All the Empires of the World return with a work of staggering ambition and scope. Taking their familiar desert-doom vibe and supplementing it with some furious chug, a drum machine borrowed from Streetcleaner-era Godflesh and blackened vocals, Return oscillates between extremes of tenderness and brutality. It’s the mark of a band supremely confident in their abilities who remain eager to stake out new territory.

With an atmosphere of surreal violence that flirts with the sublime it brings to mind the films of Jodorowsky and the darker moments of Iain M. Banks’ novels, whilst musical comparisons can be drawn with Cult of Luna, Grails, Pelican and – in its quieter moments – Six Organs of Admittance. We know of few bands who push at generic conventions so compellingly and are overwhelmingly proud to be releasing this to the world.

Must be listened to loud.

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A collection of brief encounters, which hinge on the slightest details and gestures: a written note, a fleeting facial expression, a movement of eyelashes. Little measurements that occasionally tip scales.

In contrast to 2009′s To Leave A Mark, Little Measurements is an album of collaborations. EL Heath contributes gorgeous ondes Martenot counter-melodies to the opener, A Year, and warm, sustained notes on the accordion to the closing track, Unwritten By Hand. Talk Less, Say More appears on The Visitor, providing fizzing drum beats and synth drones. James Taylor, formerly of Silver Gospel Runners, embellishes Not Aware and No One Else with delicate flourishes of slide guitar. Tim Wright of Neume Audio adds clarinet (Your Answer), glockenspiel (Little Measurements), and haunted attic sounds (From A Room) to the mix.

Tim Wright is even more prominent in his role as producer. Throughout the album, his subtle use of panning, sampling, and delay effects creates an intimate, and at times unsettling atmosphere.

Little Measurements is a wonderful record, mature in execution, stunning in detail. A compelling, beautiful, moving and lyrical work worth close attention and repeated careful listening, Little Measurements is a sublime, affective experience.

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The tracks of One Planet At A Time (apart from one) are all named after fictional planets – an apt metaphor for Blue Ducks’ second outing on Records On Ribs. While the record remains a beautifully cohesive mixtape, each track is a distinctive world, filled with crisp chords, alien glitches, skillfully judged pace-changes, 8-bit chirps and soaring pitch bends that could be out of the Hemlock records playbook. Ready For Remulak rolls a Nintendo melody over reflective, almost sorrowful, chords. New Genesis brings attack while Indigo Prime floats gorgeous backmasked vocals over cool beats. In Falling Asleep In Fhloston Paradise woozy synths drift gorgeously over Dilla schooled drums. Set the gapless playback and let it roll – perfect.

Artwork by George Bletsis

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Jell says: “TS Eliot’s poems have always seemed particularly musical and lyrical to me. Not just in a rhythmical sense, but also in the romance of drama of his imagery. His marriage of the existential questions of modern humanity with more quotidien, occassionally comic anxieties (Do I dare to eat a peach?) is what, in some ways, i have always tried to do with my music”

In true modernist style, Proof Rock takes snippets of TS Eliot’s poetry and places them in an strange context, making them appear afresh. Eliot’s words combine with half-step beats, futuristic lit-pop angles, trembling bass and the occasional breakneck heavy guitar to startling effect.

The first proper Talk Less, Say More release since Jell moved London, the city haunts the music in the same way Leeds lurked behind the sound of Go Lucky. Obviously the nod towards dubstep is part of this. But so also is TS Eliot himself, who was fascinated with London and the way it amplified the philosophical questions of our age.

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This album is certainly the oddest thing we have put out so far. Musically it features improvised jazz drums combined with shouted vocals. But the combination of these is difficult to put into words other than to say that it is hugely eccentric and in the best Pythonesque traditions of British comedy. This is an album best heard rather than described – surreal to the last while blessed with a sometimes magical sense of comic timing.

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Now available on insanely glorious vinyl from Captcha Records – get it!

This is the first Records On Ribs offering from across the pond, and yet it holds sounds from beyond this realm. Taking cues from the operatic minimalist/maximalist style of prime-Magma and Italo-horror soundtracks, Ga’an distill these influences into a sound that is their own, retro, but never retrogressive. The music is driven by throbbing bass and pounding drums, while the empyreal vocals are underpinned by synths pitched somewhere between Popol Vuh’s mellotronic Aguirre soundtrack and Fabio Frizzi’s horror choruses for Lucio Fulci’s surrealistic Lovecraftian films.

