Là is an immersive, politically charged sound journey – a lament for the Al Naqab desert in Palestine. It is the result of a collaboration between Sirah Foighel Brutmann, Eitan Efrat, Laszlo Umbreit, and Ot Lemmens. The album combines acoustic instruments like flute and cymbals with processed electronics and mechanical sounds.
The track Ensemble is made from sound recordings of eleven 16mm film projectors, playing simultaneously and in intervals, creating a texture centered around a single pitch – La/A.
The tracks For Her, There, and No are recordings of live sessions played by Laszlo Umbreit and Eitan Efrat.
The album also features an extended text by Rose Higham-Stainton titled Strategies for Survival, spread across a 12-page booklet.
"The music is quite lovely as it is, if I am allowed to use that word for such serious matters. The four pieces (three of which are nine minutes, and the last one is six) are spacious and drone-like, but from an acoustic point of view. Maybe stringed instruments mixed with electronics, even if the details aren’t precise. ‘For Her’ contains flute and effects by Efrat and Umbreit plays “NR2X and effects”. Only ‘There’ contains a rhythm, played by Efrat on the wooden temple block and tom, while Umbreit plays “Monomachine and effects”. The four pieces have a rather desolate feeling, which goes with the dessert idea, I guess. ‘Ensemble’ is the most significant piece, in terms of action, with many players, who, I assume, either use their voices to hum or play string instruments. This is also the album’s most contemporary piece, usually not my strong suit, but in combination with the text and the other pieces, something that works well. I doubt if my little review does the music, or rather, the total product, much justice, but hopefully it piqued your curiosity enough to investigate. This is a great record, even if just from a musical point of view." (Vital Weekly)
Felix Kubin’s Der Tanz Aller is an energetic, rhythmically charged soundtrack created for the performance of the same title by the experimental arts collective LIGNA. The group specialized in site-specific, participatory works. Der Tanz Aller is based on Rudolf von Laban’s radical 1920s concept of ‘Bewegungschöre’ (movement choirs), collective dances in public space that aimed to reimagine social order through shared movement. Combining minimal electronics, acoustic percussion, and brass, Kubin’s compositions reflect both the experimental spirit of Laban and the political charge of mass choreography, inviting listeners to become dancers themselves.
As I sit down to pen these words for Stilluppsteypa's latest vinyl release on the enigmatic Futura Resistenza label, I find myself jumping back a year or two, reminded of the profound impact this Icelandic ensemble has had on the northern landscape of experimental arts for four decades. Emerging in the early 1990s, Stilluppsteypa began their journey as a punk-oriented band with multiple members. However, their insatiable curiosity for the unconventional soon led them to explore more abstract and electronic terrains as a trio consisting of Heimir Björgúlfsson, Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson, and Helgi Thorsson. These Icelanders crafted sound experiments that were uniquely their own, defying the easy categorization and shaped by the distinct longitudes and latitudes they together called home.
Stilluppsteypa's early works, such as Reduce by Reducing (1998), showcased a dadaistic and multi-layered approach to sound sculpting that stood proudly apart from the existing trends of the era, such as Mille Plateaux and its contemporaries. By the time of albums like Not a Laughing Matter But Rather a Matter of Laughs (2000) and Stories Part Five (2001), the group had further solidified their reputation for crafting intricate sonic tapestries that continue to challenge and intrigue listeners drawn to the more abstract.
After Heimir’s departure around 2002, Sigtryggur and Helgi decided to continue as a duo, delving even deeper into the core of abstract and joyous electronic music. Their collaborations with artists such as Benny Nilsen, Melt-Banana and others resulted in critically acclaimed entities, such as Vikinga Brennivin (2005) and Drykkjuvísur Óhljóðanna (2006), celebrated for their innovative approaches to sound and spot on composition.
Now, with this new piece of wax on Futura Resistenza—a Brussels-Rotterdam-based label known for its eclectic, unpredictable, and forward-thinking catalog—Stilluppsteypa continues its admirable mission as the reliable workhorse of European experimentalism, pushing the boundaries of sound to infinity.
Without a shred of hesitation, I can say that the group's whimsical ap
preciation for chaos—the natural state of the universe—positions their music as a true beacon for a kinder future. The entirety of Schokolino Choco Loco stands as a testament to their commitment to embracing unpredictability, celebrating the disorderly beauty and humor that lies within chaos itself.
As you place the needle on the thang, please prepare yourself for a hazy trip through the sonics. These Icelanders invite you to embrace the unexpected — and like nice people they are, they gently give a welcoming smooch to your forehead while at it. Stilluppsteypa's music is not just to be heard but to be experienced, to be tasted, to be touched by.
Welcome to the Boundless Joy that arises when artists dare to venture into the uncharted.
