33-10-3402, also known as Serbian-born artist/producer Nenad Markovic, returns to the ESP Institute for the third release in his opium den and whorehouse inspired Mecanica series. Slow Port is a cacophonous track, skillfully composed of an erratic barrage of percussive klinks and klanks as you might find in an automotive factory—pistons, gears, quips, cranks, but despite its industrial instrumentation, Nenad manages to extract a beautifully seductive quality from this beast. On Side B we're faced with the slightly more musical Plutonium Certainly, an exercise in distortion which is punctuated by repetitive androgynous chanting, and finally we culminate and release simultaneously with Elika, an overtly ethereal blur somewhere between hope and melancholy. To fully appreciate Nenad's crafted subtlety, we recommend repeated listening.

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33-10-3402, also known as Serbian-born artist/producer Nenad Markovic, returns to the ESP Institute for the fourth and final release in his opium den and whorehouse inspired Mecanica series. Metamorfoze is a psychedelic melting pot which can best be described as a train commute to a distant planet—our senses confronted left, right and center by unfamiliarities. Its counterpart on Side B entitled T Bov boasts a pseudo tribal rhythm, yet its post-apocalyptic soundscaping takes us anywhere but the expected. At this point Nenad has managed to whirl our imagination into a state of confusion so deep that we're simply at a loss for words. Its in these moments where we at the ESP Institute are most proud, with the birth of something absolutely new. Bravo Nenad, bravo.

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33-10-3402 is a code name for Nenad Markovic, an imaginative and limitless musician and producer from Belgrade, Serbia. This release is the second in a trilogy of opium den and whore- house inspired singles entitled Mecanica. III33 is features a disorienting vocal, that repeats as if caught in a psychedelic cycle your mind cannot break, accompanied by stuttering percussive elements and metallic textures. Cool Down is a post-apocalyptic drum circle that keeps your groove alert as it moves between accent placement and eventually builds into a full force bad acid trip. Be careful with this record.

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When Daichi Furukawa showed up on our radar in 2018, it was at a time when the ESP Institute was loosely focusing on (our obtuse version of) club-friendly releases, but upon our first listen to his Ground demos that would become his debut 2xLP 'Sunizm', we immediately threw accessibility out the window again. Ground is technically from Osaka, but we believe he’s actually from another planet, merely passing through, collecting data from all aspects of Earth—be it organic, animal, chemical, or human-made fodder. Perhaps his clan found the “Golden Record” on our space junk Voyager 1 and considered our attempt at self-representation oblivious, mediocre, laughable, and decided to come show us how it could be done properly. After the inimitable 'Sunizm', a slew of singles and remixes, and follow-up EP entitled 'Wakusei', we’re proud to finally present the long-awaited 2xLP, 'Yaoyorozoo'. Once again, Daichi steps into some hybrid-of-hybrids territory—a truly mutant fusion of culture and sonics that should make no sense at all, but his confidence (and disregard for public comprehension) shows no mercy in thrusting his vision upon us. 'Yaoyorozoo' is both ancient and future, primitive and advanced, tribal and lone wolf—a mélange of human success and failure, a cerebral scraping of consciousness, a granular paste of Earthly artefacts smeared across 73 minutes. Moments of undeniable beauty devolve into heavy and uncomfortable hallucinations, voices speak to us from hidden spaces in the soundstage… or do they? Scenes are set just long enough for the listener to accept one reality, only to be abruptly disoriented by jarring elements that pull our subconscious center-stage and question our sense of perception. What the fuck is actually happening here? Everything evolves tangentially, much like dream abstractions—or this press release itself—testing the limits of audience patience and laughing at any semblance of what’s acceptable, functional, or conventional.

