Dais Electronic & Dance 48 Items

First compiled as a double CD in 2002, Moon's Milk (in Four Phases) is a suite of four EPs that Coil released seasonally via their in-house Eskaton imprint across 1998. The line-up for these sessions were John Balance, Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson, Drew McDowall, and William Breeze. Recorded primarily at their home studio in Chiswick, London on the eve of a permanent relocation to the small seaside town of Weston-Super-Mare, the collection has long loomed as a pivotal and pinnacle work in the group's discography, but has never been officially reissued, or repressed on vinyl. Time has only ripened its tapestry of regal strangeness. Arranged sequentially in tribute to the equinoxes and solstices, Moon's Milk captures Coil at a revelatory crossroads, leaning deeper into improvisation, spontaneity, and sound design. "Moon's Milk or Under an Unquiet Skull" initiates the proceedings on Spring Equinox, a two-part netherworld organ séance woven from vocal drones, cathedral keys, seasick strings, and opiated undertow. From there, Summer Solstice skews lighter but no less incantational, with Balance embracing his voice-as-instrument across lucid dream torch songs ("Bee Stings"), purgatorial spoken word ("Glowworms/Waveforms"), sultry chamber pieces ("Summer Substructures"), and falsetto ravings ("A Warning From The Sun (For Fritz)"). Autumn Equinox exudes more of a pensive and twilit mood, from the Rose McDowall-sung folk ballad "Rosa Decidua" ("I hear your voice sing near to me / I've put away the poisoned chalice (for now) / And lie down amongst the flowerbeds") to hall-of-lords hallucination "The Auto-Asphyxiating Hierophant" to the liminal string-plucked classic "Amethyst Deceivers," featuring excellent alien guitar by Breeze layered with Balance's oft-quoted couplet: "Pay your respects to the vultures / For they are your future." The album's final chapter, Winter Solstice, is its most swooning, remote, and ceremonial. Opener "A White Rainbow" stirs strings, layered choral vocals, and shivering rhythm into an imploding burial hymn. "North" oscillates bleakly, a ghost in the machine murmuring opaque prophecy ("This black dog has no owner / This black dog has no odour"), while "Magnetic North" is its inverse, a guided meditation of gently flickering software and surreal chakra poetics ("Red rose filling the skull / Yellow cube in the lower pelvis / Silver moon crescent below the navel"). The suite fades to grey with a traditional English carol ("Christmas Is Now Drawing Near"), rendered like an executioner's song by Rose McDowall's doomed, beautiful voice. The Dais box set includes the entirety of the rare Moon's Milk Bonus Disc Cd-r / 2019 Threshold Archives Copal CD, which includes three collaborations with Thighpaulsandra. This material is as rich and intoxicating as the previous four phases, ranging from electro-acoustic singing bowl rituals ("Copal") to dissonant electronic recitations of visionary Angus MacLise poetry ("The Coppice Meat") to ominous classical melancholia ("Bankside"). Once again, Coil confirm the vastness of their confounding, infinite alchemy, explored and refined across decades of experimentation - both sonic and bodily. From postindustrial to post-everything, theirs is an art untethered, in the wilds of its own design.

Queens Of The Circulating Library stands alongside Time Machines and Nurse With Wound's Soliloquy For Lilith as a post-industrial pinnacle of sensory-warping long-form drone. Crafted by the distilled duo of Thighpaulsandra and John Balance, the 49-minute piece unfurls in swirling, cyclical waves, tidal as much as textural, channeling the spirit of levitational minimalism pioneered by La Monte Young. Touted as the first part in "a continually mutating series of circulating musickal compositions" upon its initial release in 2000, the album remains a compelling case study in Coil's exceptional capacity for mutation and extremes. The theatrical introductory monologue delivered by Thighpaulsandra's mother - a career opera singer, in her 80's at the time of recording - sets the stage for a grandiose ascension. Written by Balance, the text is declamatory but dreamlike, refracted through megaphone echo: "Return the book of knowledge / Return the marble index / File under "Paradox" / The forest is a college, each tree a university." As her voice fades, the lulling synthetic infinity deepens, congealing into transient crests of volume and haze, like slow-motion surf misting in moonlight. Thighpaulsandra describes their aesthetic intention as a "bliss out," static but shape-shifting, an amniotic drift towards an eternal vanishing point. A supreme sonic embodiment of the slogan on the sleeve of Time Machines, two years prior: "Persistence is all."

First vinyl reissue, available on LP for the first time in 20 years - Completely remastered audio and restored artwork - Side D lunar vinyl etching art // After leaving London in 1999 for the sleepy seaside retiree town of Weston-super-Mare, Coil co-founders John Balance and Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson set up shop in a palatial eight-bedroom estate to pursue the outer reaches of the group's heightening cabalistic chemistry. Among the staggering string of late-era masterpieces they produced is lunar opus Musick To Play In The Dark, widely hailed as an artistic zenith upon its release. The sessions that birthed it were in fact so fruitful that a second LP took shape during the creation of the first one. Aided by the recent addition of Welsh multi-instrumentalist engineer Thighpaulsandra, Coil mined further into the recesses of surrealist eldritch electronica Balance termed "moon music" - post-industrial spellcasting at the axis of narcotic and nocturnal energies. Musick To Play In The Darký spans a full witching hour of bad acid sound design, synthesizer voyaging, opiated balladry, Luciferian glitch, and subliminal hymnals, alternately ominous, oracular, and absurd. Scottish gothic icon Rose McDowall guests on vocals for two tracks but otherwise the album is a hermetic affair, tapping into the group's limitless insular synergy. Opener "Something" is stark and incantational, a spoken word experiment for windswept voids. "Tiny Golden Books" unspools an aerial whirlpool of cosmic synth, both whispery and widescreen. "Ether" is an exercise in funeral procession piano and intoxicated wordplay ("It's either ether or the other"), while "Where Are You?" and "Batwings - A Liminal Hymn" lurk like liturgical murmurings heard on one's death bed, framed in granular FX and flickering candlelight. As a whole the collection skews more muted and remote than its predecessor, as if having grown accustomed to the nether regions of these darkening seances. But music box hallucination "Paranoid Inlay" captures the group's oblique comedic side, always glimmering beneath: over a warped, wobbly beat Balance intones an opaque narrative of serenity, Saint Peter, and suicidal vegetables, accompanied by spiraling harpsichord and stuttering squelches of electronics. "It seems concussion suits you," he repeats twice, like a macabre pickup line, before dictating a dear diary entry about risks and failures, finally concluding with as close to a self-portrait as Coil ever came: "On a clear day I can see forever / that the underworld is my oyster."

The turn of the millennium ushered in an apex visionary phase for English esoteric duo Coil. Relocating from the city to the coastal quiet of Westonsuper-Mare freed them to follow even more fringe obsessions, fully untethered from peer influence. During a single six-month stretch in 2000 they released the devious underworld sequel to Music To Play In The Dark, arcane drone summit Queens Of The Circulating Library, and a malevolent hour-long synthesizer exorcism prophetically titled Constant Shallowness Leads To Evil. This latter work remains one of the group's most miasmic and mind-expanding creations, on par with Time Machines - a sustained divination of shuddering, psychoactive noise, rippling with the motion sickness of an all-seeing eye. Thighpaulsandra characterizes the album as "an exercise in brutality," born from a thorny patch of his Serge modular unit that Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson found entrancing. Processing this sliver of electronics into a ravaged labyrinth was a trial and error process, aided by Christopherson's visual sense of sound, stretching and manipulating it for maximum spatial disorientating. Frequencies nauseously crawl across the stereo field, burrowing into the ear like a sinister brainwashing experiment. An outlier / centerpiece is the 13-minute alien tribalist sea shanty, "I Am The Green Child," guided by John Balance's sung-spoken free verse concerning vengeance, oblivion, and insanity, culminating in the memorable refrain, "We're swimming in a sea of occidental vomit." But the rest of the record seethes in unhinged instrumental chaos, divided into 18 micro-movements of a composition called "Tunnel Of Goats." Intended to scramble the functionality of a CD player's shuffle mode, the piece throbs, thrashes, and flatlines in compressed frenzies of twisted synthesis, at the threshold of some bottomless purgatory, forbidding and unknown.