Opener ‘Chasmaeon’ starts off like a funeral march, but by this track’s close, it is clear that these are songs for celestial mass, not mourning. ‘Living Tribunal’ layers gothic atmospherics before extending repeated vocal incantations and hypnotic bass while the drums and keys build towards cacophony. All this, and we are only two tracks in, but Ga’an is never exhausting like other prog albums can be – perfect for taking in in a full, trance-inducing sitting.

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Six is witness to the pure joy of hip-hop as a genre, nodding in the direction to Dilla’s soulful warmth, off centre beats and eccentric production yet combining this with the electronic moods and glitched detail that recalls Prefuse 73 and the recent bouncy post-dubstep output of Hyperdub. Its brevity is its virtue: snappy, catchy and riotously inventive, the panic of Floss Hates Prime Numbers opening into the reflective spaces of Farewell To Floss while the heady party of Floss Is Full Of Surprises swaggers on.

For fans of Dilla, Madlib, Prefuse 73, Zomby, Rustie and aqua-crunk, short attention spans.

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Blessings is the first full length release from All The Empires of the World. It’s an album of immense magnitude; seven bombastic paens to the affect of all things grand. It revels in that glorious sense of liberty which comes when you realise your pathetic inconsequence in the grand scheme of things- the terror and awe we feel in the face of the sublime.

Where so many albums of this type get bogged down repeating tired tropes, Blessings retains its power throughout. Melodies are bold and memorable whilst dynamics go far beyond the cliches of quiet/loud, with a subtly inventive handling of crescendos and intelligent deployment of that sadly underused technique in so much rock music: silence. There are surprises aplenty too- [I Perceive Your Resonance] is a genuinely poignant song and features desperate, imploring vocals from guitarist Mark Thomas, whilst Asleep at the Temple proves ATEOTW can up the tempo with an astonishing blitzkrieg of black metal drumming. Closer The Prophet Part II, meanwhile, revolves around an almost folky melody which seems to float by on the winds.

See also: Manatees, Slowdive, Pelican, Explosions in the Sky, Jesu, Cult of Luna, Red Sparowes.

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Last year Les Étoiles returned to his home town of Bridgnorth, Shropshire. To Leave A Mark is a beautiful evocation of this place, its joy and tragedies, the town as a container of people, times, love and loss. It is about how a place, or better, the memories of a place, intertwine with one’s self, even when, on returning, those memories are not quite true. It is a testament to a ‘homesickness’ for ‘the memory of a home never seen’, to when the sediment of memory matches reality, but also to the more common moments when it does not.

Simply recorded in the front room of his parent’s home on guitar, keyboards and the drum machine on his grandfather’s organ and then carefully produced and mixed by Tim Wright, these are songs of rare warmth and real fragility, rich with emotion and detail. It is a collection to be cherished: one of sadness, joy and uncommon intensity.

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The companion piece to last year’s critically acclaimed Go Lucky, IDKWIAIDKWID is an excellent record its own right. Take the opener ‘You Were Right About Me’. Jell’s hasn’t written a better pop song: a propulsive, catchy electro number, nintendo beeps and surprisingly, Earth inspired slow guitar. See also Baby Animal’s dark but fond ballad or Still As A Rivers reflective ascending guitar figure. Will You Be Me Widow?, a story of trenches and doomed love, is backed by gracious 80s atmospherics. This would have been a tragedy left on the cutting room floor.

The remixes here are excellent, shading songs anew. Pebbles In A Flood highlights Sensations Spring’s ‘innocent like pebbles in a flood’ to evocative effect, the Topaz mix of The Battle Of Borodino brings clattering military drums warming the original’s deep melancholy.

For fans of The Knife, M83′s Saturdays=Youth, Junior Boys, The Chap, the decade begining in 1980.

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In 1908 John McTaggart Ellis wrote ‘The Unreality of Time’ which argued successfully that time is a contradictory concept and hence unreal. ‘It’s About Time’ is a record like this. Both McTaggart and TLSM write about time and some of the absurd things about it. Both are rooted firmly in a tradition, here hip-hop, with McTaggart, philosophy. But both bend the starting points of these to a wonderfully skewed, weird and utterly unique conclusion. Let me explain.

Vs 29 extracts from Eugene Onegin, a rumination on life and creativity. Oh.. worries about the sadness of melted snow men. By the time we get to Kicking Logic, we know we have something unprecedented. Over a g-funk whistle and popping sliced human beat box, we hear the implications of the multiple worlds of quantum mechanics for having a party, first entry in a genre called Schrödinger’s rap. A Rose In Winter is the opening part of a dark fairy story of kings and frozen princesses. Call Me Old Fashioned is an audacious display of lyrical dexterity and sheer imagination set over a sole metronomic beat. In a very strange time-signature. And it is wonderful, crazy stuff.

