“Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction”, uscito per la portoghese Crónica Records, è il nuovo album di Durán Vázquez, musicista sperimentale di lungo corso in campo elettronico e acusmatico.
Insieme a lui troviamo Dani “Kloob”, producer di grande esperienza e figura molto legata alla musica ambient più scura e cinematografica.
Il disco si ispira a “Novel of the White Powder” di Arthur Machen, autore solitamente considerato tra i precursori della narrativa sci-fi e horror.
L’obiettivo dichiarato dell’album è quello di creare una sorta di colonna sonora non ufficiale dell’opera letteraria, con otto brani privi di forme e schemi tradizionali e segnati da una incessante evoluzione di rumori bianchi, soluzioni drone, texture ed elementi sintetici elaborati sempre e rigorosamente manualmente.
Muovendo da queste premesse, “Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction” esplora diverse atmosfere: l’opener “Prelude to Dreadful Confessions by a Doctor”, immersa in ambientazioni cupe ma segnata da un incedere vagamente narrativo, sembra suggerire l’idea di un viaggio che è anche, e forse prima di tutto, psicologico, mentre episodi come “Ambience of Suspicion” insistono su soluzioni più statiche e alimentano anche un senso di sospensione e attesa, oltre che di sospetto come evocato dal titolo.
“Ominous Remedy – Transcending Human Condition”, però, è il cuore pulsante dell’opera, il luogo in cui è custodita la maggior parte della tensione che permea l’intero album: un brano segnato dall’ossessività dei pattern musicali e da un climax di saturazione che finisce per trasformare i minuti finali in un’esperienza quasi claustrofobica.
“Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction” è un lavoro stratificato e complesso, scritto con un linguaggio volutamente di nicchia e molto vicino alla sound art: l’esperienza complessiva è piacevole per la sua intensità e la sua ricerca, oltre a essere materiale prezioso per gli appassionati di dark ambient. (Piergiuseppe Lippolis)
As time passes, our tastes change. For some, they narrow and become more cemented, more deeply entrenched. There’s a broad acceptance that people become more conservative as they grow older – which may explain why, with our ageing population, we – that’s the western world – has become more in favour of conservative values, such as low tax and a belief that the past was a golden age in which hard work was rewarded, and of course, music was better. There is certainly more than a grain of truth in the boomer stereotype. And as a Gen X-er, I’ve observed people I grew up with, and /or have known for many years become set in their ways and their listening habits, locked in the 90s in their musical tastes, and becoming increasingly churlish about the youth of today and the like.
I consider myself fortunate to be surrounded by friends and acquaintances, both in real life and in the virtual world, who are deeply invested in new music. The fact I get sent new music of all kinds from around the globe is only half of the story, as it would be so easy to sweep vast swathes of it aside to listen to, and review, nothing but goth, contemporary iterations of post-punk and new wave, grunge, and reissues. In fact, I could devote my entire listening time and run a website dedicated to nothing but reissues and still be incredibly busy. It would probably garner a huge readership, too. But no: I am constantly encouraged to listen to new music, and the fact of the matter is that I thrive on it, and never fail to get a buzz from new discoveries. As such, since I began this journey as a music writer, my horizons have broadened beyond a range I would have ever imagined.
A measure of this is that my first encounter with the music of Rutger Zuydervelt, back in 2014, was marked by a most unimpressed four-star review, in which I said that Stay Tuned was ‘a bit of a drag’. While I don’t feel particularly inspired to revisit it now alongside my writing of this review, I feel I would likely have been more receptive to its longform minimalism now.
Spelonk is not quite as long in form – three compositions spanning a total of forty-two minutes, and sees Zuydervelt taking some time out from his dayjob to indulge in the act of creating for pleasure – or, perhaps, more accurately, creating out of the need to experience freedom, to feel that metaphorical – and perhaps literal – sigh of release.
As he explains, ‘Most of the music I make nowadays is commissioned for film, dance, or other projects. And I love it — it’s the best job in the world! — but sometimes I have to pull myself away from it, and make something purely for myself. My 2004 release Omval was one of these works, as is now Spelonk. These projects are always made in short bursts; once I start creating, things fall into place quickly, as if the ideas were (unknowingly) already there and just needed to get out of my system.
The three tracks that comprise Spelonk (simply titled I, II, III) are built with “hardware jams” that I recorded with my live setup. It’s all quite hands-on, with effects pedals, an oscillator, and electronic gadgets. The magic happens when combining different recordings, layering them, and hearing what happens. Listening is always a favorite moment in the process, with a welcome element of surprise. I guess it’s all about creating alien landscapes — alien also to me too — that are exciting to explore.’