28.1.2025, Pori, Finland
Juho Toivonen
Although Berlin-based musical seekers Jules Reidy and Sam Dunscombe are friends who’ve worked together in numerous contexts over the last decade or so, Edge Games is their first, long overdue collaborative album. Over two expansive, mind-bending excursions the former’s microtonal guitar lines are woven into a gorgeously unstable mass of synthesis, field recordings, and clarinet produced by the latter, but it’s important to note that the recording process was deeply collaborative, with a rigorous yet generous back-and-forth between the duo’s sympathetic aesthetic tendencies. As Dunscombe earnestly jokes, “Think of it as being written by Jam Dundy, a synthetic person who exists when our powers combine.”
In recent years Dunscombe has pursued an adaptation of what she calls a “post-Romanian-spectralist idea of ‘Mass Plasma Synthesis,’” building a thick morass of churning sound from literally thousands of clustered sine waves that creep around using a set of pitch relations, only to be deftly subverted. It’s one of the many ways the project illuminates the album title, creatively and playfully straddling and skirting different edges. This decision gives that crushing din a delicious instability, “a sort of uncanny valley between the linear and the cyclical (the sacred and the profane),” as Dunscombe says. Reidy, playing a custom-made guitar with adjustable frets built by Berlin instrument maker and designer Sukandar Kartardinata, embraces the illusory dichotomy between static and active in the dense electronic foundation with ornate microtonal lines that alternately float atop and burrow within the churning tumult.
"Somewhere beneath the meticulously trimmed lawns of conventional music, a mole is digging. “Huuh, there’s a little mole coming up!?” A small upheaval of dirt, a sudden rupture in order - this is "3 × hullo, hullo", the latest sonic burrow from Jeugdbrand, a project where the absurd meets the sincere, where the intuitive gestures of Dennis Tyfus (piano, organ, vocals, tapes) and Jeroen Stevens (percussion, melodica, organ) are reinforced by the magnetic disruptions of Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson (tapes) and Gerard Herman (loops). It is music that tunnels through genres, scattering soil in every direction, finding freedom in the subterranean.
From the first moments of "3 × hullo, hullo", there is a sense of slow, deliberate emergence - an unfolding, an unearthing. The mole, that ridiculous, poetic little blind worker, is an apt metaphor. “The creature is practically blind. In its head, a pair of eyes perfectly fit for the darkness it is usually stuffed in. Under the surface, there is no light, only smells and sounds.” And that’s exactly how this record operates: an exploration of textures and echoes, of lo-fi transmissions and improvisatory impulse, guided not by vision, but by feel.
Take, for instance, the sprawling “Tomorrow, Tomorrow? I’m Talking Now, Forget About It!” - a title that could be mistaken for an argument in a café, but here unfolds as a loose, almost dreamlike cascade of erratic tape loops and detuned keys, like an old radio losing its grip on the signal. There’s an air of miscommunication, of conversation gone slightly askew. The record often seems to speak in tongues, slipping between fractured melodies, fleeting drones, and the occasional unexpected utterance, as if someone left the microphone on during a séance.
Then there’s the insistence of the title “There’s No Word for Ambient in Dutch”. An ironic observation? A challenge? Or simply a statement of fact? Whatever the case, the track itself is anything but passive - its shifting textures and delicate pulses refuse to settle into the expected. Much like a mole scraping through earth packed too tightly with cement, the sounds on this album navigate a world increasingly resistant to improvisation."
Chain DLK magazine
Jeroen Stevens – Percussion, Melodica, Organ
Dennis Tyfus – Piano, Organ, Vocals, Tapes
Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson – Tapes
Gerard Herman – Loops
'Flipperen' takes the randomness of pinball and turns it into music. Using recordings from old pinball machines, the music mixes chaos and structure, reflecting the Fluxus spirit of play and chance. It's a wild ride through sound, where things don't always make sense--but that's the fun of it.
During the quiet and strange Covid days, Suzana Lașcu, Robert Kroos, and Reinier van Houdt began a recording project based on the soundbites of pinball machines. They visited the empty Dutch Pinball Museum in Rotterdam and captured field recordings of machines from the 1960s to the 1990s. From these, they selected 28 samples to serve as thematic starting points for what they called 'game pieces,' recorded in two sessions at Sonology Studios in The Hague. The recordings were then shaped into sound collages using cut-up techniques and probabilistic processes.
The project is titled 'Flipperen,' released under the name 'Ilinx.' 'Ilinx' refers to a form of play described by Roger Caillois, which creates a temporary disruption of perception, similar to vertigo or trance. The trio’s improvisational approach intentionally follows this principle.
The samples were chosen to highlight how the ball moves through the pinball machines. The sound design reacts to its journey, capturing how it interacts with the machines and the elements inside.
