I’ve written a couple of times before about how much I’ve come to enjoy Xanexx’s DJ prowess since I arrived in Korea. His sets have never failed to disappoint; his sounds are invariably dark and uncompromising and overflowing with gnarly energy, and he has a knack for challenging his audience and making them really think about the tunes they’re hearing while also making them dance like their lives depended on it. This ear for music and refined sense of rhythm and groove carries over well into his production work, as well, as evinced by the thunderous broken-beat of ‘Resplendent’, his track on this year’s ECI Korea compilation, or in the industrial haze of his remix for Javier Marimon that I wrote about earlier this month. As such, I was very keen to get my hands on his latest release, the Poem of Light EP that recently came out on SCOPÁVIK, the label and podcast expertly managed by Seoul techno veteran Scøpe.

After hearing Xanexx’s ethereal rework of Javier Marimon’s ‘General Noise I’, I half expected him to dabble in more ambient techno for this release; however, all four tracks here seem to be designed with the dancefloor firmly in mind. Title track and EP opener ‘Poem of Light’ kicks off with a deep, rubbery bassline whose innate funkiness is offset by the ghostly inhuman voices and cascade of retro sci-fi effects that Xanexx drapes over it. As the track progresses the snap and sizzle of laser blasts grows ever more rapid and insistent until it is transformed into a jackhammer of synth tones, tunneling into the dark foundation of the bass while the rest of the track’s structural elements begin to glow white-hot. The following track, ‘Superposition’, follows on so suddenly and smoothly from ‘Poem of Light’ that I had to double check to see if the first track wasn’t still playing. Here, ragged, alien noises expand and contract, glistening against the backdrop of a pitch-black kick and bass combo that feels loose, almost jazzlike in its composition. Meanwhile, rapidly revolving cycles of shamanistic synth cut through the carefully constructed soundscape, providing the listener with a kind of rhythmic anchor and imposing a sense of order on the near-chaos around them.

 

 

Track 3, ‘Swaying Lights’, is centered around a staccato sequence of synth notes that feels reminiscent of the early days of Detroit techno. The earthquake pulse of the kick rumbles along below a kaleidoscope formed from glitched-out fragments of sonic architecture. The EP closes off with a remix by German DJ/producer and Mind Express label boss Refracted, who puts his own spin on ‘Swaying Lights’. He chooses to beef things up a bit here, swapping out Xanexx’s nimble, polished 909 kicks for a much rougher and boomier low-end sound that thuds along constrained by a rigid 4/4 grid. Like the original track, Refracted’s remix of ‘Swaying Lights’ relies on repetitive loops of microscopic noise to drive itself forward, but in Refracted’s hands the end result is much more direct, much “trackier”, transforming Xanexx’s tune into a jacking groove that will surely devastate many a dimly-lit dancefloor. DJs will undoubtedly love this one, but to my ears it’s probably the least interesting of the four tracks on the EP, eroding much of the intrigue and depth of the original and losing out on one of Xanexx’s greatest strengths as a producer – his unusual and unpredictable drum programming.

The EP is, unfortunately, marred by a few slight technical mishaps; I think it probably could have done with a bit more time spent in the mixing and mastering stage, as to my ears the higher frequencies on a couple of tracks (most notably ‘Poem of Light’) are mixed a little too loud and harsh, detracting from the work going on in the low-end. I was also a little let down by Refracted’s remix, and feel that he could have done more to preserve the spirit of the original tune and craft a remix that fit better with the flow and feel of the EP. Ultimately, however, these are fairly minor quibbles, and Poem of Light remains a strong collection of tracks, a bold statement of intent from an artist who continues to prove time and time again that he is one of the most important figures within the world of Korean techno today. I’m looking forward to hearing more from him in the near future – and secretly hoping that his next release is album-length.

