A diverse delivery of wares from Skep Wax Records, E, Jane Weaver, Seabuckthorn and others get checked in for inspection

Whilst the British spring still hasn’t quite decided what to do meteorologically-speaking, in terms of new music releases, things have certainly rained down pretty ceaselessly. Here beneath then, are just a few things to have been captured in the sonic reservoir.

First up, are two deliveries from Skep Wax Records, representing the two broad sides of the label’s curatorial coin – namely reassembled veterans and relative newcomers.

In respect to the former, comes the matter-of-factly-anointed Under the Bridge 2, as a double-sized follow-up to 2022’s sublime Under the Bridge compilation. Assembling exclusive and underheard material from the Sarah Records diaspora again, in either their original band set-ups or in new configurations, this has a lot to live up to.

Although proceedings as a whole don’t quite surpass the self-cocooned pleasures of its predecessor, this is still a warmly revelatory and – above all – relentlessly spinnable 20-track selection. Consequently, we’re treated to an eclectic yet cohesive compendium, strewn with the familiar and the unfamiliar, the melodic and the dissonant, the dreamy and the droll… and plenty more besides.

Along the way, this takes us through The Go-Betweens-meets-Tindersticks bliss from The Gentle Spring (“Dodge the Rain”); the scrappy indie pop of Action Painting! (“Just Who are the Cockleshell Heroes?”); a psychedelically-smeared Nancy and Lee duet from The Catenary Wires (“Alone Tonight”); the joyously blurry post-Lush rush of Jetstream Pony (“Look Alive!); the early-80s-enveloped low-tech swooning of Leaf Mosaic (“The Branch Line”); wistful Antipodean art-pop from Even as we Speak (“Beauty, You Break Us All”); the quixotic Peter Momtchiloff-masterminded balminess of Tufthunter (“Chemistry”); and the chiming C86isms of 14 Iced Bears’ Robert Sekula (“Pamela”).

While a triple-disc Under the Bridge 3 might possibly over-stretch things, if there is a next time, this sequel set in hand is a richly rewarding affair.

From under Skep Wax’s younger-generation-nurturing-wing appears You’re Just Jealous, courtesy of feisty Leeds-based foursome Crumbs. Though unabashedly under the influence of agit-post-punkers pioneers like Delta 5, Gang of Four, Au Pairs and Bush Tetras (whose “Too Many Creeps” is covered as the LP closer) and infused with Riot Grrrl DNA distilled from the lineage of Huggy Bear, Sleater-Kinney and Le Tigre, the quartet still have an energetic spirit and lyrical lexicon of their own.

Hence, the opening titular track immediately hooks things right into place, with Andy Gill guitar shards, upfront basslines and call-and-response vocals. Thereafter, we’re knifed sonically in “Stab Alley” beneath arresting Corin Tucker-like vocals; taken down a lighter yet still twisting path with “Dear Deirdre”; embedded with a king-size earworm in the shape of the staccato-driven “DIY SOS”; wrapped in the wiry lateral grooves of “Mambo No.6”; and herked/jerked through the aforementioned reappreciation of “Too Many Creeps”.

At just 28 minutes in length, the promising You’re Just Jealous doesn’t outstay its welcome, but you might need a lie down between airings, to recover from its infectiously feverish pacing.

Also taking no prisoners, albeit from further along the collective age spectrum, is Living Waters (Silver Rocket), the fourth full-length from E.

While Gavin McCarthy has now been replaced on drums and third-vocalist duties by Ernie Kim – alongside singing-guitarists Thalia Zedek and Jason Sanford – the hive-mindedness of 2022’s Any Information mini-album is sustained and amplified in its intensity.

With other additional instrumental adjustments in the construction mix (including further self-built equipment add-ons, different effects and some fleeting saxophone), generally heavier production values and even grittier psycho-dramatic wordplay, this is E turned up to eleven on all fronts.

Thus, over the long-player’s duration we’re aurally assailed by the pummelling techno-paranoia of the opening “(Fully) Remote”; the jagged no-wave clank and stomp of “Jumprope”; the out-of-body anaesthetic-tripping of “Null”; the swirling dystopia of “Names Upon a List”; a blend of communal harmonising and sax skronk over the sprawling eponymous cut; and the biomedical fever-dreams of “Gain of Function”.

E will likely remain an acquired taste on the basis of the delirium dredging Living Waters, but those already hooked on the uncompromising potency of this super-group-of-sorts should continue to be enthralled.

In stark contrast, Jane Weaver’s Love in Constant Spectacle (Fire Records), goes down far more luxuriant and less aurally abrasive avenues.

Not quite as direct as 2021’s Flock solo LP and not so as out-there as 2022’s The Metallic Index outing with side-project Fenella, this latest Weaver studio statement forges a fluid third-way, between relatively straight-ahead impulses and comparatively experimental extremities.

With John Parish brought in as producer and extra backing ensemble contributor, the album shifts through melodic kosmische (“Perfect Storm”); languid celestial grooves (“Emotional Components” and “The Axis and the Seed”); minimalist pastoral introspection (“Motif”); percussive Dots and Loops-era Stereolabisms (“Happiness in Proximity”); and a motorik remoulding of the milder moments within Nico’s Desertshore (“Family of the Sun”).

Whilst it perhaps lacks truly transcendental moments, Love in Constant Spectacle is nevertheless a reassuringly radiant way to spend 42 minutes of listening time in the company of Jane Weaver.

Rounding things out here, in more elemental and entirely wordless environs, are two complementary ambient-minded creations.

Having previously impressed these ears with 2018’s A House with Too Much Fire, the latest from Seabuckthorn (AKA Andy Cartwright), in the shape of This Warm, This Late (Quiet Details), provides an even deeper dive into electro-acoustic collaging.

Capturing Cartwright self-layering and processing guitars, ukulele and banjo, with guests adding dabs of double-bass and trombone in places, the twelve gathered pieces create as well as stretch into spaces that encompass gamelan rippling (“Rising with the Sun”); echoes of David Grubbs at his most unplugged and abstract (“More Time With That”); desolate dronescapes (“Ley Line”); shades of Six Organs of Admittance (“Old Saying”); and avant-classical arrangements (“Ceased To Be”).

Despite not being a straightforward selection to decode, the wraparound introspective mood conjured-up on This Warm, This Late is unquestionably compelling.

Fabricated with more far plugged-in tools, Dawn Chorus and the Infallible Sea’s Reveries (Sonic Cathedral) is a more synthetically-stitched suite of sound tapestries, from the Indianapolis-based trio of Zach Frizzell, Marc Ertel and Damien Duque.

Deploying synths, guitars and symphonic strata, this is a thoroughly immersive conception, that can only really be appreciated in full sittings. Melding the most inscrutable traits of Brian Eno’s still-touchstone Ambient series, the most strung-out strains of Tangerine Dream and half-buried nods to Labradford’s masterful Mi Media Naranja, what this album may lack in genuine originality, it makes up for in its commanding combinations of imposing darkness and soothing serenity.

Adrian
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