• Jonathan Williger’s 8 albums for listening between breaths

    Jonathan Williger’s 8 albums for listening between breaths

    There’s something arresting about a voice on its own. No instruments to hide behind. No arrangements to lean on. Just breath, timing, and intention.

     

    Jonathan Williger, who runs Outside Time, shares a selection of albums that lean into this kind of exposure.

     

    “I’m always very interested in music that is very simple in terms of timbre, but complex in execution and concept. One of my favorite sub-sub-genres of this is a capella music, which always seems more challenging than solo instrumentals because there’s this near universal unspoken expectation of accompaniment. Singing by yourself in front of others or a microphone is a bold move, and while some bend the rules a little bit through multi-tracking, effects, or group singing, all are daring and audacious in their own unique ways.”

     

    Like the bare, intimate voices at the center of these records, Outside Time gravitates toward music that favors vulnerability over resolution. Its releases drift between presence and absence, inviting a kind of listening that is both patient and receptive.

    O&S_Mood_List_Outside_Time
    Amirtha Kidambi & Lea Bertucci – Phase Eclipse (Astral Spirits, 2021)

    As unsettling as this album is, I find a lot of beauty here as well. Kidambi sings spontaneously while Bertucci manipulates her voice in real time with a reel-to-reel tape machine, bending the pitches, layering and looping them. It works both as a duo improv record and a striking display of vocal technique and creativity. Mind blown.

    JB Smith – Ever Since I Have Been A Man Full-Grown & Two Other Prison Songs Sung Unaccompanied (Takoma, 1966)

    This track is Bastian’s more playful and groovy side, which is a high contrast to some of his darker or more ambient tunes. This was released on John Fahey’s Takoma label (a wealth of minimalist music with a traditional bent), and is one of the most haunting blues records ever. Smith’s voice hangs in the air, taking each song with a constantly fluctuating tempo, taking moments to ponder the heartache he’s expressing.

    David Hykes & Harmonic Choir – Current Circulation (Celestial Harmonies, 1984)

    Between the unreal throat singing style this group specializes in and the copious natural reverb, it often sounds like this record is performed using inhumanly long breaths that stretch for many minutes. The texture of the throat singing gives me goosebumps. This record is extremely findable in used bins for pretty cheap, at least in the US.

    David Thomas – Vocal Performances (Rough Trade, 1981)

    The Pere Ubu singer stands alone for this one, which includes a remarkable cover of “Sloop John B” in which the melody is barely recognizable and the wimpers of “I wanna go home” hit harder than ever.

    Phil Minton – A Donut In Both Hands (Rift, 1981)

    This album is billed on the cover as “solo singing” but it might be better described as “uncomfortable mouth sounds.” Do you know the way that people mimic Donald Duck in that squeaky scratchy voice you make in the back of your cheeks? There’s a lot of that here.

    Joan La Barbara – Voice Is The Original Instrument (Wizard Records, 1976)

    This is one of the most virtuosic records I know of. After a listen or two it reveals itself as the culmination of extensive exploration of these very particular techniques that come to sound completely inhuman in many parts, particularly “Vocal Extensions.” This couldn’t be more different from her work in the Philip Glass Ensemble.

    Claire Hamill – Voices (Coda, 1986)

    This is almost a new age record, and a real outlier in Hamill’s catalog, which is otherwise filled with mostly boring singer-songwriter albums. This was released the same year as Enya’s debut, and has a lot in common with the superstar in terms of pillowy layers of harmony. One for the come down zone.  

    Jud Jud – No Tolerance for Instruments (Victory Records, 1998)

    I know that Jud Jud is often viewed as a joke – I mean, they’re an a capella hardcore band – but they know the ins and outs of hardcore so well that if you fill in the blanks with your mind these can become ripping songs in your mind’s ear. The tongue trills that constitute double bass fills are just perfect.
     

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  • Creating space with Adriaan de Roover

    Creating space with Adriaan de Roover

    Artist and composer Adriaan de Roover treats music-making as a portal into self-discovery. Through subtle sonic transformations, each release marks his journey and embodies a new sound, feeling, or place that resonates with a specific period in time from his life. This theme is particularly present in his latest record, Other Rooms, where he reflects on “the different paths I could have taken, the different versions of myself.” 

     

    Adriaan discussed with us the importance of cultivating space, both within music and in life, as a means of finding connection and giving shape to an evolving sense of self.

    Every album you release explores a new sound. What do you feel ties them all together?


    I’m happy that you say it sounds different. For me, it’s like following a continuous journey through different phases of my life. I don’t see clear boundaries between albums. It feels more like a steady exploration of new territories, all connected by a thread of curiosity about the sounds I’ve been exploring for the past decade.

     

    Sometimes I return to familiar sounds or ideas that sparked my interest years ago, but I’m also constantly drawn to new inspirations. It’s not like I have a clear plan for how I want my albums to sound. It happens more organically, just following my curiosity wherever it takes me.

    You introduced a more upbeat sound at your album release show in Het Bos. What inspired this musical shift?

     

    I’ve been consciously wanting to explore new sounds and ideas lately, and I think I’m contradicting myself more than before. I’m seeking more joy and playfulness because, through past projects, I’ve realized that melancholy is such a big part of what I do. It feels like my mind now wants to lean toward a sense of lightness and fun.

    Adriaan de Roover - Mood Talk - Objects & Sounds

    So, melancholy seems to come naturally to you musically. Do you find it more challenging to express joy and playfulness?

     

    I’m not sure I can force it, but I’m always happy when it happens. Avoiding melancholy is definitely more difficult for me, and maybe that’s okay. I realized this through various commissions, especially when creating a soundtrack for a documentary. It was a heavy project that lasted about three years, and layering melancholy over an already intense narrative was really confronting. I had to consciously find ways to break away from it. It’s something I have to be mindful of—not to instinctively tap into that melancholic space.

    Another element that’s very present in your music is the notion of space. Why is that important to you?

     

    I think it’s because I’m creating a space for myself. It’s like I’m carving out a place that adapts to where I am and makes me feel safe. Building this space that feels comfortable and familiar is a significant part of my music-making process.

    And do you visualize these spaces?

     

    Yes, but in a very abstract way. I like to take little adventures and explore different places. 

     

    Ten years ago, my music was more about embracing nature, but now it’s more intertwined with the urban life I’m a part of. People and man-made creations are becoming part of the soundscape. I’ve noticed more layers of human presence in the mix.

    What inspired you to start incorporating these elements into your music now?

     

    I’m not sure how intentional or conscious it is. It’s just something that started grabbing my attention. I find the contrast between comfort and anxiety fascinating, and I enjoy experimenting with these different elements. Sometimes, I use sounds that are a bit harsh, like the rumble of a metro or the screech of tram noises. The sound of cities can be really loud and unsettling, and I like to make it part of my work. It also reflects how things sound in my head at times.

    Are there other themes and concepts that show up often in your work?


    I think so, but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly. It all comes from my life experiences, thoughts, and conversations with others. Mostly, it’s a way for me to connect with myself. Especially with my latest record, Other Rooms, it’s less about conveying a specific message and more about tapping into my feelings. 

     

    It’s about creating spaces within myself and facing whatever comes up. I’m drawn to certain sounds because they challenge me, make me uncomfortable, and then I find myself searching for comfort again. It’s like stepping into the unknown or taking a leap of faith.

    Do you feel your music is becoming a more direct expression of your inner self?

     

    I think so and I’m also eager to be more direct and transparent in my expression. For example, instead of hiding sounds within layers, I might want to make them more distinct. Sometimes I enjoy the mystery of not knowing whether a sound is a guitar or a car, but lately, I’ve been gravitating towards clarity in my recordings. This connects with the idea of simplicity—making things more straightforward, both in the music itself and perhaps even with words. Maybe there’s a bit less fog and doubt inside me, and that’s also translating into the sound.

    Your latest work features more spoken word and singing. Are you planning to explore that even further?

    Yes, I’m also singing more during live shows now, and I’m enjoying the rawness. It can go out of tune, and that’s okay. I think this mindset even extends to using words instead of abstract sounds.

     

    At the same time, I’m feeling drawn to incorporating more beats again. I want to explore rhythm in a way that feels authentic to me. When I first started, I thought I wanted to make club music, but I guess I failed at that. I found myself gradually removing the drums during the mixing process and eventually stopped trying to include them altogether. It’s liberating because it opens up the space, allowing the music to breathe.

     

    I’m not entirely sure where this journey will lead, but I’m embracing the process and letting things unfold naturally. Who knows, maybe in a few years, people will be tempted to dance to my music again. Or maybe not.

    Adriaan de Roover - Mood Talk - Objects & Sounds

    And how do you approach working on commissioned projects?

     

    When collaborating in group settings, like a theater performance with other musicians, I find myself adapting more and learning to be functional, prioritizing the song and the collective vision over my own expression. But I still view these projects as extensions of myself and a way to express who I am. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be as interested in pursuing them. It’s something I’m still figuring out. I’ve realized I’m not particularly skilled at being purely functional. I know how to record a song in Ableton, but that doesn’t mean I can make the kind of music others create with this software. I’ve tried working on projects where I didn’t feel an emotional connection, and it just felt wrong. Something needs to stir inside me for me to truly engage with the project.