Poem of Light is available for purchase over on SCOPAVIK’s Bandcamp

Earlier this year I published a review of Gyeongsang-based producer mcthfg’s Korean Dub: Volume One, a short EP consisting of dub remixes of tracks by various Korean artists. On that EP, mcthfg demonstrated a keen ear for soundcraft and a kind of innovation and playfulness that he nonetheless kept firmly constrained within the boundaries of dub music. His most recent offering on Dubmission, the Contact EP (or mini-album, I suppose, depending how you view these things), takes a slightly different approach. Produced in collaboration with E.R.S, an Austrian producer of dub and psybient music who has spent some time in India, the five tracks on Contact are all a little bit more out of the box, drawing inspiration from a wide variety of musical styles and genres and showcasing the creativity and craftsmanship of the two artists, separated by oceans and continents, who brought the EP to life.

Album opener ‘Disclose the Truth, Part 1’ opens up in paranoid acid-freak style with a voice clip assuring us that governments have ‘failed to disclose the truth’ about the existence of UFOs, but the deep 808 bass, dry claps and melancholy detuned key pads that follow feel closer in spirit to hip hop than they do to dub or psychedelic music, while the sci-fi melodies that soar and glide over the boom-bap beat sound like a throwback to the glory days of 1980s electro. It’s a bold approach, and an indication to the listener that Contact aims to do more than simply rehash old dub music formulae.

The following track, ‘Oriental Skank (Minimal Edit)’, is a sprawling monster of a tune, clocking in at over 10 minutes. It begins with a fast-paced Middle Eastern string sample that stutters and trips until it turns into the titular skank, playing counterpoint to a crushingly heavy sub-bass rhythm. Minimal but carefully programmed percussion and liquid sound effects keep the track rolling along the track’s second half, where following an extended breakdown of sorts (I say “of sorts” because the bass rhythm never really lets up) the drums and effects take on a slightly faster, more insistent quality, transforming the track into something like very stripped down, slow-motion drum and bass, with the occasional burst of Carribean MC chatter drawing the EP back into more prosaic dub territory. ‘Oriental Skank’ (Minimal Edit)’ is well crafted and bursting with ideas, but ultimately it didn’t do it for me; I found the Middle Eastern samples a little cheesy and in the final analysis I think the tune would probably have been better off with something else taking their place.

The third track, ‘Bizarre Bazaar’, takes its title rather literally, beginning with sounds from a busy market somewhere in what sounds like India. When the noise of the bazaar fades away, however, it’s replaced with an icy, unstable synth melody that is without a doubt one of my favorite singular sounds on the EP, evocative of the sound design present in early 2000s G-funk. This synth pattern, surfing over a tidal wave of bass while spacious percussion clangs and clanks and crashes in the distance, carries the tune for it’s first third or so, until it’s joined by a similar melody playing in counterpoint to it. Midway through the track the producers introduce more samples, this time sounding like they’re lifted from a Bollywood soundtrack, and while I feel these samples worked better than the instrumentation on the previous track I still feel like the piece may have been slightly stronger without them. Nonetheless, this is still a very strong track, and the level of skill on display here is evident in the minutiae of the sound design, the little squelches and whispers and clicks echoing in the space between the track’s main elements.

Particles of Funk is the clear standout track on the EP (to me, anyway). 

It’s track six, however, that is the clear standout piece here. The title is ‘Particles of Funk’, and it seems that it does more or less what it says on the tin – a lot of the sonic elements here sound like they’re lifted from various funk numbers, not the least of which is the stretched and twisted slap-bass sound weighing down the low end. The layering in this track is really something to behold; it begins pretty simply, introducing one element at a time – a vocal sample, some snare hits, a rattling noise, a twinkly tin organ melody – but with each rhythmic cycle the character of the soundscape grows deeper and more textured, until the entire thing feels light years deep, particles of funk smashing one another apart in a Large Hadron Collider of dub. The overall vibe of the track feels very Afro-Futurist; it’s the kind of thing I can imagine a cybernetically enhanced clone of Fela Kuti making if you locked him in a room with a cracked copy of Cubase for a couple of days.

