Avenue 66 Vinyl, CD & Tape 10 Items

After a year and a half writing and recording rock music, I needed to clear my head. I listened to and made music where things generally happen gradually rather than suddenly. I would set up patches on a Monomachine or Analog Four and listen to them, hearing one sound morph into others, making changes to a patch only after having listened for quite a while, gradually adding elements, and finally manipulating the sounds on the fly. All tracks were recorded live to CD burner, with no overdubs, and executed on one or two machines.

While I was almost exclusively listening to artists such as Chris Watson, Peter Rehberg, Bernard Parmegiani, CM Von Hausswolff, Jana Winderen, Oren Ambarchi, Hazard, Bruce Gilbert, Klara Lewis, Ryoji Ikeda, and so on, I was also inspired by my mental image of John Lennon's tape and mellotron experiments he made at home during his time in the Beatles, as well as events like the first minute of Bowie's Station To Station, ...And The Gods Made Love by Jimi Hendrix, the synths in the song Mass Production by Iggy Pop, and the general idea of Eno's initial concept of Ambient music.

Music being a solitary sculpture in sonic space was the main motivating thought. I was looking at pictures of sculptures and trying to make music that simultaneously conveyed both movement and stillness. I refrained from sudden musical changes, especially avoiding sequences of notes and rhythms. In fact, this music was made from sequences which never exceed a single note, many of these pieces being made on a single pattern. The movement which a good sculptor conveys when the shape of his medium meets the eyes of the viewer who walks around the piece, or the sun changes its position, are the kinds of movement which it was the role of the synth patches to communicate.

I've been listening to music like this since I was 13 or so, but I felt that making it was out of my reach because of the amount of restraint I imagined it required. Once I found myself making this music, it did not feel like a matter of restraint at all. I wanted to build a certain type of building, and hear certain types of movement, and I knew when it was complete. There was no place for sequences of notes and rhythms in my plans.

I also cannot overstate the role that being in my band played. I had previously spent 12 years programming and engineering my own music, and then spent a year and a half making music where my role was basically to write songs and play guitar. When the band's recording phase was completed, I needed to go back to my adopted language. I had done enough with chords, rhythms, notes, defined sections, sharp transitions, etc.. What I needed was to create music from the ground up with nothing but sound, and have that music reflect "being" rather than "doing". It was a therapeutic way of re-balancing myself, before and during my band's mixing process.

This music seeks to just exist, and is not attempting to manipulate or grab the listener in any way. I believe it works well if one listens loud and focuses on it, but also works well at soft volumes and in the background. It can compete with silence on silence's own terms, and it can also happily wipe silence out.

There are two versions of this album. The CD version is pronounced "two" and called : I I . This is the longer version. The vinyl version is pronounced "one", and called . I : This version is shorter, but contains one vinyl-only track. The reason the vinyl is shorter is that some of the tracks have sounds that can not be pressed on vinyl.

The elusive SW. returns to Avenue 66 with okALGORYTHM. His third LP for the label is a semi-opaque wandering through the shadowy byways of memory, driven by tough-yet-supple production and his unmistakable, unerringly original voice. Inspired by all night electronic radio shows of the '90s, okALGORYTHM pulses with rich imagination and a sense of purposeful meandering. Speaking in cryptic fragments, the artist hints at elusive reminiscences "back then on the autobahn, to Berlin, with friends" while also noting that some recollections are "of things that didn't happen that way."

To this end, the album drifts from the knotty synth spirals of opener "WHAtADAY" through the tense, technoid tropics of "stepCLASSixMOtor," the brightly melancholic Larry Heard-isms of "TROPyCALLhytsrIA" to the stately skronk of closer "What endingENDs." The rhythmic undergirding never lets up, suggesting a limitless night drive tinted in deep greens and refracted reds. Each of the album's ten tracks comes alive with warm, analog finesse and a palpable atmosphere, though they play out by turns urgent or unhurried, coaxing or inscrutable. Yet throughout, there's a consistently hypnotic quality which draws the listener deeper into the album's unique balancing act.

If listeners are trained to expect throwback anthems every time the '90s are referenced, here they might find a more apt touchstone in the wilder, left-of-center corners of Chicago's foundational epoch. Throughout the album, the spirit of jacking house is absorbed, metabolized and transmuted. Drawing on lineages of taut, nervy synth-and-drum machine workouts, SW. manipulates his hardware with the delicate, considered touch of a painter. Perhaps the memory that lingers longest from that bygone era is the sense of profound possibility that dawns before forms become rigidly calificed and commodified. Either way, adventurous listeners will find that okALGORYTHM blooms with a uniquely affecting grace and SW.'s inimitably obscure loveliness, infused with a somber glow and marked by shimmering, untraceable contours.

Moiré's rain-streaked and masterful Circuits album dropped this past September. RA's Andrew Ryce stated the eight-track album cast the shadowy producer into "a rarefied air occupied by the only the finest and most influential of ambient techno artists."

Now, in short order, the label returns with a remix EP charting out multiple hubs of oblique dance floor innovation. If there's a sonic motif on the A-side, it's vastly reactive interpretations of the "factory floor" element that inspired techno's pioneers. Matthew Herbert, a pioneering force in his own right, mixes steam engine percussion with the dreamy atmospherics of "Circuit 15" and comes up with eight minutes of cerebral machine funk. Tolouse Low Trax, meanwhile, continues his masterclass in modern motorik on his remix of "Circuit 7," integrating a chiming piano into a fascinating, perfectly-timed 110 BPM rhythm.