    What do you hope listeners experience or take away from your music?

     

    For me, creating music is a way to connect with myself or something deeper. I’m drawn to other people’s music for the same reason—it helps me understand and feel connected, both to myself and to something bigger. I hope that when people listen to my music, they can find that same connection within themselves or with something beyond them. Perhaps they’ll discover a sense of wonder or inspiration along the way.

     

    Pictures by Anne Verbist and Jan De Schoenmaker

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  • walking the frozen lake with Taylor Deupree

    Walking the frozen lake with Taylor Deupree

    We often can find a sense of softness resting below the surface of tension, an equilibrium where unease and flow, movement and stillness, acceptance and inquiry meet. The practice of embracing these dualities with precision and curiosity, while leaning into life’s patterns and shadings, is a centerpiece for Taylor Deupree’s work and creative process.

     

    With decades of experience both creating music and supporting other artists’ work as a mastering engineer, his creative work has evolved over the years through instilling change as an important counterpart to his craft. Whether introducing new instruments, switching locations, or exploring new parameters for collaborations, keeping an open mind to discoveries old and new is a common denominator in Taylor’s sonic approach.

     

    We enjoyed speaking with him about integrity in music, finding the middle ground between control and spontaneity, and breaking patterns to find new musical paths.

    You’ve been making music for decades. What does it take for music to still surprise you?

    I think there are two parts to it: finding new music to listen to both within and outside of the genre I create and then finding new motivations to create, to inspire me to keep producing music.

     

    It’s probably easier to answer the first part. My tastes in music have changed so much over the years. Like five years ago, I finally understood Radiohead. The band’s obviously been around for quite a while and though I didn’t get it at first, something just clicked, and now I love their music. Also, the stuff I listen to is mostly from the ‘90s, but I wasn’t really listening to it in the ‘90s. This music became new and exciting to me in the 2000s. Finding new things to listen to doesn’t always have to be about new releases. It can also be about discovering something old that is new to you. Although I can rarely just casually listen to a song, it’s difficult to turn off my “production ears.” I always tend to delve into what’s inside the song. I pick apart the production and pay attention to space, depth, what sorts of reverbs are used, compression techniques, and things like that. I imagine it’s the same for painters or writers. I doubt a writer can read a book and simply enjoy it without focusing on the technical process. It is difficult to shed your artist mind and simply enjoy.

     

    As for my own music, it’s technology-based and there are always new instruments being developed and manufactured. As I am quite the studio geek, this is always a source of excitement. Music is also just what I do. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

    It’s comforting to hear that music can still surprise and excite you after all these years. What challenges do you sometimes face when trying to create something new?

     

    Right now, I’m struggling to find a new creative path and overcome writer’s block. I’m planning to make a new album and want it to be somewhat different, but I’m still figuring out how.

    Taylor Deupree - 12k - Objects & Sounds - Mood Talk

    When do you know that it’s time to pursue another path musically?

     

    It’s often an intuitive moment, from the feeling that I’ve thoroughly explored a particular territory over the past five or six years, which signals that it’s time to venture into something new. The process happens much smoother when collaborating with others, but working solo can be more challenging, as it’s easy to fall back into familiar habits. Breaking away from these habits is both important and challenging. Sometimes, introducing a new instrument or changing my location can be the catalyst for this change.

    What are some of the habits that you consistently find yourself returning to? 

     

    There’s equipment in the studio that I tend to gravitate towards, and there are specific sounds I consistently seek out. It’s kind of a running joke I have with myself: Despite having various keyboards and synthesizers, I often program them all to sound the same. It doesn’t really matter what I use in the end, it kind of always sounds like me. 

     

    I try to break this pattern at times, by experimenting with different approaches. For quite some time now, I’ve stopped incorporating rhythm in my work, so introducing it again is always something that could potentially offer a different direction.

     

    At the end of the day, I try not to be too upset about it too much when these habits recur. I feel like each album is really just a sort of a document of my life at that moment.

    We’ve talked about hitting creative roadblocks, but what’s it like for you when you’re totally in the zone?

     

    It feels like things are flowing, and I’m excited by what I’m creating. Sometimes there’s this buzz, a kind of electric excitement, when everything just seems to fall into place perfectly. This feeling often kicks off a snowball effect and once I’m in that zone, it just feels like everything flows pretty easily.

     

    Although, I must balance this creative energy with the demands of my daily routine. As I’m frequently in the studio mastering other people’s music, I don’t always have the energy and desire to continue working on my own music afterward, especially during intense periods of mastering work. I really need to carve out days where I can focus solely on my own projects.

    How do you maintain a clear distinction between these two facets of your work? 

     

    I’m actually in the process of building a second studio right now. It’s pretty much finished, and I’m waiting to move my equipment in. The plan is to use the current studio for mastering work, as it was designed, and the new studio for creative work. I think that having separate spaces is really going to help me differentiate those two parts of my musical life, as I won’t be coming into the same room to do everything. The new studio has been under construction for over a year, so it’s been a long wait. I think that’s also contributing to my current writer’s block.

    Besides working on the new album, are there any other creative projects or collaborations you’re currently engaged in?

     

    I’m currently collaborating with my friend, Marcus Fisher, on an exciting new project. We’re experimenting with bass guitar and drums, taking our music in unexpected directions. It’s sounding great – it still sounds like us, but in a refreshingly different way.

    Do you and Marcus set specific intentions for your collaborations from the start, or do you lean towards a more spontaneous, in-the-moment approach?

     

    Before starting this project, we both made a conscious decision to explore something new. We laid out the guidelines early on, but through working on it together, it just evolves. This time, we agreed to put our focus on percussion. Marcus’s studio is equipped with a lot of interesting, nontraditional percussion instruments, and he’s also really adept at drum recordings. So, we decided to begin there and just see where it leads us.

    In collaborations, it’s perhaps easier to decide when a project is complete and ready for release. When it comes to your solo work, how do you determine when a piece is ready to be shared with the world?

     

    Personally, I’ve never considered anything I’ve done to be truly finished. The possibilities for editing or revising seem infinite. Yet, during the creative process, there eventually comes a point where it simply feels complete, with nothing more to add and, more importantly, nothing more to take away. I enjoy stripping things down to their bare minimum, ensuring that only what’s necessary to express the music remains. And perhaps it’s only after five or ten years post-release that I consider a project truly finished. It’s too old by then and I just accept that it is what it is.

    Do you think you’re tougher on yourself when creating your own music than when you’re mastering for others?

     

    In mastering, there’s a sense of accountability toward someone else’s creation. It’s primarily a technical process, yet I do inject my own interpretation into it. My job is simply to refine and enhance a finished piece. Determining when it’s complete is relatively straightforward, as you can’t adjust every individual tiny detail of the instruments, vocals, and effects in a fully mixed song.

     

    On the other hand, when creating my own music, I have control over every little sound. It’s easy to overthink the details, constantly questioning whether a particular sound should be quieter or louder. This is a stark contrast to past recording methods, where recordings were live to tape, and the performance was the final mix. Nowadays, every part of a sound can be adjusted, down to the most minute detail, making it much more challenging to decide when a piece is complete. I don’t necessarily think this is a good thing for music.

    Ned Milligan once shared with us that you create music with integrity, which I found to be an interesting statement. What does it mean to you for music to have integrity?

     

    Integrity in music, to me, means being honest and transparent. I strive to present my music and my label without any pretense. It’s about sincerity, a genuine expression without the need for hype or a false persona. I don’t do any of that. I’m open about my process and always willing to engage with others about it. Perhaps that’s what integrity in music means to me: being authentic and accessible, without hiding behind a facade or mystique.

    How would you describe your music to someone who hasn’t heard it yet?

     

    Fragile is a term I often use because it encapsulates what I aim for—an ambient quality with underlying tension. This tension is crucial to me. It’s like walking on a frozen lake, where the beauty of the moment is balanced by the risk of everything falling apart. I like to explore that balance in music, usually with things like noise, lo-fi, and degradation. There is a certain sensitivity but also a bit of precision in it as well.

     

    This duality extends to my creative process. I’m meticulous and intentional in the studio, yet I also embrace accidents and randomness, incorporating them into my work. It’s about finding a middle ground between control and spontaneity, much like walking that risky, beautiful line on a frozen lake.

    Your analogy of walking on a frozen lake resonates well. Do you often find yourself visualizing scenes like this when creating music, aiming to express them sonically?

     

    Yeah, it varies from project to project. Some of my albums have been inspired by particular photographs or artworks. I often prefer to have the album title established before diving into the music, as it provides a visual anchor and guides the direction of the record.

     

    For almost ten years now, I’ve been sitting on a collection of photographs taken in Japan that I’m eager to pair with music. I really like these photographs, but I haven’t found the right music yet to go with them. They are always in the back of my mind.

     

    I’m really interested in minimalist and brutalist architecture, concrete and cold structures, but also traditional Japanese gardens and domestic architecture. Those things are really inspiring to me. I also love the Icelandic landscape. I feel it suits my music almost perfectly, being both beautiful and harsh. Not that my music is harsh, but, you know, beautiful and a little bit isolated, a little bit dangerous.