The album closer, ‘Disclose the Truth, Part 2’, is a reprisal of the opening track, and where the opener was crisp and groovy, this is sinuous and psychedelic. A hypnotic metronome of sub-bass runs throughout the entire track, keeping the music anchored, while thick, gritty, acid-tinged signals continuously emerge and decay, as if they’re being assembled and pulled apart by self-replicating nanonmachines. The melancholic pads from the first track are there still, but this time there’s a whole lot more going on with them – their sound is wilder, weirder, more unnatural and more alive. The arrival of wooden-sounding ethnic percussion and tropical chords completes the picture. It’s the kind of track that would work well at an outdoor party, during the day, in the middle of the desert or on a sun-kissed beach.

It’s always hard, when listening to collaborative projects, to know where the work and influence of one producer begins and the other ends. With that being said though, insofar as this EP is an indication of mcthfg’s talents as a producer I would say he has taken some significant steps forward. The tracks on display here on the Contact EP show significantly more verve and creativity than those released on Korean Dub: Volume One earlier in the year, and though I didn’t personally enjoy every tune here (more thanks to my individual taste than anything else) I can’t deny the raw skill and ear for music that’s gone into the construction and composition of the EP. If mcthfg continues on this upward trajectory, his next release is going to be nothing short of pure fire.

Contact is available for purchase at Dubmission’s Bandcamp

Jeju Digital is probably one of the most interesting musical projects to have come out of the Korean peninsula in recent years. The label, which specialises in vaporwave, mallsoft and various other kinds of post-internet electronica is run by an English expatriate in Korea, and releases music by artists scattered around the globe, but honestly the identities of the people behind Jeju Digital aren’t that important. What’s far more fascinating than the real-world biographies of artists like Clear State is the elaborate cyberpunk mythology that the label has constructed around itself. Within this musical mythos, “Jeju Digital” is the name of a near-future chaebol-turned-cyberpunk-megacorp, a vast conglomerate that controls everything and everything in Jeju Digital’s imagined dystopia, where Scientology has become the official global religion and the cutting edge of technology has achieved its inevitable apotheosis as the perfect vector of social control. There’s a narrative of sorts that emerges in the various Jeju Digital music and video releases, though a lot of it is deliberately opaque and unclear; some of the “story” takes place in the distant future, some in the recent past, and some of the releases are presented as pieces of the past re-interpreted and distorted by the Jeju Digital megacorp as part of their ongoing efforts to brainwash and stupefy the masses in order to crush any hope of dissent.

It’s heady stuff, and even if the music was sub-par the label would be interesting based purely on the merits of its worldbuilding and storytelling. Fortunately, that’s not the case – the music stands strong on it’s own merits, not just as a medium for another narrative to be told. This is very evident in the case of Walled City. The work of a UK-born, New York-based artist going by the name of Clear State (which is in itself a term in Scientology referring to one of the mental states achievable through the practice of dianetics – a state free of the trauma of past lives), Walled City presents listeners with a rich and evocative musical journey, influenced by vaporwave but not beholden to it and produced almost entirely via modular synthesis.

The album opener, “Disconnection”, is a pretty but unremarkable work of ambient vaporwave, pairing swirls of retro synth with a simple muffled beat. Things take a turn for the darker on the next track, however; entitled “Engrams” – a Scientology term for the suppressed memory of a traumatic event occurring in a past life – it combines a menacing, growling bassline with fragile pads that sound as if they’re beginning to flake away at the edges and a downcast, minor-key synth melody. The breakbeat that propels the latter half of the track forward pushes “Engrams” into something approaching drum and bass territory, and the net effect of all of this is intensely evocative, bringing to mind the image of high-tech police helicopters gliding over a neon-drenched city. It’s an early high point, and to my ears one of the best tracks on the album. It’s followed by “Freewinds”, a track that sounds like exactly that – digital wind gusting through the streets of a virtual city. The faint hint of a melodic hook flickers in and out of hearing, periodically punctuated by the dull boom of a kick drum, like an explosion in a far-off place sampled from a late night news channel.

