ESP Institute Vinyl, CD & Tape 11 Items

There was a long time I considered Raymond Richards the ultimate secret weapon. There were sounds he could make that other people just couldn’t. Pure, whole, yet complex sounds. The pedal steel is an extremely niche instrument outside of its Country confines, but its sheer and transcendent depth has never failed to floor me. Raymond’s ear for implementing the steel into literally 'anything' has always been uncanny. After decades of being savvy to his work ethic, multi-faceted studio skills and overall sense of musical honesty, it became a priority for me to channel some of this into narratives through the ESP Institute and get his stories told. Without further recounting the history and trajectory of our musical relationship (see the press release for 2020’s critically-acclaimed album 'The Lost Art Of Wandering'), I can whole-heartedly confirm this sophomore release, 'Sand Paintings', opens an even wider door into Raymond’s visceral, contemplative world. The cast of players has elaborated to include Calexico’s John Convertino on drums and percussion, a bevy of eccentric stringed instruments and even a hint of brass to collectively stratify context for the pedal steel. Through diversifying the timbral palette, we invite an increased soundstage acuity but also reveal untapped wells of emotion for the listener, perhaps even testing cultural literacies. One foot remains in our established ambient realm, while the other steps toward grand cinematic gestures, and despite the dense, insurmountable emotion in these songs, there is a stoic singularity, like a lonesome cowboy pulling up his boot straps to endure another day. 'Badwater Basin' opens with courage, an enormous chord evoking Raymond’s image of “hard dawn”, but in navigating through the dramatic depictions of 'Monument Valley', 'Saguaro' and 'Deer On Hwy 80', we grapple with a cloaked vulnerability—weathered by the elements, beaten down and alone, yet still madly in love with the world. —Lovefingers

Opal Sunn (Alex Kassian and Hiroaki Oba) believe in unicorns, leprechauns and mermaids. This is their first offering for the ESP Institute. The A side leads with 'The Problem With George', a percussive monster at a half-time tempo that goes deep with a dual mission; to successively build round after round while keeping the listeners mind and body in an ecstatic state of surrender. Imagine the dancefloor pumping, and at a dynamic peak the DJ halves the timing and wipes the floor with your spinal fluid. On the flip, 'The Mystery Of Mr Lee' takes a similar approach in terms of arc and arrangement, although replacing the analogue percussion with 16th-note arpeggios of synthetic steel, glass and tubes. Beneath this glistening veneer lies another scale-wandering melody constructed of machine toms that eventually opens up, morphing into a more decisive hook, wrapping more tightly around the drum pattern before retreating back beneath layers. If dropped at the opportune time, let’s say the sensitive blue morning before dawn cracks, we expect a dancefloors to reach the highest level of psychedelic escape, after which hugs are essential. These two songs will tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.

Night Of The Endless Beyond', the sophomore album by Lord Of The Isles AKA Neil McDonald for the ESP Institute, had almost become a mythical piece of work. The tracks very slowly crept into formation from the lowest depths of 2021, and once the completed album finally made the leap from creation into manufacturing, an entirely new onslaught of follies and delays awaited at the pressing plant. We began to laugh, for not only did Mario Hugo’s otherworldly sleeve artwork visually translate this music so well, but it was an uncanny premonition to the album being lost in space, falling through a black hole, evaporating into the aether like a dream that never really happened. But, at long last, ground control has confirmed contact! It did happen, it will arrive, and it’s not a myth. Listening to 'Night Of The Endless Beyond' now feels like the return of a strayed friend, one whose distance left us pining for an embrace. Although this Techno relies on unassuming means, there is a remarkably complex and persuasive emotional statement embedded here, insisting we learn to endure the long game and allow ourselves patience to investigate and appreciate the minutiae contained not only within the notes, but their negative space. From its introduction, through its mellow crests and valleys, there is a conveyance of restraint — subtle dynamics that quietly beg for attention, repetition so hypnotic that imaginary melodies are inescapable, transient peaks so deliberately scaled that we mourn the subsequent decay. In accordance with Neil’s ESP debut, 'In Waves', we never feel attacked by instrumentation but shielded from sharp edges, able to step inside the music, breathe the air it occupies and know its true intentions, whether bright or bleak. Just prior to the album close, a film dialogue excerpt summarizes everything quite honestly by proposing, “The truth of the universe is waiting … the truth of what is … it’s all going to go away … everything … into blackness … the void … and nobody is in charge.” “…and what do you do with that?” We stare long into the 'Night Of The Endless Beyond' and answer… “You smile.”