‘Alien landscapes’ is a fair description of these sparse works, constructed with layers of ominous drone. On ‘Spelonk II’, there are chittering sounds which scratch like guitar string scraping against a fret, or perhaps a ragged bow dragging against a worn string, but by the same token, untranslatable voices come to mind. The drones are eerie, ethereal, and hang low like mist or dry ice: it’s not nor merely an example of dark ambient work – there is very much a 70s sci-fi feel to it, hints of BBC Radiophonic Workshop emerge between every surge and crackle as slow pulsations reverberate among the unsettling abstraction. Over the course of the track’s eighteen minutes, there is movement, evolution, and just past the midpoint, there is a shift, where trilling organ-like notes and digital bleeps emerge, evoking recordings from space travel, and, as rippling laser sounds begin to burst forth, vintage sci-fi movies and 70s TV.
There are moments of near silence as ‘Spelonk II’ drifts into ‘Spelonk III’, also eighteen minutes in duration. Here, clanks and bleeps bubble and bounce and echo erratically, unpredictably, over a backdrop of low hums and reverberations. The low-end vibrates subtly but perceptibly, and while the experience is not one which instils tension, the cave-like digital drips and sense of space, as well as darkness, is not relaxing. You find yourself looking around, wondering what’s around the corner, what’s in the shadows. And while there’s no grand reveal, no jump fright here, the second half of ‘Spelonk III’ grows increasingly murky and increasingly squelchy and unsettling.
Over the album’s duration, Spelonk grows in depth and darkness, becoming increasingly dark, strange, and unsettling. Rutger Zuydervelt makes a lot out of very little, to subtle but strong effect. Christopher Nosnibor
Here’s a real nice one by Bruno Duplant. Everyone knows that we can hear the voices of dead people on tapes, cylinders, and records, and Écouter les Fantômes (CRÓNICA 221-2024) is a fanciful take on this fascinating supernatural phenomenon, which has been popularised to an inch of its life with movies like White Noise and EVP.
Most of us had never heard of Friedrich Jürgenson until Mike Harding released that From The Studio For Audioscopic Research record in 2000, not unrelated to the Ghost Orchid item from the previous year. Jürgenson always seemed to me rather a boring fellow; in a staid, stodgy manner he laboured to convince the world of the scientific “truth” of what he thought he’d discovered. He wanted us to believe that unattended tape recordings could capture the presence of ghosts. Bruno Duplant, on today’s record, is doing quite the opposite; he’s writing a fiction in sound, and openly admits to it; he expresses “the aim of trying to transcribe a phantasmagorical, ancestral and secret universe which has always been fascinated and/or frightened us.” I think that’s what appeals to me too; the idea of secrets, the idea of finding ways to understand and explore the past, and the fact that we like to be frightened as well as fascinated by the unknown. It’s a very human compulsion.
Accordingly, distorted and treated voices drift in and out of the sonic “ectoplasm” he weaves on these two long compositions, and the effect is strangely beautiful and eerie; almost recognisable as human speech, or song, or something else that is totally unknown to us. There’s also the occasional bump and knock as these ghosts and spirits knock over another antique lamp or crash into your wooden oak furnishings. Duplant also did the sleeve photos which are brilliant re-stagings of 19th-century séance photographs, and such like; arms and faces of ethereal entities trying to break through from the “other side” and reach us with their phantom limbs.
Duplant has turned in some ultra-minimal offerings heard by us in previous years, but this one has more exciting content per square inch, and is more accessible than some of his delightful but impenetrable sonic riddles. Ed Pinsent
Met ‘Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction’ tekenen Durán Vásquez en Daniel Ferreira, aka Kloob, een muzikale schaduwwereld uit, geschikt voor een scifi-thrillerreeks vol donkere suspens. Niet zo vreemd: Kloobs dark ambient werd al eerder geïnspireerd door werk van Edgar Allen Poe en Andrej Tarkowski, en hier nam het duo ‘The Three Imposters’, een episodisch occult horrorverhaal van Arthur Machen als vertrekpunt. Intens en druk schuiven geluidssignalen al gauw over nauwelijks belichte muren, onderaardse gangen worden verkend, een kerker ontgrendeld. Iemand vond een vervloekte gouden munt: ze moet dringend heroverd worden. Daar: een giftig poeder. Het poeder dat het lot van student Walters bepaalde, na verkeerde medicatie nog nauwelijks meer dan een monsterlijk rottend wezen? Verder doorheen de plaat, dieper ondergronds, wordt de sfeer alleen maar killer, grauwer, zuurstoflozer. Welke geheimen liggen daar? Steeds denser geweven geluidssluiers leggen vage sporen voor.
