
Sound artist and composer Liew Niyomkarn returns with her second release on Chinabot, In All Possible Places at Once, inviting listeners into her shimmering, dreamlike universe. Spoken word intertwines with warm electronic tones and traditional instrumentation, exploring dimensionality—of space, time, and self.
“I started recording zither, lyre, and handcrafted string instruments designed by Yuri Landman in my home in Brussels without any intentional duration or particular structure,” Liew says. “I wanted to feel the delicate resonance of the instruments bouncing between my bedroom walls.”
The album builds on her previous release, returning to the personal sphere of family and memory, incorporating field recordings of gatherings in Thailand as she worked in Brussels. “Composing this album felt like being in a liminal space, finding connections between places and homes, sensing belonging and the exchange of time,” she explains.
Sliding synths ebb and flow, bells mingle with bird calls, and new tunings draw from Glenn Branca and Southeast Asian traditions. Liew experiments with lap steel, zither, and Sonic Youth–inspired tunings, creating divided harmonics. Yet human connection remains central: a steel hand drum found at a friend’s studio becomes part of the record, grounding it in real-world textures.
Rigour and spontaneity intertwine throughout, reflecting Liew’s ability to meld intellectual subjectivity with the surrounding air, creating a space that generously welcomes the listener.
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Sound artist and composer Liew Niyomkarn returns with her second release on Chinabot, In All Possible Places at Once, inviting listeners into her shimmering, dreamlike universe. Spoken word intertwines with warm electronic tones and traditional instrumentation, exploring dimensionality—of space, time, and self.
“I started recording zither, lyre, and handcrafted string instruments designed by Yuri Landman in my home in Brussels without any intentional duration or particular structure,” Liew says. “I wanted to feel the delicate resonance of the instruments bouncing between my bedroom walls.”
The album builds on her previous release, returning to the personal sphere of family and memory, incorporating field recordings of gatherings in Thailand as she worked in Brussels. “Composing this album felt like being in a liminal space, finding connections between places and homes, sensing belonging and the exchange of time,” she explains.
Sliding synths ebb and flow, bells mingle with bird calls, and new tunings draw from Glenn Branca and Southeast Asian traditions. Liew experiments with lap steel, zither, and Sonic Youth–inspired tunings, creating divided harmonics. Yet human connection remains central: a steel hand drum found at a friend’s studio becomes part of the record, grounding it in real-world textures.
Rigour and spontaneity intertwine throughout, reflecting Liew’s ability to meld intellectual subjectivity with the surrounding air, creating a space that generously welcomes the listener.
follow along for new arrivals, upcoming events, and the occasional rumination.