Technological Singularity uses robotic vocal snippets to explicitly state Walled City’s thematic concerns.

With the fourth track, “Technological Singularity”, Walled City’s concept album ambitions are a little more explicitly expressed. It’s essentially a spoken word piece; plastic arpeggios and kamikaze dives of bass provide a sonic backdrop for a robotic female voice as it describes the album’s sci-fi setting to the listener, a dystopian post-Singularity world in which artificial intelligence has come to dominate and human beings find themselves “governed, policed and judged by… disembodied agents of the post-human era”. Things seem bleak, until a second, male-sounding mechanical voice begins intoning a message of resistance, declaring that “now is the advent of that human renaissance”.

The next track, “Saturatas”, takes the album in a more ambient direction. The sound of what could as easily be the crackle of a forest fire as it could be the soft fall of rain is punctuated by bright constellations of synthetic melody, all anchored to earth by the warm rumble of analogue bass. “Type 209”, by contrast, is far more ominous. Swells of wailing synth desperately struggle to escape the track’s orbit before crashing back down into the sonic darkness below, overwhelmed by their own gravity; diamond-edged arpeggios and what sounds like a 90’s anthemic trance lead muffled by a fog of codeine slice what’s left of them into slivers. The whole thing feels very reminiscent of Vangelis’ iconic Blade Runner soundtrack, and is definitely another high point in the album.

Track 7, “Maintenance of Order”, features the return of the robotic voices of “Technological Singularity”, and initially feels like a reprise of sort, with its synths and arpeggios feeling cut from the same cloth. However, it quickly sets itself apart from its predecessor when the percussion kicks in, turning the track into a retrowave groove given a sense of energy and movement by it’s muscular bassline, punchy drums and sharp claps. The snatches of intoned dialogue – “consumption drives productivity”, “punishable by imprisonment”, “the leadership of our nation” – is a lot less clear, this time overwhelmed by, rather than scaffolded by, the sounds enveloping it; a metaphor, maybe, for how meaning is so easily lost in the endless flood of information-consumption that we in the present time find ourselves trapped within.

Title track Walled City is a nine minute electronic odyssey.

There’s a brief, 2 minute interlude – “Simulated Bliss”, whose cybernetic parrot chattering could almost pass for a foray into noise music – before the voices return again, even more blurred and degraded than before, in “Restimulation”. Hollow, mournful tones form the backdrop to a series of ominous sentences “they are trying to do this in the name of security” being one that I found especially chilling – that feel as if they’re fading from hearing before the brain has even had time to process them. The overall impression is of a machine intelligence gradually dissolving, like HAL singing “Daisy, Daisy” as Dave pulls out his memory tapes in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Then there’s another ambient interlude of sorts, albeit a much longer one – “Rotating”, which catapults the listener away from cyberpunk streets and virtual concentration camps and out into the depths of space – before the album reaches its climactic point, titular track “Walled City”. It’s a massive piece – nine and half minutes long – that pairs more rain sounds and piercing peals of vintage-sounding synth with a deep bass pulse that, if sped up a bit, wouldn’t feel out of place in thumping dark techno track. The various sonic elements slowly come together to form a crystalline, infectious melody, while a vocoded voice intones indecipherable subliminal messages and yet another frantic arpeggio ramps up the sense of sonic drama. Finally, the album closes with “Pulses”, whose synthetic chords sound almost like violins and whose foundation of grainy static threatens to crumble at any moment, melting away as a police siren wails in the deep distance.