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Patrick Conway crossed the threshold to find a new hope. This is his third offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Loss' sets an overall melancholic tone for the record. A single repeating high note on the piano establishes a guiding element, which is eventually supported by a tear-jerking yet resolving chord progression, a trailing choir of angelic voices, and a filter-modulating synth that pads the widest zones of the mix with the occasional counter-melody. Robust in and of itself, Patrick’s melodic arrangement floats gracefully over an otherwise antagonistic rhythm section built from his signature corroded dancehall arsenal. This hornets nest of boxed live kick drums, piccolo snares, and high-pitched toms is held together by a dry veneer of saturation, sitting at safe distance from but in natural harmony with the bulbous low-frequency atmospherics. On the flip, 'Silencio' employs a similar statement at the top of each measure, this time an anthemic polyphonic synth stab as opposed to the singular piano note, however, unlike the layered melodies throughout 'Lost', here Patrick explores the narrative possibility of negative space—call and response, rhythmic dialogue, and the implied notes that leave the listener’s or dancer’s intuition to complete a phrase. In the game “musical chairs,” children run around manically until signaled to find a chair, at which point their diverse personalties must urgently synchronize, until set free to run again and repeat the process. Patrick's approach for 'Silencio' conjures said metaphor—his melody and rhythm are unleashed to meander and spasm within the confines of each respective bar, until that anticipated synth stab unifies everything “on the one”—controlling the chaos, calling on muscle memory and affirming logic. These two songs will be with you always as they always have been.

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“Taking our time” has become a sort of ESP modus operandi, often proving that when variables are left to cook long enough—relationships, styles, politics, moments in culture—we may collectively yield a more considered result. Once in a 'Blue Moon', we set sights on a record that conducts some strange voodoo, some rare combination of elements that commands our entire being. Entering our atmosphere with a concise 6-track debut, dub technician Brendon Moeller has brought us exactly that. Although we’ve long been admirers Brendon’s work, separated by only a few degrees—he and ESP’s Lovefingers are the same age and shared a decade of salad days in New York City—it took another decade before enough courage was mustered to suggest we actually work together. Our reticence has seen Brendon’s aesthetic and palette evolve over the years, and the label has simultaneously sculpted a tone of its own, but now we’re more than proud to finally marry his highly refined output with our, let’s say, “deliberate” appetite. 'Blue Moon' touches everywhere Brendon has been as an artist—from the obtuse corners of ambient to IDM, dub techno to liquid drones and bass—yet the vocabulary is honed and succinct, relying on a very intentional handful of expressions. This is almost an exercise in restraint, all 6 tracks are delivered from a disciplined and committed point-of-view, but what we find most captivating is the exploration that this allows in terms of depth, texture, fluidity and pacing. There is a complexity hidden in plain sight that begs to be studied, a comfort that allows us to slip inside like a warm bath, an addictive tingling sensation that we must prolong indefinitely. Even as we write this testimonial, the album is going on a fourth repeat and we languish the intervening silence between tracks. This is being under the spell of Brendon’s 'Blue Moon'.

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Following 2020’s 'Point Vacancies', the debut EP from Jamie Paton and Mike Bourne’s collaborative act Metal, the duo return with a trio of dubwise remixes from Mr Paton himself as well as a peak-time stormer from fellow Bristol artist, Hodge. The latter immediately sets the record ablaze with a driving thump, duo of grainy hi-hats and a chalky clap. He layers an anthemic three-chord pad progression, building octaves, peppering in arpeggiated bleeps and articulate lead melodies, then tops it off with a few modular elements that retain the character of the original, before climaxing in true rave fashion. Proper. The following three mixes by Metal’s own Jamie Paton make apparent his sonic obsession — the type of infinite tweaking that sees some artists/producers to the edge of madness, or at the very least satisfies some dragon-chasing addiction. There’s a successive deconstruction from 'Remix' to 'Dubwise' to 'Dubwise II', most notably a reduction of rhythm and drum machinery, but also in general tonality. The melody remains central but is gradually obscured, taking on a less and less recognizable form, and by the end we’re left with a skeleton of the track, quips and cranks, an assembly line of aluminum sheeting punctuated by demented nuts and bolts. As with the previous EP, the sparsity of elements illustrates just how far one can twist aesthetics, proving that self-imposed limitations can often propel an artist’s process and land them somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere foreign, somewhere enchanted.