The B-side, meanwhile, doubles down on the oneiric nature of the original material. Workshop head and Avenue 66 alumnus Lowtec builds allows "Circuit 04"'s synths to billow into Gas-like immersive layering, sheets of melody are anchored by a restrained beat for an ambient techno track that doesn't tip the scales too far in one direction or the other. Rather, it achieves a perfect balance. Hamburg/Dial mainstay Lawrence closes things out with his version of "Circuit 18," which also concludes the original album. While the original has a wistful, Deckard's dream quality, Lawrence's version is deeply-rooted in the late-night German style; a low-slung bassline will keep dancers deeply rooted while those wistful chords sweep in like the violet before dawn.

Over the past decade, the mysterious, London-based artist Moiré has perfected a syrupy, addictive brand of dance music via labels like Actress's Werk Discs and illustrious imprints like Ghostly and Rush Hour. For most of this period, Moiré seemed pramarily concerned in creating alternative universe club tracks. The beats were hypnotic, if wonky. The pads were deep before they were refracted through an oblique filter. In a discography bearing a surfeit of leftfield high points, Circuits, Moiré's latest album for the Berlin-based Avenue 66 (Lowtec, John Frusciante, Joey Anderson) is a massive creative leap that fully breaks with the strictures of a "conventional" dance music.

While there are still nods to the low-slung, slow house style Moiré's perfected in the past ("Circuit 1"), as well as the looming shadow of hardcore ("Circuit 8), Moiré's style now billows into a liminal, cinematic zone that recalls the canonical SAW albums, BOC or even Seefeel's enduring, genre-free experiments. Rhythms come and go at all tempos, from Hauntological four-on-the-floor to flickering downtempo and ambient house approximations. But the emphasis lies with the melodies. From the queasy orchestral style of "Circuits 1" to the glacial, "end credits"-style synths that close out the album, these motifs bear an uncanny familiarity, as though they always existed. You recognize them, not from a previous listen, but rather, some half-remembered dream, or, perhaps, a previous lifetime.

Rare and unreleased cuts from the Lowtec vaults.

Mini LP Following up from his TRUElipS album from last year SW. returns to Avenue 66 with a 7 track LP titled blewLIPs.

2LP Over the past decade, Sued co-founder SW. has arranged the building blocks of dreamy rave and techno music-billowing pads, undulating sub-bass and adroit, nuanced drum programming-into and novel dance floor structures. TRUElipS, SW.’s first full album since 2016 and his first for Avenue 66, is a beguiling, fully-realised statement. The 12-track LP is rooted in the storied ’90s era when the spirit of orbital raves and free parties was channeled into massive leaps forward in the studio.

On his third album as Trickfinger, John Frusciante makes the jump from Acid Test to its leftfield sub-label, Avenue 66, to unleash the full scope of his vision. On She Smiles Because She Presses The Button, the legendary, LA-based cult figure, presents his most diverse yet cohesive album to date. Frusciante has the melodic and programming chops to jump from style to style while sounding only like himself. “Amb” is the welcome middle-ground between Balearic and IDM while “Brise” with its quick syncopations and rhythmic groove provide a contrasting fabric. Elsewhere, JF caroms through electro and pastoral, “intelligent” ambient. The common thread through this quixotic journey are his trademark, timeless melodies. For years now, Frusciante has immersed himself in machines, learning tracker programs, synths and drum machines inside and out, applying the same, tireless approach he’s exhibited through-out his career. On She Smiles Because She Presses The Button, this period of intense study leads intense creative liberation.

As Ociya, hardware freaks Tin Man (Johannes Auvinen) and Patricia (Max Ravitz), come together in unholy acid matrimony on a definitive double-album, Powers Of Ten. We know both sides well. Over a prolific run of records for Acid Test and his own Global A, Auvinen has expounded upon the promise of “Nonneo” (recently named one of Resident Advisor’s 2010-19: Tracks Of The Decade), unearthing new, emotional vistas from the Roland TB-303. Ravitz, meanwhile, matches Tin Man in studio ethic, establishing himself as one of North America’s hardware masters on records for Ghostly and Opal Tapes. What we couldn’t have predicted is how well the parts merge. Cuts like “Ghost Moons” channel the hazy IDM legacies of the past, while “Hopeful Galaxy” mixes a plaintive Rhodes motif with a hopeful 303 line for the perfect “tears on the dance floor” cut. The track titles on Power Of Ten— a perfect melodic techno LP generously spread across two records—are celestially minded ("Gravity Knots,” “Star Scraping") and indeed, the cosmic metaphor is apt or the newly-formed duo.

There’s been an air of hypnagogic mystery surrounding Acid Test’s sublabel Avenue 66 from the start. Joey Anderson’s oblique, Prince-inspired incantation “Above The Cherry Moon” set the tone for a label that’s sound that has found beauty in the furthest recesses of the dance floor, in the murkiest decay of kick drums and rave stabs. Fitting then, that the first album on the imprint comes from Trux, an artist who has chosen to reveal nearly nothing about themselves. Following a cult classic mini-LP for Office Recordings, “Orbiter” bears out the anonymous producer as a master of liminal, conceptual dance music. “Orbiter’s” ten tracks have a vaporous, shape-shifting quality, threatening to topple over into full-on kick drum bliss or vanish into ambience. Opener, “With It,” moves from heady ambient rush to skeletal piano, while “Blinko” and “Roy’s Garage” spell out a hazy memoriam for the UK continuum. Forlorn pianos ring out amongst the field recordings, excitable toms and jungle bass all softened in the enveloping gauze. “Orbiter” positions Trux as an unknown auteur who puts evocative world of tone and echo into dizzying motion, content to watch from the wings.