Overall, Walled City is a very strong album. I found it really rewarded repeat listening – each time I listened to it (generally while on the subway somewhere around Seoul; it made for great travel music) I found some new detail or flourish I hadn’t noticed before. I’ll confess I wasn’t the biggest fan of the spoken word tracks; they were maybe a bit too heavy-handed and on the nose for my liking, but I understand what Clear State was trying to do with them and why they were included, within the context of the album and in context of the Jeju Digital mythos as a whole. Vaporwave and it’s dozens of related sub-genres might have more than a few detractors, and some of those detractors may have some valid points, but as Walled City demonstrates it’s still a genre within which there’s a lot of room for creativity. I’m looking forward to diving deeper into the Jeju Digital back catalogue; there’ll definitely be more reviews of this label’s output coming soon.

Walled City is available for purchase over on Jeju Digital’s Bandcamp

Extra Noir Volume One, the inaugural release on (currently) Daejeon-based label Extra Noir, is a bit of an oddity. The label is an extension of the Extra Noir podcast, which in turn grew out of a planned (but never fully materialised) radio show on Texan co-operative radio station KOOP Radio; label founders Andrew Wilbur and Laura Francesangeli had originally envisioned running a show for industrial, minimal synth and post-punk music, but moved to Korea before the show could really get off the ground and thus decided to launch the podcast (and later, label) as a way to showcase the music they’d originally wanted to promote on the show. What’s surprising about all this, given how disjointed the label’s genesis has been, is the way in which – judging by their first release, at any rate – Wilbur and Francesangeli have managed to create such a strong sense of coherence and identity around a label whose contributors are both geographically separated from one another and working within very different genres.

Album opener ‘Sign Spinning School’, by Texan multi-instrumentalist Aadm Our Hatley, is an evocative piece of experimental music defined by heavily reverbed guitar chords, hollow drums, low voices and, best of all, a piercing whistle that put me in mind of the soundtrack of a Sergio Leone western. The closest point of comparison I can think of is with English artist Forest Swords, whose sophomore album Compassion was released to critical acclaim last year. It’s followed by a groovy, dirty industrial disco track from Glasgow outfit Total Leatherette, ‘Work Harder’, which combines clattering percussion, demented whoops and a rumbling, rough-around-the-edges bassline, all of which sound ever so slightly out of sync with each other. It’s a ferocious beast of a tune, and the inclusion of an indecipherable call-and-response vocal hook makes it sound like some kind of Cthulhuesque re-imagining of Tiga’s ‘Bugatti’. The next track, ‘Bridges’ by Kübler-Ross, is one of the compilation’s most straightforward, though no weaker for it, a gothically funky (or should that be funkily gothic?) slice of contemporary minimal synth.

The following two tracks are the compilation’s only contributions by Korean artists, and interestingly enough both take things in a slightly more ambient direction. Track 4, ‘Onujih_10’ by Airy Textile (a duo comprised of Seoul-based producers Seonggu de Kim & Eajik) is an epic, cinematic work, running over 10 minutes in length, that presents listeners with a haze of flickering signals, at turns soothing and unnerving. Occasionally, clear tones of retro, 80s-sounding synths manage to break through the sonic gloom, like a John Carpenter soundtrack being beamed to a distant outpost through the blackness of space. It leads almost seamlessly into ‘Breathe In, Breathe Out’ by Tengger (another Seoul-based duo), who layer blunted synth arpeggios and rhythmic analogue squelches under harmonium chords and breathy vocal refrains to hypnotic, witchy effect.

Following this extended ambient (ish) interlude, the compilation hits us with what may be it’s hardest, most dancefloor-friendly track: ‘The Velvet Hand’ by Xander Harris, a storming outsider techno banger with clear post-punk influences that wouldn’t sound out of place in a Silent Servant set. The tone of the compilation simmers down a bit with the next track, ‘unlocked’ by British producer Pecht, an exclusive remaster of a track from his debut album. It’s perhaps the weirdest track on the compilation, an eccentric sort of tune that maintains the retrograde 80s industrial aesthetic of the rest of the compilation but bolts it onto the skeleton of a soulful dub number. I had to listen to it a couple of times before it really ‘clicked’ for me; definitely a grower, not a show-er. The compilation is rounded off by ‘Hirvi ja viiniköynnös’ by Cucina Povera (Maria Rossi), a Finnish-born, Glasgow-based musician and DJ. The real star of the song is Rossi’s voice; her singing (in Finnish) takes centre stage, the minimal instrumentation and back-up vocal fading into the background. It’s a sombre, almost poignant end to the compilation, a refreshing palate cleanser after all the gnarly darkwave preceding it.