Stalactite is a collaborative recording project by renown Japanese artist and multi-instrumentalist Susumu Mukai AKA Zongamin and producer Drew Brown, whose discography ranges from his own group Off World to a variety of integral productions for artists such as Blonde Redhead and Beck. Their self-titled debut for the ESP Institute is a grand gesture, a broad stroke that illustrates both singular focus and vast complexity, which is no easy feat considering the almost oppressive immediacy and availability of tools at the disposal of contemporary artists. There’s a level of creative confidence and discipline needed to work so fundamentally, and whether or not the listener has an appetite refined enough to process the tasteful subtleties throughout this production, these same subtleties accumulate regardless and land that listener in a highly considered and developed space. The deceptively naive melodic approach consistent across these nine tracks can feel transparent, familiar to a point the listener can anticipate its path, but when listening with acute focus we find a variable range of texture, temperature, depth and negative space. As alumni of the Minimal, Cold Wave, Synth Pop era, Susumu and Drew successfully personify a motley crew of synthesizers to work in concert, reduced to their core personalities and presented as their most honest selves — austere, shy, cinematic, percolating, bulbous, glistening, cantankerous, rubberized, clumsy and animated. Each masterfully paired with complimentary counterparts, these players assemble into a sound-stage we typically find in live recordings, enveloping and inviting us to the center of an acoustic cavern to wade through sonic impressions of monolithic stalactites.

Something wicked this way comes. Following singles 'Know The Future' b/w 'Digital Warfare' in 2019 and 'Hypersocial' b/w 'Safety Test' in 2020, ESP’s own Patrick Conway has now teamed up with the illustrious Appleblim (of Skull Disco and Apple Pips fame) for a meaty self-titled debut 2xLP under the new collaborative moniker, Trinity Carbon. There is something to be said for art created in the face of global unraveling, while mass transgression and the friction of culture shifting produce poignant commentary, but more often than not, it’s the personal coping mechanisms within our work that have the power to speak directly to the receiver. After a number of sessions resulting in wild imaginative beginnings, it was the untimely passing of Andrew Weatherall and a coming to terms with that loss that moved the two Brits-via-Berlin to herd their roaming sketches into a more narrative statement. In the uphill struggle to retain some sense of individualism, it’s always outsiders like Weatherall whose risks illuminate the roads of creativity less traveled, and when those beacons go dark there is a disorientation felt far and wide. Conway and Blim concede to the internal inquiry, “What would Weatherall do?” bringing to mind the man’s pervading morale, always soldiering onward through mediocrity, as it was undoubtedly an impetus for the duo growing steadfast and chiseling 'Trinity Carbon' into completion. While employing trusted machines in the bass department, they established a warm euphonic home base from which they could stray in a variety of tonal and rhythmic directions without straining a tether to the album’s core. However, as soon as any hint of familiarity may arise, or listeners begin to mentally assign stylistic epithets, the duo boldly change course to remind us that while the banal stay safely defined, it’s the iconoclasts, the outsiders who make us feel.

Patrick Conway is made of snips and snails and puppy tails. This is his second offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, Hypersocial removes our minds from the daily online cesspool and pulls up emotions we haven’t felt for almost a year. We lost a Summer of dancing together en masse in clubs, fields, warehouses and pubs, but with this beautiful reminder of what true social synergy and collective ecstasy can physically feel like, the Bristolian by way of Berlin hits the nail right on the head (with a little help from his friends Quantum Thomas & Hoyahelper). Lush strings? Tick. Balmy chord progression? Tick. Ethereal vocal chops? Walloping bassline? Infectious rhythm? Goosebumps? Tears of joy? Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick! On the flip-side, Safety Test is surely the tougher counterpart, the warm fuzzies are traded for a ten ton bag of grit. Here, Patrick foreshadows a sonic approach we’ll hear lot more of with his debut album early next year; a combination of abrasive rhythms, processed scraps, a grab bag of stabbing bleeps and bloops, distant car alarms, ballistic fax machines, and an arsenal of low frequencies so brutal your woofers will require jumper cables. So, a heroic slab for both a block party in your brain and sunset in your soul, these two songs will bring back the Summer you just lost.

