On Diophantine Discs, A Good While Back


Label manager John Gore acts at the rear of the moniker. Meditatio is a hovering apparition of muddled milieus, pretty heavy on the reverb side yet utterly endurable given the affluence of manipulated sources that one can detect under the surface. What differentiates some (not all) of these massive undertones from a myriad of CDs produced by less serious entities is the somewhat stylish shifting of thick stratifications generated by mysterious materials (voices included). This gifts us with a number of openings towards gripping landscapes amidst other sections that appear more ordinary than what Gore’s earnestness would habitually consent to. A nice game for the ears? Yes. A work of art? No.


Stig Berg (aka Moth Electret) encircles his visions with profuse quantities of loops, most probably alimented by concrete matters subjected to a strict processing regime. If, at the outset, an all-too-easy association with someone like Asmus Tietchens might start buzzing in the head due to the use of liquid sources rendered barely identifiable, the growth of the project reveals a completely autonomous mental picture. There’s a core irregularity in Tocasen which contributes to add a few touches of genuine magic, at the same time dissolving the noxious vapours of routine that make us struggle for breath when tackling similar recordings. Even the coldest choices expose peculiarly resonant substrata that become increasingly desirable. An hour well spent.

SIL MUIR – Sil Muir

Italian duo (Andrea Ferraris and Andrea Marutti) working with the conversion of guitar sounds into cosmic oceans of unlimited cerebrum kneading. Perhaps moderately bordering on Aidanbakerville, of which Sil Muir are eligible as proficient inhabitants; nonetheless, the results are often engrossingly cinematic, throbbing in the “right” way, cuddling the listener with authority and warmness at once. When the reverberations of the instrumental font manage to reach the mix’s vanguard, an unsolicited skeletal melodicism tries to rear its ugly head, providentially for short fractions. On the whole a good, solid album of drones, lacking a bit in originality but ultimately without real weak spots. It grows with the elapsing of time.


Good old Jim DeJong. Extracting stimulating rhythms and magnetic impressions from worn-out vinyl, half-dead batteries, malfunctioning circuits and cables, The Infant Cycle demonstrates that great music really needs no pedigree to arrive directly to someone’s receptive system. There’s not much to say about The Sand Rays which does not coincide with the usual advice to play loud and often. Heartbeat-like patterns become off-center marches to indistinct directions in the outer space, crusty outgrowths repeating their prototype over and over make us feel eaten by termites from the inside yet still willing to smile to the world. This joint venture between physical deterioration and dynamic hypnosis wins this CD the “best-of-the-lot” prize.

Diophantine Discs

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