    Do you already have a title for the next album you’re working on?

     

    No, not yet. I’ll likely need to come up with a title or album cover soon. Perhaps the new studio will spark the inspiration I need, but I am not too upset about it. It will come to me when the time is right. Every day, I’m tinkering with sounds, experimenting with new equipment like a new looper, which I recently brought into the studio. Ideas often start small but can grow into something significant. While there’s pressure to meet deadlines, I appreciate the freedom to explore and create without feeling constrained or rushed.

    Finally, do you have any tips on how one can listen better?

    For me, listening better involves recognizing the importance of sound, not just in music but in everyday life. I instilled this lesson in my kids from a young age, encouraging them to walk with their ears, not just their eyes. 

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  • Slow Moves is a mood

    slow moves is a mood

    Slow Moves is a label that began in 2021 with Christina Vantzou’s ‘Releasing Spores.’ In the fall of 2023, they released their second album, a restoration of a 1986/87 collaboration between Kathy Acker and the French group Nox.

     

    When reflecting on their origins and what drives the imprint forward, they note:

     

    “Slow Moves is young, and it’s still figuring out what it can be. But low-key concept albums are one way of describing us. Albums made with intent, as the result of conversations around an idea. Releases that record the reason why they are there, re-enacting points of time when something new was created.

     

    We are composed of two people named Emilie Lauriola and Zin Taylor. We do things individually, and have for a while. Slow Moves is a way for us to collaborate with one another, to produce forms created with others, slowly.

     

    The selections here describe a certain kind of interrelated world; one where writing, genre, sound, and image overlap like the emotions in a day.”

    X.Y.R. – El Dorado

    Meditations is the name of a record store that is located on the second floor of a little building in Kyoto. Christina Vantzou recommended we visit during our first trip to Japan. Meditations is a dangerous place, everything is amazing and you can only bring so much home. This was the one record I purchased. It was a discovery of both the musician X.Y.R. and 12th Isle Records from Glasgow, a label where everything they release seems unbelievably related and absolutely perfect. The album is a voyage, sounding like you woke up in a tropical forest on some moon and the plants and fauna sing stories using their unique sounds while the ground slowly breathes a rhythm connecting everything together. 

    Les Ondes éphémères – Zin Taylor: Ambient Visions of a dot 下田市

    A radio play that begins with music by Aki Tsuyuko, leading to the description of a photo book about a coastal surf town in Japan, evolving into a reading of said book’s text with field recordings added for ambient drama, and finally concluding with a track from Michael Stearns. It’s mellow, meditative, and hallucinatory.

    Exploring Creativity with Ursula K. Leguin

    A beautifully holistic talk about creativity, life, and the relationships needed to allow family and art to flourish. The cadence and elegant complexity of this interview is inspiring.

    Cate Le Bon – Chairs in the Dark

    Welsh musician Cate Le Bon performs an acoustic, slowed down, transcendent re-arrangement of a song from White Fence.

    Lizzie Mercier Descloux – Hard-Boiled Babe

    I first heard this track on Flo Dill’s NTS breakfast show and I had to immediately read everything I could find online on genius Lizzie Mercier Descloux. Anyway, this is my go-to song when I need to cosmically realign myself with the stars.

    Christina Vantzou – Live performance at Le Bal, Paris

    A show of the sound with Christina Vantzou that I programmed in the exhibition space of Le Bal in Paris a few years ago. We decided to film the concert as this was high peak covid time and we were only allowed to have a few people inside the space. I’m selecting it because Christina’s performance was brilliant and it also felt like a special and connecting moment in one the strangest and loneliest times. 

    Suoni Immaginari – Agostino Nirodh Fortini

    Zin bought this album made by the excellent Black Sweat records and I have probably listened to it more than 200 times. It’s a reissue of a 1988 private press cassette of music therapist and musician Agostino Nirodh Fortini and listening to it always feels like the beginning of a great astral projection trip.

    Kathy Acker documentary by Alan Benson (1984)

    Again, not a music track but something I have been watching once a year to remind myself what intellectual fierceness can sound and look like. The depiction of the very DIY and cutthroat New York music and art scene of that era combined with the clarity of her speech on literature, politics, gender make it fun and still relevant to watch. Reissuing her sound performance with Nox last year on vinyl for Slow Moves was definitely the highlight of that year for me. 

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  • Ned Milligan’s inspirations for Enter Outside

    ned milligan’s inspirations for enter outside

    In recent years, Ned Milligan has pursued composition almost exclusively through chimes and cassette tape. Emphasizing live performance, this music was defined by equal parts improvisation and careful curation. On Enter Outside, he demonstrates the tonal and textural qualities found on those recordings while expanding his palette with the inclusion of a singing drum.

     

    The title of this album – which can be interpreted as a directive, suggestion, or invitation – embodies the feel of these pieces and how much the music employs outdoor elements not as a mere backdrop, but as a collaborator. Each track offers a gentle immersion into his environment and gradually encourages it to become yours as well, while the gentle racket of the world hums along. There is a fundamentally bristling beauty to this album’s core and its ability to let the listener experience its space as a living thing.

     

    As we celebrate the reissue of Enter Outside as a cassette exclusive through Objects & Sounds, we’ve invited Ned to share with us a few inspirations behind this album and his musical direction going forward.

    Ned Milligan - Enter Outside - Mood Talk - Inspirations
    Kazuya Matsumoto – OchiruChiruMichiru

    This is an album that encouraged me to embrace elements of chance in composition. Essentially an hour-long recording of dripping water in caves hitting separated bars from a glockenspiel, this piece feels like it asks the listener to engage with the sounds using patience, humor, and reflection. It’s an immersive atmosphere and one that finds a great balance between exploring a physical space and a musical one.

    Nadi Qamar – The Nuru Taa African Musical Idiom

    I usually work with a fairly limited palette in terms of instruments and sound sources, so I am drawn to albums that do the same. This album exclusively features mbira (or specifically this collection of them that Qamar called the Mama-Likembi). It’s just about 30 minutes long and has some different approaches, so even though it’s based around just this one instrument, it works very nicely as a complete statement.

    Peggy Lee – Sea Shells

    I think Peggy Lee is a really underrated singer and I enjoy plenty of her jazz records, especially those where she’s backed by smaller groups. This album is a very specific project that meant enough to her for her to spearhead it against any popular trends in music. It’s an album of poems and traditional folk songs accompanied only by harp and harpsichord.

     

    On Sea Shells, she uses silence and intimacy in the recording of her vocals to great effect. It’s frequently disarming and makes you lean closer as a listener. There are “better” albums of hers, sure, but this one is truly unique and special and while it’s likely not an obvious influence on my music, you can hopefully hear a connection.

    Laraaji – Celestrana / Deep Chimes Meditation

    You might think the piece here titled “Deep Chimes Meditation” would be my catnip, but it’s “Celestrana,” with its perfectly fragile motifs and slightly compressed fidelity, that wrecks me here. This is a slow, lyrical half-hour of music that I put on when I really need sound to be tender. It’s rare that music can take on such a seemingly compassionate quality. The moments when things fall to silence only to start again are quite meaningful and this piece will continue to guide me.

    Theodore Cale Schafer – Patience

    This album has a weird hold on me, one that is emotional but also hard to explain…when I reached out to Theo and told him I loved it but thought it was a bit of a mystery, he replied, “It’s a mystery to me, too.”

     

    Trying to put it into words will likely just have me coming up short, but I’ll try. Patience is often disorienting, but always beautiful in a nocturnal way. It reminds me of time I spent traveling decades ago, slowly realizing the difference between solitude and loneliness.

     

    Though not really making gestures to anyone outside of its own world, it nevertheless has me asking questions—why does “No Piano” have piano on it? Why does the final track feel anticlimactic but also necessary, a slightly indiscernible secret? Why does it sometimes feel like this album articulates parts of myself I can’t put into words? I’m fairly certain that this will be an album I continue to return to years from now.

    Taylor Deupree + Marcus Fischer – Proem

    These two are making quietly tremendous work.

     

    Taylor is the person who I’ve asked to master my music for almost a decade now–that’s not just because I appreciate many releases on his label, 12k. The textural detail in his own work is always so impressive, especially when coupled by the brushing, brittle melodies he excels at. It’s ambient music with integrity. Marcus has created so much fantastic solo work as a visual and sound artist, but he’s also (in my opinion) Taylor’s most sympathetic collaborator.

     

    This is a lovely release and for anyone who’s looking for more should check out their triple cassette Februarys.  

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  • keeping the faith with Loris S. Sarid

    Keeping the faith with Loris S. Sarid

    february 23, 2024 · james portoraro

    What permeates Loris S. Sarid’s work is unwritten and oftentimes unspoken. Have a listen yourself to find the thread that connects each project together. Lush electronic ecosystems blend harmoniously with live instrument recordings to create playful, sometimes nostalgic waves of sound.

     

    In our conversation, Loris reminds us to approach his music playfully. Let his work dance around your earlobes…but don’t take it too seriously as he likes to point out. The playful, the childlike, the curious, let those take center stage.

    At this point in your life, where do you find yourself drawing inspiration from?

