Reviewing a record born from grief always puts the critic in a slightly awkward position. You sit there judging textures, structures, pacing, while the artist is clearly dealing with something much more private and irreversible. Still, music eventually leaves the studio and enters the public world, and once it does, it has to stand on its own legs.

Ombrée, the project of French musician Guillaume Sonne, has been moving quietly through the experimental underground for some time. His work tends to orbit the edges of dark ambient, electroacoustic improvisation, and field recording practices, usually built from relatively simple means: guitars and bass run through amplifiers, tape machines, environmental recordings, and digital manipulation used more as a sculpting tool than as a central instrument. His aesthetic has always leaned toward atmosphere and slow, immersive development rather than sharp compositional drama.

With "Calvaire", released by I Shall Sing Until My Land Is Free, the conceptual core is very explicit. The album emerged after the death of Sonne’s father on February 2, 2025. According to the artist, the tolling bells of the village church during his final farewell became the initial sonic impulse for the project. What follows is presented as a kind of musical meditation on the threshold between life and death, populated by natural omens: fox cries at night, worms in the soil, distant animal voices, fragments of the surrounding environment entering the composition like signals from a parallel layer of reality.

The instrumentation remains intentionally limited. Electric bass and guitar form the backbone, heavily processed through amplifiers, effects chains, and tape saturation. Field recordings and subtle digital treatments weave through the pieces, creating a hazy sonic environment that often feels more like a shifting landscape than a sequence of traditional tracks.

The opening piece, “Foie”, establishes this atmosphere with a slow, droning structure that gradually accumulates layers of distortion and low-frequency resonance. The sound feels physical, almost geological, though its development is extremely gradual. This patience can be immersive for listeners inclined toward meditative sound design, though it occasionally risks drifting into a kind of textural stasis where movement becomes difficult to perceive.

“Vers-cendre” introduces more environmental presence. The subtle intrusion of field recordings creates the sense of an external world bleeding into the music. Animal calls and distant rustling elements function less as narrative devices and more as symbolic textures. They contribute to the album’s central idea that death does not interrupt the ecosystem surrounding it. The forest keeps moving.

The shorter “Brûlé” provides one of the few moments where the record briefly sharpens its edges. Distorted layers rise and collapse in a more dynamic fashion, hinting at a rawer emotional core beneath the otherwise restrained pacing. Ironically, this fleeting intensity also highlights what the rest of the album occasionally lacks: contrast.

Throughout the remaining tracks, titles such as “D’illusions cadavériques” and “Transforme les souvenirs en monolithe” suggest a ceremonial or ritualistic framework. The music mirrors that tone, unfolding like a slow procession through dimly lit sonic spaces. Tape textures, amplifier hum, and environmental fragments create a sense of distance that fits the thematic focus on memory and absence.

Yet despite its thoughtful concept and carefully constructed atmosphere, "Calvaire" sometimes struggles to maintain a strong sense of progression. The sound design is competent and occasionally evocative, but several passages blur together, relying heavily on the same palette of drones and environmental murmurs. For listeners deeply invested in this corner of experimental ambient music, that consistency may feel immersive. For others, it may come across as somewhat predictable within a genre that already thrives on similar textures.

This does not mean the album lacks sincerity. On the contrary, the emotional motivation behind it is unmistakable. Sonne even notes that his father likely would have disliked this music, which adds a strange layer of honesty to the project. Rather than a sentimental tribute, the album feels more like a private ritual translated into sound, an attempt to process loss using the tools the artist happens to possess.

Ultimately, "Calvaire" sits in that middle ground where intention and atmosphere are clear, but the musical results remain uneven. It is a respectful, introspective work that occasionally produces striking sonic moments, yet it rarely pushes its materials far enough to become truly memorable within the broader experimental landscape.

Postscript: This review focuses exclusively on the artistic and sonic aspects of the release. The reviewer maintains a neutral position regarding any political messages or statements associated with the label I Shall Sing Until My Land Is Free and does not intend to endorse or oppose them.