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There was a long time I considered Raymond Richards the ultimate secret weapon. There were sounds he could make that other people just couldn’t. Pure, whole, yet complex sounds. The pedal steel is an extremely niche instrument outside of its Country confines, but its sheer and transcendent depth has never failed to floor me. Raymond’s ear for implementing the steel into literally 'anything' has always been uncanny. After decades of being savvy to his work ethic, multi-faceted studio skills and overall sense of musical honesty, it became a priority for me to channel some of this into narratives through the ESP Institute and get his stories told. Without further recounting the history and trajectory of our musical relationship (see the press release for 2020’s critically-acclaimed album 'The Lost Art Of Wandering'), I can whole-heartedly confirm this sophomore release, 'Sand Paintings', opens an even wider door into Raymond’s visceral, contemplative world. The cast of players has elaborated to include Calexico’s John Convertino on drums and percussion, a bevy of eccentric stringed instruments and even a hint of brass to collectively stratify context for the pedal steel. Through diversifying the timbral palette, we invite an increased soundstage acuity but also reveal untapped wells of emotion for the listener, perhaps even testing cultural literacies. One foot remains in our established ambient realm, while the other steps toward grand cinematic gestures, and despite the dense, insurmountable emotion in these songs, there is a stoic singularity, like a lonesome cowboy pulling up his boot straps to endure another day. 'Badwater Basin' opens with courage, an enormous chord evoking Raymond’s image of “hard dawn”, but in navigating through the dramatic depictions of 'Monument Valley', 'Saguaro' and 'Deer On Hwy 80', we grapple with a cloaked vulnerability—weathered by the elements, beaten down and alone, yet still madly in love with the world. —Lovefingers

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ESP Institute artist Bartellow, one third of the project Tambien and otherwise known in the Contemporary Classical sphere as Beni Brachtel, returns to the label with his second full-length release, Noosphere. While currently heading the SVS label and residency series out of Munich, Beni’s resume expands well beyond electronic music to include immersive sound installations such as The Adven- ture Of The Empty House (solo live performance across seven floors of Walter Henn’s Deckelbau building), a slew of compositions for the Bavarian State Opera (for which he doubled as conductor), and a prolific career of over twenty-five theater scores for institutions such as the Münchner Kammerspiele, Schauspiel Basel, Maxim Gorki Theater Berlin, Berliner Ensemble, Schauspiel Köln, Schaus- piel Graz and with directors Ersan Mondtag, Alexander Eisenach, Jessica Glause and Tobias Staab among others. Noosphere is a compendium excerpting from theatrical scores WUT (Elfriede Jelinek, at Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2020), Ödipus and Antigone (Maxim Gorki Theatre Berlin, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2017), Der Zauberberg (Thomas Mann, Schauspiel Graz, directed by Alexander Eisenach, 2017), Hass Tryptichon (Sybille Berg, Wiener Festwochen / Maxim Gorki Theatre, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2019), Wonderland Ave. (Sibylle Berg, Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2018), Die Verdammten (after Visconti ´s film, Schauspielhaus Köln, directed by Ersan Mondtag, 2019) and Roi Ubu (Alfred Jarry, Theater Neumarkt, Zurich, directed by Alexander Eisenach, 2018). The work traverses homages, infusing everything from Baroque to Impressionism, and while these types of references are certainly built into the canon of Theatre as a discipline, here we gather histor- ic layers in an even wider net. Under the self-referential thumb of Contemporary Classical music, this sort of "hindsight" approach has been largely avoided, however, in today’s all-access arena, the constant stream of historic causal-chained events has opened a delta where anything is possible. This defines Bartellow’s stance among his colleagues as well as his cultural position as a composer. Beni considers beauty a fleeting objective in the arts, that expression is often expected to follow notions of Destructivism or the unfulfilled. Art will pore over wounds, collective angst, mourn- ing a loss of natural habitat or a fear of technological invasion, yet there is a bitter irreverence for the friction or salvation in beauty itself. Acknowledging this subjectivity — what one audience considers superficial pleasure may be deeply profound to another — he leans into musical instinct as if composing via divine conduit. Noosphere conjures a array of suspense, ecstasy, melancholy, and dread, but in isolating the work from its theatrical component, Brachtel directs our focus toward formal qualities, clearing unim- peded space to conceive fresh narratives and examine dynamism and interconnectivity. In sympathy with often difficult theatre pieces, the passages can be dark and transgressive, but more importantly they remain relative to Brachtel’s circumstances at their time of creation. The title Noosphere speaks to the evolution of human thought and knowledge, opening a door to subjective points-of-view. For example, Nexus II On The Beach refers to both Roberto Musci’s Water Messages On Desert Sand as well as the film Bladerunner, invoking the image of an android enjoying the sunset, but whether or not this abstraction may be considered beautiful depends the listener’s cumulative life experience and perspective. This is hybrid chamber music, augmented by electro-acoustic layers, juxtaposing various periods and successively processing their residual themes into a trans-generational rendering of “now.”

