Every once in a while a robust dose of Muslimgauze is needed to recollect a time when a friendship could be maintained via handwritten letters and postcards announcing additional quantities of revitalizing beats. Among the most prolific artists of our times and a unique innovator in his incessant quest for new sonorities, Bryn Jones died in 1999 at just 38 leaving behind a scary body of work, its modernity dazzling receptive ears to this day. Imitators and cheap replicants are doomed to eternal failure, for Muslimgauze remains one and only one, as demonstrated by this posthumous release dated 2010 but comprising music created around 1995, which – as many other tapes recently being unearthed – had been inexplicably lying in the archives whereas people whose artistic worth is infinitesimally fractional kept getting cover stories and accolades. Lazhareem Ul Leper is entrancing, energizing and vibrantly deafening, in the “right” way; the all-analog tape splicing through which Jones generated massive amounts of circular rhythms, troublemaking pulse and exotically android snippets was at such a level of “imperfect perfection” that we imagine the man as he would have stood today, humiliating laptoppers and techno geeks with obsessively seamed fragments of reel-to-reel ingeniousness. As ever, this is cutting-edge stuff destined to listeners who – regardless of the passion for a genre or another – can still separate actual art from trendsetting bric-a-brac.