First vinyl reissue, available on LP for the first time in 20 years - Completely remastered audio and restored artwork - Side D lunar vinyl etching art // After leaving London in 1999 for the sleepy seaside retiree town of Weston-super-Mare, Coil co-founders John Balance and Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson set up shop in a palatial eight-bedroom estate to pursue the outer reaches of the group's heightening cabalistic chemistry. Among the staggering string of late-era masterpieces they produced is lunar opus Musick To Play In The Dark, widely hailed as an artistic zenith upon its release. The sessions that birthed it were in fact so fruitful that a second LP took shape during the creation of the first one. Aided by the recent addition of Welsh multi-instrumentalist engineer Thighpaulsandra, Coil mined further into the recesses of surrealist eldritch electronica Balance termed "moon music" - post-industrial spellcasting at the axis of narcotic and nocturnal energies. Musick To Play In The Darký spans a full witching hour of bad acid sound design, synthesizer voyaging, opiated balladry, Luciferian glitch, and subliminal hymnals, alternately ominous, oracular, and absurd. Scottish gothic icon Rose McDowall guests on vocals for two tracks but otherwise the album is a hermetic affair, tapping into the group's limitless insular synergy. Opener "Something" is stark and incantational, a spoken word experiment for windswept voids. "Tiny Golden Books" unspools an aerial whirlpool of cosmic synth, both whispery and widescreen. "Ether" is an exercise in funeral procession piano and intoxicated wordplay ("It's either ether or the other"), while "Where Are You?" and "Batwings - A Liminal Hymn" lurk like liturgical murmurings heard on one's death bed, framed in granular FX and flickering candlelight. As a whole the collection skews more muted and remote than its predecessor, as if having grown accustomed to the nether regions of these darkening seances. But music box hallucination "Paranoid Inlay" captures the group's oblique comedic side, always glimmering beneath: over a warped, wobbly beat Balance intones an opaque narrative of serenity, Saint Peter, and suicidal vegetables, accompanied by spiraling harpsichord and stuttering squelches of electronics. "It seems concussion suits you," he repeats twice, like a macabre pickup line, before dictating a dear diary entry about risks and failures, finally concluding with as close to a self-portrait as Coil ever came: "On a clear day I can see forever / that the underworld is my oyster."

Manchester UK's Space Afrika make music of what they term "overlapping moments" - oblique mosaics of dialogue, rhythm, texture, and shadow, half-heard through a bus window on a rainy night. Honest Labour, the group's first full-length since 2020's landmark hybtwibt? (have you been through what i've been through?) mixtape, expands the project's palette with classical strings, shimmering guitar, and visionary vocal cameos, leaning further into their enigmatic fusion of ambient unrest and cosmic downtempo. It's a sound both fogged and fragmented, at the axis of song craft and sound design, born from and for the yearning solitudes of life under lockdown. The album title is tiered, alluding to a legendary patriarch from co-founder Joshua Inyang's Nigerian family tree (who was lovingly called "Honest Labour" for his loyalty and resilience) as well as the nature of self-designated work, such as Space Afrika's music - a "labor of love" in its truest sense. With fellow co-founder Joshua Reid recently relocated to Berlin, the pair began sharing files last fall, piecing together poetic vignettes of looping haze and found sound, inspired by the notion of "records that leave an impression, and help the listener deal with their life." As the isolation of Covid compounded with the worsening winter, the songs skewed increasingly introspective and emotive, reflecting a mood of dissipating futures and the infinite nocturnal unknown. The artists cite two core motivations for Honest Labour: to transcend the sum of their influences, and "to show what we're capable of." Both ambitions are entirely realized. The collection's 19 tracks flow with a synergy and sophistication as rare as they are radical, untethered to the dusty dub-techno templates of Space Afrika's early years. These are interstitial anthems, expressionistic and open-ended, delirious but deliberate, attuned to the drift and dreamstate of the present moment: "Ultimately this is an homage to U.K. energy, and an album about love and loss."

The latest by Texan-turned-Angeleno progressive vaporwave producer Carlos Ramirez aka AURAGRAPH finds him shifting focus to the dance floor across eight chrome clockworks of cosmic acid house and liquid rave glide: 'New Standard'. Inspired by lessons learned during a 5K mile American road trip tour in the summer 2022, he set to work in his Simi Valley Tuff Shed of synths and hardware, pursuing an explicitly DJ-friendly muse: "I realized I wanted to make a record where every track could go off in a live setting."These cuts do just that, revved and rhythmic, peppered with slap bass, Madchester whistles, filtered acid, gated snares, baggy cowbell, and sample pack classics - record scratches, orchestral stabs, the "Yeah! Woo!" from Lynn Collins "Think (About It)." Ramirez describes the process as immediate and instinctual: "I'd turn on the MPC, pick a tempo, and just improv - it was incredibly fun."From sleek freeway techno ("110 Cruising") to arcade lurker acid ("Coast 2 Coast") to big room bangers ("666 Ambience"), the tracks time-travel across the canon of club music, sifting tricks and styles to fashion fresh anthems of hypnagogic jack. It's an album channeled as much as crafted, tapping into the decks of mythic warehouse infinities past and present, where the system rips all night and acid never dies.

Transparent Clear. Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of 2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall 's hushed songcraft at its most ghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter. Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with the working title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded, incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signature spectral vocals. A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formative to his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey light shimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away, eventually sinking into silence and stillness." The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience, of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells, between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells; percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a low-lidded plod - it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listener into its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's language skews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey light falls / dark clouds gather / in my soul" ), with each song like a gauzy glimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust - colored leaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons. Lundvall has long considered Last Light a "personal favorite" in his discography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, it vividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in his iconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, of fleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all that disappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years / slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / haunts me through the dark roads of my life."

Scottish experimental/electronic musician Drew McDowall's lifelong interestin an elegiac solo bagpipe style called pibroch (ceòl mòr in Gaelic) has beenan inspiration for much of his previous work (including Coil's legendary TimeMachines). This form, often traditionally used for laments and for tributes tothe dead, fuses modal drones with flickering dissonance and plaintive melodyevoking an ancient, solemn mood.His latest work, A Thread, Silvered and Trembling, both incorporates andtransforms these elements via exploratory electronic processing, weaving anelectro-acoustic tapestry of strings, shudders, voids, and voices, alternatelydisembodied and displaced. Co-produced with engineer Randall Dunn atCircular Ruin Studios in Brooklyn, the collection's four pieces captureMcDowall at his most elevated and elusive, in thrall to "the ineffable - thatwhich refuses to be spoken."McDowall's palette here is unusually eclectic, sourced from a dynamicorchestral ensemble arranged by Brent Arnold and comprised of cello, viola,violin, harp (Marilu Donovan of LEYA), and french horn. Ebbing betweenshrouded electronics and enigmatic, sometimes spectralist orchestration, thealbum moves with a seething, simmering energy, surging into elegant, uneasycrescendos. The first two pieces are inspired by a liberatory hijacking andinversion of a grim biblical story (and by a cryptic and strange UK simplesyrup branding). Opener "Out of Strength Comes Sweetness" shivers withshort echo and resonant pads, before shifting into the album's centerpiece:the 14-minute saga "And Lions Will Sing with Joy." A murmuring electricalstorm of keening strings and disorienting drones gradually grows darker anddenser, until suddenly there's a crack in the clouds, revealing mutated choralvoices and sparkling harp. McDowall describes the track as "an incantation tohelp usher in a break, and a new beginning."The record's latter half evokes a deep untamed animism shot through withspiraling radiance. "In Wou...