But as with all his music, Talk Less, Say More effortlessly connects the abstract with the concrete. The centrepiece tribute to Ludwig Boltzmann’s tragic death is devastating and truly beautiful, a melancholy Bone Thugs-n-Harmony reminding us that ‘disorder is exponentially increasing’. St Patrick’s Well features the most heartsick vocoder since O Superman. Can it be that it was all so simple then? The answer is no.

This is certainly hip-hop, but not as we know it. It’s like Timbaland glitched up and drunk on weirdness reading a science textbook while feeling a bit down. It’s like a simple argument that explains that time doesn’t exist. In short: mind-bending stuff.

See also: Sa-Ra Creative Partnership, eDIT, Clouddead and everything on Anticon records, Kool Keith’s many projects, Bone Thugz-n-Harmony, Company Flow, MF Doom, Anti-pop Consortium

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Another masterful weaving of the personal and the natural from EL Heath. But for perhaps the first time on record, the emphasis with Wind, Thee Wind – his third release for Records on Ribs – is heavily on the former. This mostly Martenot work is born of the depression of the end of a relationship whilst – as ever with Heath – reflecting the sublime melancholy of the countryside around the Wales/Shropshire border. The EP opens with two of his most ambient tracks yet in which sparse, yawning sweeps of Martenot bring to mind Aphex Twin’s ambient works. Then comes Thee Wind, Thee: a brief but devastatingly effective spoken word rumination on life’s inevitable movement. The unrelentingly sparse Monodrone and Wind, Thee Wind return to the earlier ambient beauty to close out this short, and brutally beautiful meditation on Heath’s consistent themes. Recommended.

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This record is strictly undefinable. While reference points can be given – ritualistic noise, colossal riffs, beautiful evocations, hazy delayed guitar, pealing chords, remote vocals, tension, release, eruption, heaviness, light – it is the careful combination of these elements that makes it a rare joy.

Mark tells us that:

This record is a testament to finding the best in everything – it was influenced by my brother and two sisters and their complex and wonderful lives. Denial of the spirit is denial of the self.

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Having released three albums of improvised recordings, Bristolian twenty-somethings Sweet Potato release Mash- a perverted rock album of note.

Lolloping, strangely propulsive rhythms underpin impressively enormous riffs and the operatic vocals of Stephen Baker, creating a record that has its fair share of headbanging moments, but retains a jazz sensibility throughout. Although decidely less pastoral, Mash brings to mind the Canterbury Scene in the way it toys effortlessly with generic conventions, yet manages to produce something considerably greater than the sum of its already impressive parts.

‘We’ll Think’ starts out all Twin Peaks paranoia before erupting into a bizarre, deconstructed Beefheartian take on metal (complete with squelchy synths); ‘Slow Priest Turns the Mummers On’ combines handclaps with duelling sax and clarinet improvisations whilst Poor Old Abe’ takes off where Black Sabbath finished with ‘Fairies Wear Boots’. Yet despite this variety, the record is highly successful in defining an instantly recognisable sound.

For fans of Gentle Giant, Faith no More, Captain Beefheart, Lords, Soft Machine and Egg.

A joint release with the fine people at Foetal Orange.

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This is Talk Less, Say More’s most focussed, emotionally literate and complex work to date, putting personal, honest reflection into an ingenuous and eclectic hypermodern setting. Pushing his distinctive vocal to the front and singing on every track for the first time, the record unblinkingly explores love’s sunlit glories as well as the strange chasms opened when it departs.

The Battle of Borodino updates the neon lights of 80s electropop with wide-eyed Italo synths, fuzzy guitar riffs and vocoders. Up close, Far Away combines deft lyricism and folk warmth with relentless thud of the Berlin techno minimalism, in one moment laying an explosion of shuddering breaks beautifully alongside looping guitars. Smeared impressionistic cello in Sensations Spring meld seamlessly with a Timbaland bassline, halting IDM drums and contemplation of the passing of things. Perhaps a hinge of the album, Roots Alive pushes Vangelis’ synthetic choirs over the snap and throb of a broken house beat, thrusting guitar chops over childhood recollection.

