RDKPL hails from Most, Czechia and is the project of incredibly prolific artist Radek Kopel. Seriously, I don't know how he has the time to put out so much stuff. Maybe they have 28 hour days in the Czech Republic. I have reviewed several of his releases on Inner Demons, so I was interested to see what this one would sound like.

This consists of two ten-minutes tracks of heavy analog noise. "231022_03" is what happens when you daisy chain 40 pedals together and play the feedback. The nice thing about it is that there is a lot of variety here, keeping everything interesting. "231022_04" is similar in sound profile, but considerably different in feel. Where the previous track was more wall of noise, this makes good use of negative space and silence, giving it a sense of tension that is not in the previous track.

Overall, this is one of the better releases that I have heard from RDKPL. Well worth checking out if you like it noisy. This album weighs in at 20 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.

Platonoff hails from St. Petersburg, Russia, and I have reviewed several of their albums on Inner Demons. I have yet to hear a Platonoff disc that I did not enjoy, so let's see if this one keeps the streak going.

One of the things I like about Platonoff is their ability to create a harsh industrial soundscape. "Evil Smells Oil" is an excellent representation of this skill, with pounding metal that is rhythmic, but not quite a beat, heavy analog noises that overpower everything over time, with everything coated in a thick layer of static. At the end, everything becomes quiet - ominously so. "Looming Shadows of the Past" keeps this feeling going with a slow, clanking beat, like the sound of a factory that has not had any upkeep done and the safety inspectors are on the take. This is less noisy than the previous track and can best be described as industrial.

I am pleased to report that Platonoff's streak remains intact. If you like your noise on the industrial side, with a big helping of clanking metal, this will be up your alley. Well done. This album weighs in at around 18 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.

Ah, the romance of the open road! From Kerouac's fevered scribblings to Kraftwerk's sterile love letter to the Autobahn, the notion of the highway has long inspired a certain type of artist to look beyond the mundane and into the rhythmic hum of engines and the infinite possibility of horizons. Enter Ulrich Troyer with "Autostrada del Brennero", a two-track dub journey that swaps the endless plains of America's highways for the concrete curves of the Brenner Pass, channeling this motoric obsession into something altogether more... smoked out.

Ulrich Troyer isn’t new to the game. He’s a seasoned explorer of soundscapes, one who knows his way around a dubplate as well as a synthesizer. With "Autostrada del Brennero", he’s crafted something that’s both a tribute and a reimagining of what travel music can be. Here, the road is not just a metaphor for life’s journey; it’s a literal thoroughfare, buzzing with the echoes of trucks, distant traffic hums, and the pulse of a city left behind.

On "AUTOSTRADA DEL BRENNERO", the first track, Diggory Kenrick’s flute flutters like the wind through open car windows, a delicate counterpoint to the solid, unwavering bassline that drives the piece forward. There’s a meditative quality here, an invitation to zone out and let the miles (or kilometers, for our European friends) melt away beneath your wheels. Kenrick, with his experience in the revivalist reggae scene, knows exactly when to let his instrument take the lead and when to let it fade into the background, becoming just another texture in the evolving soundscape.

If side A is a smooth cruise through the mountains, then "BRENNERAUTOBAHN" flips the script, courtesy of Takafumi Noda, a.k.a. Mystica Tribe. His melodica injects a bit of the unexpected into the mix — a slight detour, if you will. The track is rooted in technoid dub, but Noda’s influence pulls it towards something more organic, more tactile. The analog synths and drum machines provide a mechanical undercurrent, but it’s the melodica that adds a touch of humanity, like a lone hitchhiker thumbing a ride on this electronic odyssey.

Troyer’s production here is pristine but not sterile. You can almost hear the sweat and the late-night studio sessions, the tweaking of knobs and faders until everything sits just right in the mix. It’s clear that this isn’t just a one-off experiment; it’s the product of someone who has lived and breathed dub music for years, who understands its roots as much as its future potential.

Musically, "Autostrada del Brennero" may seem deceptively simple at first glance. But like all good dub, it’s in the details where the magic happens. The bass isn’t just heavy; it’s a gravitational force, pulling you deeper into the sound. The drums aren’t just a rhythm; they’re a conversation, each hit and echo speaking to the spaces in between. And then there’s the way the tracks seem to stretch out, as if time itself is being manipulated, much like the experience of a long drive where minutes blur into hours.