     

    Inspiration, as a concept, is pretty ephemeral. You can’t really capture it. For me, it often doesn’t work like that, where I see a thing and it gives me inspiration, and I want to make music about that thing. It’s more of a process for me, where I wake up in the morning and go straight to my station and start making anything. Sometimes inspiration arises, and I follow that. Sometimes, I don’t feel so inspired at all. With electronic music, there is less immediacy. You end up playing with the sound itself.

    There’s a particular sense of texture in your music, many elements at play with each other, which brings about an immediate connection with nature – water, air, forest. Could you share a little more about that?

     

    When I started creating ambient music more intentionally, I noticed that it is a language that creates its own dictionary. Take blues and jazz, for instance: each has its distinct rules and forms, just as every type of music does. Incorporating field recordings into ambient music is not new or unexpected. I’m not the first to do it, nor will I be the last. However, my definition of nature isn’t limited to plants or what we typically consider the natural world. My idea of nature is very broad. Even a city is part of nature. Nature is that big container that has everything in it. It’s less about the green world of vegetation and more about the human world of emotions. Sometimes we see things as somewhat magical, but it’s important to remember that it’s a language.

    When you sit down at your workstation, is there an intention you put forward towards your listeners, or is it more about focusing on what’s directly in front of you?

     

    My current philosophy in music-making is to create clarity so that listeners can understand what I’m hoping to express. Otherwise, it’s like speaking Arabic in China. I aim to communicate in a language that people somewhat understand, but with perhaps just a tweak in the accent or dialect. I don’t want to confuse anyone or deliver something incomprehensible – ensuring the message gets through is important. Now, it feels like I’m learning a new language.

    And what is that other language exactly?

     

    When I make music, it resembles formulating an argument in philosophy. The work I make always serves as a counterargument, completely opposing what I’ve previously made. It’s almost as if to say that what I did before was wrong. It’s a driving force, kind of like being in opposition to myself.

    Objects & Sounds - Mood Talk - Loris S. Sarid - 1

    Did you study philosophy?

     

    I previously studied philosophy and am continuing to do so.

     

    In music, applying logic to filter out all the rhetoric is something I find really interesting. When making tunes, I always ask myself, “What’s the rhetoric? What elements aren’t necessary for setting the theme?” Over the years, I’ve found myself doing this increasingly.

     

    In my early projects, I would create up to 70 tracks for a single project. Now, that number is reduced to about six. There’s a noticeable trend of expressing more with fewer elements. Philosophy has certainly had a significant impact on my practice.

     

    When starting to make music, there’s also a natural tendency to lean on a familiar aesthetic, influenced by artists one admires. Referencing an album or artist in your work only builds on to what that artist intended to express. As you evolve, you start to develop your own voice. I find myself listening to music less than when I began, drawing inspiration from my surroundings in real time.

    It’s different when someone shows you something, versus when you discover something yourself.

     

    Absolutely. In my radio show, I strive for variety in each episode. I remember one particular episode focused on 1980s action movie ambient music, featuring films with Sylvester Stallone, Jean Claude Van Damme, and others. I enjoyed delving into those soundtracks to discover pieces I really like. Some parts are reminiscent of ’80s Japanese ambient music, but with an American twist. It’s almost like imagining Hiroshi Yoshimura growing up watching John Wayne!

    That’s a great analogy.

     

    I aim to challenge the current ambient aesthetic that’s arising. It’s very minimalist, very serious, and very arty. I’m realizing that this is often at the expense of fun, almost as if fun is a taboo.

     

    In music, there’s a notion that to be taken seriously, one must present oneself seriously. People sometimes ask me, “Do you think this is serious, or is it just for fun?” But what’s the difference? Something can be both fun and very serious.

    And is lightening things up your way of opposing that?


    It’s almost like creating musical satire, you know?

     

    Consider the piece I made for the Seasonal Diary compilation, which includes vocals. Currently, many artists in the ambient world are incorporating vocals. This made me think: how can I do that while keeping things serious yet fun? I recall a concept from my youth in Italy called Macaroni English – speaking in a way that mimics English sounds without using actual English words. I decided to adopt this approach because I think it’s funny.

     

    I want to make people laugh. I also want to evoke a whole spectrum of emotions. As I’m not usually a serious person, I want that aspect of my personality to reflect in my work.

    Is there an instrument or machine that is at the core of your practice?

     

    Definitely my laptop. I don’t often view things as magical, but I see my laptop as a sort of magical artifact, a portal to numerous worlds. I find it an incredible innovation and, in my opinion, the most democratic development in the world of music. It allows anyone to create music anywhere. It might not be as aesthetically pleasing as hardware, but I believe one day we’ll fetishize laptops just as we do hardware now. That’s already happening now. I own synthesizers and occasionally use them, but I find myself using them less.

    Was there a transition for you musically when moving from Rome to Glasgow?

     

    When I arrived in Glasgow, I was primarily focused on guitar and vocals, then I started seeing people in Glasgow do different things. That was very inspiring. I’d say Glasgow is responsible for about 50% of the shift in my music. The other 50% comes from Bandcamp and the online world. You do create music influenced by where you live, though. If I make music in my room, it is always a reflection of the vibe around me. Perhaps a song doesn’t sound as good in Glasgow, unlike in Rome where it was sunny and hot when I created it.

    It’s fascinating how that extends beyond music to other forms of art and even political expression.

     

    Place is like a person, and for me, Glasgow feels like a person that is with me when I make things.

    When do you work best?

     

    I’ve tried to establish set times for myself, but it never seems to work that way. I sometimes do nothing else all day other than make music, almost like taking vows and becoming a priest. It feels like the priesthood of sound to me. As a matter of gratitude, whenever music has something to say, I feel I need to be there for it.

     

    Here’s an analogy: Picture a man stranded at sea on a piece of floating wood after his boat sank. He prays to God, pleading, “God, please come and save me.” He sends this prayer out into the vastness. Then, a boat arrives, and someone calls out to him, asking, “Do you need a hand?” The man responds, “No, God will come and save me.”

     

    It’s similar with music. You must always have faith in everything that comes your way.

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  • journeying full circle with Jonny Nash

    Journeying full circle with Jonny Nash

    Over the past decade, Jonny Nash’s affinity for both electronic experimentation and acoustic elements has left an indelible mark on his sound, while simultaneously establishing the groundwork for his label, Melody As Truth.

     

    Drawing inspiration from personal experiences, collaborative endeavors, and a diverse array of influences, Jonny’s music seamlessly weaves together elements of folk, guitar-based melodies, and ambient atmospheres without putting a strict boundary on their interplay.


    With the release of his new solo album after four years, Jonny reflects on how this body of work represents a journey that has come full circle, while also serving as a marker for a new chapter. It couldn’t be more fittingly titled, as it signifies a point of entry into an inward world where he joyfully reconnects with his creative essence while confidently exploring new grounds.

    Can you make music all the time?

     

    I sometimes get into a zone that may last for three or four months, where I can work on music every day and feel like it is going in the direction towards something concrete. It’s usually triggered by a change of space or new equipment that I want to work with. There are also periods when things don’t seem to come together, but I still make a point of working regularly in the studio because I’m a firm believer that something interesting will eventually happen if you just consistently show up.

     

    For this new album, it was a change in working space that helped trigger a productive period. My partner’s home office was not needed for a while, and I decided to bring back some of my studio equipment to our home, enabling me to work productively almost every day for about six months.

    So, how did you know that it’s coming together for the new album?

     

    I always have this image in my head, kind of like a seesaw that balances preparation with execution. I see one side with all the elements that make up the desired palette, so to speak. Once the weight surpasses a certain point, it tips over, and then I can enter a sort of flow zone. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when that happens. I have an intuitive sense of when I have enough elements collected in my head for what the record should be. When that happens, the focus shifts towards execution, where deliberate thought takes a backseat, allowing the creative energy to guide the process.

    Does the palette go back in time?

     

    Definitely. At the core, there are certain ideas or feelings that I have consistently attempted to express since I began making music. There are recurring themes or elements that I cannot escape from, even if I wanted to, as they are just so ingrained in how my brain and ears perceive and create music. Alongside this, new ideas and concepts also emerge as a result of growing, experimenting, and keeping curious. The palette is kind of a mix of both these things.

     

    With some records, it’s often pretty clear from the start what I’m trying to achieve. In the case of the last two records I worked on prior to “Point Of Entry,” there was a strong focus on particular instrumentation and/or musical traditions, as the projects were centered around collaborations with other musicians who brought their personal cultural influences to the table. However, for the new record, one of the main ideas was to have no fixed concept of instrumentation or style. It was all free-form, almost like a stream-of-consciousness improvisational approach. It was nice to allow for what unfolds when I simply jam and play, without the need for a dialogue with someone else.

    When we listen to your collaborative work, whether it’s with Diego Herrera (Suzanne Kraft), Teguh Permana, or Ana Stamp, your sound is prominently present. How do you ensure that your sound is infused into these projects?

     

    When it comes to the collaborative records with Teguh and Ana, I immediately recognized and heard something in their music that resonated with the sound I wanted to explore at that time. Because of this, both of those collaborations didn’t present much of a challenge when it came to incorporating my ideas and sound into the music. From the very beginning, I was drawn to these projects, sensing that they would fit seamlessly.

