely is a solo endeavor. Instead, his approach is that music should be collaborative, and thus these two recent works feature him and his slew of home made and non-musical instruments working alongside similar minded artists, in this case Kyoto's Takuji Naka and Calgary percussionist Chris Dadge. The two albums are certainly consistent with each other in approach, but also stand alone as distinct entities as well, linked by Olive's touch and artistry.

Francisco López has been active and rather prolific for 40 years, and A Bunch of Stuff (1980-2020) is the first true retrospective release he has assembled thus far. While there have been a multitude of compilations or boxed sets, those consisted largely of thematic releases or previously unreleased works. This 12 hour USB drive, consisting of uncompressed excerpts from 138 pieces and categorized by style, acts as probably the best, and most thorough, introduction to his staggering discography. Standing alone as a diverse and compelling compilation, it also serves as a gateway work for anyone looking to further explore his lengthy career.

In recent years, it seems like each new Dead C release is inspired by a different extreme self-imposed constraint or contrarian impulse for self-sabotage. Obviously, the trio have always been unwaveringly devoted to making challenging and polarizing art, but they are also admirably devoted to continual reinvention (and presumably to repeatedly wrong-footing their audience as well). This latest EP is a bit of a puzzle though, as it feels less like the product of a focused overarching vision than it does an eclectic mixed bag of varying threads ("broken, shambolic blues" and "gnarled guitar tone worship" spring most immediately to mind). Some of the trio's searching forays into uncharted territory on Unknowns definitely yield more compelling results than others though, so longtime fans will likely find something to love even if the entire EP can be tough to fully embrace. Given that, Unknowns would not be an ideal starting point for the curious, as the band seem to be consciously not playing to their strengths, but they are at least doing things wrong in some very interesting ways.

This latest release from the Opalio brothers documents their incendiary live performance with recurring collaborator Jean-Marc Montera at 2018’s Reevox-Nuit D’Hiver festival in Marseilles. Generally, live albums are not my preference (outside of iconic jazz line-ups), but the difference between a "live" and a "studio" recording is largely an irrelevant and purely academic one with My Cat is an Alien: both are completely spontaneous, so the only real difference is that people happened to be watching this time. Consequently, the primary appeal of Nuit d'Hiver lies in how Montera’s presence steers the brothers' signature psychedelia into somewhat wilder, more unpredictable territory. Admittedly, Montera is a recurring figure precisely because he has an especially deep understanding of the Opalios' vision and always brings welcome enhancements to it, so Nuit d'Hiver is still predicable in one sense: it is another strong addition to the MCIAA discography. It may not be quite as strikingly novel as some other MCIAA collaborations, given Montera's history and familiarity with the Opalios' work and ethos, but it is nevertheless a characteristically absorbing swirl of deep space lysergia.

Given how many achingly gorgeous songs Mary Lattimore has released over the last few years, I was not exactly clamoring for any significant changes to either her aesthetic or her working methods. However, when I learned that she had flown out to Cornwall to record with Neil Halstead, my expectations for Silver Ladders nevertheless increased dramatically. And for the most part, those intimidatingly high expectations were met with this album, though this is still very much a Mary Lattimore album rather than the Lattimore/Mojave 3 or Lattimore/Slowdive collaboration of my dreams (though "Til a Mermaid Drags You Under" feels damn close to such a transcendent union). For the most part, however, Silver Ladders is exactly what I would expect from Lattimore at this point in her career: a near-flawless collection of tenderly sublime, nuanced, and emotionally resonant harp reveries enhanced with a subtle palette of effects. Whether or not Silver Ladders surpasses any of Lattimore's previous great albums is difficult to say, as my feelings on that vary by the day, but it definitely belongs among her most memorably beautiful statements to date.

This record was one of the more impressive artifacts to emerge in 2010. Combining music and moving images in a novel way, its uniqueness ensures it will be a talked about collectors item for years to come. Discerning listeners will favor the discombobulated collage aesthetic while visual arts aficionados will be keen to witness the zoetropic animations encoded on the vinyl first hand.

Supersilent have always lurked at the furthest fringes of jazz, my first recommendations to listen to them usually came from those who were more into Eric Dolphy and Albert Ayler than the kind of stuff I was listening to at the time. With 10, the group have picked out the more traditionally jazzish elements of their improvisations and focused on them. The result is not a straight jazz album, it’s not a straight anything. Labyrinthine but uncluttered, Supersilent again show that they are unwilling to remain in any kind of musical stasis.

While electronic heavy krautrock inspired jams are far from obscure in this day and age, Ilitch is in the uncommon position of being one of the earlier practitioners of the genre who are still active, and with the vigor they always had.