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Jdotbalance left the moon and the sky for a city that works. This is their first offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Sublimate' combines two aspects of a digital pipe and mallet assortment—both as the percussive base for a groove, and as an interstitial layer where inherent resonances are massaged into melody. Bubbles and squeaks dance around the sound-stage periphery, occasionally pierced by high frequency statements, presenting as either ghostly yelps from the aether or as bursts of kaleidoscopic shards. A third of the way through the track, the instrumentation truly does sublimate, crystallizing into a new self—bolder and naughtier, abandoning its pensive optimism for a detour around the spectrum's dark end. On the flip, 'Precipitate' continues with its predecessor's primer of metallic percussion, but accelerates the pace to reveal Jdot’s attitude leaning toward cunty malice. The kick drum relentlessly pounds us as 16th note droplets metamorphose from chrome-dipped hail into full-blown acid wind. As intensity retreats beneath the digital rubble and the track draws to a close, so does our stream of Jdot’s consciousness. These two songs will accelerate your nervous system.

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After heavy-duty releases on self-administered imprints Low End Activism and Sneaker Social Club, as well as London’s beloved graffiti-laden mutant-bass stronghold Seagrave (RIP), the almighty Low End Activist makes a welcome debut with the ESP Institute. No stranger to mining distant regions the hardcore continuum and the residue of soundsystem culture at large, his relentless traversing and assembling of U.K.-specific rhythms demonstrates there is no end in sight when it comes to evolving the region’s musical gene pool. The 5-track 'Gossip Is The Devil’s Radio' strings together a smear of dystopian instrumentation—ghostly pads wrapped in melancholy, percussion that marries bleep with low resolution shrapnel, and vocal fragments that resemble a control tower’s two-way radio on the fritz—all imperfectly focused through a damaged lens of dancehall. We’re drawn to a dull moan that pervades throughout the record, reminiscent of the nihilistic moments in Abigail Meade’s score to 'Full Metal Jacket' where the sonics resemble a slow churn of molten steel occasionally punctuated and pierced by crystalline shards. The depth between the bone dry immediate foreground and distant wet background creates an exquisite sense of longing which isn’t inherently dark or menacing, but seductively bleak. As voyeurs, we may certainly appreciate the aesthetic LEA portrays, but we can’t fully comprehend the sense of escapism rooted within this music without having come of age in the damp and restless confines of England on the cusp of Thatcher’s abuse. Its a reminder that the light at the end of a tunnel, while it may be dim and grey, is still a light after-all, and the only way out is through.

