Hyperspecific: Electronic Music for February Reviewed by Jaša Bužinel

I do not think I have ever written about death in my column, but there is always a first. Recently I had the pleasure to revisit the book The Sound of Being Human, a personal favourite, by Jude Rogers, after I was commissioned to interview her by a festival I work for here in Ljubljana. I am sure you are familiar with her, if not for her work at The Guardian and BBC at least for her writing here at tQ, such as the 2016 essay Bowie, Prince, Cohen & The Quiet Power Of Public Grief.

The tenth chapter in the book is subtitled Why We Grieve When Musicians Die, which struck a particular chord – there have been three deaths recently that made me reevaluate certain things. These were not the losses of people personally close to me, but deaths of musicians and artists that have left a mark in my life. The first was experienced globally as the loss of a generational icon only born every other century – David Lynch – for whom John Doran penned a beautiful eulogy back in January. As with David Bowie’s death in 2016, for a moment it felt like the whole world stopped to pay him tribute.

The second death was a collective loss that was felt throughout the Slovenian music scene. Marko Doles, drummer and founding member of the Slovenian rock band Ana Pupedan, who also happened to be my co-worker at Radio Študent, a self-made historian of the Slovenian music scene and one of the most influential figures in the local underground, lost his life in a tragic hiking accident. Never before have I witnessed such a downpour of compassion and love for a Slovenian artist and band. The public mourning involved practically everyone who has ever been touched by their music and by Doles himself. There was sorrow but also an atmosphere of celebration for all his musical and other artistic achievements. It is in moments like this that you really grasp how music is the fabric that holds societies together. “Music always has this sense of belonging about it, because we know, somewhere out there, there are other people listening to it, or that have listened to it, too. Always, at a very primitive level, we feel connected to other people through it, even if we don’t know who they are,” explained psychologist Fiona Murden in Rogers’ book.

Then, last week, the singular Ukrainian artist Yana Pavlova suddenly died at the early age of 35. This one hit differently. Just a few weeks ago, I had put on the tear-jerker BLUE, an EP co-released with her beloved friend Pavel Milyakov (Buttechno), who was to break the news alongside a heartfelt tribute. “[A] voice full of truth and power, [a] voice full of eternal melancholy,” as he put it beautifully. I realised that this is some of the most ethereal music I have listened to in the past decade. The feeling of longing and melancholy it evokes surpasses even that of Nico and Ian Curtis, while also leaving space for left-of-centre funkiness.

I only knew Pavlova from this one release, and yet it felt like losing a kindred spirit, or a friend from a parallel universe. The connection was real. When I tried to replay BLUE following the news, I could not get Rogers’ writing out of my head. “Perhaps we grieve musicians we never met because we imagine these people we would like, people we want to be with, because we connect strongly with their songs. We often feel like we are hearing the ultimate expression of their souls, which, of course, sometimes we’re not – sometimes we are only hearing the parts they want to articulate loudly and want us to hear,” she writes.

But death is not the end. Not for musicians, at least. “When we listen to a musician we love after they are gone, that experience gains another undeniable dimension. When a track or album of theirs comes to an end, we know its maker is no longer out there somewhere, about to make more music – and so we may mourn that our ability to carry on those conversations with them has been lost. But we can alway spend more time with what they have left us already: new dimensions of the work will open up and let us enter them as we grow older and change. The spark first lit when we loved them doesn’t have to be pined for: it hasn’t gone out. We can hear their voice whispered into our willing ear as if it was for the first time because we are still listening.”

In loving memory of Yana Pavlova, Marko Doles and David Lynch, who touched so many with their art.