Scottish experimental/electronic musician Drew McDowall's lifelong interestin an elegiac solo bagpipe style called pibroch (ceòl mòr in Gaelic) has beenan inspiration for much of his previous work (including Coil's legendary TimeMachines). This form, often traditionally used for laments and for tributes tothe dead, fuses modal drones with flickering dissonance and plaintive melodyevoking an ancient, solemn mood.His latest work, A Thread, Silvered and Trembling, both incorporates andtransforms these elements via exploratory electronic processing, weaving anelectro-acoustic tapestry of strings, shudders, voids, and voices, alternatelydisembodied and displaced. Co-produced with engineer Randall Dunn atCircular Ruin Studios in Brooklyn, the collection's four pieces captureMcDowall at his most elevated and elusive, in thrall to "the ineffable - thatwhich refuses to be spoken."McDowall's palette here is unusually eclectic, sourced from a dynamicorchestral ensemble arranged by Brent Arnold and comprised of cello, viola,violin, harp (Marilu Donovan of LEYA), and french horn. Ebbing betweenshrouded electronics and enigmatic, sometimes spectralist orchestration, thealbum moves with a seething, simmering energy, surging into elegant, uneasycrescendos. The first two pieces are inspired by a liberatory hijacking andinversion of a grim biblical story (and by a cryptic and strange UK simplesyrup branding). Opener "Out of Strength Comes Sweetness" shivers withshort echo and resonant pads, before shifting into the album's centerpiece:the 14-minute saga "And Lions Will Sing with Joy." A murmuring electricalstorm of keening strings and disorienting drones gradually grows darker anddenser, until suddenly there's a crack in the clouds, revealing mutated choralvoices and sparkling harp. McDowall describes the track as "an incantation tohelp usher in a break, and a new beginning."The record's latter half evokes a deep untamed animism shot through withspiraling radiance. "In Wou...

In 1980, Genesis P-Orridgeand Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson of(then-)Throbbing Gristle travelled to New York City to meet up at thefortified apartment, known as The Bunker, of famed beat writer andcultural pioneerWilliam S. Burroughsand his executor JamesGrauerholz. Genesisand Sleazy started the daunting task of compilingthe experimental sound works of Burroughs, which, up until that point,had never been widely heard.During those visits, Burroughs would play back his tape recorderexperiments featuring his spoken word "cut-ups", collaged fieldrecordings from his travels and his flirtations with EVP recordingtechniques, pioneered by Latvian intellectual Konstantins Raudive. Overthe following year, P-Orridge, Christopherson and Grauerholz spentcountless hours compilingvarious edits, each collection showcasingBurroughs sensitive ear and experimental prowess for audio anomalywithin technical limitations. In early 1981, Burroughs had relocated toLawrence, KS to escape the violence and manias of New York City life.There, P-Orridge and Christopherson put the finishing touches on therecord that would be known asNothing Here Now but the Recordings.Released in Spring 1981, the album would end up as the final release onIndustrial Records, brought about by the dissolution of Throbbing Gristle.It was quietly out of print until 1998, when John Giorno and the GiornoPoetry Systems included the album on a retrospective CD box set, whichcompiled the majority of Burroughs's seminal recordings. In 2015, DaisRecords worked closely with the Estate of William S. Burroughs to finallyre-release, for the first time in 36 years, a proper vinyl reissue of WilliamS. BurroughsNothing Here Now but the Recordingsto celebrate thecentennial anniversary of William S. Burroughs. For the2023 edition, Daishas remastered the audio with renowned engineer Josh Bonati, andrestored the original artwork with a new dedication to Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and Peter Christopherson.

In 1980, Genesis P-Orridgeand Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson of(then-)Throbbing Gristle travelled to New York City to meet up at thefortified apartment, known as The Bunker, of famed beat writer andcultural pioneerWilliam S. Burroughsand his executor JamesGrauerholz. Genesisand Sleazy started the daunting task of compilingthe experimental sound works of Burroughs, which, up until that point,had never been widely heard.During those visits, Burroughs would play back his tape recorderexperiments featuring his spoken word "cut-ups", collaged fieldrecordings from his travels and his flirtations with EVP recordingtechniques, pioneered by Latvian intellectual Konstantins Raudive. Overthe following year, P-Orridge, Christopherson and Grauerholz spentcountless hours compilingvarious edits, each collection showcasingBurroughs sensitive ear and experimental prowess for audio anomalywithin technical limitations. In early 1981, Burroughs had relocated toLawrence, KS to escape the violence and manias of New York City life.There, P-Orridge and Christopherson put the finishing touches on therecord that would be known asNothing Here Now but the Recordings.Released in Spring 1981, the album would end up as the final release onIndustrial Records, brought about by the dissolution of Throbbing Gristle.It was quietly out of print until 1998, when John Giorno and the GiornoPoetry Systems included the album on a retrospective CD box set, whichcompiled the majority of Burroughs's seminal recordings. In 2015, DaisRecords worked closely with the Estate of William S. Burroughs to finallyre-release, for the first time in 36 years, a proper vinyl reissue of WilliamS. BurroughsNothing Here Now but the Recordingsto celebrate thecentennial anniversary of William S. Burroughs. For the2023 edition, Daishas remastered the audio with renowned engineer Josh Bonati, andrestored the original artwork with a new dedication to Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and Peter Christopherson.

Inspired by the original Industrial Records release of William S. Burroughs's Nothing Here Now but the Recordings Belgian record label Sub Rosa worked with Burroughs to release another album: Break Through In Grey Room. Originally compiled in 1986 by producer Bill Rich, the album features Burroughs's experimental recordings from 1961 to 1976, featuring field recordings by Burroughs of the Master Musicians of Jajouka, experimental collaborations with mathematician Ian Sommerville and painter/cut-up originator Brion Gysin. Break Through In Grey Room documents William S. Burroughs during his time in Europe and England, working with Ian Sommerville on recording with the 'cut -up' technique. Sommerville's technical background enabled him to contribute to the early development of sound - and - light shows in London, leading to work with gear provided by Paul McCartney in an apartment owned by Ringo Starr. Experimental in nature, the record is as much an exhibition of studio and composition technique as it is a document of underground culture at that time. For the 2023 reissue, Dais Records has collaborated with the Estate of William S. Burroughs on reissuing the album on vinyl and compact disc, fully remastered by mastering engineer Josh Bonati.

Inspired by the original Industrial Records release of William S. Burroughs's Nothing Here Now but the Recordings Belgian record label Sub Rosa worked with Burroughs to release another album: Break Through In Grey Room. Originally compiled in 1986 by producer Bill Rich, the album features Burroughs's experimental recordings from 1961 to 1976, featuring field recordings by Burroughs of the Master Musicians of Jajouka, experimental collaborations with mathematician Ian Sommerville and painter/cut-up originator Brion Gysin. Break Through In Grey Room documents William S. Burroughs during his time in Europe and England, working with Ian Sommerville on recording with the 'cut -up' technique. Sommerville's technical background enabled him to contribute to the early development of sound - and - light shows in London, leading to work with gear provided by Paul McCartney in an apartment owned by Ringo Starr. Experimental in nature, the record is as much an exhibition of studio and composition technique as it is a document of underground culture at that time. For the 2023 reissue, Dais Records has collaborated with the Estate of William S. Burroughs on reissuing the album on vinyl and compact disc, fully remastered by mastering engineer Josh Bonati.

Queens Of The Circulating Library stands alongside Time Machines and Nurse With Wound's Soliloquy For Lilith as a post-industrial pinnacle of sensory-warping long-form drone. Crafted by the distilled duo of Thighpaulsandra and John Balance, the 49-minute piece unfurls in swirling, cyclical waves, tidal as much as textural, channeling the spirit of levitational minimalism pioneered by La Monte Young. Touted as the first part in "a continually mutating series of circulating musickal compositions" upon its initial release in 2000, the album remains a compelling case study in Coil's exceptional capacity for mutation and extremes.

