The concept behind “Starflux” is to play a cello in an unusual way. By laying it flat, and using one undulating hand to apply different pressures to each string whilst the other hand constantly strums, it becomes a staccato pulsing instrument, deep and broody and industrial and barely recognisable as a classical string instrument. The changes in tone forego the usual modal intervals of western music and are based on maths and fractions, and over the course of the three long pieces, the gradual changes in proportion caused by the changing weight on each string results in gradually shifting but subtle micro-changes in the tone.

The result in the title track is mesmerising, in a simple, direct way. What initially feels a bit like the sound of hammering gradually settles down into the feeling of rhythm- around 100bpm, give or take- and it’s one of those long sound effects that seems to normalise in your ears, so that when it eventually stops, you miss it, as though it ought to always be there.

Ostensibly, the second track is a reconstruction of the concept of the first, done digitally to avoid the natural limitations and inconsistent tonal dominance of a real cello. But the result is entirely different- long, sustained, pure sine wave tones arrive in sequence, unpredictable thanks to the unfamiliar range of pitches. The rhythm is so slow as to essentially be gone, and instead we have a near-ambient, glacial digital melody that could scarcely be more different to the first.

Final piece “Pharus Novae” essentially, to over-simplify it, brings together the sound of the two previous recordings. The simple connection between the low tones of the first piece and the exclusively high tones of the second feels like a natural fit, and rather than feeling like you are being fed the same sound on repeat, instead it feels like the natural conclusion to a triptych, with the ear-normalisation of the rhythm in the first piece returning like an old friend. It’s oddly satisfying.

This release is one of the sixteen in the now complete Elli Records “In The Room” series, and it’s in good company with some excellent other releases. It’s also worth getting all sixteen on Bandcamp, via a subscription maybe, because of the strangely satisfying effect of arranging all sixteen releases in a four by four grid so that the full original artwork can be seen.

“Larme Secrete” marks the first collaboration between the veteran duo of Marc Hurtado and Pascal Comelade (whose toy instrument work I’ve encountered before). Sometimes new pairings can feel instantly assured, as though they’ve been collaborating for years, while sometimes the artists can end up playing it safe and being friendly, which can result in less experimental or less energetic output. With this album, it feels like a bit of both has happened. Comelade takes on the instrumental duties, with Hurtado out front on vocals and ‘sounds’, and a handful of extra musicians drafted in for guitar and drum work. The result is somewhere on the soppier, more lazy-afternoon side of avantgarde rock.

“Eclair” has a singular groove and vitality reminiscent of old Silver Apples tracks, and as an opener, indicates a shared understanding and sets out the album’s stall with good effect. Much successful play is made of the contrast between the steady energy of Comelade’s music and the slow, abstract (and at times frankly old-sounding) lyrics from Hurtado. The swaggering organ of “Eté” plays nicely against Hurtado’s breath-heavy vocalisations.

However some tracks, like the long but not mesmerising “Infini”, feel overly easy and unchallenging, with Hurtado’s spaced-out poetry echoing at length over a repetitive light rock groove that doesn’t quite manage to carry you along with it. “Or” stretches the aforementioned contrast in energy levels to its logical limit, so that when followed by similar-sounding “Cri”, it starts feeling a little bit ‘done’. Strongest among the downtempo pieces is “Spirale”, where the moody atmospherics and storytelling fit together just right.

It’s a rewarding collaboration, certainly a little on the safe side but wonderfully moody.

Although “The War Wolf” EP is named and artworked as being ready for battle, sonically it feels more ready to party. While the circa 100bpm stepping beat does have a slight marching vibe, the squelchy acid bass, bright plucky synths, and the use of that old famous fluttering panpipe sample (which works better here than it ought to on paper), all have too much of a feelgood vibe about them on the title track to make it feel really fighty.

