Being thankful for an earful.
Brand new music by Marie Davidson, Niecy Blues (feat. Joy Guidry), CEL, Marisa Anderson and Luke Schneider, Stina Stjern, Carmen Villain, Murcof, A Lily, and Far Golden Pavilions, with music from the vaults by Tomaga, Ozzobia, Jan Jelinek.
Sushi photo by Lindsay.
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Artist: NDE
Title: Kampfbereit
Catalogue No: CSR164CD
Barcode: 8 2356650742 0
Format: CD in jewelcase
Genre: Death Industrial
Shipping: 5th July
Pre-Order CD
The legacy of misantrophy, a life of brutality, the aftermath. The second album from mysterious Belgian act NDE is finally here. Now a solitary enterprise, 'Kampfbereit' rings in a new era of isolation and desolation. Gone are the Martial elements from 'Krieg Blut Ehre Asche' (CSR110CD) and instead the listener is engulfed in claustrophobic Death Industrial turmoil. The music is the focus here. Use your imagination while listening to it.
Tracks: 1. Untitled | 2. Untitled | 3. Untitled | 4. Untitled | 5. Untitled | 6. Untitled | 7. Untitled | 8. Untitled | 9. Untitled | 10. Untitled | 11. Untitled | 12. Untitled | 13. Untitled
Probably the Italian trio’s longest release, while still clocking in at under a half hour, this 12" EP brings some excellently grimy punky rock music, with a good helping of bizarre tape loop noises and electric outbursts. With a familiar, but fresh sound, the worst thing is it simply is too short.
"Dead Mice" begins bluntly enough with dirty bass and pounding drums cutting in violently, with heavily effected and double tracked vocals coming in.With the rapid, thrashy pace and snarling voice, there are shades of Psalm 69 era Ministry without the sampling and metal clichés.However, there is soon a drastic shift into a slower, prog rock vibe complete with flutes and strings.The slower, more elegant sound and complexity is the polar opposite of the balls out rocking first half, and shows clearly how much this trio can mix up their sound."Eat Sons" goes back to the opening of the previous track, a sparse, but effective punky piece of noisy repetition.
The other sprawling track, "Zum," begins on a foundation of sparse, ghostly loops and simple basslines before a rather delicate guitar line comes in, building the song up more and more into a robotic, kraut-ish groove that is just as quickly dispatched with a noisy outburst.The components come together again, locking into a rather conventional, but extremely effective hard rock tinged rhythm.The expansive, driving rhythm stretches out for the remainder of the track, with a lot of electronic experimentation and loops going on all around, making a great counterpoint to the head nodding metallic chug.
The biggest limitation to me is that there are just three tracks on here, with a lot of variation and diversity packed into them.His Electro Blue Voice manage to rock out very well, but without adhering to boring clichés, and also manage to play around with a lot of experimental effects and sounds while still staying grounded.This is the type of project that is simply screaming for a full-length album, which I would personally love to hear.
All too often these compilations of long-buried, unused material are an inevitable disappointment, consisting of songs that should have stayed hidden or alternate takes that add little to any artists repertoire. However, this is Can, and material from their strongest era, so I came in with higher expectations than I normally would, and these expectations were exceeded. Much of the material on here is as strong as anything that was put on their classic albums of the era and is absolutely essential.
Anyone with a passing knowledge of Can and how they worked at this time would realize the potential that was here.Rather than going into the studio with traditional "songs," most of Can's earliest albums were just culled and compiled by bassist Holger Czukay from studio improvisations.Essentially, every classic Can album was formed from the same raw material that make up this set.Here, the pieces were collected and edited by keyboardist Irmin Schmidt, as opposed to Czukay, and his son-in-law and collaborator Jono Podmore, and both do a more than respectable job of selecting the best bits.
I was particularly happy that the Malcolm Mooney era of the band gets a fair bit of coverage here.While I am going to jump on that same train as everyone else who has a familiarity with Can and say their masterpiece is Tago Mago, I still think Monster Movie and Soundtracks should get a bit more recognition than they do [hey, my pick remains Ege Bamyasi - Jon].Not many bands can work with two polar opposite vocalists:Damo Suzuki's multi-lingual, often wordless and understated vocals could not be more different than Mooney's off-key, boisterous American voice, but with Can both worked.The Mooney-era tracks on here are mostly great, although "Waiting For The Streetcar" is a bit too heavy on his pathological, mantra-like repetition of precious few lyrics that it becomes an endurance test at over ten minutes.Shorter songs like the dangerously funky "Midnight Sky" and the sinister, disembodied "When Darkness Comes" shine from his contributions.