     

    With Teguh, I was aware that his instrument, the Tarawangsa, with its long, soaring melodic lines, would be a perfect match for the sparse piano and guitar work I was exploring during that period. Similarly, in the case of Ana, as I delved into acoustic minimalism and sparse suspended chords, I knew her melodic lines would blend effortlessly on top. These two collaborations clicked due to the harmonious balance between the instrumentation I was eager to experiment with at that time.

    Do these collaborations also play a role in shaping your new work or in the way you perceive and approach certain aspects?

     

    Yes, definitely. That’s one of the reasons why I enjoy and have worked on numerous collaborative records. With each record, I often discover one or two elements that deeply resonate with me and find their way into my own work, influencing it from that point forward. I really enjoy this aspect of the creative process, where over time, through these diverse experiences, your artistic palette expands. Even if it’s just a small thing you learn from each collaboration, it all adds up to become something quite significant.

     

    For example, the experience of working with acoustic instruments in previous records had a real impact on “Point Of Entry.” In contrast to earlier works that heavily featured electronic sounds, this new record is really a fusion of acoustic recording techniques and electronic elements.

    Overall, on this album, I felt that I could draw upon the experiences gained from all the previous collaborations, whether it was with Diego, Gigi, Marco, or Teguh. My intention was to create a record without deliberately thinking about one specific overarching concept. Instead, I wanted to blend various elements together, taking a little bit from here and a little bit from there.

    When listening to the new record, there is also a sense of returning to a sound that has always been present in your solo work.

     

    It’s an interesting balance. Often in the past, when thinking about making a record, I have really wanted to actively try new things and experiment with different techniques. But what happens if you don’t try this? It’s a challenge because you wonder if you’re just returning to things you’ve done before and covering familiar ground. Am I not expanding enough? Am I being lazy? These are the sorts of questions that come up… But I felt confident and comfortable enough to not let those thoughts linger in my head and simply make the record purely out of a sense of fun and sheer enjoyment of the process. I had this feeling that all I needed to do was rely on what I’ve learned, the techniques I naturally gravitate towards, and have fun without any expectations. I felt deep down that this would result in the most honest expression of what I was feeling and hoped to convey.

    And what led you to the realization of just letting things happen?

     

    My last solo record was “Make A Wilderness” for Music From Memory in 2019. It was a pretty conceptual record influenced by ideas of a specific environmental space and contrasting textures. Since then, I have made three collaborative albums, all of which began with a pretty specific framework. I learned a lot making all of these records, and they definitely gave me more confidence to just let go.

     

    I simply also just wanted to have fun and enjoy making a record! The challenges posed by the pandemic obscured some of the joys of running a label for me, so it was important to focus on the act of simply enjoying myself and making something without any specific expectations. I took a break from releasing records on MAT during 2022 so I could reconnect with the reasons why I started and continue to pursue music. Releasing this record was a way to recenter myself, reminding me of the reason why I do what I do and why it matters to me.

    What is it that you were trying to express with the record?

     

    Something warm, human, and positive! Despite there being no major concept to the album, it was shaped by certain ideas and feelings. My partner and I have a small cottage by the sea in North Holland. I spent a significant amount of time there, listening to music with the beautiful morning light coming in. The album was subtly rooted in the idea of crafting music that fits well with the space–an LP that I would want to endlessly flip back and forth on the turntable there.

     

    Whenever I faced a decision in the creative process, I always kept that space in mind and remembered the feeling of listening to music there. It served as a loose conceptual framework for the project and helped to keep it on track.

    Do you consider music to be visual or spatial then?

     

    I think so, as I often associate the music I am working on with a specific space or environment. “Make A Wilderness” is rooted in the idea of a vast space that exists both thousands of years in the past and the future simultaneously. I also believe that my music has a strong connection with light. Most of the visual feelings I experience when thinking about creating a record are related to different types of light. In the context of the new record, the visual and spatial aspects of the music are closely tied to the morning light that enters through the cottage and the unique atmosphere it creates when listening to the music in that space. These sorts of visual triggers can have a profound impact on shaping a record, even if they’re very subtle.

    And do you think, Jonny, you found your sound?

     

    Having made quite a few records over the last decade, I think it is now possible for me to look at my work from a distance. The desire to consistently revisit certain elements contributes to a distinct sound, signature, or style, whatever you may call it. Now, I am comfortable balancing between indulging in these elements and simultaneously pushing against them. I believe that somewhere within that balance lies the sweet spot.

    Jonny Nash | Exit Strategies | Vinyl | MAT | Melody As Truth

    Aside from being an outlet for your own musical expression, you have also released music from other artists like Brian Allen Simon, Hugh Small, and The Havels. What is it about their music that has resonated with you?

     

    What I release on the label reflects where my head is at a particular time and what resonates with me. When it comes to The Havels, their music was introduced to me during a time when I was immersed in exploring folk music and experimenting with recording techniques for acoustic instruments. Their music blew me away and felt incredibly special. I had a very natural feeling that I wanted to give it a home on the label. As for Brian’s and Hugh’s collaborative record, Brian just sent me the demos, and I found myself listening to them every morning, forming a strong connection to the music. It doesn’t happen very often that I release others’ music. There needs to be a genuine and special connection, almost to the point of feeling a sense of admiration and wishing I had created that record myself.

     

    The label will always be small and will always reflect my state of mind. I think there will always be space in it to evolve and change as well. However, two things have remained consistent since the early days of the label: it’s primarily an outlet for my music and also for my friend Diego Herrera’s (aka Suzanne Kraft) music.

    Those who follow the label have really witnessed the trajectory and evolution of both your musical sensibilities. It’s nice to see that you both embrace change and, in a way, find yourselves returning to certain aspects of your musical journey.

     

    Looking back at the catalog as a whole, both Diego and I have really explored various ideas and enjoyed experimenting with different approaches. There has always been a spirit of curiosity and a willingness to try new things. There has never been a set boundary for what the sound of the label should be. The fundamental purpose of the label’s existence is to provide a free outlet for the music that we want to create, in whatever form or shape it may take. The label will always serve as an expression of whichever direction this goes.

    And yet, even though it’s a free outlet, there is a certain sound or sentiment that connects all the releases together.

     

    This comes back to our discussion of “signature.” I guess our ideas and sensibilities will always be a signature that reflects who we are in every record. Whether it’s the more experimental works from the MATstudio series or our earlier releases, I’d like to think that our ideas and sensibilities are the common thread running through them, which represents our musical DNA, so to speak.

    Is there a particular sensibility that has shaped the sound of the label?

     

    I have always been interested in music that explores space and silence. Simultaneously, I have also been deeply drawn to guitar music, indie, and shoegaze. These two threads have always been present in my musical inclination, and the same can be said for Diego. We share an equal passion for all forms of indie/rock/folk music while also exploring electronic sounds and crafting ambient music. I believe this duality is the DNA of the label, operating on the boundary between more abstract electronic ambient music and song-driven guitar music. MAT encompasses different shades of these two sides.

    So, it’s essentially about the dynamic interplay between electronic experimentation and more traditional guitar-focused “songs”?

     

    I like having my feet in both worlds, and it’s all about finding and creating that balance. I enjoy having a mix of free-flowing ambient pieces and structured songs on the same record. That aspect is something I find particularly appealing, and I believe it’s a defining characteristic of my work, even in older records like “Passive Aggressive.” For example, you have a long textural song like “Photo With Grey Sky, White Clouds” opening the record, and the short song “Time Being” ending it.

     

    One of my favorite things about “Point Of Entry” is how all the elements fuse together across the record and even within individual tracks. I feel it’s a pretty seamless blend of these two sides of my sound. Structured songs and lyrics, smudged textures, space for parts to breathe–it’s all in there! I think it is a kind of culmination of different experiences, coupled with the confidence to not force anything beyond what happens naturally. It’s a nice place to be, and I look forward to continuing to create music with that sense of playfulness, for however long that period may last.

    You’re really riding the wave. And what’s next for you, Jonny?

     

    My plan is to continue working on more material and plan a tour in the middle of next year, possibly with a band setup. Developing a live show is quite a big project, so my intuition is telling me to ride this wave for a little longer.

     

    There are a few pieces that didn’t make it onto the current album, so I already have a strong starting point based on the things I set aside. I am inclined to incorporate more rhythm and percussive elements into what I’m working on next. But who knows, once I dive in, it may morph and take on a different form. I just want to allow the creative process to unfold naturally, without overthinking too much, and see where it leads.

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  • weaving bonds with Futura Resistenza

    Weaving bonds with Futura Resistenza

    Meet Frédéric Van de Velde and Nele Möller, the duo behind Futura Resistenza. Their constant presence and active involvement in the Dutch and Belgian music scenes reflect their genuine dedication to fostering a strong sense of community. Stepping away from the clamor of crowded venues, they warmly welcome us to their dining table. Here, stories are shared, ideas take shape, and a collective spirit of future resistance thrives.

    Let’s go back to the beginning. How did it all start?

