There’s a special kind of pleasure in albums that seem to defy categorization — records that invite you to question the very nature of what music can be, only to then unapologetically shatter those expectations. Gwennaëlle Roulleau and Reinhold Friedl's "strata & spheres" is one such offering. Here, we find ourselves in a peculiar sonic world where the rules of harmony and rhythm are but distant memories, replaced by something altogether more… elemental.

The album opens with "Tectonique", a track that seems less like music and more like a geological event. Friedl’s piano is not played so much as it is coerced into action, every note and every touch on other elements but keys an eruption, every chord a seismic shift. Roulleau, armed with an arsenal of electronics that could easily be mistaken for the control panel of a spaceship, responds with granular textures that churn and swell like molten lava. The result is a piece that feels as if it’s always on the verge of breaking apart, yet somehow holds together, much like a fault line — beautiful in its instability, thrilling in its unpredictability.

If "Tectonique" is an earthquake (or its first signs), then "Papillon" is the aftermath — a fluttering of wings, but not the kind that suggests freedom or lightness. No, this is a butterfly trapped in a storm, its delicate patterns obscured by a haze of glitchy interference and dissonant piano strokes. Roulleau’s electronics here are particularly unsettling, creating a soundscape that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of collapse. And yet, there’s a strange beauty in this fragility, a sense that the chaos is both deliberate and necessary.

At over 15 minutes, "Entre les vides" is the album’s centerpiece, and it feels like the quietest of existential crises. The title, which translates to "Between the Voids", is apt — this track is an aural meditation on absence, on the spaces between sounds, on what it means for something to be almost, but not quite, there. Friedl’s piano here is sparse, almost hesitant, each note echoing into the emptiness, while Roulleau’s electronics provide a haunting counterpoint. This is not music that seeks to fill the void, but rather to explore it, to understand it, and ultimately, to become one with it. It’s an exploration of nothingness that is anything but empty.

The album closes with "Frottements", a track that, like its title suggests, is all about friction — both literal and metaphorical. Here, Friedl’s piano and Roulleau’s electronics rub against each other in ways that are neither comfortable nor easy. The sounds here are rough, abrasive even, and yet there’s something oddly compelling about the way they interact. It’s as if the two artists are testing each other’s limits. The result is a fitting end to an album that refuses to take the easy path.

So what, exactly, is "strata & spheres"? Is it an "ambient" record? A piece of sound art? A collection of experimental compositions? The answer, I think, is all of the above and none of the above. This is music that exists in its own space, that doesn’t conform to our usual expectations of genre or form. It’s music that challenges you to listen differently, to engage with sound on a more primal level.

Roulleau and Friedl have created something that is at once cerebral and visceral, an album that feels as if it’s constantly in motion, constantly evolving. It’s an exploration of contrasts — between the organic and the electronic, the planned and the spontaneous, the beautiful and the brutal. And yet, for all its complexity, there’s something remarkably pure about it, an epiphany that feels utterly essential.

I had previously reviewed Fencepost's last outing on Inner Demons and enjoyed it, so I was interested to see what this UK artist has in store for us this time. This disc is based on "The Yellow Wallpaper," a short story by American writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman, first published in January 1892. The liner notes describe it thus: "It is regarded as an important early work of American feminist literature for its illustration of the attitudes towards mental and physical health of women in the19th century. The story is written as a collection of secret journal entries, narrated in the first person by a woman whose physician husband has rented an old mansion for the summer, with the woman confined to an upstairs nursery as a form of treatment for "temporary nervous depression" – a slight hysterical tendency". The room is decorated with peeling yellow wallpaper, which soon becomes the sole focus of the writer. As the reader continues through the journal entries, they experience the writer's gradual descent into obsession and madness." This seems like this will be an interesting ride, so let's dive in.

We kick it off with “A Sickly Sulphur Tint.” The atmosphere is unnerving, with plucking strings with springlike sproings, the sound of someone walking on a wooden floor, and a host of other cacophony. But this is not noise; rather, it is hallucinatory and if this were actually in your head it would become overwhelming because of its relentlessness. As with the previous release, the core or Fencepost’s sound is a Amyl 1913 upright piano [prepared/bowed] and Kaoss Pads, and you can see how Fencepost has mastered this setup in “It Creeps So.” Imagine the squeakiest door and then have someone opening and closing it over and over. This is accomplished through the use of the bowed piano strings. Under all of this, is a heavy bass layer as the strings are looped over and over. Nicely done. “Creeping by Daylight” is a bit more sparse than the previous two tracks, featuring plucked strings that lends itself to an almost whimsical feel. If this were in a Looney Tunes cartoon, this would be the time when the cat is sleeping and the mice are making plans to steal the cheese. “Out At Last” puts it all together, with a heavy dose of atmosphere with clattering noises, plucked stings, and bass drone. If you like it cinematic, this is a fitting denouement.