This record exists somewhere between the physicality of a 7" vinyl and the conceptual space of a sound art piece. It's a record that might remind you of the long-form journeys of Basic Channel or the late-night drives soundtracked by King Tubby, yet it’s distinctly Troyer’s own. This is dub music as a mode of transportation — not just sonically, but mentally. It’s music that invites you to close your eyes and drift, to let your mind wander down the road it paves.

If you're asking for my verdict, I would say that "Autostrada del Brennero" is not just for the dubheads. It’s for anyone who’s ever found solace in the repetitive thrum of a highway, who’s ever lost themselves in the blur of the landscape flashing by. It’s an homage to the romance of the road, but also a reminder that every journey is shaped as much by the company you keep as by the path you take. With contributions from Kenrick and Noda, Troyer has crafted a record that’s as much about collaboration as it is about solitary travel. It's a short trip—just two tracks—but one that lingers long after the needle lifts. Buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

Let’s face it: "come, Memory: fieldwork" is not your average ambient record. Nor is it your typical field recording project. This release by Katrina Niebergal and Bergur Anderson exists somewhere between the mystical and the mundane, an archaeological dig that unearths not just ancient stones but the echoes of civilizations long past, filtered through a kaleidoscope of soundscapes that feel at once intimate and impossibly vast.

From the very beginning, with "Optigan organ intro", the album sets a tone that’s simultaneously haunting and oddly comforting. The organ’s reedy tones invite you into a world where time is malleable, and history isn’t just a sequence of events but a living, breathing entity. It’s a prelude to the journey ahead — a sonic pilgrimage through Malta, Greece, and the UK, where the past isn’t merely remembered; it’s reconstructed in the most oblique of ways.

Niebergal and Anderson’s approach to sound is more akin to an act of remembrance than traditional composition. Tracks like "Tarxien Temples / by Ramla beach, Malta" and "Stonehenge chats / Agia Triava Archeological Site, Crete" are not just recordings of places — they are invocations. The distant hums, environmental rustlings, and fragments of speech combine to create a sense of place that’s both specific and universal. You’re not just hearing Malta or Crete; you’re hearing the memory of those places, filtered through centuries of human experience.

The album’s structure is deliberately fragmented, reflecting the piecemeal nature of archaeological discovery. Snatches of organ melodies and drum grooves emerge from the murk, only to dissolve into the next field recording or spoken word excerpt. Take "Mdina bus, Malta / excerpt from Lewis Mumford’s 'The City in History, 1961'", for example — here, the mundane (a bus ride) collides with the intellectual (Mumford’s reflections on urban development), creating a juxtaposition that’s as thought-provoking as it is disorienting.

This is not an album for those who crave resolution. Tracks like "busker and busy corner, Athens / goats on the way to Katholiko beach, Crete" and "Skorba Temples, Malta / Druid’s theme" are fleeting, ephemeral snapshots—glimpses of a world that refuses to stand still. It’s as if Niebergal and Anderson are reminding us that memory itself is a fluid, ever-changing process, one that defies the tidy narratives we often impose upon it.

In a way, "come, Memory: fieldwork" situates itself in a lineage of experimental and ambient music that seeks to transcend mere sound. It recalls the environmental recordings of Chris Watson, but with a more personal, almost diaristic quality. There’s also a hint of The Caretaker in the way the album deals with memory and decay, though Niebergal and Anderson’s approach is less about the melancholy of loss and more about the ongoing dialogue between the past and the present (and its often inappropriate aural intrusions).

The album's presentation as a limited edition cassette further emphasizes its tactile, almost ritualistic nature. Listening to it feels like an act of communion — a deliberate engagement with the physicality of sound, where the hiss of the tape and the warmth of the analog medium become part of the experience. It’s a fitting format for a project that’s so deeply concerned with the materiality of memory.

"come, Memory: fieldwork" is not an album that offers easy rewards. It’s a work that demands patience, an invitation to let go of linearity and immerse yourself in a sonic world where past and present, the sacred and the profane, are all tangled together. For those willing to take the plunge, it’s a deeply rewarding experience—one that leaves you with more questions than answers, but in the most stimulating of ways.
This is music as a field study, as a form of research, as a way of reconnecting with something ancient and elusive. Whether you view it as an exploration of place, an examination of memory, or simply as a beautiful collection of sounds, "come, Memory: fieldwork" stands as a unique and compelling testament to the power of sound to evoke, to transport, and to transform.