     

    Frédéric: I had been programming a lot of shows when I moved to Rotterdam. I was working at WORM, taking on various roles from volunteer coordination to floor management. In spaces like that, everyone had a voice in shaping the program, which led me to book numerous shows and immerse myself in a network of individuals who were exploring the intersection of music, film, sound, and fine arts. After my time at WORM, I ended up at DE PLAYER. That’s when I realized there was a whole other world out there, beyond the usual booking agencies. I started connecting with different artists who were doing their own thing, making their own music, and setting up their own tours. They would reach out to me directly, and the label just kind of grew from there.

     

    Nele: I think one of the initial highlights was when you came across the Efra​í​n Rozas record.

     

    Frédéric: That’s something I started working on at an early stage, and it was eventually released in 2020. There were also other records, such as the Schirren record, where the initial steps were taken as early as 2016. I had seen the film Dimanche before and it was a personal favorite, but I hadn’t paid much attention to the soundtrack until one day when I was like, “Wow, this is amazing! Who is this guy?” Not much of his work had been published, but I was really inspired to discover his story and bring his work together.

    The label is quite young, but your catalog is already very extensive. Do you still think about the ultimate form it should take? Should it consistently manifest as sound, or is there a potential for it to materialize as a book or some alternative medium down the line?

     

    Frédéric: It depends largely on the project and the intentions of the artists involved. I believe the artist should definitely work with sound, but do we necessarily need to publish the sound? I think the end result should always be a reflection of their work, and it could very well take the form of a text, a manifesto, or an essay that captures their ideas.

    It’s intriguing that sound is the focus you’re emphasizing, as it seems like all the artists you work with explore other forms of expression that extend beyond sound. They encompass more than just being sound artists.

     

    Nele: I find it really interesting that you mentioned that because it’s almost like the red thread across all our releases. Most of the artists we collaborate with engage in diverse forms of expression, and sound just serves as the connective element that intertwines them.

    It’s quite evident in what you do. When presenting a project, you never simply showcase the sound work alone. There is frequently an element of performance integrated into it. You also consistently endeavor to integrate a live dimension into the work. Why is it important for you?

     

    Nele: I think it’s the sense of community behind it.

     

    Frédéric: There is indeed this social aspect to it, which contributes to the experience when people are performing or exhibiting. It goes beyond simply owning a record at home or within private circles.

     

    Nele: When you attend live shows or visit exhibitions, it’s as if you’re part of something. It’s a shared moment in time, an experience that is shared.

    I recall you mentioning how it would be cool if someone were to discover a Futura Resistenza record in a thrift store many years from now, and it made me wonder about what inspires your enthusiasm for releasing or publishing.


    Frédéric: I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of an archive or collection. Ever since I was a kid, I enjoyed collecting all sorts of things, and obviously that passion for collecting records has stuck with me. I enjoy the social aspect that comes with collecting, trading, and sharing them. Through the label, we get to create our own releases and exchange them with others.

     

    For me, starting a label is really about bringing people together. Occasionally I like to look back at our catalog or check out Discogs to see what we’ve done so far and how all the artists we work with fit together. Would everyone get along if they are all in the same space, and do they have something to share with each other? It’s like creating a family, but many of the artists in our catalog don’t necessarily know each other.

    If you were to describe the sound of the label, what would it be?

     

    Frédéric: Yeah, that’s a challenging question because I’m not sure if there’s a defining sound for the label. Many of the records we’ve released so far aren’t always easy to listen to. For example, Bryce Hackford’s Cloud Holding, which initially sounds ambient, triggers curiosity when you delve deeper into its intricate details.

     

    Nele: All our records require a certain level of attention. I don’t think the connection lies solely in the sound. It’s more about how their artistic practice is structured.

     

    Frédéric: When we approach someone or receive demos, it is often immediately clear whether it’s going to be a match or not. It’s a gut feeling that you have to trust. And if I still have doubts, I rely on Nele to provide a second set of ears.

    Are you both curators of the label?


    Frédéric: The current releases primarily come from my network and the work I do, but the idea is that Nele also brings in projects to publish on the label. I started the label before we really got to know each other better, but now we live together, and our home essentially serves as the office of the label. It’s great that Nele gets to be a part of it too. Nele is also a musician and is busy with sound, so it’s nice to have another ear that listens to the music we publish and reflects on it from a very different perspective than I would. I’m happy that Nele is also interested in it and that her personal interests are reflected in the label as well.

     

    Nele: I’m currently working on a few projects, and I’m excited about inviting more people to be part of the label. It’s just a matter of finding the time for it, as I also have my own practice, and I would love to release a new record myself.

    Do you still consider the label to be based in Rotterdam?


    Frédéric: Things are slowly changing because we have been living in Brussels for three years now. Although many of the people who work behind the curtains for the label are still living in Rotterdam.

     

    Nele: We also still have a big group of friends in Rotterdam who are very supportive. When we organize a concert in the city, we still see a lot of people showing up. I think it’s important to maintain that connection in some way.

     

    Frédéric: In the coming years, our catalog will feature more artists based in Belgium. We have recently connected with some of them, while others have long been on our radar. Being based in Brussels now, it is much easier for us to personally stay in touch with them.

    It’s a luxury to be able to run your label like that. 

     

    Frédéric: For me, it’s a necessity. I couldn’t run the label as a business on which I rely for my livelihood. I value the label’s artistic freedom too much. It’s clear to me that I need to have another job alongside the label since it does not pay for the roof over our heads. However, it does provide us with enough resources to showcase our releases and make them public. It allows us to organize events, connect with others, and make new friendships.

    So, where does the name Futura Resistenza actually originate?

     

    Frédéric: When people ask, I see that it immediately evokes futurism as an art movement in their minds. Others also see references with underground resistance, which is definitely present for me as well. It represents a form of resistance by employing futuristic or alternative ideas to articulate visions of a transformed society. It also encompasses the idea of conveying alternative narratives or exploring other possible worlds through sound and music.

    The logo also embodies the spirit of underground resistance.

     

    Frédéric: The logo is inspired by Boccioni’s moving man, but with a speaker on his head. I also see Futura Resistenza as a means to embrace resistance in relation to time. I hope that when someone discovers one of our records 20 years from now, it continues to resonate and withstand the test of time, like a form of time traveling.

    To what degree are you involved in shaping the sound of the record?

     

    Frédéric: It varies from project to project. There are times when I am actively involved in the process of sifting through hours of music, carefully selecting which tracks will make it to the album. There are even instances where I propose the concept for a sound work. Other times, the project is already complete, and it’s simply a matter of deciding whether to publish it.

     

    For me, it’s very important that we have a clear vision of how we will present the release. Should we include any additional elements? Will there be a photo or a drawing? How does it complement the sound? I really enjoy collaborating closely with the artists throughout this process.

    When it comes to artwork, we do not have a fixed template. In most cases, we collaborate with Koos for graphic design, unless the artist expresses a preference for their own designer. In such situations, I just share with them our catalog and trust that they will make something that fits what we do.

    It’s impressive how your catalog maintains its visual coherence, even with many people involved.

     

    Nele: I think the cohesiveness mostly comes from Koos’ graphic design work. He has a way of designing, and that also becomes the signature of the label.

     

    Frédéric: I think what also helps maintain coherence is giving the artists the space to make sure their own ideas are in there.

    And Nele, what was the inspiration behind the cover of First of May?

     

    Nele: When I started playing as Kimberly Clark, I would often perform wearing suits that I made myself. During a residency in Iceland, I had a photoshoot with a friend, and when you mentioned that we would do the 7-inch single, it was already clear to you that we would use an image from that photoshoot.

     

    Frédéric: I had seen those images before, and I immediately said, “Yeah, that’s the cover image for the record.” I have a background in graphic design before I went to art school, so I also bring that perspective. However, I don’t particularly enjoy being a graphic designer, just as I wouldn’t really enjoy being a musician myself. But I do like being the medium between artists and their ideas, in the sense of coordinating and co-directing. I wouldn’t have been able to take that photo myself or stage it, but I knew the photo was there, and it connected so well with the music. I enjoy bringing these elements together and transforming them into what they become. I really believe the artwork is crucial, especially the front cover of the records.

     

    Nele: It has to immediately give you the feeling that you want to flip it over and dive deeper into it.

    How do you imagine the label evolving over time?

    Frédéric: I am not really sure. I try not to think too much about it and prefer to let things evolve naturally.

     

    Nele: It would be nice to have a physical space, where we can host concerts and events and bring people together.

    Frédéric: Yes, ideally, Futura Resistenza would transform into a space—a bar where we can host touring friends and where people can connect with each other and access our catalog in some way. Although I also like the concept of a virtual space. The more titles and artists we publish, the more our platform evolves into a space of its own.

     

    Pictures by Marie-Pierre Bonniol and Katja Mater

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  • sonic confessions with Martyna Basta

    sonic confessions with martyna basta

    The tables have turned for Martyna Basta. She is now answering questions, instead of asking them. Though she is normally self-assured in conversation, she becomes more shy and self-conscious to talk about her own work, revealing that she started making music to express in tones what she can’t with words.  

    How would you describe your music to a total stranger?

