A sifted slew of electronically-reared produce from Heron & Crane, The Voice of Saturn, Ben Winter, clocolon and Rupert Lally

Whilst manufacturing delays – especially with vinyl – might possibly lead to a significant slowdown in releases in the autumn and winter, there’s still an unfathomable amount of fresh electronic music world commodities to see us through what remains of another mixed-up summer. Like this lot…

Returning to these pages for the first time in two years, are Heron & Crane with Streams, their second album on Hibernator Gigs Records. Once again featuring the combined talents of Dave Gibson (Personal Bandana) and Travis Kokas (Cryptids After Dark) and recorded largely remotely between Charlottesville, Virginia and Columbus, Ohio, this follow-up to 2019’s Firesides is a charmingly woozy yet lucid conception, part-inspired by a year or so of rustic lockdown living and political tumult.

Stitching together synthetic and organic sonic threads, the twosome almost forge a new sub-genre for the current global electronic underground community – ‘bucolictronica’ if you like – with vocals, guitars and field recordings rubbing alongside warm wobbly electronics wrapped inside distinctive back porch vibes. Not that the plugged-in and the pastoral have ever been entirely separate entities, with Streams there is certainly something refreshingly airy, outdoorsy and domestically communal that sets it apart from other albums that have been brewed in home studios over the last couple of years.

Consequently, the assembly of instrumental pieces and voice-driven songs flow balmily through Harmonia-meets-The Shins shimmering (“Fogline” and “Tired Empire”); directions The Byrds might have followed after The Notorious Byrd Brothers if they’d not fallen under the country-rock spell of Gram Parsons (“Their Fancy Skills” and “Country Wine”); gliding yet hazy psych-pop (“Projectiles”); renaissance fair kosmische (“Secret Alchemy” and “Fatal Shore”); miniaturised celestial prog (“Sleep Patterns”); and affectionate nods to The Eagles’ “Journey of the Sorcerer”, as famously adopted for the original British TV adaptation of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (“Compassion Circuit”).

Although not an entirely revolutionary statement, Streams subtly subverts contemporaneous pigeonhole strictures, with a combination of uplifting as well as pensive ingenuity.

Solo trading as The Voice of Saturn and also taking cues from 2020’s confinements and commotions as well as the painful loss of a canine family member, is Travis Thatcher, the other half of retro Casio-dabblers Personal Bandana next to the aforementioned Dave Gibson of Heron & Crane. A more darkly propelled and self-isolating concoction than Streams – whilst still possessing a free-spirited reach – Gratitude (Woodford Halse) is the yang to Heron & Crane’s ying release.

Fashioned primarily with vintage synths – yet supplemented with some submerged saxophone, guitar, bass and live drums – the dozen wordless cuts cover a lot of grittier ground. This means veering through early-4AD ethereality (“Winston”); burbling Power, Corruption & Lies-laced grooves (“Musicfriendlydancing”); lashings of techno-noir (“Oceanside” and “Yardlings”); and shrouded shoegaze (“Azalae” and “Holding Out for a Better Tomorrow”).

Whilst not everything appeals to these ears – such as the skittering “Nachtmahren” and the harsh almost drum ‘n’ bass cleaving “Our Love Always Wins” – there’s a lot of interesting terrain to explore within the cassette-based confines of Gratitude.

Also taking shadowy turns is Ben Winter, returning to Modern Aviation with Foam, his sequel to last year’s Still Animals. “Inspired by the collision of mythology and technology,” according to the accompanying press spiel, this seven-track selection is even more immersed in musique concrète art installation idioms than its predecessor. With no guest vocal-filled centrepiece moment this time around, it’s harder to find an easy to reach anchor. Yet some patient listening leads us through its steely passages.

Hence, there are disorientating dronescapes sprinkled with loops and spoken-word samples (“Bring You Closer”, “Hyperspacial” and “Visions of Hell”), glistening yet glitchy ambient extents (“Wool”), haunted derelict spaceship vibes (the title track and “Venera”) and bleak Blade Runner graininess (“Better than Life”).

Unquestionably uncompromising, Foam isn’t for the fainthearted. However, those who like their mystery dishes served-up with a side order of intensity, should have their audio appetite sated.

Similarly prowling around in dimly-lit places is Emlyn Ellis Addison, reappearing on Castles in Space as the capital letter-dodging clocolan, with the stunningly-packaged This Will End in Love. Carrying on from last summer’s sprawling double It’s Not Too Early for Each Other LP via the same outlet, this is a more concise – and perhaps more concentrated – collection. Occupying similar sonic space to labelmates Concretism and Bernard Grancher, the eight elliptical pieces mix industrial grade spectral soundscapes, disembodied voices and existential themes, with the deployment of analogue electronics, tape machinery and digital tools.

At times the heavily submerged spoken-word components can be a bit distracting, yet musically This Will End in Love joins the dots between John Carpenter, warped VHS tapes, early-Boards of Canada and the Stranger Things soundtrack with a meticulous murkiness that should appeal to those that like lurking in the less illuminated corners of Castles in Space’s broad church.

Very belatedly making his vinyl debut – after years of hyper-prolific work spread over digital, cassette and CD releases – is Rupert Lally with Beyond the Night (Subexotic). Conceived as a ‘dusk to dawn’ overnight road trip concept statement, infused by a wide distillation of 70s and 80s filmic tropes, this widescreen set splits itself into two side-long multi-movement tracks to make full use of its pressed plastic sound stage.

Thus, side one’s “From Dusk to Midnight” shifts through skulking mashed-up motorik pulsations, ambient jazz expanses, neon-lit technoscapes and meditative space age wistfulness, whilst side two’s “From Midnight Until Dawn” glides through throbbing lateral disco, iridescent synth-pop, barely-there minimalism and ecclesiastical evocations. Both sides are threaded together with a stirring recurring virtual saxophone motif, which gives the whole thing a gratifying cohesion. 

It may take a few spins to soak in its sonic scope but Beyond the Night builds into an addictive affair, which deserves to bring Rupert Lally towards a much broader audience.

Adrian
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