ESP Institute artist Bartellow, one third of the project Tambien and otherwise known in the Contemporary Classical sphere as Beni Brachtel, returns to the label with his second full-length release, Noosphere. While currently heading the SVS label and residency series out of Munich, Beni’s resume expands well beyond electronic music to include immersive sound installations such as The Adven- ture Of The Empty House (solo live performance across seven floors of Walter Henn’s Deckelbau building), a slew of compositions for the Bavarian State Opera (for which he doubled as conductor), and a prolific career of over twenty-five theater scores for institutions such as the Münchner Kammerspiele, Schauspiel Basel, Maxim Gorki Theater Berlin, Berliner Ensemble, Schauspiel Köln, Schaus- piel Graz and with directors Ersan Mondtag, Alexander Eisenach, Jessica Glause and Tobias Staab among others.

Noosphere is a compendium excerpting from theatrical scores WUT (Elfriede Jelinek, at Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2020), Ödipus and Antigone (Maxim Gorki Theatre Berlin, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2017), Der Zauberberg (Thomas Mann, Schauspiel Graz, directed by Alexander Eisenach, 2017), Hass Tryptichon (Sybille Berg, Wiener Festwochen / Maxim Gorki Theatre, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2019), Wonderland Ave. (Sibylle Berg, Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2018), Die Verdammten (after Visconti ́s film, Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2019) and Roi Ubu (Alfred Jarry, Theater Neumarkt, Zurich, directed by Alexander Eisenach, 2018).

The work traverses homages, infusing everything from Baroque to Impressionism, and while these types of references are certainly built into the canon of Theatre as a discipline, here we gather histor- ic layers in an even wider net. Under the self-referential thumb of Contemporary Classical music, this sort of "hindsight" approach has been largely avoided, however, in today’s all-access arena, the constant stream of historic causal-chained events has opened a delta where anything is possible. This defines Bartellow’s stance among his colleagues as well as his cultural position as a composer.

Beni considers beauty a fleeting objective in the arts, that expression is often expected to follow notions of Destructivism or the unfulfilled. Art will pore over wounds, collective angst, mourn- ing a loss of natural habitat or a fear of technological invasion, yet there is a bitter irreverence for the friction or salvation in beauty itself. Acknowledging this subjectivity — what one audience considers superficial pleasure may be deeply profound to another — he leans into musical instinct as if composing via divine conduit.

Noosphere conjures a array of suspense, ecstasy, melancholy, and dread, but in isolating the work from its theatrical component, Brachtel directs our focus toward formal qualities, clearing unim- peded space to conceive fresh narratives and examine dynamism and interconnectivity. In sympathy with often difficult theatre pieces, the passages can be dark and transgressive, but more importantly they remain relative to Brachtel’s circumstances at their time of creation. The title Noosphere speaks to the evolution of human thought and knowledge, opening a door to subjective points-of-view. For example, Nexus II On The Beach refers to both Roberto Musci’s Water Messages On Desert Sand as well as the film Bladerunner, invoking the image of an android enjoying the sunset, but whether or not this abstraction may be considered beautiful depends the listener’s cumulative life experience and perspective.

This is hybrid chamber music, augmented by electro-acoustic layers, juxtaposing various periods and successively processing their residual themes into a trans-generational rendering of “now.”