Second track “Acid Drive” does have a slightly more warrior feel, thanks to its 120bpm-ish tempo and distorted squelchy acid line, but it’s tempered again by bright keys and a spectacularly old-skool ravey breakdown that feels like it’s been sampled straight out of the best bits of 1992.

Timothy Clerkin’s remix- or rather his “remix reprise”- of Night Giant’s “Bleak House” is a bonus inclusion that’s treated like a bolt on, but which the EP may could’ve led with, as it has an epic unfolding opening that leads into an almost Jarre-ish (but on the simpler side) melody line. This would’ve been a heroic album opener.

Not nearly as violent as it may appear, this short EP (that’s barely an “extended play” at all, you might argue) is quality thinking-person’s-dancing-music, baked at a home-listening temperature and with a lot of endearing old school ingredients that will appeal to people of a certain age, myself included.

After originally meeting in unusual circumstances- teenage Hoogland attending a gig with Zea performing one evening, then attending school to find Zea was his new sociology teacher- the duo have since been collaborating for some time, combining Zea’s guitar and voice with Hoogland’s piano, electric clavichord, “synths and sirens”. “Summing” is a nine-pack of short experimental-rock-alt-pop pieces that sounds like the duo are still challenging one another, rather than settling and getting comfortable.

There’s something of a 60’s or 70’s wig out feel at times, including sonically- sometimes relatively static, at other times not. The title track’s chaotic final minute, that segues gently into the brooding “You’re Dead”, is a strong example of that. Some tracks, including again the title track, have various production details that qualities that demonstrate the 2019 nature of the recording, but at times the only detail that indicates that the tracks are modern, rather than unearthed from the annals of prog rock, are lyrics such as “We Lost Our Phone” (which is not as flippant as the title suggests) and the talk of track-and-trace delivery in curiously passive-aggressive “I Never Threw A Stone”.

More introspective moments come in tracks like the surprisingly moving “Atomic Heart”, which if it had been released in a more acoustic form by a pop-singer-songwriter, might be getting lauded as a beautiful pop song. Final track “Trip the Light Fantastic” is notable for its jazzier, more laidback feel as well.

At only 32 minutes it’s a compact album that buzzes with ideas and moods. The duo work together with other musicians on other releases too, and it feels like that’s probably necessary in order to drive the inventiveness further. But this level of expressiveness from a duo is rare and heartfelt.

Like many releases at the moment, “Music For Violin Alone” is a work prompted by lockdown, and dare I say inspired by lockdown. Orazbayeva’s fourth solo album contains performances of works from six different composers, ranging from J.S. Bach through John Cage to Angharad Davies. It’s then topped off by one of Orazbayeva’s original compositions, seven pieces in all.

The album is bookended by some decidedly avantgarde work. “Circular Bowing Study” (Davies) sets a tone, a rhythmic scratching that rises and falls in waves, a divisive piece that will mesmerise some and be like nails down a blackboard to others. At the other end, Orazbayeva’s own “Ring” is a dark arrangement of slow breathy string drags that’s strangely compelling but which does feel somewhat like horror movie sound design.

Between those poles is a slightly more conventional collection- most obviously “Largo from Sonata no. 3 in C major” (J.S.Bach), a beautifully recorded and expressive meandering solo which flows beautifully into the energetic and optimistic “Alla Fantasia” (Matteis Jr.). The second half is a tad more experimental- “Koan” (Tenney) is the longest piece, and feels it thanks to its relentless bowing and alarm-like steady pitch rise that begins to feel like a Shepard tone as it gets under your skin. It makes the sparseness of “Eight Whiskus” (Cage) feel like relief.

“Blurry Wake Song” (Leith) is double-tracked, layering up (I think) two takes into a duet with some unexpected tonal changes, but most of the rest of the recording is single-layered and it’s a testament to the playing and the recording quality that a single instrument can maintain your attention and keep things interesting for forty minutes.

It’s another introspective but fascinating work from the lockdown period.