Extra Noir Volume One represents a strong start for the fledgling label. Selectors Wilbur and Francesangeli have managed to pull off the not inconsiderable feat of gathering together disparate artists with divergent sounds and moulding their contributions into a smooth and seamless whole, producing a debut compilation that works as well as one continuous listen as it does a selection of individual tracks and tunes. There’s a clear sense of vision and intent behind the release, something which bodes well for the label’s future output.

Extra Noir: Volume One is available for purchase at Extra Noir’s Bandcamp. Also, if you’re reading this on Thursday night or Friday, they’re having a launch party on Friday May 11 at Strange Fruit

Dub music has had a long and storied history, one that spans several decades, cultures and continents. From recording studios in Kingston, Jamaica in the 1960s to warehouse parties in London, England in the 1990s, the dub sound – with it’s emphasis on heavy, sinuous sub-bass, hazy rhythms and cavernous reverb – has found fans around the globe, and had an enormous influence on the development of electronic music – hell, on the development of modern music in general. It should come as no surprise, then, that even in the distant reaches of eastern Asia, among the mountains and skyscrapers of South Korea, dub has its acolytes. One such acolyte is Christopher Wing, aka mcthfg, originally hailing from the USA but now based in the southern coastal city of Changwon. On Korean Dub: Volume One, mcthfg provides three dub remixes of tracks by South Korean producers. It’s a brief but tantalizing glimpse into the curious niche of dub music on the Korean peninsula.

The opening track, a remix of “November, March” by Kuang Program, centers around decayed steel drum chords playing over shuddering waves of sub-bass, to the accompaniment of percussion that sounds like it was sampled in a third world junkyard. A kaleidoscopic array of intricate digital sounds completes the track and gives it a trippy, psychedelic feel. It’s followed by a “Brkn Replacment Dub” of mdbrkn’s “Shutted”, which provides listeners with a slightly more innovative take on the standard dub formula. Bitcrushed Nintendo-like squelches form the backbone of the piece, while the other sounds that duck and dive in and out of the mix could just as easily be processed field recordings as they could be digitally sculpted waveforms; the track blurs the line between the worlds of natural and computer-generated sound. The collection finishes off with “Spiritual (Floating Alone in the World Dub)”,a remix of a track by psychedelic electronica duo Tengger. It’s a suitable title; eerie vocal samples and raga chords give it a New Age ambience, though around midway through the track mcthfg picks up the pace a little, throwing in chiptune synth blasts, Morse code bleeps and a long extended breakdown that’s eventually swallowed by a rumbling two-step bass rhythm.

All three tracks are special in their own way; mcthfg clearly has some serious chops as a remixer. For anyone interested in dub music or in electronic music from the Korean peninsula, Korean Dub Volume 1 is a must-listen.

Korean Dub: Volume 1 is available for purchase at Dubmission‘s Bandcamp . 