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Close your eyes and merge into Benedikt Frey’s 'Fastlane'. Imagine sitting in the driver’s seat of a an automobile, one with exceptional horsepower and torque, as you stare out the windshield at the red light, warping in fata-morgana a mile down the road. It’s a straight-away, a black top with two lanes, and against your better judgment you decide to floor the gas. No hesitation in your muscle, your ankle or the ball of your foot, which you now realize is some kind of universal pivot, the first point of contact fusing your body with the will of machine. In this moment you’re in awe that you, a human, an animal, grew from pond scum into something so advanced as to engineer this thing, a mechanical beast capable of overwhelming power and exhilaration. But you also feel a seductive dread, an outside force diverting you from caution toward a dangling carrot of curiosity, asking yourself, ‘How far can I take this thing?’ The dread, now a constant, is numbed, equalized by an adverse intoxicating gratification. You feel both sensations in real time, however, rather than take responsibility for yourself, friends, family and innocent bystanders, you cement your foot to the floor and lean your head back. Noise around you fades to mute. Smell the benzene-scented air, feel the wind on your face, the menacing vibration of the vessel you control beneath you and every grain of asphalt under its tires. This mile has now lasted an eternity and you’ve left your body for some objective view, as if watching climax of a film. Past the point of no return, you embrace abandon and lean into fate. The film becomes slow motion, a crawling pace so mesmerizing you convince yourself of an option to eject yourself from this madness, but as you finally let go of your last morsel of fear, you run the red light head-on into the nucleus of a fantastic glistening sculpture of torn metal, glass, oil, broken dreams and heartache. 'Fastlane' may be just drum machines and synthesizers if you’re timid, but listen harder and know the catastrophic reality of existence, a wreckage so gruesome we dare not rubberneck, but afterall it is our nature to stare.

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Evelyn spreads her wings and prepares to fly. This is her first offering for the ESP Institute. On side A, 'Tremors' slams together a plethora of seemingly disparate rhythms, organic percussion, field samples, hypnotic chants and a relentless low end punch, that when in full-swing, works some seriously deep sorcery. Contrasting her pounding kick and rolling sub combo are a softer grouping of melodies, soft mallets and muted tones that lay subtly beneath the aggression, skillfully playing with a sense of spatial depth and room size. Its the kind of track that draws you in with meditative bars, concentric cycles that sit ever so slightly off-axis, inducing the mind and body to obsess and regulating its timing, and then drops you into a very intentionally arranged soundstage giving expansive space to explore. On the flip, 'Pregunta' continues this approach of natural versus industrial instrumentation. The consistent machine kick has a powerful but playful tone, the negative space between each stroke evoking a mighty gesture as its note bends in the decay. Set in 3/4, a community of live percussion successively adds and subtracts, each player’s imperfect attack accumulating into a mechanically smeared and addictive loop that toys with peaks a handful of times yet restrains any unnecessary climax for the betterment of a driving groove. Near the end, as the kick and various players mute and the base of the track is given a moment to breathe, its apparent just how layered the production was in the moments prior, as we’re suddenly at home, smitten with the wobbly and lopsided innocence of the foundational percussion. These two songs will push you headfirst into the light.

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Opal Sunn (Alex Kassian and Hiroaki OBA) believe in unicorns, leprechauns and mermaids. This is their first offering for the ESP Institute. The A side leads with 'The Problem With George', a percussive monster at a half-time tempo that goes deep with a dual mission; to successively build round after round while keeping the listeners mind and body in an ecstatic state of surrender. Imagine the dancefloor pumping, and at a dynamic peak the DJ halves the timing and wipes the floor with your spinal fluid. On the flip, 'The Mystery Of Mr Lee' takes a similar approach in terms of arc and arrangement, although replacing the analogue percussion with 16th-note arpeggios of synthetic steel, glass and tubes. Beneath this glistening veneer lies another scale-wandering melody constructed of machine toms that eventually opens up, morphing into a more decisive hook, wrapping more tightly around the drum pattern before retreating back beneath layers. If dropped at the opportune time, let’s say the sensitive blue morning before dawn cracks, we expect a dancefloors to reach the highest level of psychedelic escape, after which hugs are essential. These two songs will tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.