Fencepost manages to depict the feel of "the writer's gradual descent into obsession and madness" well by careful use of dissonance and layering, but also with a sense of compassion. Fencepost is not going for the cheap shots here, and mental illness is sometimes fetishized in the experimental scene (looking at all of the power electronics serial killer worship here). Fencepost takes this seriously and one can get a sense of the confusion that comes from isolation and a brain that will not cooperate. In short, this is extremely well done and stands on its own even without an understanding of the inspiration. Highly recommended.

I had previously reviewed Davids' “Grey,” "Landscapes,” and "Digitale Asche," and enjoyed them, so I was interested to see what he had in store this time. For those unfamiliar with Andreas Davids, he hails from Germany and also records under the name Xotox. This disc consists of one track, titled "The Inability to Be Happy." If Davids is going for a sense of unease, he nails it.

You can think of this track as a series of interconnected movements. We open with grinding sawtooth drone that would be quite at home in a dystopian film. Indeed, the entire feel is cinematic and works well to evoke a sense of foreboding. This then gives way to an almost whimsical interlude that maintains some of the dark feel of the previous movement while adding in what sounds like synthesized xylophone melody. This slowly morphs into more of the cinematic, orchestral feel before bringing back the previous melody as a reprise. This then gives way to a slow beat and more sawtooth waves and chirping noises.

The entire thing hangs together well as a cohesive composition, which can sometimes be a rare thing in experimental music. There is a lot going on throughout, which keeps everything interesting, but it still manages to evolve along the way until you find yourself wondering how Davids managed to guide you along without you even noticing the changes in scenery. If you like cinematic dark ambient with a touch of noise thrown in for good measure, this will be right up your alley. Overall, this is the best thing I have heard from Davids. Well done and highly recommended. This album weighs in at around 20 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.

I was unfamiliar with this project, but The Deep Bleed is the work of one Mark Hjorthoy, who hails from Vancouver, British Columbia. Hjorthoy describes the project as “a place to put the drone and art noise projects that I love to hear . . . to explore this obsession and allow a push of personal boundaries to satisfy a deep need to invoke specific feelings on the listener." Sounds promising, so let's see what this disc has in store for us.

This disc consists of two tracks. The first is "If You Build Them," which is a short track of heavy synth drone punctuated with bits of noise. So far, so good, but the star of the show is "Machines That Search for God." This track takes a similar tack, but this is much longer, at almost 15 minutes, so it gives the track time to develop and evolve. This is spacy drone with bits of static and a lot of layers of sound. There's a lot going on here and if the desired effect is to evoke a kind of atmosphere or emotion, it does so effectively (if that emotion is apprehension).

Overall, this is well done and would appeal to fans of noisy dark ambient in the vein of Inade. This disc weighs in at around 20 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.

First off, let's talk about the collaboration. The liner notes state that "When Jon proposed this collaboration, Dan (Fail) wasn't sure if it would make sense. The two artists tend to do very different things with sound, but we think this works quite well. Perhaps you'll agree." Fail is one of the many projects of Dan Fox, the hardest workin’ man in noise, who also runs Inner Demons. By now, he likely needs no introduction, but suffice it to say that he is noisy. Watkins may be a bit less familiar, but I had previously reviewed his release "The Book of Anti-Melodies," and here is how I described it: "If you are looking for something noisy, this is not going to scratch that itch. But if you really like dreamlike guitars with a lot of layers, this is a nice ride. Think Cocteau Twins and Durutti Column, and you would be heading in the right direction." I really like it when two different kinds of artists get together, and this sounds like an interesting prospect, so let's see if this is more than the sum of its parts.

This disc consists of two tracks. "We Were Warned..." kicks it off with ethereal, heavily reverbed guitar, playing a soothing melody throughout. However, this is played over layers and layers of field recordings of voices, machinery, and whatever they could get their hands on. This is also punctuated with noisy blasts throughout, but the overall effect is almost subdued. Rather than thinking of it as noise, think of it more as texture and atmosphere. This works extraordinarily well.

The second track, "...And Now is Too Late," closes it all off with a much more ominous feel. Heavy bass drone with more distortion than reverb and bits of staticy noise. It's interesting that the one with much more pronounced noise is the more soothing of the two tracks. The guitar is a lot more spastic at times, and the atmosphere is oppressively dense.

In short, this is excellent work and well worth picking up if you like your atmospheres noisy and heavy. Watkins' guitar works well with the walls of sound laid down by Fox. Highly recommended. This album weighs in at around 18 and a half minutes and is limited to 42 copies.