The theatrical introductory monologue delivered by Thighpaulsandra's mother - a career opera singer, in her 80's at the time of recording - sets the stage for a grandiose ascension. Written by Balance, the text is declamatory but dreamlike, refracted through megaphone echo: "Return the book of knowledge / Return the marble index / File under "Paradox" / The forest is a college, each tree a university." As her voice fades, the lulling synthetic infinity deepens, congealing into transient crests of volume and haze, like slow-motion surf misting in moonlight. Thighpaulsandra describes their aesthetic intention as a "bliss out," static but shape-shifting, an amniotic drift towards an eternal vanishing point. A supreme sonic embodiment of the slogan on the sleeve of Time Machines, two years prior: "Persistence is all."

The past few years have found Sean McBride, the artist behind Martial Canterel, in a state of flux, ebbing back and forth between material displacement and musical aestheticism. His expert pedigree in electronic sound and arrangement bridges the gap created by an undecidability between life at home and abroad His new album, Lost At Sea, is an attempt for the artist to locate this elusive common ground.The album's introductory track, Giving Up, has all of the hallmarks that Martial Canterel has utilized in the past_melodic chorus, upbeat rhythm and classic sequential dynamism. Where the song diverges is in its core theme of nature: nature's return to a period of restoration after the failures and recklessness of humankind.The slower pace of songs like Scampia and Puszta yearn for McBride's complex love affair with far flung destinations. Re-evaluating the political strife and social unrest in these historical locations, McBride delves deeper into political and geological reference points creating symbolic representations using mechanized percussion, white noise and various sine waves.The conceptual nature of Lost at Sea reaches even deeper depths within the waveforms of Astralize, a track based upon academic Donna Haraway's pre-civilized theories of human neglect after the `azstralization'.

SoiSong is the stunning but short-lived partnership of Coil co-founder Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson and veteran Russian electronic experimentalist Ivan Pavlov. Though friends since 1997, the project birthed roughly a decade later in Bangkok, where Christopherson relocated following the death of his Coil collaborator John Balance in 2004. Named after the Thai word for `two' along with a notorious red-light district street nearby, the duo dialed into a cryptic language of lurching synthetics, Eastern minimalism, and interdimensional glitch, oscillating between elegance and mayhem. qXn948s collects some of their earliest recordings, and remains as transgressive and transcendent a listen now as it was upon its release a decade and a half ago.Pavlov characterizes SoiSong as less a musical group than a "utopian, semi-alien platform for collaboration, devoid of pronounced personality or centralized authority_ more like a message from elsewhere that anyone is welcome to participate in and spread." Every facet of the project was disruptive and oblique: self-released CDs packaged in elaborate origami that had to be destroyed to be accessed; a website with password protected sections, where different passwords were provided for different events, objects or releases; performance merchandise of headphones and a Walkman melted shut so the music can only be heard as long as the set of batteries last. Theirs was a muse as unprecedented as it was uncompromising, equal parts pranks and profundity.'qXn948s' began with samples and software composed intuitively in tandem before a large monitor, then progressively processed and scrambled into bewildering arrangements of digital frequencies, alternately spartan and claustrophobic, uneasy and uncanny. Vignettes of small melody emerge and are obliterated; gamelan-esque tones spiral above cybernetic pulse programming and funereal didgeridoo; skeletal piano meanders in the distance while flickering circuitry pummels patterns of white noise. Pavlov describes his and Christopherson's...

The turn of the millennium ushered in an apex visionary phase for English esoteric duo Coil. Relocating from the city to the coastal quiet of Westonsuper-Mare freed them to follow even more fringe obsessions, fully untethered from peer influence. During a single six-month stretch in 2000 they released the devious underworld sequel to Music To Play In The Dark, arcane drone summit Queens Of The Circulating Library, and a malevolent hour-long synthesizer exorcism prophetically titled Constant Shallowness Leads To Evil. This latter work remains one of the group's most miasmic and mind-expanding creations, on par with Time Machines - a sustained divination of shuddering, psychoactive noise, rippling with the motion sickness of an all-seeing eye. Thighpaulsandra characterizes the album as "an exercise in brutality," born from a thorny patch of his Serge modular unit that Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson found entrancing. Processing this sliver of electronics into a ravaged labyrinth was a trial and error process, aided by Christopherson's visual sense of sound, stretching and manipulating it for maximum spatial disorientating. Frequencies nauseously crawl across the stereo field, burrowing into the ear like a sinister brainwashing experiment. An outlier / centerpiece is the 13-minute alien tribalist sea shanty, "I Am The Green Child," guided by John Balance's sung-spoken free verse concerning vengeance, oblivion, and insanity, culminating in the memorable refrain, "We're swimming in a sea of occidental vomit." But the rest of the record seethes in unhinged instrumental chaos, divided into 18 micro-movements of a composition called "Tunnel Of Goats." Intended to scramble the functionality of a CD player's shuffle mode, the piece throbs, thrashes, and flatlines in compressed frenzies of twisted synthesis, at the threshold of some bottomless purgatory, forbidding and unknown.

The turn of the millennium ushered in an apex visionary phase for English esoteric duo Coil. Relocating from the city to the coastal quiet of Westonsuper-Mare freed them to follow even more fringe obsessions, fully untethered from peer influence. During a single six-month stretch in 2000 they released the devious underworld sequel to Music To Play In The Dark, arcane drone summit Queens Of The Circulating Library, and a malevolent hour-long synthesizer exorcism prophetically titled Constant Shallowness Leads To Evil. This latter work remains one of the group's most miasmic and mind-expanding creations, on par with Time Machines - a sustained divination of shuddering, psychoactive noise, rippling with the motion sickness of an all-seeing eye. Thighpaulsandra characterizes the album as "an exercise in brutality," born from a thorny patch of his Serge modular unit that Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson found entrancing. Processing this sliver of electronics into a ravaged labyrinth was a trial and error process, aided by Christopherson's visual sense of sound, stretching and manipulating it for maximum spatial disorientating. Frequencies nauseously crawl across the stereo field, burrowing into the ear like a sinister brainwashing experiment. An outlier / centerpiece is the 13-minute alien tribalist sea shanty, "I Am The Green Child," guided by John Balance's sung-spoken free verse concerning vengeance, oblivion, and insanity, culminating in the memorable refrain, "We're swimming in a sea of occidental vomit." But the rest of the record seethes in unhinged instrumental chaos, divided into 18 micro-movements of a composition called "Tunnel Of Goats." Intended to scramble the functionality of a CD player's shuffle mode, the piece throbs, thrashes, and flatlines in compressed frenzies of twisted synthesis, at the threshold of some bottomless purgatory, forbidding and unknown.

Cabaret Voltaire co-founder Stephen Mallinder's second solo outing for Dais further distills his signature fusion of minimal synth, oblique wordplay, and "wonky disco" into a riveting rhythm suite ripe for our Age of Escalation: Tick Tick Tick. Channeling the temporal malaise of lockdown through a lusher palette of modular electronics and stereo strings, the songs embrace ambiguity and plasticity, loose systems of percolating circuitry and airless funk. Recorded across a handful of sessions at Meme Tune Studios in Cornwall with frequent collaborator Benge (aka Ben Edwards), Mallinder cites no guiding aesthetic premise for the collection beyond "cowbell on every track, and entirely no reverb." From the first coiled cybernetic groove of opener "Contact," the album's spatial dynamics are disorienting and asymmetrical, alternately cold and sensual, opiated and claustrophobic. But, throughout, "rhythm is the default, the bedrock, the building block-even the melodies are rhythmic." Across 40-plus years of electronic musicianship, Mallinder's sense of timing and tempo has honed into a rare tier of mastery, limber and fluid but knotted with strange frictions. Shades of Detroit technoid industrial ("ringdropp," "Shock To The Body") crossfade into now avy punk-funk ("Guernica Gallery," "Galaxy," "The Trial"), bad trip IDM ("Wasteland"), and jittery vapor house ("Hush"), at the threshold of modes both familiar and foreign. Lyrically the record is equally evasive, rich with allusions and associative linguistics, surveying liquid notions of societal noise, ecological ruin, art world pretension, and the trials of daily life. But the lack of fixed meaning remains Mallinder's main muse: "Music should draw you in; lyrics should make you think. Most interpretation is misinterpretation." This is music of countdowns and comedowns, fleeting pleasures and opaque futures, observing the great decline while dancing on its ashes. Flux is deathless and forever; the rest, illusion: "I will be a constant figure / Flickering a moving picture / Turning in your head forever / Split apart but held together."