A few pieces would have fit on Soundtracks as well:the long instrumental "Graublau" pairs the archetypal Can groove with fragments of shortwave radio, adding in an even more notable dissonant element to a band that always pushed the envelope.In terms of pure experimentation, the spectral ambience of "Blind Mirror Surf" and "Evening All Day" are early excursions into the formless sounds that shaped the likes of "Peking O" and "Aumgn" a few years later.Surprisingly, "Oscura Primavera" is a delicate, gentle piece of music from a band that always seemed to have a slightly raw edge to it.
The Damo era is fully represented as well."Bubble Rap," albeit rather skeletal, could have fit on any of the albums from when he was in the band."Dead Pigeon Suite", another soundtrack piece, starts off a bit too close to hobbit-y prog rock with its flutes and carefully plucked strings, but when it reveals itself as an especially vigorous variant on "Vitamin C", all is forgiven.Another suite of different pieces is "Messer, Scissors, Fork and Light", with its taut rhythm and Damo vocals could have been perfect on Ege Bamyasi, though here it is especially noteworthy due to some protracted drum soloing from Liebezeit.Drum solos are usually cheesy, pretentious, and unwarranted, unless your name is Jaki.
A frustrating, but inevitable caveat with a release like this are tracks that are simply too short."Godzilla Fragment," a two minute snippet of a dramatic jam session climax screams to be extended, though according to the liner notes, this was all that appeared on the tape.The chunk of "On The Way To Mother Sky," a piece that obviously evolved "Mother Sky" also feels too short overall.
In a recent interview about this set, Schmidt has claimed that this will be the extent of the archival releases, with the possible exception of additional live recordings being issued.Based upon the performances included, that alone is an attractive proposition.In their manner of using studio material as a jumping off point, the originally three-minute "Spoon" gets an extended 17 minute workout, in a similar vein to the version on the 40th anniversary issue of Tago Mago from last year.Live takes of "Mushroom" and "One More Saturday Night" also vaguely recall their "proper" forms and take off in their entirely own unique direction.A number of tracks, "Abra Cada Braxas," "A Swan is Born," and "Networks Of Foam," especially, are also live improvisations without any studio reference point.Listening to this set for the first time without the liner notes handy, I did not even realize this until the polite applause at the end.
It should be noted, however, that the title of this set is a bit misleading, because there are two tracks that slip in from the band’s maligned later period."E.F.S. 108" (another installment of their Ethnological Forgery Series) and "Barnacles" date from 1976 and 1977, respectively.The latter, featuring Czukay replacement Rosko Gee on bass, actually makes for a decent, though comparatively one dimensional take on the disco era that is a bit flat in the context of the set, but by no means a bad track.
If this is truly it for the Can archives, then it is a bittersweet release, since what is here is so brilliant that I greedily want to hear more [hey, what about all those singles version and B-sides? - Jon], but I would much rather hear Can end on this high note instead of a two disc compilation of Karoli tuning his guitar eventually making its way onto the market.Although, I would still love to see that legendary 12 hour session of "You Doo Right" that was paired down to the 20 minute album version see the light of day, especially given that today’s DVD-A/BluRay/FLAC technology could present it in its full, uninterrupted form.However, a large part of me thinks it is probably best to stay in its unreleased, legendary status…much like the bootlegged six hour workprint of Coppola's Apocalypse Now, the actuality may taint the legend.If nothing else, we should have some unheard live material ahead of us.
But for the here and now, The Lost Tapes is an absolutely essential document to anyone with even a passing interest in Can.While there are a few weak moments, the bulk of what makes up these three discs could pass for any of their best studio albums easily.Coupled with the detailed liner notes, track-by-track commentary by Schmidt, and deluxe packaging, this one is a no-brainer, and I highly doubt any such collection of archival material from any other artist will come close to this zenith of a release.