Jdotbalance left the moon and the sky for a city that works. This is their first offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Sublimate' combines two aspects of a digital pipe and mallet assortment—both as the percussive base for a groove, and as an interstitial layer where inherent resonances are massaged into melody. Bubbles and squeaks dance around the sound-stage periphery, occasionally pierced by high frequency statements, presenting as either ghostly yelps from the aether or as bursts of kaleidoscopic shards. A third of the way through the track, the instrumentation truly does sublimate, crystallizing into a new self—bolder and naughtier, abandoning its pensive optimism for a detour around the spectrum's dark end. On the flip, 'Precipitate' continues with its predecessor's primer of metallic percussion, but accelerates the pace to reveal Jdot’s attitude leaning toward cunty malice. The kick drum relentlessly pounds us as 16th note droplets metamorphose from chrome-dipped hail into full-blown acid wind. As intensity retreats beneath the digital rubble and the track draws to a close, so does our stream of Jdot’s consciousness. These two songs will accelerate your nervous system.

After heavy-duty releases on self-administered imprints Low End Activism and Sneaker Social Club, as well as London’s beloved graffiti-laden mutant-bass stronghold Seagrave (rip), the almighty Low End Activist makes a welcome debut with the ESP Institute. No stranger to mining distant regions the hardcore continuum and the residue of soundsystem culture at large, his relentless traversing and assembling of U.K.-specific rhythms demonstrates there is no end in sight when it comes to evolving the region’s musical gene pool. The 5-track 'Gossip Is The Devil’s Radio' strings together a smear of dystopian instrumentation—ghostly pads wrapped in melancholy, percussion that marries bleep with low resolution shrapnel, and vocal fragments that resemble a control tower’s two-way radio on the fritz—all imperfectly focused through a damaged lens of dancehall. We’re drawn to a dull moan that pervades throughout the record, reminiscent of the nihilistic moments in Abigail Meade’s score to 'Full Metal Jacket' where the sonics resemble a slow churn of molten steel occasionally punctuated and pierced by crystalline shards. The depth between the bone dry immediate foreground and distant wet background creates an exquisite sense of longing which isn’t inherently dark or menacing, but seductively bleak. As voyeurs, we may certainly appreciate the aesthetic LEA portrays, but we can’t fully comprehend the sense of escapism rooted within this music without having come of age in the damp and restless confines of England on the cusp of Thatcher’s abuse. Its a reminder that the light at the end of a tunnel, while it may be dim and grey, is still a light after-all, and the only way out is through.

Close your eyes and merge into Benedikt Frey’s 'Fastlane'. Imagine sitting in the driver’s seat of a an automobile, one with exceptional horsepower and torque, as you stare out the windshield at the red light, warping in fata-morgana a mile down the road. It’s a straight-away, a black top with two lanes, and against your better judgment you decide to floor the gas. No hesitation in your muscle, your ankle or the ball of your foot, which you now realize is some kind of universal pivot, the first point of contact fusing your body with the will of machine. In this moment you’re in awe that you, a human, an animal, grew from pond scum into something so advanced as to engineer this thing, a mechanical beast capable of overwhelming power and exhilaration. But you also feel a seductive dread, an outside force diverting you from caution toward a dangling carrot of curiosity, asking yourself, ‘How far can I take this thing?’ The dread, now a constant, is numbed, equalized by an adverse intoxicating gratification. You feel both sensations in real time, however, rather than take responsibility for yourself, friends, family and innocent bystanders, you cement your foot to the floor and lean your head back. Noise around you fades to mute. Smell the benzene-scented air, feel the wind on your face, the menacing vibration of the vessel you control beneath you and every grain of asphalt under its tires. This mile has now lasted an eternity and you’ve left your body for some objective view, as if watching climax of a film. Past the point of no return, you embrace abandon and lean into fate. The film becomes slow motion, a crawling pace so mesmerizing you convince yourself of an option to eject yourself from this madness, but as you finally let go of your last morsel of fear, you run the red light head-on into the nucleus of a fantastic glistening sculpture of torn metal, glass, oil, broken dreams and heartache. 'Fastlane' may be just drum machines and synthesizers if you’re timid, but listen harder and know the catastrophic reality of existence, a wreckage so gruesome we dare not rubberneck, but afterall it is our nature to stare.