     

    It’s easier for me to describe what sounds I find fascinating, rather than describe what my music sounds like. But I think there are fundamentals in it that remain consistent. The most important thing is that it’s very personal. Making music feels like a confession to me, like writing a heartfelt letter or having an intimate conversation with a listener. More than trying to think about what I want to say, I’m always very curious to hear what people take from it.

    What else do you consider fundamental to your music?

     

    Field recordings are important for me and my whole practice. I never use any found footage in my music. I find it important to record the reality around me and to use sounds that I encounter on a daily basis. My recordings are like memories I keep of reality. I like the idea of recording a very small part of my world and making a whole imaginary other place out of it. That’s probably something I’m seeking for in my music: to shape a world that is built on the very reality I find myself living.

    You impulsively sold your guitar and bought a synthesizer after performing the Giuliani Guitar Concerto. It’s very interesting how the classical guitar is making its way back to your work. 

     

    After dropping out of music school, I was unable to play the classical guitar for years. With some distance, I think I really needed that break to be able to discover it in a different way. I realized it’s a skill that I possess and I’m slowly learning to reframe my relationship with the instrument. I’m finding myself in it again, especially in a new environment with a different perspective. It’s also a way for me to reconcile with this weird uncomfortable memory I had as a kid and as a teenager growing up with a love-hate relationship with music school.

    You always relate to music school as the best of the worst years of your life. Can we talk about that dichotomy?

     

    There are really many contradictory feelings about it. In music school, everything had to be perfect. There was no room for any margin of error or any room for experimentation. I find it very difficult to exist in a system where you are learning to be perfect in every detail, although I probably would be in a much different place if I hadn’t been there. I feel like I’m still drawing a lot from it in my practice, maybe unconsciously even, and I feel that I would approach it very differently if it hadn’t been for 12 years of music school.

    Objects & Sounds - Mood Talk - Martyna Basta

    In what sense?

     

    I started exploring electronic music with the synth, but I very quickly realized it’s not something I can really find myself in. I reached out to classical instruments because I need to have touch. I need to have an object in front of me because only then it feels kind of real for me. That’s also why I find it very crucial to record everything on my own and to explore the world of sound with my little recorder. I like the idea of building a world with my own hands.

    There’s something very fragile and vulnerable about your work, from the pieces themselves to the track titles. What do you hope to express?

     

    When I make music, I feel like I’m writing a letter and my message is just expressed in tones instead of words. The fragments of my thoughts are scattered in pieces, so perhaps my message is never clear but rather just full of questions.

     

    Most of the time I also feel like the pieces I make are just kind of coming my way and taking shape naturally. Almost as if it’s happening without my control, even though I’m the creator. I am also an observer at the same time, so the outcome is always a surprise.

     

    I often feel that my music comes from an unconscious part of me, so it’s hard to say for certain what I’m hoping to express. I just hope that when people listen to it, they can take a bit from this reality I’ve created and find themselves in it.

    What does your process look like? 

     

    My process is spontaneous and chaotic. I feel very strongly driven by intuition and impulsivity. I can create a piece in a very short period, but I find that it’s important for my practice to leave it for a while, so I can come back to it and hear it differently or have other ideas that can contribute to it. Giving space to my music is just as important to me as making music. 

    It’s very interesting how you describe your process as chaotic because working with you has been quite the opposite. You are very structured. Do you tend to work on many different things in parallel?

     

    The pieces I make tend to be a mirror of my reality, so most of the time I focus on just one single project, to really embrace all the feelings that surround it. It’s hard for me to do things in parallel. I need to dedicate myself to certain thoughts and ideas to be able to process those feelings fully and make something whole out of it.

    When I listen to your music, it seems like solitude and loneliness are themes that often come back in your work. Why?

     

    I think it’s because loneliness is such a difficult state to be in, but I found myself in moments where loneliness was incredibly enriching. I feel like what I’m really searching for is a sense of wholeness amidst the loneliness. You know, talking about this now is making me realize how hard it is to put all these emotions into words and I think that’s also why I started making music. I felt like there are some things that are too hard to express in language.

    Objects & Sounds - Mood Talk - Martyna Basta

    This is really what I sense listening to your music, as if there’s really something deep in there that you want to get out of your chest. 

     

    I think you just said it perfectly. Music always has this feeling of lifting a veil for me. It’s been a tool for me to process the feelings that always just stay within and get them out of my chest.

    It also seems equally important for you to express yourself in photography and the artwork. 

     

    I’ve been involved with photography for years before I decided to pursue music again, so it’s a way for me to stay connected with it. Music is also so abstract and so imaginary. It’s interesting how an image can bring the listener closer to what the music is about or what it tries to depict.

    You collaborated with your partner, Iwo, on the artwork of your new album Slowly Forgetting, Barely Remembering. What was that like?

     

    It felt like the most natural and right thing to do because Iwo witnessed the whole process, from the very beginning to the very end. I remember we were just talking about the material and sharing our feelings about it, then he created this drawing, almost like it’s taken straight out of my mind.

     

    The artwork of my debut album Making Eye Contact With Solitude was also created by my friend Julita, but the process was completely different. I just shared the whole material with her, and she made the drawings while listening to the album. She was sketching whatever came to mind and capturing her first feelings about the music, while Iwo was literally with me throughout the whole process.

    The drawing of Iwo also looks very fragile, almost as if it can be erased. 

     

    The whole drawing consists of very carefully done pencil marks, which mimics a bit how my practice is like. It’s all about capturing and fixating on those little details.

    And how do you think both releases are different and similar at the same time? 

     

    With Making Eye Contact With Solitude, I wasn’t even sure if someone would ever listen to it. It all happened very spontaneously. I remember just walking around Krakow with my recorder and having a lot of fun with the process. My practice is still spontaneous, but it is also much more careful at the same time. I’ve become much more observant about the whole process and more focused on the minute details. 

     

    The narratives of both albums are also very different. Making Eye Contact With Solitude was based around the repetitiveness of nature and the everydayness of life. Slowly Forgetting, Barely Remembering is more focused on what lies beneath the surface of everydayness. It’s about how memories get blurred or fragmented. That liminal space between dream and reality. 

    Objects & Sounds - Mood Talk - Martyna Basta

    I can really imagine you walking around Krakow with your recorder. Do you make an active effort to rekindle that carefree attitude to making music? 

     

    There’s a naivety to making the first album that I can never recreate. There’s also a certain pressure that follows the debut album. It’s mostly also a feeling of wanting to progress and learn more every time. I very much value how time changes both what’s within me and what’s around, so the music I make is always a reflection of that. 

    And do you think being in Krakow influences the music that you make or the nature of your practice?

     

    I think a lot about this and whether being in Eastern Europe sets a certain tone to my music, but it’s very hard for me to point out which detail about my practice is truly from here. Although since I record everything on my own, the recordings that make their way to my music come very much from the reality right here. It’s just hard for me to imagine how it could be different since I’ve lived all my life here. 

     

    More than my place of origin, I prefer to think about the places in nature I’ve had the chance to encounter growing up. Visiting my grandmother in the countryside and spending my childhood days around nature is something that really influenced my practice.

    What are you planning to explore next musically? 

     

    I’m very interested in exploring the metallicity of sound and I’m starting to develop some kind of obsession with it. Rather than planning, I always just try to stay open for what’s to come.

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  • embracing the unknown with Cate Kennan

    embracing the unknown with Cate Kennan

    Constantly challenging herself while being spontaneous yet watchful in action is the key to LA-based Cate Kennan’s sonic practice. Working on several tracks at once, as well as incorporating samples from her archive that had long been forgotten, she creates new realms composed of multiple temporalities. Her recently released debut LP, The Arbitrary Dimension of Dreams, is an assemblage of distant places located on the borders of illusions, dreams, fiction, and reality.

     

    Intrigued by her passion for vigilant explorations, we keenly spoke with Cate to get a glimpse of the process behind making her new record and to learn more about what it means for her to be a better musician.

    Your touring schedule is pretty packed for your debut album. How exciting!

     

    Yeah, I’m pretty excited! I haven’t actually left Los Angeles since 2018, so it will be fun to see different people in different places. It’s also very exciting to finally get to share the album and also just to know that people are listening to it. It makes you feel like, “Oh, I’m not just doing this alone for no one.” 

    You recorded ‘The Arbitrary Dimension of Dreams’ before the pandemic. How has your music and practice evolved since then?

     

    I wrote and recorded the songs between 2018 and 2019, but I actually finished the album in 2020. Now that I’m performing the music live, I’m realizing that I feel detached from the initial inspiration of the music somehow. That’s very interesting for me because I didn’t know what that would feel like. The years before COVID feel very distant and blurry to me, and I see this album as a bridge between life before and after that. It feels like a clearing of a slate.

     

    The projects I’m working on now are very different. I’m putting together a new record that feels like a folk album. That’s what I’d like to think it is now, but maybe it’ll sound totally different when the recordings are finished. I’m also scoring a film, which is very different in nature but also feels very similar somehow.

    It’s interesting that you mention folk because the guest mix you made for one of our radio shows somewhat exuded that. What drove you to explore that? 