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'Night Of The Endless Beyond', the sophomore album by Lord Of The Isles AKA Neil McDonald for the ESP Institute, had almost become a mythical piece of work. The tracks very slowly crept into formation from the lowest depths of 2021, and once the completed album finally made the leap from creation into manufacturing, an entirely new onslaught of follies and delays awaited at the pressing plant. We began to laugh, for not only did Mario Hugo’s otherworldly sleeve artwork visually translate this music so well, but it was an uncanny premonition to the album being lost in space, falling through a black hole, evaporating into the aether like a dream that never really happened. But, at long last, ground control has confirmed contact! It did happen, it will arrive, and it’s not a myth. Listening to 'Night Of The Endless Beyond' now feels like the return of a strayed friend, one whose distance left us pining for an embrace. Although this Techno relies on unassuming means, there is a remarkably complex and persuasive emotional statement embedded here, insisting we learn to endure the long game and allow ourselves patience to investigate and appreciate the minutiae contained not only within the notes, but their negative space. From its introduction, through its mellow crests and valleys, there is a conveyance of restraint — subtle dynamics that quietly beg for attention, repetition so hypnotic that imaginary melodies are inescapable, transient peaks so deliberately scaled that we mourn the subsequent decay. In accordance with Neil’s ESP debut, 'In Waves', we never feel attacked by instrumentation but shielded from sharp edges, able to step inside the music, breathe the air it occupies and know its true intentions, whether bright or bleak.
Just prior to the album close, a film dialogue excerpt summarizes everything quite honestly by proposing, “The truth of the universe is waiting … the truth of what is … it’s all going to go away … everything … into blackness … the void … and nobody is in charge.” “…and what do you do with that?” We stare long into the 'Night Of The Endless Beyond' and answer… “You smile.”

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Stalactite is a collaborative recording project by renown Japanese artist and multi-instrumentalist Susumu Mukai AKA Zongamin and producer Drew Brown, whose discography ranges from his own group Off World to a variety of integral productions for artists such as Blonde Redhead and Beck. Their self-titled debut for the ESP Institute is a grand gesture, a broad stroke that illustrates both singular focus and vast complexity, which is no easy feat considering the almost oppressive immediacy and availability of tools at the disposal of contemporary artists. There’s a level of creative confidence and discipline needed to work so fundamentally, and whether or not the listener has an appetite refined enough to process the tasteful subtleties throughout this production, these same subtleties accumulate regardless and land that listener in a highly considered and developed space. The deceptively naive melodic approach consistent across these nine tracks can feel transparent, familiar to a point the listener can anticipate its path, but when listening with acute focus we find a variable range of texture, temperature, depth and negative space. As alumni of the Minimal, Cold Wave, Synth Pop era, Susumu and Drew successfully personify a motley crew of synthesizers to work in concert, reduced to their core personalities and presented as their most honest selves — austere, shy, cinematic, percolating, bulbous, glistening, cantankerous, rubberized, clumsy and animated. Each masterfully paired with complimentary counterparts, these players assemble into a sound-stage we typically find in live recordings, enveloping and inviting us to the center of an acoustic cavern to wade through sonic impressions of monolithic stalactites.

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In pairing words with art, the ESP Institute often does everything journalists hate. We drown the reader in hyperbole, abstractions as opposed to didactic or literal depictions, and paint the press release with superlatives that construct an existential struggle around the art and its conditions. To articulate our reasoning behind collaborating with the artist, or the synergy between their work and our catalogue, is sometimes so challenging that crossing that finish line is achingly delayed. Patrick Conway’s 2xLP 'Cellular Housekeeping', his fourth release with the label, is one of these works so monumentally exciting for us that we’ve strained over how to deliver with honor his art unto the masses. After the initial hurdle of visual representation (in this case handled with gusto by artist Hassan Rahim), how do we directly and intentionally talk about the art we deeply love, when in reality we’re largely guided by instinct? We explore many angles, often failing along the way, until finding a final click in the combination that unlocks the floodgates. With Patrick’s album, that elusive impetus revealed itself in a literary gem that both symbolized his aggressive, melancholic, romantic, and bleak overtones, as well as synchronized his work and our task with a metaphor so grand it justified putting these words to paper. In the deeply British poem of despair and hope, 'Comus: A Mask Presented at Ludlow Castle', John Milton immortalized the classic idiom of the “silver lining”, and we find comfort in this transaction between struggle and what the poet considered divine intervention. Our bout of procrastination that brewed a cloud over the art may too tout a silver lining, the time that’s elapsed clearing a path for the album to exist in its rightful place, as opposed to fighting for a voice at an overcrowded table. In hindsight, this final hurdle might have only existed because without it, there is no glory, no resolution, but as all the pieces click and we collectively cross the finish line, Patrick Conway’s once captive 'Cellular Housekeeping' is now truly released.