Pinball is a game that combines control and randomness—each action leads to an unpredictable result, and the outcome is always uncertain. The ball bounces around, following its own path, guided by chance and momentum. This sense of unpredictability is reflected in the music, where the sounds are both structured and random. By combining recorded samples with processes that incorporate chance, the music mirrors the chaotic movement of the pinball, showing how disorder can form patterns and meaning.
The unpredictable nature of pinball connects to the work of avant-garde artists like the Fluxus movement, who embraced randomness and unconventional methods. This project delves into the tension between control and chaos, where play and randomness become tools for reimagining sound itself. It flows unpredictably, like the disorienting dance of a pinball bouncing between unseen paths.
The album cover features 'Pinball Wizard II' (1973) by Dutch Situationist Jaqueline de Jong, who once described the "flipside of existence" where time is bent and forms are constantly in play, much like the pinball itself. Jaqueline bought a pinball machine she named 'Gaucho' in 1972, and playing it gave her "wonderful and idiotic sensations," reflecting the same chaos and playfulness that runs through this album. She generously allowed the use of her artwork before her passing in June 2024.
Vernon composes a cinema for the ears. Something uniquely textured and immediately present. I think of The Dramaturgy of Decay as a sonic equivalent to the ruined films of Bill Morrison (Decasia, 2002) or Peter Delpeut (Lyrical Nitrate, 1991). I hear the tape, the sound of the medium – and I hear it disappearing – I see the end coming. And yet the disappearance is not tragic. There is a vein of humour gently running throughout the album. For all their eeriness, Vernon’s soundscapes carry with them something comfortingly familiar – something delicate and tender like the Super 8 films of Jonas Mekas.
Vernon has long been fascinated with home-recordings and the urgent poetry of the everyday. On The Dramaturgy of Decay we hear snippets of audio letters, messages left on answering machines (“Pouring From Hollow to Empty”, “The Years Simply Dissolved”). The messages get reworked and rearranged, slowed down and taken apart. Somewhere people are forever clapping, laughing. Tentatively playing the piano. Singing uncertainly. Vernon patiently excavates the real, revealing a soundscape of the forgotten, the buried, the invisible.
Everything in The Dramaturgy of Decay speaks of death – of the irreversible passing of time, of vanishing places and voices – of that which will not return. His work captures the infinitely slow yet resolute movement of erasure, the empty place where something used to be. It also reflects the wider destruction of our environment.
Yet there is no necrophilic impulse here. As Vernon converses with the lost, the transient and the dead, it seems to me he is tirelessly extracting life from them. And he reveals not their deadness but rather the quick, living eternity of instants. The Dramaturgy of Decay is a reflection on time through sound. But, most importantly, it is extremely beautiful music. Not quite of this world and, yet, not of any other world. It is music for the here and now.
Elodie A. Roy, January 2024
Among its many qualities, music relies on a special force: transcendence. When we listen, we are placed in a different reality, where sound is a vehicle for a much higher meaning. Naturally, not all music is capable of such a thing. But a few musicians clearly stand above as special – as soon as we hear them, we know that their music flows, floats and transcends.
Dialogues and shadows, the second recording by the duo of Gonçalo Almeida and Pierre Bastien emanates a distinct and intriguing sound from the beginning, inducing our listening toward a world that goes way beyond a succession of notes and timbres. We hear it and it's there, this mysterious matter that touches us. We hear a dialogue, a connection, and a shadow of luminescent presence.
Both musicians are based in Rotterdam, and they share an ethical common ground, with an endless list of collaborations, recordings and the same passion for a music that should always point in new directions. Throughout this recording, we are taken into a conversation where the listener plays a significant and active part. With constant changes in the mechanical instruments and a rich harmonic content of polyrhythmic counterpoint, the duo sets a base for subtle melodic phrases, that appear surprisingly from different sources – Bastien’s pocket trumpet, Almeida’s double bass, or their custom-made instruments and devices. As we listen, we move towards a personal fictional narrative, accompanied by these abstract sonic entities that guide us through the record. Their presence is highly visual too, as our imagination is immediately filled by Bastien’s instruments coming to life along with a multitude of strings played by erratic movements of the bows, almost like a tribal dance from a culture that never existed.
In this strange and beautiful world, we are constantly surprised by the next element that will face us and transcend its physical projection, in an elegant invitation to the unknown. The unknown we seek constantly throughout all our lives. So, let the sound be the light that guides us in our shadows.
— Gustavo Costa
Renowned for her percussion genius, Limpe Fuchs surprises with a rare venture into her classical roots – the piano. Despite her extensive musical career, documented piano performances have been scarce until now. In this album she transcends time and expectation, diving into the instrument's essence. Her rhythmic finesse as a percussionist leaves an indelible mark on each keystroke. Join Fuchs on this intriguing late venture into the world of piano and savour every note on this unique and raw artistic encounter.