I was unfamiliar with this artist, but Tobias Meier hails from Zurich, Switzerland and has been releasing material for almost 20 years now. The label describes his work thus: “In his artistic practice, he researches condensation points and singularities where something emerges. Thereby he pursues a congruence between musical material, process of creation and content. . . . His current works in the form of solo performances, installations, texts, collaborations, or compositions for other artists make use of various media and often have a collage-like character.” This makes sense when the liner notes list the following sound sources: “Voice, bell, Pure Data, Casiotone, saxophone, field recordings, a piano in some rehearsal space, guitar, A Linear Thought, more voices, zither, more guitars, and samples of Im Wald.” Well, I’m a fan of collage, sound and otherwise, so let's peek over the universe’s shoulder and see what is reflected in the mirror.

We open with “Room Without a Floor.” After singing the title, the track brings in a lot of bells that are just out of sync with some drone underneath. This is like listening to a bell choir in an echo chamber. What keeps it interesting is that it is not simply echoes, but the bells are looped onto each other and the sounds become increasingly chaotic. I'm a percussionist, but this is still a hard track to listen to; definitely an exercise in endurance. Over time, the drone begins to take over, mitigating the harshness a bit. Over time, it slows down and becomes more mellow, like a record player coming to a stop. I suspect that this would be fun to see live. After a singing intro, “Almost Nothing” kicks into heavy drone with a hint of dissonance that sounds like a mix of synth and trumpet. This drone shifts almost perceptibly until it suddenly adds in what sounds like someone singing in the shower. “The Artist's Room” continues the shower and what sounds like a radio playing in the background. Someone begins playing a piano over this short slice of life. I enjoy field recording based work, so this is quite nice. “Today My Name Is” opens with heavily processed voice intoning "today my name is" over the shower from the previous track and adds a repetitive guitar line and unsettling spectral voices before settling into an actually sung song over guitar loops and other noises. This eventually resolves to a repeated singing of "I don't know what my name is anymore" repeated for several minutes without accompaniment. There is a lot going on in this track, and it is the most conventional song on the disc, although that is not saying much for readers of Chain D.L.K..

Meier describes this album in this way: “I believe it tells a personal story, but as one possible example of human experience, it can also be read as a singular window into something much more universal.” This is one of those discs that is hard to evaluate and rate, because simply sitting down and listening to it does not seem to be the goal of the artist. I get the sense that these compositions were meant for a very specific space or occasion, and this serves as the artifact of that space. I may not want to listen to it a lot, but I appreciate what Meier is doing and get the sense that seeing it is much better than only hearing it on the disc. If you want something that pushes the envelope of experimental music, this is certainly one to pick up. This album weighs in at around 42 minutes, which incidentally is also the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything.

Marc Benner has been in the noise scene for many years, so I was happy to see this disc in the stack that I would review. He is also known for his project Dead Shall Not Have Died In Vain, as well as being the driving force behind the Oxidation label. He has also begun to release music under his name that seems focused on field recordings. I had previously reviewed “At Times I Struggle to Be Pleasant” on Inner Demons under this moniker and I enjoyed the rawness of it, so I was interested to see how this one compared. The label describes his work thus: “Benner’s sound projects have used decayed media and processed field recordings to render textures of rust and hiss into audio that dissolves before coalescing for listening experiences that feel intimate and uncanny.” Sounds like a good time, so let’s dive in.

“False Beliefs” kicks it off with chaotic, processed field recordings. Clattering metal, overdriven microphone static, and a flute make for an interesting juxtaposition. Next up, “Shutdown” brings in more field recordings with some rhythmic pounding, like a washing machine off balance as someone shells walnuts in front of you. At almost 14 minutes, there is a lot for Benner to play with, and pretty much everything is grist for the field recording mill. Imagine going throughout your day with a microphone turned to maximum gain…. and you have a whole lot of scrap metal that needs to get hosed off and moved. “Interlude” mixes it up with a short track of ever-increasing static noise with radio broadcast snippets and bird noises thrown in. As an interlude, it is excellent and still stands on its own. This is, in some ways, the noisiest thing on the album, but also somehow the most cohesive. “Recovery” closes it down with a minimalist field recording composition that is like listening to one of the other tracks from the room next door with the door closed. The overall feel is subdued and almost peaceful.