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Prodigal son of the ESP Institute, Juan Ramos, rises from the cesspool of a world gone mad with 'Agua Del Cenote', his fifth release with the label. Whilst many artists are following their inner light to bring us some much needed joy amidst these rotten times, Juan (being the little shit that he is) follows an inner demon and delivers listeners and dancers a demented clusterfuck of sadistic chaos. The title track opens with what sounds like a butane torch and we metaphorically freebase into oblivion. Our perception of reality unravels, writhing in abrasive textures smeared across a low-slung, mid-tempo erotic thump. Everything feels blurry and distant, as if we’re swimming through an underground aquatic tunnel, in a panic, searching for an invisible band of spirits whose tune summons us into certain annihilation. Following this is a remix from a decorated lord of 20th Century electronics, Harald Grosskopf AKA The Synthesist. Harald wipes away grit and lethargy to reveal elements hidden deep within the mix as well as softens Juan’s sense of terror by building up to an optimistic layer of added synth. We’d love to offer some relief with the balance of the EP, however, the remaining two tracks paint complimentary hues in the same cerebral palette. 'Let It Go (Freaks Only)' veers closely to House in terms of tempo and gestalt, utilizing a vocal sample from Third Generation (Kerri Chandler) and a healthy dose of sub bass, but Juan hardly apologizes for his masochistic tendencies and certainly never relents into an uplifting mood. Closing the EP, Juan serves an antidote of sorts with 'Cuko', as if suggesting a way out of the swamp, but leaves it up to the listener’s intuition to not only see the carrot, but actually follow it into the light, thus completing the quest.

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Something wicked this way comes. Following singles 'Know The Future' b/w 'Digital Warfare' in 2019 and 'Hypersocial' b/w 'Safety Test' in 2020, ESP’s own Patrick Conway has now teamed up with the illustrious Appleblim (of Skull Disco and Apple Pips fame) for a meaty self-titled debut 2xLP under the new collaborative moniker, Trinity Carbon. There is something to be said for art created in the face of global unraveling, while mass transgression and the friction of culture shifting produce poignant commentary, but more often than not, it’s the personal coping mechanisms within our work that have the power to speak directly to the receiver. After a number of sessions resulting in wild imaginative beginnings, it was the untimely passing of Andrew Weatherall and a coming to terms with that loss that moved the two Brits-via-Berlin to herd their roaming sketches into a more narrative statement. In the uphill struggle to retain some sense of individualism, it’s always outsiders like Weatherall whose risks illuminate the roads of creativity less traveled, and when those beacons go dark there is a disorientation felt far and wide. Conway and Blim concede to the internal inquiry, “What would Weatherall do?” bringing to mind the man’s pervading morale, always soldiering onward through mediocrity, as it was undoubtedly an impetus for the duo growing steadfast and chiseling 'Trinity Carbon' into completion. While employing trusted machines in the bass department, they established a warm euphonic home base from which they could stray in a variety of tonal and rhythmic directions without straining a tether to the album’s core. However, as soon as any hint of familiarity may arise, or listeners begin to mentally assign stylistic epithets, the duo boldly change course to remind us that while the banal stay safely defined, it’s the iconoclasts, the outsiders who make us feel.

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WAS - Word and Sound Medien GmbH
Liebigstrasse 2-20
DE - 22113 Hamburg
Germany
Contact: [email protected]More