Plugged-in produce from Gabe Knox, Polytechnic Sound Archive, Concretism, Hawksmoor and Polypores goes under the critiquing eye

Nothing seems capable of stemming the tide of electronically-fashioned creativity right now, even if the physical and administrative labour of transferring such artistic outpourings into physical artefacts has become harder and more unpredictable under our current pandemical conditions. Here below is another rudely-healthy selection box to pick piecemeal from or swallow in one sitting, depending on your audio appetite.

Having punctuated a longer-than-desired gap between factory-pressed vinyl products with a split 5” into 7” lathe-cut curio from Mitra Mitra and Le Cliché, to enthuse as well as confuse record collector heads, Dom Martin ushers in his packed Polytechnic Youth autumn schedule of more widely-available items with two simultaneous 10” EPs/mini-albums. The first from de facto PY flagship act Gabe Knox is unquestionably the most desirable of the two platters. Dual titled to account for the stylistic direction of each grooved-plastic side, Cosmic Motorik Adventures & Machine Language Music pretty much does what it says on the tin, which is no bad thing at all. Hence, the Cosmic… half dispenses the dark pulsing kosmische of “Square Wave Symphony” and the sleekly divine Dingerbeat-propelled “Synthetic Soundbath” whilst the Machine… flipside proffers the 80s sci-fi-pop of “Analog Aerobics” and the authentic joyous Commodore 64 computer game score bleeping of “User Port Workout”. True PY label fanatics will want at least three copies each of this one.

A little trickier to understand and embrace is the first standalone collection from Polytechnic Sound Archive. Purporting to act as an off-the-shelf “library album of horror scores” for TV, film and radio productions, Witched On brings together sixteen largely very short pieces cut by the in-house PY super-group made-up of overlapping Groupuscule, Volume Groop and XYZips members. While this might have had better take-up in the late-70s/early-80s, to accompany a low-budget cult-ish BBC hauntological TV series, rather than a latter-day Nordic Netflix-funded dystopian drama, those who just can’t get enough of such niche retro reimaginations will find plenty to enjoy here.

This includes oodles of Throbbing Gristle fizz and grind (“White Noise of Particle D” and “I Remember Nothing”), wobbly Tom Baker-era Doctor Who sound effects doodles (“Voice S” and “I Saw Her Floating There”), retunings from the weirder corners of Kraftwerk’s Radio-Activity (“Death Spells the End” and “Fear of Marimba”) and pulsing motorik grooves (“Semi Circle Ritual”). After all the fronted-loaded fragments, proceedings conclude more solidly with the Astrid Lupereau-voiced Franco-dark-wave magic of “Les Sorcieres (Lille 82)”, that is arguably worth the admission price alone to this strangely compelling gathering.

Also applying a fragment-assembling approach, albeit with a more direct primary purpose, is Concretism’s Dick and Stewart soundtrack on Castles in Space. Built to supplement Scarfolk creator Richard Littler’s bleak but charming cartoon creation – narrated by non-baking Mighty Boosh man Julian Barratt – about a boy (Dick) and the still-sentient eyeball remains of his best friend (Stewart) in a 70s-style small screen suburban dystopia, Chris Sharp strikingly shifts outside of his sonic concrete pouring comfort zone with 24 nuggets spread over one side of some literally very eye-catching vinyl.

Whilst there is still a decent smattering of menacingly playful Protect and Survive electronica miniatures to keep existing Concretism fans sated (notably “On the Streets”, “The Chase”, “The Ending” and “Too Many Teeth”), plenty of other things are going on here too. Thus, we find somewhat unexpected dips into Freddie Phillips pastoralism (“Green Fields” and “Closing Titles”), eerie fairground music re-rendered with nods to Wendy Carlos (“Watching Is Normal and Healthy” and “Dick Transforms”), detours into foreboding Birthday Party-aping swamp-punk (“Something Nasty”), sinister mundanity (“The Ice Cream Van Rhapsody”) and pure John Carpenter horror-prowling (“Carpentry”). Although some double-entendre track-titles and the relative brevity might suggest this is a throwaway Concretism affair from an uninformed first glance, it could in fact be an enticing introductory selection to late-comers and a welcome progression for the previously-acquainted. Don’t snooze on picking up what could become a highly desirable objet d’art.