Konrad SprengerSetBlack Truffle

There is a niche Facebook group where people share end-of-millennium aesthetics typical of didactic books, documentaries and video games. The new release by Berlin-based composer and instrument builder Jörg Hiller (collaborators include Ellen Fullman and Arnold Dreyblat) catapults me into virtual domains that elicit similarly innocent emotions and unworldly vibes. I can hear echoes of the post-serialist avant-garde, esoteric ‘Fourth world’, Kate NV’s Dada pop and the music of his longtime collaborator Oren Ambarchi, who contributes to ‘II’ (while ‘I’ is performed by the Ensemble Risonanze Moderne). The music simultaneously feels random and pedantically structured, boggling the mind and bringing to mind Escher’s lithographs (a similar mathematical logic holds it all together). It should be clinically cold, yet he somehow makes it sound soothing. Pointillistic arrangements of guitars, percussion, cymbals and electronics meet “Balearic” vibes via meticulously constructed rhythms and shapeshifting timbres. For all its structural knots, Set allows you to zoom in and out, focusing on pop-infused melodic flourishes at one time, and convoluted polyrhythms the next. I should probably assess it in highbrow musicological terms, but you can also approach it more relaxedly, perhaps as the final boss of muzak on steroids (or, if you prefer, as easy listening as envisioned by a mad scientist).

DJ PythonI Was Put On This EarthXL

The New York producer could probably cross over into the mainstream anytime, but he seemingly prefers keeping a low profile. There is something particular about his pop sensibility (‘Pájaros En Verano’), and this new venture might be a game changer. His woozy blend of downtempo, reggaeton, IDM and electronica (with traces of Midwest emo, shoegaze and cloud rap) is presented in its most distilled format so far, with hushed vocals as a welcome addition to the warm-hued palette. It elicits a sense of fragile hope and reawakens memories buried deep within ourselves. In the atmospheric ‘Marry Me Maia’, the mellowness of Sunny Day Real Estate meets that of Terekke. South London rapper Jawnino brings to mind the yearning croons of Dean Blunt in the ethereal kalimba-based tune ‘Dai Buki’. ‘Coquine’ steers towards more experimental IDM sonics, while ‘Elio’s Lived Behind My House Forever’ emerges from the BoC lineage. The song with the true chart/playlist potential, though, is ‘Besos Robados’ with Honduran-born Isabella Lovestory on vocals. A sensual trip-hop-py tune to soundtrack your post-club cuddles, it evokes heady chemsex vibes. What probably sets Brian Piñeyro apart from his contemporaries is his loving and calm nature and the way it gorgeously translates into the music.

Julek PloskiGive Up ChannelMappa

If you are familiar with the Poland-based artist, you probably already feel at home in his fantastical, ultra eclectic, epic sound collages. Newcomers – you are welcome! Ploski assembles his compositions using a plethora of genres, styles and references: Baroque music, video game OSTs, new age, Fourth World music, field recordings, folk, jazz, glitchy electronica, rave cliches, overused samples, modern classical idioms and more. His fourth album, eccentric and outlandish, is driven by an ambition to make something disarmingly personal. To paraphrase him, it is about autotherapy, battling depression, forgiving your bullies and accepting yourself – an anchor for people with a similar experience. There is so much going on in the arrangements. It is like looking at a hi-res digital painting interspersed with messy details you can linger on indefinitely. Imagine as if the compositions conjured up in his head were directly transposed into a Fruity Loops grid. I can easily see the album being set on stage as a futuristic transdisciplinary operetta (or maybe ballet), exploring a young person’s struggle to fit in. His made-up genre tag, ©M.M. (Meaningful Music), might be shtick, but once you immerse yourself in the record, it all starts making sense.

