Crackles and shapeless tones waft across each other in slow-mo digital drift, motherboard reveries transmitted deep from a hard disk on standby. There’s a satisfying sense of algorithmic self-determination at times here, yet the fact that these two pieces are actually edits of live, human performances in no way detracts from their terse machine anomie. Originally broadcast on BBC Radio 3 in 2016 – a triumph of public service broadcasting! – the first cut, there will be no miracles here, sees Maguire alternating the scuffle and buzz of his software with abrupt snatches of found sound. The disjunction between the two is deliberate, the disembodied voices of Maguire’s samples, possibly clips of old adverts and public information films, bursting out from the dusty blur as if trying to escape from an archive prison.
Limited Edition of 32 hand numbered copies, comes with a download code inside the sleeve.
The second release in the new tape series comes from Bing & Ruth, led by New York residing composer David Moore.
Limited Edition of 32 numbered copies.
– Printed card inner sleeve
– Hand typed insert on hand-made paper
– White cassette tape
– Download code included
– Housed in a brown card outer case
C24.chrome grade cassette. KELLY GREEN. Limited to 100 copies. Mp3 downloadcard included!
Experimental musician and guitarist, Kelly Churko – Canadian-born, Tokyo-based – is recognized as an integral part of the Tokyo underground scene, from jazz to improv to grindcore to noise. A computer creation, stoicism exudes over this continually developing, detailed and finely constructed, pulse-drone-centered work. A completely realized composition of a new type of drone core noise.
Bloodred c60 + c40 tapes, handstamped / inked in blackHandcut, dyed + scored custom chipboard O-cards / insertHandstamped red 8.5″ by 8.5″ insert with black letteringHandnumbered & stamped in roman numeralsScreenprinted artwork by D.S. Ciarán
There is a stench here so old that it rids the body of any uncertainty. It is a comfortable rapture. The stench comes not from distant swamps, putrescent and green in their small wakes, or the mounds of bone matter and meat made dust underfoot. This waft of hidden and yet all-too demanding treasures lifts itself steadily from the bated, beating wings of the Bird, on its eternal voyage somewhere far past home.