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With Eleh having cemented themself as perhaps the modern minimalist, their split LPs have become a fascinating journey into the genre’s old guard such as Pauline Oliveros and Ellen Fullman as well as platforms for newer artists like Sun Circle, and in this case, Duane Pitre. As usual, Eleh’s hardcore analogue drones are well matched by Pitre’s feather-light just intonation harmonics. Both sides reflect different aspects of minimalism’s past without being pale shadows of those earlier pioneers. In fact, Eleh and Pitre demonstrate that despite a bloated market filled with crappy drone acts there is still plenty of life and room for invention in minimal music.
"Empty Summer Endless" at first seems like a return to the smooth, almost subsonic bass drones that Eleh had been exploring on their first few releases. However, occasional flutters of higher timbres and midrange tones reveal the continued experimentation with acoustics that have become more and more central to Eleh’s music. Time stands still as subtle and delicate waves gently disturb the air and Eleh’s music pacifies with its alien aesthetic. Eleh takes the same foundations as Eliane Radigue’s Trilogie de la Mort and constructs a miniature excursion into the void. There is little in the way of colour here, this is pitch black drift through the night sky.
Pitre’s side of the LP is the sound installation version of his work Feel Free (previously reviewed by our own Anthony D'Amico in April). In contrast to Eleh’s side, this is a kaleidoscopic excursion into harmonics as Pitre uses a scale in just intonation to form an almost living piece of music. Where Eleh moves in straight lines and gradients, Pitre moves in ever-changing vectors and discrete changes in spectra. A touchstone for this (aside from Pitre’s own albums) would be Catherine Christer Hennix’s Electric Harpsichord with its prismatic clusters of evolving patterns.
Compared to the album version of Feel Free (played by an ensemble), this software-driven variant should sound skeletal but, even reduced to just a computer generating patterns from sound files, Pitre’s work remains vibrant and really does feel free. Granted, the full sound from the main album is missing but here the precision and the clarity of the piece’s backbone are captured in sharp focus. It is dazzling and sounds both tremendously complex and deceptively simple at the same time, almost like a molecule of DNA. It is too bad this is not on CD as I would love to hit the repeat button and listen to it forever.
 
This unusual release is the fruit of a three-year project in which Valles sampled, manipulated, and collaged material from Nonesuch's '60s and '70s avant-garde heyday.  Drawing upon the work of luminaries such as Charles Ives and Elliot Carter (using the original vinyl, naturally), Damian has woven together a crackling and vibrantly textured drone opus that doubles as an inventive (if unrecognizable) homage.
The first movement begins promisingly with a loooong, slow fade-in that gradually becomes a grinding, enveloping roar.  In fact, it is possibly the best part of the entire album–not because there is drop in quality afterward, but simply because it is so dense, complexly layered, and absolutely crushing.  It is impossible to determine what the original material could sounded like, as it basically sounds like a hundred string instruments slowed way down and pitch-shifted into unrecognizability.  The brilliance lies in the details though, as there are all kinds of stutters, scratches, and swells amidst the maelstrom that transform that single, massive chord into a sumptuous feast for the ears.  Ultimately, it all fades away again without evolving into anything more, but that works just fine: mesmerizing me for over ten minutes without any overt melodic or rhythmic movement at all is an impressive enough feat by itself.
The rest of the album adheres to the same template, as each piece seems like Valles froze a massive orchestra (or perhaps several) mid-note, then stretched, looped, and layered that instant into a roiling ocean of sound.  It is a pretty bizarre aesthetic, as the movements are all pretty simple and static on a large scale, but beautifully alive and insanely complicated on a smaller scale.  Equally important is the fact that this is not one of those albums where intense, focused listening is required to unearth its true beauty: Nonparallel is a massive, rumbling, and grinding steamroller of a drone album.  There are occasional moments where Damian softens to allow some shimmering, atmospheric touches, as he does in the third movement, but they are easily balanced out by crescendos that sound like an abattoir full of bandsaws or haunting swoops that sound like giant metallic birds.
The only possible downside to this album is that Valles was perhaps a bit too successful in transforming his source material, as anyone who is lured by its premise and hoping for recognizably detourned snatches of 20th century classical music will be thoroughly thwarted.  I do not fall into that category though, so I see Nonparallel as an unqualified drone masterpiece.  Damian deftly avoided all of the pitfalls that could threaten a project like this (a bloodless, academic feel; jumbled, incoherent collage; winding up with something that sounds like every other goddamn drone album; etc.) and then exceeded my expectations even more.  I have rarely heard anything drone-like that demands extreme volume like this album.  Valles did not spend those three years in vain: this is a gutsy, gritty, and bad-ass effort in all respects.
