The Stockholm experimental scene must be so proud of Daniel M. Karlsson. He’s their relentless open-source crusader, the one person who can turn a casual coffee chat into a full-on tutorial about SuperCollider, and now, after decades of nurturing others in the art of algorithmic noise-making, he’s finally dropped his first solo LP on vinyl, "Towards a Music for Large Ensemble". One can imagine Karlsson finally deciding: “Yes, the world is now ready for my 64-instrument, computer-coded masterpiece”. And is it?

"Towards a Music for Large Ensemble" feels like a grand thesis statement on what happens when you let machines dream of orchestras, minus the conductor. Karlsson, true to his evangelist form, doesn’t just compose music - he teaches the listener. You don’t just get an album here, you get the full package: the source code, the performance notes, even a second version of the piece for those who felt Side A just didn’t capture enough nuance. It’s all there, ready for you to dissect, reimagine, or perhaps download and let it drone on forever in the comfort of your algorithmically inclined living room.

Side A, recorded live at Eric Ericsonhallen, kicks things off. And by “kicks off”, I mean slowly unpacks itself, like a computer waking from sleep mode. You can feel Karlsson’s meticulousness in the way textures emerge, as if each sound is politely waiting for its turn in the ensemble. This is not your average large ensemble, by the way. Instead of a roomful of jazz musicians jamming together, we have a computer-led collective, a swarm of 64 instruments and objects interacting with each other inside Karlsson’s meticulously coded system (it's difficult to see on the screen due to the lack of real chromatic contract, but the cover artwork shows the 3 character codes for each of the 64
resounding entity that Karlsson recorded himself performing for the piece). The trick, of course, is that it’s supposed to feel like they’re “listening” to each other, like they’re nodding in agreement over musical cues. The result? A music of delicate, unpredictable conversations - if robots could gossip, this might be what it sounds like.

At first, it’s easy to dismiss Side A as ambient or even as background noise, but Karlsson doesn’t want you to drift off so easily. The longer you listen, the more you start to second-guess yourself: Is this randomness, or is something more intentional at work? Are these sounds part of a plan, or are they just bumping into each other like subatomic particles at a rave? This is where Karlsson’s vision of a “communal sensing” ensemble comes into play. You start to wonder, “Am I really listening to a composition, or is the computer just throwing musical spaghetti at the wall?” It’s a bit of both, and that cognitive dissonance - where the emotional and analytical sides of your brain wrestle - is where "Towards a Music for Large Ensemble" thrives.

Side B, recorded a month later at an undisclosed location, is like watching the ensemble try out their set in a more private, intimate space. It’s not wildly different from Side A, but there’s a subtle shift in the dynamic. The textures here feel slightly more introspective, less grandiose, more like a rehearsal after the main event. It’s the moment when the players are no longer trying to impress the audience, but are just focused on each other, finding new ways to communicate in that delicate mesh of sound.

If all of this sounds heady and cerebral, well, it is. Karlsson isn’t particularly interested in emotional payoff or catharsis. His music is about structure, about systems, and how those systems can generate moments of surprising beauty - or confusion. There’s something almost frustrating about it at times, like watching a movie that refuses to explain itself but expects you to keep paying attention. You could argue that Karlsson’s music demands too much from the listener, that it expects us to engage on multiple levels - intellectually, emotionally, and technically - all at once. But if you’ve spent any time in Stockholm’s experimental scene, you’ll know that’s just how it goes.

For those who thrive on this kind of heady, analytical listening experience, "Towards a Music for Large Ensemble" is a triumph of algorithmic composition. It’s the kind of album that rewards repeated listens, not because you’ll find new melodic hooks or catchy rhythms, but because the underlying structure of the piece becomes more visible with time. You start to appreciate the elegance in the chaos, the way different layers of sound subtly interact like pieces in an intricate puzzle. It’s an album for the patient and the curious, for those who like to sit in the ambiguity of not knowing exactly what they’re hearing.

Is this an album you can put on at a party? Absolutely not. Well, maybe at a party full of sound art enthusiasts, but even then, they’d probably be too busy debating whether the “ensemble” really feels like a living, breathing collective or just a cleverly coded mirage. And perhaps that’s exactly the point. Karlsson has crafted a musical Turing test, where the line between what’s real and what’s artificial blurs just enough to keep you guessing.

In a world obsessed with emotional immediacy, "Towards a Music for Large Ensemble" stands as a defiantly cerebral work, one that challenges our expectations of what “ensemble” music can be in the digital age. It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea, but for those willing to engage with Karlsson’s vision, it’s an utterly fascinating piece of work.

Just be prepared to explain SuperCollider to your friends afterward. You know Karlsson wouldn’t have it any other way.