Christof Migone's 'Wet Water (Let’s Dance)' immerses you in a mysterious soundscape, characterised by electronic noise and watery flows. Each piece explores inarticulation and the struggle to communicate, challenging traditional notions of sound and language. In the work captured in this collection, the relation between elements is abstract, entangled, puzzle-like in its weirdness, and all the more rewarding for that.
The four pieces constituting The Release (Into Motion), which take up the entirety of disc two, are different, more conventionally ‘musical’ in structure and style, but still sharing, as with all of Migone’s work, a conceptual sensibility and feeling of underlying logics at work. In each piece, layers of roughly pitched electronics tones flow into and around each other, as if mirroring the dynamic surfaces, continuous motion, interference patterns, and interacting currents of ocean waves. These sounds derive from a performance work in which Migone held a tomato frozen in a block of ice in his mouth while it slowly melted over more than thirty minutes—a painful looking exercise, based on the documentation images. How such an endurance ritual produced these sounds is mysterious and oblique, but at the same time highly suggestive. Like so much of the work captured and documented in this collection, the relation between elements is abstract, entangled, puzzle-like in its weirdness, and all the more rewarding for that.
— Joel Stern
What is - or rather: what could be - a "Pruttipal Index"? In books, libraries and databases, an index is usually a concise overview or inventory. It suggests that this album could be a mini-encyclopedia of the work of its makers. In economics, indexes are measurements of the current state of an economy; which, in the case of this album, could be a vitality metrics of the Goodiepal & Pals/GP&PLS/BananSkole collective that produced it. In semiotics, an index is a sign that functions as a trace (like smoke as an index of fire). Because of their technology, vinyl records are indexical (with their grooves being indexes of sound waves), but in addition, this album could also be seen as a series of sonic traces, or footprints, left by the various activities of GP&PLS and Pruttipal over the eight years of their collective existence.
Everyday life, creative and social practice, learning and experimentation are constantly interwoven in these recordings. This is reminiscent of other experimental living, learning and music-making communities since the early 1970s, such as the French experimental ICEM/Freinet schools.
While the solo artist also known as Goodiepal can still be heard on this album - in spoken tracks and what sounds like half-improvised electronic pieces -, s/he has become gradually disguised and dissolved. The "Pruttipal Index" is thus a record of their latest self-reinvention, as they have been reinventing themselves periodically since the 1990s, including their latest identity Pruttipal, taken from the Danish word "prut" meaning "fart". Pruttipal may have become a boring old fart, or the fart may be a joke on the perceived noises of experimental music or the seeming casualness of the recordings.
There is, audibly, an eclectic stylistic mix of theater, group improvisation, choirs, folk music and children's songs, campy-ironic modular synthesizer electronics, highly-produced art rock and no wave jazz, heavy metal, techno, punk and catchy Scandinavian dance pop tunes interspersed with mock-conspiracy podcasting. Much of it could be called functional music derived from collective social performances to be reused for new collective social performances.
Futura Resistenza is pleased to present the latest release from the prolific, restlessly creative composer-performer Anthony Pateras, two side-long pieces – one performed by Callum G'Froerer on double-bell trumpet, the other sung by Clara La Licata – in which soloists are accompanied by numerous pre-recorded tracks of their own instrument or voice, creating acoustic halls of mirrors where the distinction between live performer and recorded accompaniment becomes difficult to perceive.
Palimpsest Geometry (2020) for double-bell trumpet & tape works with rapidly pulsed single trumpet notes, at brisk tempos that hover at the perceptual threshold between rhythm and tremolo. The interaction between different rates of pulse produces skittering echoes, as if G'Froerer’s layers of trumpets were really a single sound bouncing around the sonic space. There Is A Danger Only Our Mistakes Are New (2021) for voice & tape goes to work on a see-sawing two-note melodic cell, insistently transposed and transposed again, hummed or sung with open vowels, contracting to a semitone and expanding to a minor third. More than anything in the canon of Western art music, the piece calls up the criss-crossing repeated figures of Inuit vocal games or the interlocking repetitions of Banda-Linda music, where rhythmic and harmonic displacements of repeated motifs fuse together individual parts into the illusion of an impossibly rich and multi-faceted unitary sonic organism.
Essentially homogeneous in texture yet built up from constantly changing details, broadly static yet always moving and shifting, these pieces exemplify Pateras’ recent work while also pushing it into a new, strikingly immediate direction. Here, form grows organically out of the material itself; the results are sparkling, immersive, and quietly uncompromising.
- Francis Plagne