The closeness and beautiful restraint of All Dressed Up Like Love reads like a confessional – “I have been thinking about fear and the way it has of showing up around here/All dressed up like love”. Drawing the album to a close, Life In Cold Blood is a thrilling summation, shimmering bells trilling over a tender dub, a gorgeous conclusion to a gorgeous record. The yearning mantra “We’ll put our hoods up and walk in the rain” is perhaps a look to hope, maybe nothing more than a glance to acceptance, the open conclusion to so many unanswered questions.

For fans of Junior Boys, Subtle, The Knife, Timbaland as well as Leonard Cohen, the anarchist pop spirit of Giorgio Moroder. Minimal techno, pound shop electro.

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Cacophonous, intense music that bludgeons the listener into a state of ecstasy. Coming on like a hallucination inducing punch from their titular Sonny Liston, Elapse-O pass from the thrill of the initial hit into a disconcerted daze. That immediacy comes from the strident vocals, Songs About Fucking-esque drum machines and Fuck Off Riffs; the following disorientation from the Pita-like layers of textured noise and glorious attention to detail lavished on these songs.

Call ‘em a noise band if you will- but where so many of that ilk wallow in an inhuman sludge, Elapse-O’s music glories in the intensities of experience. This is thrilling, vital music from the young UK underground.

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EL Heath tells us: “The album was made in my freezing cold studio on a shit old computer and a lot of red wine. It’s about how whenever I went outside the cut-off point of the day seemed to be 4pm, like I’d be in town then suddenly it was dark and I lost all my energy. I would have plans in the evening and not do anything because of this lack of energy. It’s also about how all the colours in the scenery are simply hidden by the quality of light we get in the winter. It’s not that it is not beautiful, but the colours are hidden by this quality of light and, well, generally the lack of such light.”

We say: a melancholic exploration of a long, dark cold winter spent in the isolated countryside – a countryside which takes on something of a malignant presence following its more positive influence on previous Heath releases. These tunes are recognisably the work of EL Heath, but are sparser than his previous releases – at times approaching an almost unbearable melancholy.

The sounds are often onomatopoeic: a martenot sweep like a cutting wind, pianos like a crisp frost. But as anyone reading the above would realise, it’s as much a psychological as it is seasonal (though the two are clearly inextricably linked). Concerto yearns, Arvo Pärt’s “light passing through glass” distilled. Electric Storm creeps with brooding darkness. Chords is a gorgeous sigh. Inertia’s unsettling absences are the perfect soundtrack to dark times.

It could be viewed, perhaps, as a wintry response to Virginia Astley’s ‘From Gardens Where We Feel Secure’ (an album Heath adores) and the original intention was for the album to be released in the middle of this winter. And though late, the very fact we’re able to release this album is something of a personal triumph for Heath: a perilous hard drive, lack of desire and feelings of wintry discontent at times conspiring to halt progress.

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Double album, 24 tracks in total:
Part 1 – Survival Strategies For The Age Of Discontinuity (Tracks 1-11)
Part 2 – We Are The Market Makers. (Tracks 12-24)

Not one of the tracks goes beyond two minutes, yet each is rammed full of so many sharp ideas that it shames much longer tracks into whimpering submission. As a collection it runs the gamut of mostly electronically based sounds, think Mike Patton’s Fantômas via a overheated laptop: clattering breakcore, thundering gabba tantrums, intricate glitch, Captain Beefheart punching Venetian Snares odd-pop, raw ambience, chuckle-hop, stock-market-core, Zorn inspired jazzgasms, techno grind…well smart.

Artwork designed by Wayne Pashley.

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Gorgeous washes of ambient sound and experimental pop soundings from a lonely Salopian and his arsenal of synths/guitars.

A heart stoppingly beautiful Proustian evocation of the tranquility of the countryside: of following water, long childhood walks and glorious sunlight through fading trees.

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This is a record that works on a variety of levels. At first blush, it is a collection of fine indie pop songs, with the occasional acoustic interlude, songs that take the best twee tradition and run with it unapologetically. There are songs about animals having an olympics, about little plants and weird aspirations to be cars – birds tweet about.

Yet listen closer and their is something very odd going on – these are songs about the miseries and joys of life (and death) that assume a occasionally sugary disguise, catching you unawares.

There are real love songs here, real songs of dread, honest to goodness realism about disappointment and thoughts about relationships – but there is also a song about the sun having his hat on. But this sun is deeply unhappy. Then again, there is a bit about losing the little things like cigarettes and the big things like love.

What? Lots of fun and lots of depth? Yes, indeed and odd like a pile of jackals. But you’ll see, in the weird and magical happy/sad kingdom of We Show Up On Radar.