     

    Do you know this toy organ called the Optigan? It’s made by Mattel, the toy company that made the Magic 8 Ball. It’s basically a really interesting early sampling instrument. I can’t show it to you now because I already sold it, but optigans use these optical discs which look like film negatives in the shape of a vinyl record. If you look closely, you can see the waveforms printed on the discs. You insert the disc into the organ, and a light beams on it as it spins. You can play the keys or press the chord buttons, which then activate the sampled sound. 

     

    Its sound is quintessentially haunting. A lot of the samples remind me of the “Old West.” I picked one up in 2020, and I just ended up making a lot of recordings with it. Some of which I ended up singing on. It just inspired me to do that.

    But you sold it, so probably you weren’t so attached to it.

     

    It was really big and I didn’t have that much space. Also, if the thing breaks, I’ll never be able to fix it. I miss it lately, though. Now that I’m working on these recordings, I wish I still had it to see what else I could do.

    It’s nice that you’re open to just playing around and letting the instrument dictate where you’re going. 

     

    Getting new instruments always feels like that. Even just getting a new keyboard feels so inspiring because you interact with it so differently. 

    Objects & Sounds | Mood Talk | Cate Kennan

    You always gravitate to the keys. Would you consider that your main instrument?

     

    I actually made my first recordings with the guitar, but as soon as I started tinkering with a keyboard, I just felt that I could get my musical ideas out quicker and I also progressed a lot faster. It also kind of feels like having your own orchestra. At least with a synthesizer, you can create seemingly infinite sounds by shaping just a few parameters.

     

    Even though there’s nothing more beautiful to me than a clarinet or a cello, I feel like a keyboard is just so versatile. I think a lot of artists use it to write music, because it has this quality of having everything laid out in front of you and you can just make any sound you could imagine with it.

    How did it all start for you? Where did the urge to create music come from?

     

    As a kid, I’ve always loved drawing, painting, and writing stories. I have always gotten sucked into the creative process for as long as I can remember.

     

    I remember making my first recordings as a teenager using Garageband on my computer. I used the guitar for chords and melodies, and I made four songs in one go. I remember driving around in the car afterwards. Just listening to them and being like, OK this is what I’m gonna do to this one and this is what I’m going to do to that one. 

     

    I never really stopped after that. I just knew it was something I wanted to explore. It sounds very cheesy, but at that moment, I felt like I found my voice. When I make music, I feel like I am able to convey my thoughts about life, or the way life feels. I also mostly just want to interact with music, which has always been the primary inspiration and obsession. The reason why I even thought to start recording in the first place. 

    For your upcoming shows, will you be performing new tracks you’re working on?

     

    I feel like doing a live set is an entirely new project of its own. I’m rewriting some of the songs from the album, so it almost feels like I’m performing a whole other one. I will be playing some new tracks I’m currently working on, but adjusted to the style of the record, so I don’t think people would recognize them at all.

     

    I don’t know if I will ever perform the new album on stage because I feel like I would need a band for it. I’m in Scott Gilmore’s band and he just does so much work for it. If I were to start one, I would have to balance that between recording, composing, and everything else.

    But it does seem like you enjoy playing live and being a part of a band.


    I’ve thought about it like climbing a mountain. It feels like a total struggle while you’re doing it and sometimes you’re like, “Why am I doing this?” But then you get to the top and you see the view, and you experience this other kind of satisfaction. 


    I also think it helps to address the existential fears one has as an artist. Sometimes you think, “Does anyone even care about this?” But then after the show, people say they enjoy it, or they say things that you’ve never thought about before. It gives you perspective.


    Especially for me, I spend a lot of time alone and making music is such a solitary activity. Doing something like that once in a while feels very human, like I’m contributing and participating in society. I don’t experience the same self conscious awareness playing with the band. It’s so fun to play with other people. It doesn’t feel like I’m in the spotlight, and it’s sort of the ultimate experience of connecting with something larger than yourself—playing music that you love with other musicians. 

    And now it’s your own music that you’re performing.

     

    When I first started recording music, I never thought I would ever release an album necessarily. 

    And what drove you to create an album then?

     

    I’ve made many albums throughout the years that will never see the light of day. It feels very natural for me to gravitate towards making collections of songs, as I mostly work on a batch of recordings at a time. I have a friend who finishes one track in one go. He records it, processes it, and mixes it until it’s completely finished. I work on 30 tracks at once, and I feel like I’m constantly working on different ones and creating new ones.

     

    While I was working on the recordings for the album, I realized the common thread was that they were kind of about a dream world. Once I had a clear idea of the narrative I was expressing, it became super inspiring to work on the tracks because I had this vantage point that shaped them and tied them together. It also inspired me to create new recordings and I also got rid of a bunch of the original ones I was making too.

    Objects & Sounds | Mood Talk | Cate Kennan

    How did you end up working with Post Present Medium?

     

    I met Dean Spunt back in 2018 when I played at an art book fair and he invited me to play at an event series called Succession Sounds that he was organizing in the San Fernando Valley. The SFV is a giant suburb of Los Angeles, and it’s a really weird, sprawling place. He was putting on these really cool events that had performance artists, video artists, and all kinds of different musicians. Dean comes from a punk background and I really thought that it was cool that he liked my music.

     

    When I was finished with the album, I just wondered if Dean would be interested in releasing it because with PPM he represents the far corners of the underground, from punk, to noise, to synth, and beyond, and I admire that. I sent it to him and he got back to me saying that he would love to do it. I feel like it’s a good life lesson to keep in mind that maybe this unattainable thing in your head could be just right in your neighborhood all along.

    Do you feel that LA as a city influences you as an artist?

     

    LA feels like this weird melting pot where you go to a show and there are three really bizarre acts programmed next to each other. It’s sometimes hard to listen to three artists who sound exactly the same, so I really like the randomness of things around here. It’s also freeing as an artist to not feel like you have to fit into a scene or a mold of any sort. 

    Talking about freedom as an artist, did you ever consider using a moniker?

     

    I’ve thought about this and I’ve considered it, but I don’t have one for the same reason why I don’t have any tattoos. It’s hard to make such a permanent decision. What if I want to change it after a few years? With my own name, it just feels more neutral and meaningless in a way.

     

    Choosing a name also comes with a certain association. What if the name only works for a certain style of music? If you have a moniker that elicits too strong of an association, you might also change how you make music to fit it. I don’t want it to limit what I make. 

    Looking ahead, what do you still want to explore musically?

     

    I have a long list of recordings that I want to finish. Sometimes I make things and put them aside and think to myself that I’ll work on them when I’m a better musician.

    It’s so interesting how you say that you park pieces for when you’re a better musician. What does it mean for you to actually be one?

     

    I guess for me there are certain things that are more difficult to resolve because I feel like I can hear what it needs and that it can be really good, but I just can’t physically play the part that I’m hearing.

     

    I’m constantly learning and actively teaching myself how to play the piano better. I learn classical pieces on my own sometimes, just to force myself and my hands to play new different patterns. Also even being in Scott’s band makes me a better musician. Learning how to play my parts and just playing a lot helps with my own writing process and in making ideas come quicker.

    Has it already happened where you feel like “OK, I’m ready to do this” and you pick things up?

     

    It’s starting to happen with one of the songs that was supposed to be on The Arbitrary Dimension of Dreams. I’ve made what I thought was a really pretty melody, but the rhythm somehow just felt so off and every chord progression that I put underneath sounded forced or too obvious. Recently, I began to break them up a little bit and I feel like I’m making progress in how to tackle it.

     

    Sometimes if you over analyze something or overwork it, it just becomes kind of dead. With this recording, it was already kind of becoming that way. It was either just going to die because I wasn’t good enough to shape into something I envision it to be, or I can just hope to revisit it and be able to achieve what I want to with it someday.

    Objects & Sounds | Mood Talk | Cate Kennan

    It’s kind of cool that many versions of yourself are working on one track. It’s like a collaboration with yourself. 

     

    I actually found a whole bunch of old recordings that I made around 2014, which I thought would go really well with some of the folk songs that I’m working on. I didn’t know what else I could do to them. They’ve just always been there. Now I’m turning them into new things and adding all kinds of parts to them that I never would have thought to back then. It’s kind of fun to go back.

     

    If I don’t know how to finish something, or if it’s just not sounding right, I always just put it in a folder for later, which I sometimes revisit when looking for new inspiration. Sometimes I end up finding things I could use for what I want to be doing now. It takes some patience to be able to say that I’m OK with pausing it for now and I’m not going to force it.

    To end, can you walk us through your process?

     

    My process is very disorganized and it comes with a lot of experimenting. If someone were to watch me work, they could probably find the patterns behind what I do, but I feel like I don’t have one formula in approaching a song.

     

    Some songs I make are more technically driven, like you can probably hear that I set up a certain sequence deliberately, while some songs are made very spontaneously. Sometimes I would just sit in front of a keyboard and try to play a melody or some chords, write them on a piece of paper, and really compose what happens from there. In the past, I’ve also made music with a lot of rhythms and beats using a drum sequencer. Sometimes, I’ll put a drum beat on a song only to remove it in the end.

     

    I thrive on change and unpredictability and that’s kind of what gives me momentum to keep making music. I don’t want to do the same thing all the time, so I feel like I always try to change something and I always want to be doing something new or something I’m initially afraid to do.

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