My edition of SLP001 will be different to yours. My initials are stenciled onto the paper ribbon in silver font, sheathing the individually stenciled card sleeve within, which in turn holds the individually stenciled CD. Needless to say, the opening statement of the Slip Disc label places strong emphasis on the physical product as something to be treasured, and the exchange between label and listener to be one of mutual gratitude, rather than an investment in something faceless. SLP001 is not a sterile clone of the copy before it extracted nonchalantly off the top of the pile; it’s crafted just for you.
Endearing package aside, the 17 minutes of music that introduce Slip Discs ensure that the product is worthy of treasuring. Concisely, Points Of Light establishes the label as an eclectic assortment of elements warmly entwined – laptop electronics melting into off-axis piano chords, vocals negotiating a duet with violin, looped melody dissipating into (and rising out of) ambient abstraction. “London Conversation” and “Points Of Light (fadeout)” could be said to be the two centrepiece cuts and undoubtedly make the strongest connection – they sway in unison on a base of stuttering beat and thump, with Sam Quill’s words paced carefully within and between each synthesiser surge. Whatever comes forth from the label next, fingers crossed it furthers the beautifully judged experimental ambitions established on this disc.