 

Techno is a global phenomenon. It may be more firmly rooted in some places – Berlin, Detroit – than in others, but one of the joys of techno as a form of music and as a movement is the way in which techno clubs and labels can be found in almost every major city in the developed world (and elsewhere), and the kind of connections that spring up between producers and labels, DJs and clubs separated geographically, but united in a common passion for the music and by the work of technological wizardry that is the internet. This album, Västberga Allé by Eyvind Blix, exemplifies this interconnected aspect of the techno world. Eyvind Blix hails from Sweden, with the title Västberga Allé having been taken from the name of a street in Västberga, an industrial area in Stockholm notorious for being the site of illegal raves in the city. The label it’s been released on, however, is based in Seoul; Oslated, run by Jong-min Lee (aka Oslon) emerged out of the Oslated podcast series and is closely associated with the Constant Value warehouse parties and with the city’s premiere venue for techno of a dark and insular variety, vurt. It’s an interesting example of the international character of this kind of music, emblematic, to me at least, of techno’s ability to transcend boundaries.

The first track, ‘Elektra’, features a murky bass-kick combo submerged deep in the mix under a swell of constantly-evolving abrasive pads and insectile percussion. It’s a meditative, hypnotic piece, setting the tone for the album to come. It’s followed by “Maskinrum”, a more insistent number consisting of a jackhammer beat, subliminal synthesizer wails and hyper-repetitive looping percussion, coming across like a field recording from a Soviet uranium mine. The third track, “Introvert”, follows a similar kind of formula, presenting listeners with a barrage of rapid but muffled bass kicks, tribal plastic-bottle percussion, chattering robotic voices and two noisy crescendos of machine noise in place of traditional breakdowns which taken together form one of the high points of the entire album for me. By fourth track, “Karusellplan”, the album starts setting its eyes more firmly on the dancefloor; staggered, slightly off-kilter beats, intricate bursts of sonic detail and a muscular, droning lead that dominates the track’s latter half gives “Karusellplan” a groovy kind of feel that definitely got my head nodding. The fifth track, “Hemlängtan”, is an interesting example of how good techno music can be at displaying contrast; the kick and rumbling bass are crushingly heavy, but the sounds swirling around them – dub-like reverberation and a high-pitched, resonant three-note pattern that shines out of the darkness every so often like the beams of a lighthouse sweeping across a dark ocean – felt light and almost wistful, inducing in me a great sense of tranquility. This moment of respite is followed by the album’s biggest banger, “Drivhjulsvägen” (try saying that five times fast), a driving dancefloor bomb that derives a lot of mileage from a repetitive distorted synth pattern and a bone-shattering kick drum.

The album is rounded out by four stellar remixes from other Oslated associates. Vâyu’s remix of “Karusellplan” transforms the track into a rich ambient techno soundscape; while it maintains a sense of forward motion through the ebbs and flows of the bassline it feels very much more tailored for home listening (or opening/closing sets, perhaps) than for dark basements at 4 a.m. Saphileaum’s “1st Sky” mix of the same track takes a similar kind of approach. It’s slightly more beat-focused, but maintains a similar sort of spacey, floaty atmosphere, livening things up with an epic trance-like breakdown and synth chords towards the end. The remix of “Hemlängtan” by stalwart vurt resident Unjin, on the other hand, combines a rigid kickdrum groove with glowing pads, woodblock percussion and starship-engine-room ambient noise to create a track at once both cerebral and intensely physical, the kind of beat I’d be equally happy to dance my feet off in the club to as to listen to on the subway home. The closing track, a remix of “Drivhjulsvägen” by another vurt resident, Djilogue, is one of the most interesting tracks on the album, taking Eyvind Blix’s banger apart and reassembling it as a slinky, sleazy slice of brothel techno, bringing to mind the image of cyborg assassins stalking the streets of some far-future cyberpunk vice district.

All told, Vastbergä Allé is a worthy addition to the Oslated catalogue. It’s a well-crafted collection of deep, mesmerising techno that has something to offer both for DJs looking for material for their sets and for home listeners looking to space out with their headphones on. It’s not especially original or boundary-defying as an album, but not all music has to be innovative to be good; Eyvind Blix doesn’t do anything particularly new here, but he does display a refined understanding of and mastery over all of the tropes and tricks of techno, and utilizes them to extremely good effect.

Vastbergä Allé is available for purchase as a digital album over at Oslated’s Bandcamp