En 1998, Durán Vázquez (Vigo, Galicia) comienza a trabajar en forma autodidacta y en 2003 se editan sus primeros discos en el sello Crónica. Otrora dueño del sello alg-label, posee una veintena de discos publicados, además de colaboraciones con connotados artistas sonoros y su participación en varios compilados. En 2003, se editan sus primeros discos en el sello Crónica y «Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction», es el cuarto para el sello de Porto. Su trabajo se centra en la creación sonora, radio arte y presentaciones en vivo, utilizando medios digitales con los que manipula los timbres y las texturas produciendo una capa sonora abstracta.
Por su parte, Daniel Ferreira afincado en Barcelona trabaja bajo el seudónimo de Kloob, quien en sus inicios incursiona -con el dúo Clubbervision y en solitario- en la música house underground. Desde 2010 comienza a desarrollar temas ambientales, experimentales y en la corriente dark ambient.
Durán Vázquez y Kloob se conocen desde hace más de 25 años. A principios de 2023 comenzaron a colaborar en el desarrollo de una obra de larga duración. El corto relato de terror de la «Novela del polvo blanco», de Arthur Machen -que también se le conoce como «Vinum Sabbati»-, surgió como fuente de inspiración y es precursora de lo que conocemos hoy como ciencia ficción.
Este nuevo lanzamiento publicado el 11 de noviembre de 2025 consiste en ocho temas instrumentales que son una suerte de banda sonora para esta novela que deviene en fragmentos orquestales sombríos e inflexiones ambientales que se empeñan por mostrar su lado oscuro.
La música intrigante que muestra «Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction», sugiere una escucha inmersiva, profunda y respetuosa del silencio.
HANNES STROBL führt mit Cais do Sodré (C 244) nach Lissabon, zur Fähre über den Tejo. Mit O-Ton von dort, den er in Berlin elektroakustisch gemischt hat mit Basssound und Electronics. Metallisches Dongen und Gedröhn wird durchschossen wie von blitzenden Pulverblättchen. Metalloider Klingklang rauscht auf und glockenspielt, kleine Pfiffe repetieren, Saiten harfen und zirpen, das Dröhnen dopplert. Das Klangbild wird konvulsisch, Phantomstimmen raunen, die Schiffsglocke dengelt. Zuletzt entzerrt sich die panische Anmutung zum alltäglichen Gemurmel und Fährbetrieb. Man muss wohl Fan von Remarque sein, um zum Abfahrtsmotiv und nervenzerrenden Eisenklang seine „Nacht von Lissabon“ zu assoziieren und den darin komprimierten Schrecken vor dem Naziterror. [BA 131 rbd]
This is the fourth release in Hannes Strobl’s ongoing series of compositions. Cais do Sodré is based on a field recording of the ferry terminal of the same name in Lisbon, which connects the city across the Tejo river with locations on the opposite bank. Central to the recording are sharp metallic sounds that resonate in the rhythm of the waves, possessing a powerful and industrial sonic quality. Voices in the terminal’s access corridor acquire a distinctive coloration through the acoustics of the covered, enclosed space, while distant boat engines create a field of tension between proximity and distance. The composition is derived from the sonic parameters of this material — microtonal structures, spectral profiles, and rhythmic patterns — and is written for electric bass, electric double bass, and electronics, unfolding between documentation and abstraction. In its final phase, the unaltered recording re-emerges as a return to the origin and as a reflection on the relationship between environmental sound, artistic transformation, and perception.
Cais do Sodré is now available to download or stream from Crónica.
Inspiré de la nouvelle La Poudre Blanche, issue du roman Les Trois Imposteurs, de Arthur Machen, considéré comme un des précurseurs de la littérature fantastique et de science-fiction, Vinum Sabbati, In the Dawn of Science Fiction est une oeuvre qui nous plonge dans un monde d’angoisse et d’effroi, à coups d’atmosphères froides et éviscérées de toute émotion.
Amis depuis 25 ans, Durán Vázquez et Kloob rendent hommage à l’oeuvre avant-gardiste de l’écrivain gallois, dont les les livres continuent d’effrayer et de retourner les lecteurs, 130 après sa parution.
Les ambiances cinématographiques composées par le duo, cartographient les lieux reculés de nos peurs, espaces obscurs à l’intérieur desquels des masses informes rampent et déploient leur aura étrange, chargée de vibrations profondes aux armatures industrielles impénétrables.
Les titres forment un tout tentaculaire semblant étirer leurs tentacules métalliques jusque dans nos rêves les plus enfouis, réveillant en nous des lueurs de noirceur à la beauté vénéneuse. Hypnotique. Roland Torres