Cabaret Voltaire co-founder Stephen Mallinder's second solo outing for Dais further distills his signature fusion of minimal synth, oblique wordplay, and "wonky disco" into a riveting rhythm suite ripe for our Age of Escalation: Tick Tick Tick. Channeling the temporal malaise of lockdown through a lusher palette of modular electronics and stereo strings, the songs embrace ambiguity and plasticity, loose systems of percolating circuitry and airless funk. Recorded across a handful of sessions at Meme Tune Studios in Cornwall with frequent collaborator Benge (aka Ben Edwards), Mallinder cites no guiding aesthetic premise for the collection beyond "cowbell on every track, and entirely no reverb." From the first coiled cybernetic groove of opener "Contact," the album's spatial dynamics are disorienting and asymmetrical, alternately cold and sensual, opiated and claustrophobic. But, throughout, "rhythm is the default, the bedrock, the building block-even the melodies are rhythmic." Across 40-plus years of electronic musicianship, Mallinder's sense of timing and tempo has honed into a rare tier of mastery, limber and fluid but knotted with strange frictions. Shades of Detroit technoid industrial ("ringdropp," "Shock To The Body") crossfade into now avy punk-funk ("Guernica Gallery," "Galaxy," "The Trial"), bad trip IDM ("Wasteland"), and jittery vapor house ("Hush"), at the threshold of modes both familiar and foreign. Lyrically the record is equally evasive, rich with allusions and associative linguistics, surveying liquid notions of societal noise, ecological ruin, art world pretension, and the trials of daily life. But the lack of fixed meaning remains Mallinder's main muse: "Music should draw you in; lyrics should make you think. Most interpretation is misinterpretation." This is music of countdowns and comedowns, fleeting pleasures and opaque futures, observing the great decline while dancing on its ashes. Flux is deathless and forever; the rest, illusion: "I will be a constant figure / Flickering a moving picture / Turning in your head forever / Split apart but held together."

On their first official collaboration, Japanese noise pioneer Masami Akita aka Merzbow and Australian sound sculptor Lawrence English present a harrowing, surrealist portrait of nocturnal industrial activity, spawned by field recordings made in a sprawling factory complex seven hours north of English's home in Brisbane. He characterizes the area as "uneasy and unsettling," awash in the sickly glow of smelters and refinement machinery, somehow not of this world - a liminal quality vividly captured in Andrei Tarkovsky's sprawling purgatorial opus, Stalker, to which the title alludes. Akita, too, described early drafts of Eternal Stalker as feeling "like the soundtrack to a dystopian science fiction opera." A mood of mechanical dread and ruined futures permeates each of the album's seven potent compositions. Opener "The Long Dream" sets the stage with steady rain on sheet metal, punctured by thunder and metallic echoes, reverberating to the rafters in a collapsing warehouse. Quickly the tempest rises. "A Gate Of Light" and "Magnetic Traps" both convulse in churning furies of electric demolition and rattling chains, roaring and relentless. "The Visit" and "Black Thicket" operate more at a distance, surveying the topography of steam, rust, and liquid metal from above, their flickers of violence swallowed by blankets of darkness. This is noise at its most elemental and unknowable: brooding, bristling, and opaque, stalking forbidden peripheries of chaos and creation. Discussing Akita's music, English refers to its "intense substrata that is purely psychedelic; it consumes and confounds." The seasick swells of friction and fracture subsume the listener, forcing an auditory surrender: "this saturation of the senses can be a euphoria." Proof comes halfway through "The Golden Sphere," when the howling mayhem subtly recedes, revealing an eerie siren drone hovering in the void, like the resonance of a dead star galaxies away. Slowly a seething, venomous wall of volume returns, shredding the signal until its frequencies fray, whipping away into the eye of the storm. The combined effect merges obliteration and liberation, rapture and ravagement; it's the sound of dissolution as resolution, uprooted and unmoored, finally freed from form.

After a quarter century of nearly nonstop activity, dystopian Detroit synth-punk institution Adult. have perfected a strain of stylistic cohesion in the album format, "but for this we wanted something that's falling apart." Becoming Undone, the 9th official full-length by cofounders Nicola Kuperus and Adam Lee Miller, explicitly succeeds in this aim, simultaneously rejecting and reflecting the planetary discord that inspired it. Begun in the latter half of 2020 against a backdrop of unprecedented flux and seismic isolation, the duo kickstarted their muse by sourcing fresh additions to the rig: a vocal loop pedal for Kuperus and Roland percussion pads for Miller. Reconnecting with legacy influences like the politicized industrial percussion of Test Department and the queasy miscreant synthetics of TG's 20 Jazz Funk Greats sparked a series of fruitfully frenetic sessions, centered on themes of impermanence and dissonance. Miller's rationale is blunt: "We weren't interested in melody or harmony since we didn't see the world having that." From the tense technoid blitz of "Undoing / Undone" to the twitchy EBM of "Fools (We Are_)" and "I Am Nothing," the sides bristle with strident acidic revolt and black leather sequential circuits, unhinged and unforgiving. Elsewhere, slower tempos of purgatorial unraveling ("Normative Sludge," "She's Nice Looking") showcase a breadth of vocal FX, Kuperus sounding alternately indignant and possessed, decrying the crimes, fears, and failings of a deluded world. Throughout, the band's chemistry crackles with revulsion and strobe-lit dissent, equal parts exorcism and denunciation. "Humans have always been pretty terrible," Kuperus explains. "But every year the compromises of culture just accelerate." Becoming Undone is also freighted with a more personal pain, as Kuperus' father passed away during the height of the pandemic, just before the album took root. As his hospice caretakers, she and Miller faced the banality of finality, surrounded by objects drained of meaning, "the joy of having a body, but also the drudgery of having one." The record's bewitching closing track, "Teeth Out Pt. II" - which happens to be the first Adult. song in the group's history without drums - speaks to this sense of doomed corporeal mass and the looming, lightless unknown that binds us all. A seasick haze swells and subsides in slow, low waves, flickering with ring modulation, above which Kuperus sings in a dazed, brooding, transcendent state, as if having finally glimpsed beyond the pale: "Some day / some day I will be silent and free / of this relentless gravity."

New York painter and musician exploratory industrialist Tor Lundvall initially envisioned his 14th album, Beautiful Illusions, as an entirely instrumental affair, "inspired by memories of sitting in a church or cathedral watching the shifting sunlight through stained glass." Although he ultimately chose to wreath the majority of the tracks with hushed, poetic vocals, his original muse still resonates. These are certainly songs of shadowplay and vaulted skies, the quiet grandeur of dusk deepening on the horizon. Lundvall characterizes the lyrical subject matter, too, in ways both specific and surreal, exploring "the doubts, the anxieties and even the bleak fantasies the mind spirals into during moments of isolation, separation and distance." Tricks of the eye, mind, and ear, magnified by silence and the looming long winter. Shivering pulses and muted bass lines tread the twilight while icicle synths and wiry guitar map the melody until the voice enters, narrating oblique moods of essence and absence, tenderness and truth. Glimpses of dark humor flicker in the wordplay but the greater sonic landscape is one of falling leaves and failing light, small gestures rendered as revelation, cloaked in reverb and spatial fog. Lundvall's mastery of nuance and negative space continues to heighten, whispered brushstrokes of the invisible and the unsaid, what lies beneath and what lies beyond: "Behind the shields and false fronts is usually a sadness. The heartbreaking reflections of what might have been."