Also sharing a penchant for lone eyeballs on front covers is James McKeown, through his latest appearance as Hawksmoor, with the cassette/download–only Methods of Dreaming (Spun Out of Control). Having put out a compelling modern-day Orwellian concept album – 201984 – earlier in 2020, this time around McKeown focuses upon an overarching nocturnal sleep-infused theme to hang things upon. Capturing his enhanced levels of craftmanship deploying a melange of synths, tape loops, processed guitars and live bass lines, Methods of Dreaming covers a lot of ground, whilst keeping to a minimalist mindset.

This translates into Tortoise low-end anchoring attached to Tangerine Dream ethereality (“Strict Parallels” and “Seraphim”), Labradford-meets-Vangelis starkness (“Paneloux”), balmy burbling amniotic beats and drones (“AES”), Polypores-like modulations (“Liminality” and “Wishbone”) and pellucid Vini Reilly guitars overlayed upon early-OMD electronics (“La Peste”). Whilst there is perhaps not an abundance of unfamiliar influences at play throughout Methods of Dreaming, the blending of barely-there subtlety with a strong cohesive overall structure is undoubtedly engrossing. It all bodes well for the next steps in James McKeown’s ongoing artistic trekking.

Such is the frequency at which Stephen James Buckley is now releasing albums as Polypores, we could almost reserve a monthly review slot for him in advance and only need to cancel it a few times a year. However, in the interests of not crowding out the rest of the busy artists who populate these pages, a concertinaed round-up is required to cover a triumvirate of new cassette/download sets made available via different labels only a matter of weeks apart. Whilst not chronologically correct to consider them as linear progressions on from each other – given that the second arriving album was actually recorded late last year – back-to-back digestion according to release sequence order does make for a satisfyingly flowing journey.

The first latest outing, Terrain (Frequency Domain), is in a stylistically similar vein to the self-released digital-only Universe B from a few months ago, albeit with slightly softer aesthetics and more spacious arrangements for Buckley’s granular synthesising. This takes us through blissful Ambient-era Brian Enoisms (“Global Hypercolour”), fusions of pattering voodoo beats, desert twangs and flute sounds (“Windowsill Study”), icy rippling (“An Abstraction”), hypnotic near-gamelan percussiveness (“Artefact Harvest”) and more besides, to remarkably enrich the Polypores palette over a baker’s dozen pieces.

Mapping out the in-between part of this synth-led trip is the hour or so long Ever Curious (Golden Ratio Frequencies), which follows a virtually percussion-free route with four very expanded tracks of cosmic ambience that cleave closely to the works of Bob Ross and Carl Sagan but also connect to the nature-meets-nu-new-age meldings of Polypores’ own Azure LP of this summer just gone. Deeply immersive yet at times diaphanously sculpted, the four pooled epic explorations are ripe for a discerning meditation practice but skilfully steer well clear of slipping into wallpaper background territory.

Third to appear – in early-November – is the terrific Tempus (Woodford Halse), possibly the best of this threesome. Bringing the revived percussive elements of Terrain even further to the fore and carrying-over more concise components from the driftscapes of Ever Curious, Buckley near-perfectly fits his own intentions of wanting to make “something that sounded a bit like a New Age CD that was skipping slightly”.  This approach delivers highlights like the gorgeous chiming “Bell Morph” and “Temporal Resolution”, the gently juddering “Timebirds”, the percolating swirls of “Clockworms” and the transcendental No Pussyfooting-tinted “Totality”.

Although there might be some question marks about just how long Stephen James Buckley can sustain such quantity and quality musical questing without simply wearing-thin his loyal audience’s capacity to keep up with him, on the basis of this latest trilogy, the prospects for three imminent vinyl albums via Polytechnic Youth, Castles in Space and Behind the Sky look decidedly strong.

Adrian
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