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This year seems like a wildly and uncharacteristically prolific one for Mark Spybey and Robin Storey, as they have already released this double-album, a soundtrack, and now have yet another double-album coming out next month.  That avalanche of new material is a bit deceptive though, as these recordings are actually taken from two days of improvisations back in 2009.  The duo were certainly inspired on those particular days, but many of these pieces too easily betray their made-up-on-the-spot origin.  As a result, this massive album simultaneously recalls both the best and the worst aspects of Zoviet France's legacy.
Aside from both originating around the same time, the two halves of this album seem to have little in common.  The World Awake!, which borrows its title from a passage in Henry Miller's "With Edgar Varese in the Gobi Desert," mostly captures the duo engaging in some prime Zoviet France-style haunted, faux-tribal ambiance.  In fact, the album starts off brilliantly, as something that sounds like creepy, distressed backwards tape loops segues into inhuman howls, trance-inducing Eastern percussion, and buzzing, eerily processed wind instruments.  Unfortunately, the catch is that by the time I checked to see which song I was hearing, I was already midway through the album's third piece.  That is the curse of The World Awake!: some of Spybey and Storey's best ideas are dispensed with in a minute or two without any evolution, while less distinctive and compelling pieces are allowed to unfold for much longer than necessary (like the 15-minute dark ambient foray "The First Word").  There are certainly some great ideas here though–I just wish more of them had been allowed to expand into great songs.
For the 11 Stueck half, the core duo are joined by a handful of guest musicians.  Stylistically, these identically named pieces are all over the map: harsh, evil-sounding drone; Godspeed-esque cinematic narratives; deranged synth blow-outs; bizarre off-beat post-rock; and weird avant-garde spoken word are all represented at least once.  The sole recurring theme seems to be that they are a lot more dense and loose-sounding than anything on the first half: these pieces definitely sound like a group of musicians jamming in a room together (albeit a rather outré group, of course).  To a certain degree, 11 Stueck suffers from the same "either prematurely abandoned or not edited aggressively enough" issues of the first half, but the success rate is a bit higher and the pieces tend to have a lot more individual character.  I especially liked the sixth "Stueck," which would have fit nicely onto 2009's massive and more "rock" I Am The Source of Light, I Am Not A Mirror, but there are quite a few other striking moments to be found elsewhere.
On one hand, I am a bit baffled as to why Reformed Faction does not seem to elicit even a fraction of the reverence and enthusiasm that Zoviet France once did, as Mark and Robin frequently equal or better their previous band's offerings.  I understand that the times are different and that a lot of ZF's appeal lay in their mystery and perverse packaging, but Spybey and Storey's recent work is as unique and adventurous as ever.  On the other hand though, Reformed Faction definitely have some self-sabotaging tendencies-for example, it is very hard to find one self-contained piece on this entire album to hold up as an example of why this band matters.  As a whole, The World Awake!/11 Stueck is still a satisfyingly unsettling and hallucinatory ride that achieves something of a flow in its own weird, uneven way, but it loses a lot of its power when broken down into its individual parts.
(amusing sidenote: this album unintentionally boasts its own perverse packaging, as the Soleilmoon website now warns that the perfumed insert can cause allergic reactions.  I seem to have escaped unscathed though...for now.).
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Veterans of the sprawling Chicago music scene, Zelienople have carved out a unique sound over their enviable slew of releases. The World is a House on Fire is the latest chapter in the band's story, and frames their music more succinctly than ever before. Mike Weis (percussion), Matt Christensen (vocals, guitar) and Brian Harding (bass, saxophone) managed to perfect brooding, melancholy doom pop on their last full length Give It Up, and this latest LP finds the band in a lighter mood.
The trio have utilized dream pop tropes before, but in the first bars of opener "The Southern" there is no doubt that the haunted Americana of the bands previous has been swathed in a haze of drifting synthesizer tones and echoing organ drones (played by occasional member Donn Ha). The simplistic beauty of Slowdive and early Verve is distilled to a vapour as it drifts into Christensen's characteristic vocals and Weis's soft, subtle percussion. This isn't pop music, but the skeletons of pop are just about audible, enshrined in something far more beautiful and much more delicate.