The collaborative debut of American minimal techno pioneer Troy Pierce and Colombian audiovisual artist Natalia Escobar aka Poison Arrow was conceived in reverse: first they created a collection of shadowy surrealist videos, then wrote music inspired by them. This inverted process proved remarkably fruitful. Shatter is a simmering, slow-burn noir odyssey inspired by the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus, traversing subtle shades of sleepwalker dub, metallic lament, broken beats, and erotic negative space. It's an effectively unsettling evocation of the legend's core theme: "There is nothing more complex than a shattered heart, or a heart that can't love." Considering their shared background trafficking in darkened dance floor modes, what's most striking about Pierce with Arrow's partnership is its rhythmic restraint. The album's 10 tracks seethe and shudder between glamor and gloom, with only occasional dread-steeped metronomes mapping the malaise to a grid. They speak of pursuing a "spatial approach" with this project, which manifests in the music's immersive design and patient execution, each mangled clang and rippling pool of bass allowed to reverberate its full flickering waveform. Guest appearances by austere techno producer Konrad Black ("Obsidian Glass") and drum n bass institution dBridge ("It's A Love Story, After All") flow seamlessly into the whole, subtle sculptural accents on a dimly lit descent through purgatories of longing and lust. But the shadows recede for the record's closing cut, "Narcissus," which swells elegiacally in a mass of devotional drones over a muted heartbeat, like Narcissus gazing upon his reflection in holy awe: elusive true beauty, finally beheld, by itself.

First Ever Vinyl Edition, Originally Set To Be Released In 1982 But Due To Original Label's Untimely Demise, It Was Never Issued Until Now. For Fans Of Harold Budd, Brian Eno, Roedelius, Nils Frahm, Klaus Schulze, Popol Vuh, Vangelis, Jean-Michel Jarre. The Saga Of Composer Tim Story's 1982 Debut Is A Case Study In The Shifting Sands Of The Early Progressive Music Industry. Recorded On A Tascam 4-Track Reel-To-Reel In His Basement Bedroom In Whitehouse, Ohio Using A Ragtag Array Of Equipment - Salvaged Vibraphone, Pawn Shop Les Paul, His Mother's Spinet Piano, A Paia Synth Kit Assembled By His Girlfriend's Father, And A Yamaha Cs-30 - Story Optimistically Dubbed Six Cassettes And Sent Them Around The World. Following A Polite Rejection From Klaus Schulze, The French Avant-Garde Label Atem (This Heat, Univers Zero, Art Zoyd) Reached Out With An Offer To Release Threads Via Their New Instrumental Electronic Subdivision, Labyrinthes. After Several Letters Confirming Terms Of The Arrangement As Well As Multiple Rounds Of Test Pressings, Correspondence Suddenly Ceased. Some Months Later The Label Folded, Never Having Begun. Synchronistically, However, Schulze's Copy Ended Up In The Glovebox Of An Engineer Associate, Who Happened To Play It For A Couple Visiting Journalists With Contacts At A Newish Norwegian Imprint, Uniton Records (Popul Vuh, Harold Budd). Impressed, They Connected Story To The Label Head, But By Then He'd Already Recorded A Follow-Up, The More Neoclassical-Leaning In Another Country, Which Became His Inaugural Release. Finally, 40 Years Later, Dais Records Is Rectifying History's Error By Properly Issuing Threads On Vinyl For The First Time. It's A Beautiful, Beguiling Work, Exploratory But Emotive, Documenting, As Story Puts It, "The Path Not Taken... Like The First Chapter Of A Book That Was Set Aside To Begin Another." Despite Only Being In His Early Twenties At The Time Of Its Creation, Threads Feels Finessed And Considered, Weaving Through A Diverse Spectrum Of Moods And Minimalist Melodie...

Upstate New York Artist Tor Lundvall's Music Often Evokes A Sense Of Soft-Focus Autumnal Melancholia But Nowhere Is This Atmosphere More Explicit And Evocative Than His Self-Released 2006 Holiday Album, Yule, Newly Reissued By Dais Records. Inspired By Childhood Memories Of "Cold, Dark Evenings" Waiting For His Mother Outside Shops And Supermarkets While Seasonal Songs Drifted Faintly On The Frozen Air, The Collection Feels Appropriately Hushed And Hypnagogic, Half-Remembered Melodies Heard Through Falling Snow.Steady Muted Rhythmic Pulses Wind Through Wintry Landscapes Of Icy Synthetic Textures, Glass Bells, And Distant Metallic Echoes, Occasionally Framed By Lundvall's Soft, Dazed Vocals, Narrating Scenes Of "Slushy, Illuminated Train Stations" And "The Lonely Trees Of January, Still Entangled With Blue Lights Long After The Season Has Ended." It's A Music Of Barren Branches, Crescent Moons, And Willowy Figures Shuffling And Shivering On Their Way Somewhere, Viewed From A Fogged Window Passing By, Or High Above.As With Lundvall's Signature Oil Paintings, Yule's Sonic Vignettes Are Works Of Observation, Poetic Glimpses Rendered In Gradients Of Color And Quiet. He Has Referred To His Music In The Past As "Ghost Ambient" And, Although His Songwriting Here Skews More Foreground Than Background, The Phrase Aptly Captures The Haunted, Half-Light Quality Of These Fragile Tracks. 10 Miniatures Of Wreathed Streets And Silent Woods, Of Twinkling Store Windows Seen From A Distance, The Sensation Of Being Outside Of Life Looking In - The Sentiments That Seeded Lundvall's Vision Remain Undimmed: "There Was A Special Melancholic Beauty About These Moments That Has Never Left Me."

· Reissued for the first time in over 20 years, for the first time on double LP with the original, unedited tracks in vinyl format. · Completely remastered and restored audio and artwork. · Side D of the double LP includes vinyl etching art: pine tree branches rendered by the band in Bryce software in the 90s for the original album art.

Veteran NYC based Scottish electronic musician Drew McDowall's latest work is his loftiest, most liturgical, and least industrial outing to date - and potentially the apex of his recent discography. Named after an ancient Greek word for votive offering, Agalma exudes a hooded, devotional aura, creaking and keeling under vast rafters of stone, stained glass, and shredded wires. It's a music of majesty and mystery but also modernity, McDowall's refined modular system shape-shifting strings, piano, pipe organ, and choral masses into disorienting synthetic mirages of the sacred. He cites the intersection of "joy, terror, and the elegiac" as a centering inspiration - or, phrased more bluntly, "that 'what the fuck is going on' feeling."As a career collaborator himself, with stints in Coil, Psychic TV, and countless other shorter-lived partnerships, it's telling that McDowall chose this project to gather such an impressive spectrum of peers. Italian synthesist Caterina Barbieri, American drone organist Kali Malone, prolific multi-instrumentalist Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe, operatic Humanbeast vocalist Maralie Armstrong-Rial, Saudi producer Msylma, and warped futurist beat-makers Bashar Suleiman and Elvin Brandhi cameo across the album's 42 minutes, contouring McDowall's nuanced negative spaces with shudders, shadows, and shivering flickers of serenity. Each of them shines in their spotlight, elevating these elusive alchemical states into surreal revelations of texture and transcendence.McDowall's original working title for the record is revealing: Ritual Music. He speaks of his creative practice in ceremonial terms, negating binaries by seeking the middle path to a numinous equilibrium that erases the distinction between the inner and outer worlds. These compositions feel similarly processional and intuitive, at the crossroads of holiness and hallucination, the sacred vertigo of yawning naves rising into untouchable night skies. It's a vision of industrial music as enigma and invocation, cryptic hymnals of shrou...

