“Svart / Hvitt” (“Black / White”) is for the most part a very extreme piece, and mostly as stark as its artwork. It’s a work for testing the quality and depth of your audio system, as it explores extremely low bass rumbles and drones, and sporadically toys with dog-whistle-high notes, but leaves almost nothing inbetween. People with weak playback systems might often think nothing is playing at all, it really is that extreme.

Across 52 minutes and four numbered pieces, it takes a while for the scale of this nine-piece outfit to reveal itself. Largely flat, long and low string notes and thick liquid drumming tones fill part 1. This is bookended well by the similar but thicker and more mid-range rich drones in part 4, while the bits inbetween are somewhat odder.

Part 2 feels more conventionally orchestral, with various instruments bowing and scratching at each other in what feels like an imitation traffic jam, before more aggressive and impulsive scraping takes over and it eventually unfolds into an orchestral street fight, then a long and discombobulating steady exercise in microtonal increase that, by the end, becomes a challenge to see at which point your ears stop enjoying the screeching and it becomes unpleasant.

Part 3 is a little more obtuse, with more emphasis on atmospherics and the imitation of them- growling engine-like noises from the strings, sea and wave crashing white noises, and hollow circular metallic motions a little akin to… erm… the sound of washing up. It feels at times like a series of different vignettes of a small orchestra imitating the sounds of everyday life, like some form of quiz.

It’s a captivating listen from an ensemble clearly in tune with one another, and while sometimes it feels like there is no longer anything new under the avantgarde sun, no thread of composition or decomposition that remains unexplored, there’s still enough intrigue and complexity of texture in here to keep things decidedly interesting.

During lockdown, one of the albums I’ve returned to several times is Craven Faults’ previous album, “Erratics & Unconformities”. There’s a steady calm to it that manages to be conducive both to relaxing and to work, an almost stiff-upper-lip attitude in the gently looping analogue electronic patterns that are incredibly warming as well as beautiful. It’s like a home-knitted rug of analogue texture.

This short new album (possibly mini-album) “Enclosures” is pitched as being a return to Craven Faults’ earlier, more tense sounds, with “dark clouds gathering”. I’m relieved to report that it is a subtle evolution in tone rather than a wholesale change though.

“Doubler Stones” is night-time motorway material, a steady journeying pattern reminiscent of early Tangerine Dream long works, especially around the seven minute mark when the slightly sawtooth chord sounds appear. “Hard Level Force” continues in a fairly similar style initially, but as it progresses, just the slightest shades of the aforementioned tension do start to rear their head- resolutely pulsing single notes gently detached themselves from the main melody, and building washes of more discordant, pitch-meandering rumbles.

Longest piece “Weets Gate” switches some of the tension for a bit of melancholy, centring around big sparse synthbass notes that are ever-present, and which gradually get joined by a series of additional elements in a decidedly soundtrack-like form, in a piece that feels like it evolves more, and is more composed- which is not to say that the other pieces are flat.

It’s beautiful, steady and gently soporific, painting sleepy industrial and urban landscapes but with a soft analogue brush. Whilst there are shades of the dark clouds in the sound, I would and will still turn to this album as a way to wind down and stretch out my thoughts through the Winter and beyond.

“WERL3” is a recording of a one-off improvised set with Gareth Davis joining the regular WERL duo of Aidan Baker and Tomas JÄrmyr. It was recorded in the Christuskirche Bochum, as part of 2019’s Moving Noises Festival, but the sonic quality of it is so spotless that it certainly has all the tonal qualities of a studio recording.

After an initial ten minutes of more-or-less calm with soporific warm drone, the first part gradually builds up a sense of jungle adventure, and in turn, jungle danger- the clarinet at times sounding like distant animal calls, and the drums becoming more tribal. The third instrument of the trio is a guitar, though it’s largely so heavily effected and experimentally played that at times it is hard to recognise. This jungle-like business falls away towards the end of part one into a more open space, where the tone and texture of some of the instruments and in particular the echoing effects can be better appreciated.

This flows unbroken into part two, which is a marginally more tempered and structured affair. The clarinet edges into the foreground, politely, and a marginally more avantgarde jazz flavour is attained. As in the first part there is a gradual build, a gradual weathering increase in the frequency and menace of the drums, but the clarinet sails over it somewhat unaffected, lost in its own little world almost.

For a completely improvised live performance, the innate sense of shared expression on show here is extremely impressive. Whilst some my find it a little on the undramatic side, it is a rather entrancing experience and it would undoubtedly have been captivating to watch live.

With a background as a professional drummer, you might expect Sascha Bachmann’s work as Hand to be heavily rhythmic- but instead, “Suburbaen” is ambient music, but made through the filter of someone with rhythm in their heart. “How would William Basinski sound if he made music for the dance floor?”, it asks. Based on that answer, certainly nobody would be dancing- as this is ambient electronic music, with just the lightest of rhythm woven into it as soft pulses and waves of hums.

The press release asks questions like “what do we listen to in our mother’s belly during pregnancy?”, for which Hand’s answer appears to be evident at the beginning of the oddly titled “Two Drink Minimum”, with its steady heartbeat, sometimes calm, sometimes muddled alongside other abstract and unrecognisable sounds, reprised for the album’s closure “To Drink Maximum” [sic]. The urgency rises a little as the track progresses, but there’s always a fluidity- if this is meant to represent childbirth, it’s a remarkably smooth ride.

At its more upbeat moments, there are hints of Tangerine Dream here, particularly in some of the washy soft noise waves that roll over analogue pulsing, or the dark purposeful synth notes that open “No For An Answer”. But it is consistently amelodic, focussing on the hum and drone and never conceding to a tune. A darker side is more evident in pieces like “For Eliane”, where the drone is both noisier and more sinister- and yet again, notably a little womb-like.

The rhythm is a touch more prominent, but marginally so, in the second half of the release. “Note To Self” is perhaps what unborn babies hear when their mothers are listening to loud heavy drum and bass. Glitchy, damp rhythms are always present but never dominant. “Crescent” has a more foregrounded electronic bleeping set against an almost jazzy abstract series of drum incidences.

It’s a curious piece of deep electronic dronework, which adds just the tiniest smatterings of more mainstream sounds to an otherwise very familiar-sounding ambient framework. It isn’t an out-and-out fusion though, more of a regular ambient work with more texture, and as such, it does work rather well.

Chris Abrahams has a track record of electro-acoustic works on the Room40 label, but “Appearance” offers up something different- his first solo piano work for the label. Comprising two pieces, each around twenty minutes long, it’s entirely constructed from the conventional playing of a reverberant, grand-sounding piano- no tricks, no effects, no scratching or interfering, just tinkling.

Much of “As A Vehicle, The Dream” arrives in waves, with moderately long pauses and breathers alternating with faster cascades of notes, though never truly fast. It’s gentle, relaxing and fluid, and for its duration, mostly undramatic.

“Surface Level” has a similar tone, and still plenty of undulating, but has a slightly more romantic leaning, with top line melody notes that feel wistful and more structured- balletic, and almost but not quite danceable at times.

Undeniably virtuoso and elegant, it’s a solo piano album with very few surprises up its sleeve, but which certainly still has plenty of charm.