The World is a House on Fire is a blissful and utterly enveloping addition to the Zelienople canon, and while it might be more subtle than their previous records, it stays with you more than you might expect. Haunting doesn't even begin to describe it…
More information here.
The follow-up to 2008's Khora, Fragments of the Marble Plan adds an electronic carapace to Aufgehoben's cataclysmic noise-rock foundation. The prevailing sound evokes the Mego label before it added "Editions" to its name and became enamored of American guitar mavericks—back when it purveyed cyclotronic, abstract electronic music that had the centrifugal force of an irrefutable Ph.D. thesis.
Such is the overwhelming power of Aufgehoben on the British group's sixth album that even exposure to the MP3s makes one relieved to have health insurance. Music this apocalyptic has few peers, but some approximate touchstones are the most radically "out" and knotty moments of Norwegian post-jazz ensemble Supersilent, This Heat after realizing that Brise-Glace didn't pay them a penny in royalties, or Farmers Manual after extensive immersion in Mainliner's back catalog. Fragments of the Marble Plan is a terrifying force of nature, a Rube Goldberg machine run amok, the sound of civilization atomizing into controlled chaos. It's so cold, it's hellish. Although Aufgehoben feels your need for catharsis, they convince you that being ready to jump out of your skin is the new normal.
If Aufgehoben prompted clichés, one would say that they "take no prisoners" on Fragments of the Marble Plan. This music is war—with all of the fascinating horrors and grisly casualties inherent in that endeavor. Get a helmet.
More information here.
Apostate started as a rough set of ideas batted back and forth digitally between Bobby Donne, Gregory Darden and Jimmy Anthony. Three sections emerged, each made up of smaller segments. The completed work is one of austere beauty undercut by overwhelming drones and sounds of undetermined origin.
The artwork and song titles give hints to the meaning behind the sound. A dark gateway with carvings from some long lost, or imaginary language is vaguely off kilter and dark.
References to religion like "Sutta" and "Muezzin" are matched by the sound of bells and a call to prayer. But then the album title itself and titles like "Betrayals" direct thoughts toward darker emotional realms.
All from a band that has practiced it's craft in obscurity, using the tools of digital soundscaping to transform and conceal. Apostate invites you to walk through that gateway to see what you can hear.
Apostate will be available from the FSS Bandcamp page on a pay-what-you-want basis.
How subtle is too subtle? Because Cristal, a trio containing Bobby Donne of post-rock legends LaBradford, is so subtle. There's samples so deep in the mix that you're never quite sure if you've heard them or not,
and when you try to listen out for them you just miss them.. an exercise in soundtracking what could be about to happen rather than what's actually happening... Climaxes are for chumps
FACT
Together since 2001, the group has refined its approach over the years, and the evidence can be clearly heard...
Fans of Deaf Center, Elegi, and Svarte Greiner clearly would do themselves a disservice in not familiarizing themselves with Cristal's work too.
Textura
Track Listing
I. 1.Without Water 2. April (reprise) 3.Sutta 4.Dormition 5. Muezzin 6. Manse, the Nighthawked
II. 1.Oscines 2.Last in the Heights 3.Dormition (reprise) 4.Bels
III. 1. Burn Witch, Ye Sin 2. Betrayals 3. April
A lot can happen in 26 years, including the return of industrial/noise pioneers Cabaret Voltaire. While now pared down to solely Richard H. Kirk, Shadow of Fear is still a very much a worthy release in the band's canon of dystopian paranoia, hearkening back to the inventiveness of Red Mecca with the rhythms of 2x45, and further improved by rich, expert production. Kirk drags all of the band's musical past into the future, encouraging the listener to dance with boundless abandon as a panacea from the "shadow of fear." The result? Kirk succeeds in injecting a new freshness into Cabaret Voltaire, sounding more energized than like-minded artists a fraction of Kirk's age.
Unlike the often lackluster vision that plagues reboots of classic bands, intrinsic energy fills Shadow of Fear, burgeoned by a year that should not have been. Armed with an arsenal of sound sampling and electronics, Kirk launches musical assaults that span state-sanctioned cruelty, iron-fisted fascist rule, white supremacy, scarcity, and industry loss. Mimicking Plasticity or International Language may have put the raison d'etre for the return of Cabaret Voltaire into question as so many have regurgitated this formula. Kirk instead emerges as a dystopian envoy from a Thatcherian era, mapping that fear onto a present that, in recent times, has felt too similar.