ADULT. make a triumphant return after their 2018 album "This Behavior", dubbed "_one of the best records of their career_" by Ryan Lathan of Pop Matters. This chilling continuation takes the form of "Perception is/as/of Deception", an anxiety fueled cyclone of pandemonium that only ADULT. would know how to harness. While "This Behavior" was recorded in the isolated snowcovered woods of northern Michigan, "Perception is/as/of Deception" was given life in a temporary space the duo created by painting their windowless basement entirely black, with the sole intention to deprive their senses, question their perceptions, and witness the resulting ramifications. With over 23 years and a sprawling discography left in their wake, Adam Lee Miller and Nicola Kuperus have spent their entire career as ADULT. obscuring any defined genre or style. With a history as uncanny as ADULT., the pieces that making up "Perception is/as/of Deception" might be perceived as their most punk-infused and introspective work to date. The elements of frustration and apprehension that have consistently woven throughout their material are at full mast, although augmented by a strident and more "head-on" approach. Tracks like "Have I Started at the End" successfully maintain the duo's classic EBM signatures and synthesized aggression, cradled by a suspicious mantra that questions_.what's the point? "Why Always Why" offers a disorienting mutation of the heralded sounds of classic dance music, like a remix that escaped prison and is on the run. The dystopian anthem, "Total Total Damage", comes in full force with an frantic energy which jolts any bystanders to attention, with only the defiant chants of Kuperus' vocals outlining the ever-degenerating state of societal affairs. The dramatically glam synth parts scattered throughout the album, while at times ominous in nature, seem to also act as a merciful reminder that through the journey of "Perception is/as/of Deception", one can still enjoy the chaos. With the rampant sense of emptiness on the minds of many these days, there continues to be few attempts at scoring these common, unfortunate human qualities with pure sincerity. Thankfully, ADULT. has a long-standing reputation for creating the soundtrack for our insecurities, and "Perception is/as/of Deception" further solidifies their apprehensive position.

ADULT. make a triumphant return after their 2018 album "This Behavior", dubbed "_one of the best records of their career_" by Ryan Lathan of Pop Matters. This chilling continuation takes the form of "Perception is/as/of Deception", an anxiety fueled cyclone of pandemonium that only ADULT. would know how to harness. While "This Behavior" was recorded in the isolated snowcovered woods of northern Michigan, "Perception is/as/of Deception" was given life in a temporary space the duo created by painting their windowless basement entirely black, with the sole intention to deprive their senses, question their perceptions, and witness the resulting ramifications. With over 23 years and a sprawling discography left in their wake, Adam Lee Miller and Nicola Kuperus have spent their entire career as ADULT. obscuring any defined genre or style. With a history as uncanny as ADULT., the pieces that making up "Perception is/as/of Deception" might be perceived as their most punk-infused and introspective work to date. The elements of frustration and apprehension that have consistently woven throughout their material are at full mast, although augmented by a strident and more "head-on" approach. Tracks like "Have I Started at the End" successfully maintain the duo's classic EBM signatures and synthesized aggression, cradled by a suspicious mantra that questions_.what's the point? "Why Always Why" offers a disorienting mutation of the heralded sounds of classic dance music, like a remix that escaped prison and is on the run. The dystopian anthem, "Total Total Damage", comes in full force with an frantic energy which jolts any bystanders to attention, with only the defiant chants of Kuperus' vocals outlining the ever-degenerating state of societal affairs. The dramatically glam synth parts scattered throughout the album, while at times ominous in nature, seem to also act as a merciful reminder that through the journey of "Perception is/as/of Deception", one can still enjoy the chaos. With the rampant sense of emptiness on the minds of many these days, there continues to be few attempts at scoring these common, unfortunate human qualities with pure sincerity. Thankfully, ADULT. has a long-standing reputation for creating the soundtrack for our insecurities, and "Perception is/as/of Deception" further solidifies their apprehensive position.

Originally recorded in 1977, following a limited release in 1979, Ghedalia Tazartes debut album, Diasporas, introduced listeners to the surreal, mysterious and truly unclassifiable statement of Tazartes and his out-of-time place in the French avant-garde canon. Born in Paris in 1947 to Judaeo-Spanish parents of Greek descent, Tazartes spent his early career as an autodidact utilizing his knowledge of repetition and collage, coupled with his Ladino linguistic heritage, to create some of the most unique recordings of the late 20th century. Interest in the works of Tazartes truly sparked when artist Steve Stapleton included his follow up album, Tazartes' Transports, in his famed "Nurse With Wound List," thus adding endless curiosity to the folklore behind Tazartes and his mystical entree. From the onset of Diasporas, looping incantations seemingly pile up at the behest of Tazartes. In almost a prayer-like decree, Tazartes chants to the gods in an undefined whail that is both haunting and spiritually divine. Tazartes unique use of tape loops to capture the disappearing traditions of his family's past creates an atmospheric texture that unexpectedly complements his cut-up, manipulated vocal experiments. While contemporaries within the French avant-garde maneuvered academic theory and rigid tradition, Diasporas strays away from these boundaries, working in Tazartes' invented practice of 'impromuz', a method in which he endlessly records for hours and edits only the moments that display any sense of spontaneous enlightenment. Further emboldening the obtuse nature of Diasporas are the seemingly random recitation of poet Stephane Mallarme and the traditional 'Parisian-style' piano accompaniment of experimental composer Michel Chion. Since its initial release over 40 years ago, both Dais Records and Alga Marghen have released reissues of Diasporas in various formats, all of which quickly fell out of print. Dais Records presents an official reissue, newly remastered by Josh Bonati, utilizing the original artwork of Diasporas in its sole album form, for the first time in over four decades.

Originally recorded in 1977, following a limited release in 1979, Ghedalia Tazartes debut album, Diasporas, introduced listeners to the surreal, mysterious and truly unclassifiable statement of Tazartes and his out-of-time place in the French avant-garde canon. Born in Paris in 1947 to Judaeo-Spanish parents of Greek descent, Tazartes spent his early career as an autodidact utilizing his knowledge of repetition and collage, coupled with his Ladino linguistic heritage, to create some of the most unique recordings of the late 20th century. Interest in the works of Tazartes truly sparked when artist Steve Stapleton included his follow up album, Tazartes' Transports, in his famed "Nurse With Wound List," thus adding endless curiosity to the folklore behind Tazartes and his mystical entree. From the onset of Diasporas, looping incantations seemingly pile up at the behest of Tazartes. In almost a prayer-like decree, Tazartes chants to the gods in an undefined whail that is both haunting and spiritually divine. Tazartes unique use of tape loops to capture the disappearing traditions of his family's past creates an atmospheric texture that unexpectedly complements his cut-up, manipulated vocal experiments. While contemporaries within the French avant-garde maneuvered academic theory and rigid tradition, Diasporas strays away from these boundaries, working in Tazartes' invented practice of 'impromuz', a method in which he endlessly records for hours and edits only the moments that display any sense of spontaneous enlightenment. Further emboldening the obtuse nature of Diasporas are the seemingly random recitation of poet Stephane Mallarme and the traditional 'Parisian-style' piano accompaniment of experimental composer Michel Chion. Since its initial release over 40 years ago, both Dais Records and Alga Marghen have released reissues of Diasporas in various formats, all of which quickly fell out of print. Dais Records presents an official reissue, newly remastered by Josh Bonati, utilizing the original artwork of Diasporas in its sole album form, for the first time in over four decades.

For fans of Demdike Stare, Raime, Caterina Barbieri, Kangding Ray, Christina Vantzou and Laurel Halo! In her most personally narrative work to date, A Fossil Begins To Bray is the follow up on Dais Records for NYC producer Hiro Kone (AKA Nicky Mao), furthering the dialogue set forth on her 2018 release, Pure Expenditure. While the statements on Pure Expenditure rallied behind a point of dangerous excess and injustice, the material on A Fossil Begins To Bray embark upon a journey of discovery and self-analysis, proposing a potential reorientation towards absence in hopes of illuminating potential futures. In Mao's own words, "This album considers the power of absence as neither a lack or deficit, but as a quiet, indeterminable force to cultivate in this time of looming and unrelenting techno-fascism. It asks that we take pause to consider our learned languages and actualities and to better consider how desire shapes our recollections and interpretations of this 'existence.'" This allegory is expertly applied to every song on A Fossil Begins To Bray. Mao has established a long history of employing absence in her productions to maximum effect. With a vast assortment of diverse elements at play, no single track ever feels overly convoluted and further illustrates Hiro Kone's skillful attention to dynamic tension and flow. Tracks such as "Fabrication of Silence" and "Submerged Dragon" perfectly represent the power of absence, utilized in a matter to create unique amalgams of decisive, cinematic techno rhythms from the electronic void. As the melodic elements contained within A Fossil Begins To Bray begin to unravel and slowly take form, the unaware are rewarded with a driving yet tangible refrain that offers resolve in contrast to the dense, texture-laden backdrop that forms the album's foundation. The first single, "Feed My Ancestors", expands upon Hiro Kone's signature take on electronic music structures. Seemingly free from the predictable contracts imposed by any one genre's stereotypes, Hiro Kone throttl...

