All posts in Record
4: Junk palette and reconstitution.
5: Humbled by raw material.
3: My growing intimacy with “Waiting For Solo Bass Drum”.
4: The lethargy and emaciation of “Pan”, and how I came to love it.
Breath via reed and muscle fibre.
Sound as smoke. The unravelling edges of trombone, electronics and voice.
Touré goes electro-acoustic. An ever-renewing Songhaï celebration of forever in the now.
A bustling, 41-minute contemplation on listening, understanding and occupancy.
Hydraulically enacted Morse code. Keyboards crushed against the limits of stereo.
Fractured civility for percussion and spluttering synthesiser.