KilbourneIf Not To Give A FantasyHammerhead

It is easier for me to digest hours of eardrum-splittering grindcore riffs than to last through half an hour of Thunderdome hardcore. It makes me irrationally anxious as if living in the opening scene from Terminator 2; I sometimes see decaying bodies in WWI trenches (which is probably just generational trauma as I grew up at the heart of the Isonzo front). I am no gabba boy. But even to my softboi ears, there is something uncannily appealing about the latest offering by the American hardcore visionary Kilbourne, who has a decade of producing and performing under her belt, and unexpectedly syncopated industrial beats imbue the music with a funky flair. I also appreciate the humour: titles like ‘Bald Boys’ and samples like “I hate bald boys” (definitely sending this to all my bald boys out there!). Or song names like ‘Double BBL’, which, if we believe Google, stands for Brazilian butt lift. ‘Deer Stomps Its Hooves In Warning’, a radical change of pace on the album, even outlines how a future John Carpenter-via-gabber-inspired OST could sound. Her incarnation of gabber/Dutch hardcore is still customarily merciless and relentless, but there is so much nuance, both rhythmically and stylistically.

BjarkiA Guide To Hellthier LifestyleDifference

Bjarki is fed up with our terminally online existence, so much so that his new concept album is based on the collective dread of death by doomscrolling. Not to mention the anxiety caused by positive thinking, making you question your every move. Surprisingly, he refrains from cynicism, acting more as an alien observer reporting on his fieldwork. The album opens a portal to a meticulously constructed world where ASMR techniques mutate into arcane electronics. Pardon the vulgarity, but this is true sound porn, the piercing electroacoustic frequencies of ‘Intro’ making you tingle with excitement. At times, there is a junglist serenity to the music (‘Divine Wash’, ‘Puppet Parade’, ‘Healing From Memory’), while elsewhere you are transported into rather hellish realms. The eerie voice in ‘Real Insight’ recalls Bill Skarsgård’s horny rendition of Nosferatu. Disturbing utterances of virtual demons abound on this bold record. Bjarki seemingly also explores how (un)comfortable synthesised vocal timbres make us feel, perhaps as omens on things to come (yes, AI apocalypse). While ‘Womb Rider’, another standout piece, could be the sonic fertiliser for your growth in a pod of goo where you provide electricity for The Matrix. Everyone wants to be a world-builder these days, but you rarely stumble across it done so exceptionally.

BruceThe Price / MimicryPoorly Knit

Following his venture into Scott Walker-esque avant-pop excursions, the Bristol-based artist, whom I have been fond of since the early days, has decided it is high-time for a return to the dancefloor and launch his new label Poorly Knit. God bless! ‘The Price’ immediately makes it clear Bruce remains the don of whimsical UK techno. I have always rated the mischevious, ‘fuck around and find out’ character of his productions. The comical groove could be sampled from a Casio SA-1 keyboard that I owned as a kid. Or it could even have been flipped from Wham’s ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’. Also, that goofy melody, constructed from a pitched steel drum sample (probably), reminds me of a borderline New Romantic hit being blown through a disused boombox. A marriage of cartoonish and hellish vibes in true UK hardcore fashion, indeed. Of course the sound design is blown out of proportions, with foreboding sirens, saturated movie dialogues and creepy human-like voices reminiscent of Blawan’s recent EPs. The juxtaposition of elements is both silly and clever. ‘Mimicry’ is a bit closer to the Bristolian slowburn club/mutant dancehall music tradition, but the oddball vocals and sound design fragments make it stand out from the more reserved competition.

Yaleesa HallHalfway GoneTimedance

The hype is real when labels with a small roster announce a release by a non-associated artist. Such unexpected collabs immediately capture my attention, even more so in the case of the Will & Ink label head Yaleesa Hall. A producer I grew up with in the mid-2010s, he is synonymous with top-notch techno productions influenced by electro, breakbeat and bass. Admittedly, he has slipped under my radar in recent years, but this latest EP will no doubt put him back on the map of progressive dance music aficionados. The Dutch veteran presents four no nonsense, FWD-thinking club weapons from the darkside, each with its own distinct flavour but unified through an attractively saturated patina and hard-hitting low freqs. The title track is arguably one of the most outstanding tunes from the hardcore continuum since ‘Alien Mode’, bursting with unstoppable free party energy. ‘Light Headed’ heads into hypnagogic techno territory, its syncopated kicks and snares, timestretched vocals and abrasive background frequencies madly lashing at your eardrums. Breaks also reign supreme in the more introspective track ‘Voices’, while closer ‘Still Here’ opts for rolling percussive interplays and immersive psychedelic tones that hypnotise you like Sir Hiss from Robin Hood. A more than welcome addition to the Timedance family.