"Be Free" initiates that fear from the onset, disembodied sampled voices reminding the listener to be free even though "the city is falling apart," the message's urgency backed by discordant energy, harsh noise, and persistent rhythm. Rhythm is significant throughout, packing the album with dark dancefloor rippers like "Night of the Jackal," "Papa Nine Zero Delta United," "Universal Energy," and "Vasto." The album ripples with Cabaret Voltaire's most commanding declaration of movement to date, harsh aesthetics working in perfect synchrony with clangorous rhythms. "Universal Energy" is a superb example of this, an almost 11-minute belter that deserves played at top volume. This track is immediately followed by techno groover "Vasto" which masterfully interpolates the classic riff from Bronski Beat's "Smalltown Boy" with throbbing percussion.
Shadow of Fear evokes considerably more than a desire to return to the dancefloor, though there is no mistaking the mad dancing to be had. The music of Cabaret Voltaire has long moved both body and brain. Kirk remains respectful of these roots, upholding Cabaret Voltaire's core mission as a prescient musical voice, dance music masquerading in an almost oppressive intensity. Solo Kirk has successfully crafted a sound that's unmistakably Cabaret Voltaire, as opposed to a solo Kirk album, by leveraging pieces of the sounds he initially helped create. Kirk generally stuck to older synths and drum machines for the album to better sonically recreate the group's early work's dense and twitchy sounds, rather than use the modern electronics he has used for his solo and remix work. These primitive sounds are more timely than ever, a soundtrack for dancing while doomscrolling, moving while quarantined, or simply settling into the new reality with a good pair of headphones.
 
Unlike his usual penchant for releasing single, album long pieces, this two disc compilation collects nine distinct, different pieces with the only specific commonality being the year that they were recorded. For that alone it makes it a wonderful introduction to López' complex, often difficult to absorb artistry.
Across the two discs, López utilizes most of his varying techniques of composition, resulting in tracks that sound significantly different from one another.Even those with a similar source can vary drastically:while "Untitled #241" and "Untitled #264" both use source material from other artists, they go in entirely different directions.The former remains rather static through its 11-minute duration, sticking mostly to a layer of clicky textures and digital skips, resulting in a sub-rhythmic collage of sound.The latter clocks in at a bit under three minutes and sounds like the infinitely drifting rattles of a metal cymbal that fell to the floor, without a sense of rhythm at all.
López' use and dissection of field recordings is also employed in a few pieces.Both "Untitled #265" and "Untitled #268" use this technique, the former using environmental sounds from Spain, the latter from southern Holland. "Untitled #265" trades in ultrasonic frequencies that build to a dramatic, droning crescendo before falling away to reveal vast sparseness and an intermittent, heavily treated thud."Untitled #268" keeps things more identifiable, with obvious animal noises and ambience with the addition of some percussive rattling later on.
"Untitled #269" uses even less processing on its field recordings, collected at various Buddhist monasteries across Myanmar.Initially it is a heavily layered collage of voices chanting and singing, creating a chillingly disorienting cacophony of unintelligible voices before peeling them apart, leaving more individual voices singing and chanting with only a smattering of reverb.Separated they seem harmless, but layered together produces a disturbing effect.
Oddly enough the pieces on disc 1 are not given the same sort of description in the liner notes as they are on disc 2. "Untitled #242" twists and folds the recordings into high pitched, shimmering affairs that are initially understated, but eventually evolve into microscopic recordings of glass shattering loudly before dropping to near silence."Untitled #246" goes in an entirely different direction, using some textural noises with less treated field recordings, clearly recognizable from the sound of flowing water and occasional environmental clatters.While the former piece was heavily digital and distorted, this one is more natural and organic.
Like his Untitled (2009) collection from last year, this is representative of López' often oblique and challenging, but ultimately rewarding catalog.The Nowhere box set is another example of this collection approach, but 10 discs is a bit daunting.The presentation, however, is a bit odd on this release.Packaged in a sumptuous, die cut and multi-folding package of geometric patterns and colors (which seems to be a label trademark), the look of the release is such a far cry from López' usual stark, sometimes completely absent artwork.The design and aesthetic is wonderful, it just seems a bit out of the norm for a usually austere artist.
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