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The Other Side of Fabulous Florida is precisely The Other Side Of Fabulous Florida, compared to it’s insane siamese twin.

It opens with a pure and unapologetic pop song, that could have been lifted straight from Clouddead’s Ten. Fragile X lets David Lynch’s walking bass talk to John Zorn, while Furballs skips through the local Toys ‘r’ Us. Pancakes and Waffles comes over all vintage AFX: a robot talks about love while analogue synths drift over the intricate drums, all belied by a demented electronic woofing. Return of The 100mph Dog rides a dark dada carousel into the night of broken toys and wide-eyed oddness. Wrapped up in ten minutes, it exudes confidence and an ear for an ear-worm of a tune.

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A thumb to the eyes, followed by a kick to the groin: all low blows and dirty fighting, The Night Of Long Knives is a perilous dash between relentlessly skittering breaks and hammering gabba bass.

Alligator Fuckhouse does what it says on the tin, a waking nightmare of thuds, circuit bending and endless cymbal crashes. In Last One… ragged string loops and shredded amens fight through dense thickets of bleeps and future noise. Speak For Yourself Moron witnesses a hardcore shout off over a intensely puerile melody before the duo choke the life out of bank of effects units…a throughly worthy punch to the lug holes.

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Never To Alight is a record of sparse, honest, intimate and beautiful songs.

It is a record of and for the liminal times: one of dawns, twilights and sunsets, almost glances and trickling epiphanies. It is a record of things half-remembered or half-forgotten; of fallen leaves and lost places, of ghosts and unopened attics, of joy, dread and longing. It is a record of old letters, pressed flowers and single battered photographs. It is a record of the mysteries of age, time, memory, love, loss and death: utterly transcendent even as it teeters on the edge of the abyss.

Lyrics

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Going to Jib Choons… was originally released on Good Name For A Racehorse Records in October 2006. It consists of 8 long pieces and 8 shorter sound collages. The fulfill David Lynch’s requirements for house band…while the former fulfill the same request from Pierre Schaeffer.

It veers from bombastic to whatever the opposite of bombastic is and constantly challenges and surprises the listener; from full blown messy psych freakouts to grubby pastoral kraut…

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Originally released on Good Name for a Racehorse Records (GNFAR) in July 2006.

It consists of 5 long tracks which spiral past distant galaxies and plunge to the darkest depths of the human psyche, feeling out the contours of kraut and unhinged space-rock.

One of these five – Gusset Bastard Grip – is something of a rarity in the Strap The Button catalogue in that it features vocals. These vocals sound somewhat like Brian Ferry undergoing a nervous breakdown.

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Om!‚ This syllable is this whole world.
Mandukya Upanishad

There is geometry in the humming of the strings. There is music in the spacings of the spheres.
Pythagorus

Thus all music – since its thought is upon melody and rhythm – must be the earthly representation of the music there is in the rhythm of the Ideal Realm.
Plotinus

There is a hierarchy of number from the One Himself down through the numeri. All music contains in some way the divine patterning.
Augustine

Two obliquely named tracks, each half an hour long, stretch out like vast oceans. Centred around variations of a single omnipresent and pulsating note, the record rewards patience, attention to detail and your own quietness. It is a breathtakingly gorgeous meditation on distance and time, as well as sound itself. The listener is cast adrift in a gradually evolving organic soundscape of glacial echoes, smeared synthesisers, glittering electronics and distant chimes, while the sound weaves into your environment, becoming truly ambient. Simply put: this is beautiful work.

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It’s about time. And also space. And also loss. Loss that is the result of either of those things.

The End (Has To Start Somewhere) is about hip-hop as the apex of evolution and the profound absurdity of eternal recurrence (maybe). Kicking Logic considers parallel dimensions and ponders the mystery Schrödinger’s cat over a popping g-funk whistle slice up. Time Flies dwells on life’s glorious contingency and the death of snowmen. The Quarterbeats plays the idea of time signatures as being the signatures of time qua time.

Yet it is not all speculative metaphysical hi-jinks. St’s Patrick’s Well features the most sublimely melancholic vocoder chorus since Laurie Anderson’s avant-hit ‘O Superman’. Oh No is a rapped lament for childhood trees and opportunities missed. Things end with a dark turn: Arctic Fox is a beatless midnight stalk, that recalls the collaboration between Kode9 and Space Ape in its sinister ambiguity – “I never knew a moral to keep me warm at night”, spits our anti-hero, while the colossal darkness and icy ambience whips around him.

In short, this simply is brilliant.

Lyrics

Artwork designed by Wayne Pashley.

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