"Abandoned Spaces" by ODNU + ÜMLAUT is an album that situates itself somewhere between the familiar and the utterly alien, much like discovering a forgotten, overgrown garden in the heart of a city. The album, a collaboration between Michel Mazza and Jeff Düngfelder, is an exercise in reduction, weaving together jazzy undertones with ambient soundscapes, and inviting the listener into a sonic world where every note feels like it's floating in a state of suspended animation.

Opening with "In Numberless Forms", the album immediately sets the tone with a languid, meditative flow that teeters on the edge of becoming something more defined but never quite does. The track is an eight-minute exploration of space and restraint, where electric guitars meander through a landscape of processed sounds and subtle electronics. It's as if ODNU and ÜMLAUT are daring you to find coherence in the mist they create, only to whisk it away just as you think you've grasped it.

"Sleepy I Slept" and "Unforeseen Scenes" continue this meandering journey. The former lulls you into a false sense of serenity with its soporific title, but the music itself is anything but straightforward. The processed guitar lines and ambient textures blend into a haze that feels almost dreamlike — if your dreams were soundtracked by a minimalist jazz ensemble that had forgotten their sheet music at home. The latter track shifts the mood ever so slightly, introducing a sense of unease, like discovering that the abandoned space you’ve wandered into has a few dark corners you hadn’t noticed before.

The title track, "Abandoned Spaces", is perhaps the most evocative piece on the album. It’s a nine-minute odyssey through desolate soundscapes, where the interplay between the electric guitar and electronics suggests both the beauty and the melancholy of forgotten places. There’s a deep sense of nostalgia here, but it’s nostalgia for something you can’t quite put your finger on—a memory that’s been eroded by time.

The album’s liner notes reference Aristotle’s adage that “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts”, and while "Abandoned Spaces" certainly strives for this, one might argue that the whole here is more a mosaic of absences than a cohesive entity. Each track flows into the next with a fluidity that’s admirable, but this seamlessness can also feel like a refusal to commit to any one idea. The music, much like its title suggests, often feels abandoned, left to drift aimlessly in an ambient fog.

That’s not to say there aren’t moments of brilliance. The detailed sound design is impeccable, and the way ODNU and ÜMLAUT handle their instruments—particularly the interplay of guitar and electronics—shows a level of craftsmanship that is truly impressive. But there’s a deliberateness to their refusal to provide the listener with any real sense of closure. Even in the final track, "A Wishing Choice", the album ends not with a resolution, but with a question mark — a fitting conclusion to a work that seems more interested in the spaces between the notes than the notes themselves.

In the context of ambient and experimental music, "Abandoned Spaces" sits comfortably among the works of artists like William Basinski or even Brian Eno, though with a more improvisational, jazz-inflected approach. It's a record that demands patience and an open mind; it's not here to entertain in the traditional sense, but rather to envelop, to subtly shift your perception of time and space.

Yet, this album also flirts with the danger of being too subtle for its own good. In its meticulous attention to detail and atmosphere, there’s a risk that "Abandoned Spaces" could easily drift into the background, becoming a ghostly presence rather than a commanding one. For listeners willing to give it the attention it requires, the rewards are there — buried in the mix, hidden in the spaces between the sounds. But for those seeking something more immediate, more tangible, the album’s enigmatic nature might prove frustrating.

"Abandoned Spaces" is a record that’s as much about what isn’t there as what is. It’s a sonic exploration of absence, a tone poem where the pauses and the spaces between sounds carry as much weight as the notes themselves. ODNU and ÜMLAUT have crafted an album that is both meditative and elusive, a work that asks more questions than it answers.

For those who appreciate the delicate art of restraint, the album offers a beautifully textured landscape to get lost in. But if you're looking for something that leaves a lasting impact, that provides more than just a fleeting glimpse of brilliance before receding back into the ether, "Abandoned Spaces" might feel a bit like its title — an intriguing place, but one that you might not return to once you’ve left.