Although she has taken part in a multitude of collaborations, as well as having an impressive resume as a visual artist, this album is Bullock's first true "album" to be released. Consisting of four unified conceptual pieces and two distinct separate ones, Ray of Dark demonstrates a sense of ability that many similar artists strive for in the twilight of their careers.

Disappears' 2010 debut (Lux) didn’t connect with me at all, largely because the band's more Neu!-influenced elements were often buried beneath busy, heavily distorted guitars: it wasn't bad, but it didn't conspicuously stand out from a lot of other bands either. This time around, Disappears went with a more spacious sound that places the focus squarely on their killer rhythm section and all of the pieces seem to have now fallen properly into place.  Guider finds a nice balance between precise motorik repetition, muscle, and deadpan urban cool.

Celer is not the amazing ambient and drone unit that every blog, webzine, and message board in the universe claims it is. At least, Ariill doesn't prove it. Released as a pair of free MP3s in 2007 by Archaic Horizon and presumably related to a self-released CD-R of the same name from 2005, these two half-hour drones represent the start of Celer's prolific four-year run, which I assume yielded better music than this.

These two recent releases from Garet both showcase drastically different styles and compositional methods. Meta, a single 52 minute piece derived from a four channel installation, does an excellent job of conveying the original’s work of physical space. The other, 60' Cassette, is exactly what it sounds like: an hour long work derived completely from magnetic tape in various states of disarray. Even though the work represents two extremes, Garet's adeptness as an artist and composer results in two significantly different, but equally wonderful works.

Much of Milwaukee artist Climax Denial’s previous work has drawn heavily from that fetish tinged sleaze aesthetic that has been prevalent in the genre since its inception decades ago. However, divorced of all that, Dehumanizing Environments is a complex, varied work that emphasizes both disorder and structure, coming together in a nuanced, diverse approach that results in a high water mark for aggressive electronic music.

Turntable artist Philip Jeck has a long history of crafting rich and absorbing albums with a very distinctive style, so I was very much looking forward to hearing a new opus from him, especially given that he has not released anything particularly substantial since 2010's excellent An Ark for the Listener.  Sadly, Cardinal is not quite the album I was hoping for, as it is not so much a painstakingly composed masterpiece as it is a unconventional catch-all for a bunch of unreleased live highlights, soundtrack commissions, and stray home-recorded material.  Some of the pieces are quite good, so I have no qualms at all about the album being released, but Cardinal is necessarily a much more fractured, disorienting, and exhausting experience than any of Jeck's recent proper albums.

This third album from J.R. Robinson’s shifting ensemble is primarily based upon the life and work of Carlo Gesualdo, a radical and visionary early composer of sacred music who is much more famous for murdering and mutilating his wife and her lover.  A second and shorter piece is additionally included that draws inspiration from the brutal prison death of Boston priest and prolific pedophile Father John Geoghan.  Both thematically linked stories are certainly fertile ground for a very wild and disturbing album, but Night of Your Ascension unexpectedly falls a bit short of Robinson’s previous albums.  There are certainly still plenty of highlights, but Robinson seems to be in a bit of a rut, repeating his previously successful formula with increased predictability and diminished returns.

Just as good, if not better than, his Kranky output, Keith Fullerton Whitman's latest full-length is a prismatic burst of field recordings, tape manipulation, and synth wrangling via Pierre Henry and Kraftwerk. Disappearing behind elaborate electronic processes, Keith gives in to chance and lets his machines churn out two side-long pieces of frequency manipulation, helicopter rhythms, runaway melodies, and plenty of noise. Few things released last year are as thrilling as side two is: the five years Keith put into hatching it definitely paid off.

For their seventh full length, the Wizard have opted for a more hard rock focussed style. Scummy biker riffs are pushed to the front; the pummelling smoked doom is still present but has become less overt. Overall, I am not sure if the shift has truly paid off but I cannot deny that this is still a decent album once I allowed myself to become totally immersed in it.

I haven't been paying too much attention to Acid Mothers Temple for quite some time, as their formula of tripped-out, burbling maximalism started to yield rapidly diminishing returns for me after a few albums.  Still, I often find Kawabata's periodic departures from his core sound to be pretty enjoyable and this is one such case: a pair of hypnotically repetitive and largely acoustic solo pieces.  It is always enticing to hear what Makoto can do when he is not rocking out beneath an electronic maelstrom of bloops and whooshes.

This unique husband-and-wife duo only existed for a few short years, but during that tragically brief window, they managed to record and release such a staggering avalanche of material that even Masami Akita might raise an eyebrow at their tireless pace.  As such, navigating their sprawling discography of mostly limited edition releases is a daunting and complicated task, particularly since the difference between great minimal drone and not-so-great minimal drone is very blurry and difficult to articulate.  Thankfully, this (one of their rare few vinyl releases) provides an excellent starting point.