DJ NarcisoDiferenciadoPríncipe

Príncipe remains an inspiration for leftfield labels operating outside the main dance music hubs. They have proved it’s possible to develop local talent, help grow the local scene and have an impact on the global circuit. 2024 was a very productive year for DJ Narciso, one of the most daring members of the RS Produções crew. He spent much of it quietly self-releasing outlandish Príncipesque tuneage on his Bandcamp, probably in preparation for the full length debut. In recent years, we have become quite accustomed to beautifully produced and impactful club music that is also tiringly standardised and over-polished. Even radical producers are now more prone to submitting to dancer’s expectations, and it shows in the selections in clubs and at festivals. DJ Narciso’s tunes exist on the other side of the spectrum, his obscure style characterised by dusty and muddy textures, organic-sounding percussion, baffling offbeats, peculiar vocal chops and occasionally sinister atmospheres. He rather sounds unpleasant and weird than predictable, and I love him for that. I cannot enjoy the album readily. His unorthodox mixture of kuduro, batida and tarraxo defies my reference points. It is demanding and idiosyncratic. Next time you hear Mark Fisher’s disciples complaining dance music lacks innovation, show them this record.

PloyIt’s Later Than You ThinkDekmantel

I have noticed a trend with UK producers, among them Lurka, Rhyw, various Wisdom Teeth protegees and others, toying around with tech house idioms with intriguing results. But the title of the true newgen tech house prophet should ultimately go to Ploy, considering his last EP as well as his Rinse FM shows. Compared to the innovative, industrial-tinged and chilling debut album Unlit Signals (L.I.E.S., 2020), which sounded very urban and dystopian, you can now easily picture yourself dancing in Tišno during a heatwave to his work. Ploy is making Seth Troxler-type beats! But instead of the “Defected crowd”, this is catered for the “Dekmantel crowd” (who actually always wanted to hear more tech house, but were not allowed to enjoy it during the prohibition era circa 2015-2020). The formula is simple: take notes from tribal, tech and deep house heavyweights (Gideon Jackson, Silverlining, Nathan Coles, Spylab, Housey Doingz, Eddie Richards, Pure Science, Rob Pearson, Terry Francis etc.), employ a sound design production approach and make the funkiest bangers to every DJ’s delight, left and right. These are DJ tools as much as choons, with slinky grooves that can expand into new mesmerising grooves when combined imaginatively.

SofaTalkThe Soul’s CodeOath Creations

Music reviewers have a déformation professionnelle that results in many great records being scrapped in favour of more demanding ones which we may often only enjoy once. Apart from exposing more cutting-edge gems, this year I will also include more albums that are not necessarily mind-blowing, but have strong replay potential, a quality I am appreciating more and more as I grow older. Rome-based producer Piero Paolinelli’s new album provides exactly that. The Soul’s Code is reminiscent of late 90s/early noughties jazztronica (Gilles Peterson-core?), the early Floating Points stuff and broken beats championed by labels like Tru Thoughts. For some unexplained reason, I cannot not associate it with the cult Jazz Jackrabbit 2 soundtrack. SofaTalk’s music has little to no direct parallels with it (bar the tunes ‘Around’, ‘Paradiddle’ and ‘Out Of Nowhere’ evoking a similar atmosphere), but the funkiness and overall uplifting tone has a comparable effect on my auditory cortex. Perhaps it is because of the laid-back atmosphere and easy-going swag that permeates the songs. While not exactly avant-garde, it is also worlds apart from coffee table or lounge music, rather somewhere in between – the kind of music that puts a grin on your face which you can wear all day.