For fans of Demdike Stare, Raime, Caterina Barbieri, Kangding Ray, Christina Vantzou and Laurel Halo! In her most personally narrative work to date, A Fossil Begins To Bray is the follow up on Dais Records for NYC producer Hiro Kone (AKA Nicky Mao), furthering the dialogue set forth on her 2018 release, Pure Expenditure. While the statements on Pure Expenditure rallied behind a point of dangerous excess and injustice, the material on A Fossil Begins To Bray embark upon a journey of discovery and self-analysis, proposing a potential reorientation towards absence in hopes of illuminating potential futures. In Mao's own words, "This album considers the power of absence as neither a lack or deficit, but as a quiet, indeterminable force to cultivate in this time of looming and unrelenting techno-fascism. It asks that we take pause to consider our learned languages and actualities and to better consider how desire shapes our recollections and interpretations of this 'existence.'" This allegory is expertly applied to every song on A Fossil Begins To Bray. Mao has established a long history of employing absence in her productions to maximum effect. With a vast assortment of diverse elements at play, no single track ever feels overly convoluted and further illustrates Hiro Kone's skillful attention to dynamic tension and flow. Tracks such as "Fabrication of Silence" and "Submerged Dragon" perfectly represent the power of absence, utilized in a matter to create unique amalgams of decisive, cinematic techno rhythms from the electronic void. As the melodic elements contained within A Fossil Begins To Bray begin to unravel and slowly take form, the unaware are rewarded with a driving yet tangible refrain that offers resolve in contrast to the dense, texture-laden backdrop that forms the album's foundation. The first single, "Feed My Ancestors", expands upon Hiro Kone's signature take on electronic music structures. Seemingly free from the predictable contracts imposed by any one genre's stereotypes, Hiro Kone...

Recorded on the heels of their debut album If Two World Kiss (Also reissued by Dais on August 9th) and informed by the band's oscillating live synergy and bolstered by a boon of new equipment and texture, Pink Turns Blue's sophomore album Meta (1988) was a conceptual leap predicated by the study of sound and exploration of its edges. With the same fervor that Joy Division mined deeper, darker, and less linear on Closer, Meta is a cohesive meditation on atmosphere and how every note and passage can traverse space individually and as part of a larger narrative. Singles "Touch the Skies" and "Your Master Is Calling" are the albums cornerstones; airy, steady, and driving tracks with a depth of melody and orchestration that sparked a shimmering new example of dark pop. The instrumental balance throughout the album creates a strobe light journey later echoed throughout gothic compatriots exploring minor keys and nocturnal themes.

Over the course of the last two decades, Detroit-based duo ADULT. (Nicola Kuperus and Adam Lee Miller) have released six albums and nineteen EPs and singles across some of our favorite labels: Mute, Ghostly International, Thrill Jockey, Clone Records, Third Man Records, and their own label, the revered Ersatz Audio.

For those who shine darkly ... During the transitional period in which Coil's primary leadership, Peter “Sleazy” Christopherson and John Balance, reorganized their creative direction by taking on new membership in the group through their inclusion of Drew McDowall, Coil took a drastic turn towards the metaphysical unknown.

Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall's hushed songcraft at its mostghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter.Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with theworking title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded,incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signaturespectral vocals. A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formativeto his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey lightshimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away,eventually sinking into silence and stillness."The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience,of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells,between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells;percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a lowliddedplod - it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listenerinto its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's languageskews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey lightfalls / dark clouds gather / in my soul"), with each song like a gauzyglimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust-coloredleaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons.Lundvall has long considered Last Light a "personal favorite" in hisdiscography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, itvividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in hisiconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, offleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all thatdisappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years /slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / hauntsme through the dark roads of my life."

Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall 's hushed songcraft at its most ghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter. Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with the working title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded, incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signature spectral vocals.A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formativeto his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey light shimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away, eventually sinking into silence and stillness."The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience, of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells, between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells; percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a low-lidded plod -it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listenerinto its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's language skews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey light falls / dark clouds gather / in my soul"), with each song like a gauzy glimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust - colored leaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons. Lundvall has long considered Last Lighta "personal favorite" in his discography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, it vividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in hisiconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, of fleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all that disappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years / slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / haunts me through the dark roads of my life."

For fans of post-Chicago post-"Second Summer of Love" acid; Chris & Cosey, Terekke, Cabaret Voltaire, Anthony Naples, JTC, D.K., Luke Vibert, Khotin. The latest by Texan-turned-Angeleno progressive vaporwave producer Carlos Ramirez aka Auragraph finds him shifting focus to the dance floor across eight chrome clockworks of cosmic acid house and liquid rave glide: New Standard. Inspired by lessons learned during a 5K mile American road trip tour in the summer 2022, he set to work in his Simi Valley Tuff Shed of synths and hardware, pursuing an explicitly DJfriendly muse: "I realized I wanted to make a record where every track could go off in a live setting." These cuts do just that, revved and rhythmic, peppered with slap bass, Madchester whistles, filtered acid, gated snares, baggy cowbell, and sample pack classics - record scratches, orchestral stabs, the "Yeah! Woo!" from Lynn Collins "Think (About It)." Ramirez describes the process as immediate and instinctual: "I'd turn on the MPC, pick a tempo, and just improv - it was incredibly fun." From sleek freeway techno ("110 Cruising") to arcade lurker acid ("Coast 2 Coast") to big room bangers ("666 Ambience"), the tracks time-travel across the canon of club music, sifting tricks and styles to fashion fresh anthems of hypnagogic jack. It's an album channeled as much as crafted, tapping into the decks of mythic warehouse infinities past and present, where the system rips all night and acid never dies.

For fans of post-Chicago post-"Second Summer of Love" acid; Chris & Cosey, Terekke, Cabaret Voltaire, Anthony Naples, JTC, D.K., Luke Vibert, Khotin. The latest by Texan-turned-Angeleno progressive vaporwave producer Carlos Ramirez aka Auragraph finds him shifting focus to the dance floor across eight chrome clockworks of cosmic acid house and liquid rave glide: New Standard. Inspired by lessons learned during a 5K mile American road trip tour in the summer 2022, he set to work in his Simi Valley Tuff Shed of synths and hardware, pursuing an explicitly DJfriendly muse: "I realized I wanted to make a record where every track could go off in a live setting." These cuts do just that, revved and rhythmic, peppered with slap bass, Madchester whistles, filtered acid, gated snares, baggy cowbell, and sample pack classics - record scratches, orchestral stabs, the "Yeah! Woo!" from Lynn Collins "Think (About It)." Ramirez describes the process as immediate and instinctual: "I'd turn on the MPC, pick a tempo, and just improv - it was incredibly fun." From sleek freeway techno ("110 Cruising") to arcade lurker acid ("Coast 2 Coast") to big room bangers ("666 Ambience"), the tracks time-travel across the canon of club music, sifting tricks and styles to fashion fresh anthems of hypnagogic jack. It's an album channeled as much as crafted, tapping into the decks of mythic warehouse infinities past and present, where the system rips all night and acid never dies.