Overall, this is firmly on the side of “experimental,” and those who enjoy field recording based music will appreciate this. If you are looking for more noisy stuff, this may not scratch that itch, but it is certainly an interesting listen. This album weighs in at around 31 minutes.

R4 has been around for a long time and I have really enjoyed his ability to merge ambience with noise. R4 is the work of one Barry Sheffel, who is also the man behind the Fusion Audio Recordings label. He had dropped off the face of the earth for a while, but he is back with a lot of new work, of which this is one. The label describes this simply as “Noise and quirky, leftfield electronics. Recorded in 2021. This is the second in series of mini CDRs.”

This disc consists of two tracks. We kick it off with “Traffik,” which is a short track of noise with a psychedelic feel. Lots of analogue noises and static, with a whimsical quality. It’s almost like he took honking cars and inserted them into road noise and theremin-like noises. “Two Point Seven Degrees Celcius” closes it out with a 17 minute track that really leans into the electronic noise with analog warbling, stuttering electronics, and shortwave radio transmission noises. There is a lot going on here that keeps it moving, and the music is layered in such a way as to continually build in both complexity and intensity. It ends quietly and deliberately, pulling you in, as it unravels in complexity to a static noise drone and then to quiet bass rumble. Nicely done.

This disc, along with his other recent output, such as “Rainmaker” on Inner Demons Records, show that R4 is in fine form and continues to produce noise music that is engaging and inventive. The 3 inch format really highlights R4’s work, with just enough length to construct a good track but not so long that it gets tiresome. Really solid noise. This album weighs in at just over 21 minutes and is limited to 15 copies, so get it while you can.

I really enjoy splits because the contrast can also be part of the experience. It is also a good way to find people you otherwise would not have known about, which is the case for me here. Barrena is the work of Puerto Rican artist Jorge Castro, and I have known his work for a long, long time. Castro has been in the experimental scene since the 1990s, most notably as part of Cornucopia, as well as other projects including Clon, Origami Subtropika and DEFORMA. The nice thing about Castro’s work is that he is difficult to nail down. Some of his stuff is harsh noise, some of it is mellow ambient, but all of it is interesting. The label describes the project thus: “As Barrena, Castro turns harsh noise wall formations into a meditative experience where feedback, distortion and digital artifacts become elements for immersive listening rather than disruption.” I was not familiar with See Through Buildings, but this is the harsh noise wall project of Ben Rehling, who hails from Garden Grove, CA. Rehling previously recorded under the name Jennifer Wolski in the 1990s and as part of A Moth In The Wine and The Climate Refugees. The label describes this track as “representative of the carefully crafted, droney HNW that has become See Through Buildings’ signature sound.” Sounds like a good time, so let’s dive in and see how this all plays out.

We kick it off with Barrena and “Lament For Nuclear Winter.” This is a low, rumbling piece with plenty of static thrown in for good measure. The overall feel is like watching television static while riding in a boxcar on a freight train. . . . that you aren’t supposed to be on because you jumped on in the middle of the night. And why is this train going so fast? This conductor seems like a man on a mission. What is the cargo in this train anyway? The track subtly shifts over time, sometimes highlighting the rumble, and sometimes the static, but it is a pleasant listen.

On the other side, we have See Through Buildings and “Windows Reflect Dust,” which is a pummeling wall of noise that buries everything under a mountain of crunchy static. However, this is not the kind of wall of noise where the artist simply records the space between radio stations. Rather, there is a lot of subtlety if you give it a listen with headphones. Or maybe there isn’t and your mind adds stuff that isn’t there to make sense of the chaos. Either way, it is a good piece for those who like their noise incredibly harsh, but with some underlying complexity.

I appreciate that although this is harsh noise wall, it is not as static as some practitioners make it. There is a lot happening under the layers, and you sometimes have to dig deep to find it, but like the princess and the pea, it’s there if you can feel it. This is a solid release of harsh noise wall and well worth checking out. This album weighs in at around 48 minutes and is limited to 100 copies.