Philippe Petit’s “A Divine Comedy” reviewed by Chain DLK

Cover of the album "A Divine Comedy"

Ah, “A Divine Comedy”! A title as grandiose as the task at hand, and yet Philippe Petit, the ever-ambitious sonic alchemist, dives headlong into the inferno with a flair for the dramatic that would make even Dante blush. This double album is not merely a nod to Alighieri’s epic poem; it’s a full-on, spiraling descent into a hellscape of sound where the rules of classical narrative are gleefully cast aside in favor of something far more abstract—and far more unsettling.

The first disc, aptly titled “Inferno”, opens with “Halas Jacta Est”, a track that sets the stage for the chaos to come. Petit’s use of modular synthesis and acousmatic spatialization creates an atmosphere thick with tension, as though you’ve just stumbled into the ninth circle of Hell and are beginning to question all your life choices. There’s a sense of foreboding, a sonic warning that what follows will not be a leisurely stroll through the underworld, but rather a plunge into its most nightmarish depths.

Tracks like “Within the Corridors of Hell…” and “Lucifer, Fallen Angel” do not disappoint. The former is a claustrophobic journey through echoing, dissonant corridors where each sound feels like a spectral whisper in your ear, while the latter plays out like a symphony conducted by the devil himself—chaotic, malevolent, and disturbingly beautiful. Petit’s manipulation of sound is masterful here; it’s as though he’s using his modular synths to paint a picture in shades of black, each note a brushstroke in the murky abyss.

Yet, as with Dante’s journey, there is a light at the end of the tunnel—if you can survive long enough to reach it. The second disc, beginning with “Purgatorio, Canto I”, offers a semblance of relief. The music here is less oppressive, though no less complex. Petit shifts his palette, introducing lighter tones that suggest a tentative ascent toward redemption. The mood is reflective, almost meditative, but always with that underlying sense of unease, as if reminding us that Purgatory is not a vacation—it’s a state of transition, fraught with its own trials and tribulations.

“Paradiso, Canto I” and “Paradiso, Canto II” close out the album on a somewhat hopeful note, but don’t expect a Hollywood ending. Petit’s interpretation of Paradise is less about celestial choirs and more about the fragile, fleeting beauty of transcendence. The final notes of “Paradiso, Canto II” hang in the air like a question mark, unresolved, leaving the listener to ponder the journey they’ve just experienced.
For those familiar with Petit’s vast body of work, “A Divine Comedy” is both a continuation and a departure. His love for modular synthesis and electroacoustic manipulation is on full display, yet there’s a conceptual weight here that sets this album apart. It’s clear that Petit isn’t just playing with sound — he’s wrestling with the very fabric of narrative and emotion, distorting them until they barely resemble their original forms. It’s Expressionism in its purest sense, where reality is twisted to provoke a visceral response.

But be warned: this is not an album for the faint of heart. Petit’s “A Divine Comedy” demands patience, attention, and perhaps a touch of masochism. It’s a dense, challenging work that offers no easy answers, no comforting melodies to hum along to. Yet, for those willing to descend into its depths, the rewards are immense. It’s a journey that mirrors Dante’s own—harrowing, transformative, and ultimately, unforgettable.

So, if you’re ready to trade your earthly comforts for a trip through the sonic underworld, “A Divine Comedy” awaits. Just remember, as you press play: “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate”. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. And enjoy the ride. Vito Camarretta

via Chain DLK

David Lee Myers’s “Strange Attractors” reviewed by Neural

Multiple feedback, layers of noise and found sounds undergo several treatments being modified by a series of stereo digital delay units whose parameters (delay time, reverse, freeze, etc.) are manipulated in real time through a low-frequency oscillator or from other analog sampling devices. Many regulations are manual and are made live, with the purpose of making the creation process even more dynamic and engaging. David Lee Myers, also known under the moniker Arcane Device, is a sound and visual artist living in New York City, a sort of artisan of technology, who produces music based on the actions of automatized systems and techniques since 1987. Strange Attractors is somehow a compendium of his extremely varied sound practices, always evolving, also applied to modular devices, synthesizers and other mysterious machines producing auditory emissions. This is already his second release with Crónica, which completes an already huge and full of collaborations (Tod Dockstader, Asmus Tietchens, Thomas Dimuzio and Gen Ken Montgomery, among the others) discography. The work begins with the resounding “Equability of Powers”, a composition not far from the tradition of the American repetitive music, in an eternal return of the identical, that here is surrounded by a conspicuous series of vibrational events, as hisses, trills, ringing, blows and clamors. In “Iniquities”, another extended track, the tremors are less accentuated, and instead there is a dense noise, together with some almost melodic hints and vortices, which give the idea of the diversity of tones and polyrhythmic variants brought into play. Also in “With Perfect Clarity”, the sequences deal with some refrained time, folded on itself and modulated according to other forms, while in “Yet Another Shore”, the final track, everything assumes also a sacral hint, in an apology of the “here and there”, or, if you prefer, the eternally existing, an approach derived from a meditative and spiritual sensitivity. Lee Myers call all of this Time Displacement Music., and in addition underlines that all the music is based on the time, clearly a philosophical paradox, if then it’s contextually claimed that then time does not exist and actually it’s a convention, a propriety of the reality to change from a status to another, according to the principles of entropy and cause-effect. Aurelio Cianciotta

via Neural

Marc Behrens’s “Clould” reviewed by Bandcamp Daily

To travel by air is to enter a world of worry and waiting; basically, we’ve taken the miracle of flight and made it a hassle. Marc Behrens attempts to regain some of the wonder and awe of taking to the skies with Clould, whose title—a combination of “cloud” and “could”—refers to the possibilities inherent in flying. Over the course of 36 flights, Behrens recorded inside airports and airplanes in any way he could: with microphones in his luggage, with electromagnetic mics, with a recorder plugged into the in-flight entertainment system. After years of collecting this material, he organized it into a suite of five movements. Safety demonstrations and PA announcements are stretched and compressed until digital interference appears, making flat robotic voices sound even more inhuman. However, it’s hard not to see oneself in their stretched and blurred syllables, which seem to reenact the uncanny temporality of an interminable layover. As Behrens suggests, there may even be something spiritual in trying to decode these messages, completely forgettable in their origins but now made alien and ghostly.

via Bandcamp Daily

Marc Behrens’s “Clould” reviewed by Musique Machine

Somewhere in between Heaven and the heavens, between ‘could’ and ‘clouds’ is Marc Behrens Clould. Composed of sounds recorded inside aeroplanes, airports, and other flight-related locations, this work brings together the reality and myth of the skies. An area once dominated by deities has now become a travel lane for millions, and while the mystery seems to have disappeared, the fascination with this aerial realm is as strong as ever. Clould combines these by taking the physical aspect, manipulating the recordings, and delivering an intriguing, mysterious-sounding work.

Structured around five movements of varying length, Clould is an interesting work that plays in higher spaces and aerial ideas, making the most of the flight-based field recordings. Much like the atmosphere, there is a lot of open space on the album, adding nice points for artistic reflection, although it does take away from the straight listenability of the material. However, the manipulated recordings when being active cover quite a lot of ground, going from softer and haunting up to somewhat rough and tumble, but always keeping a close distance to the main theme of the work. The atmospheric, droning pieces have a little bit more structure to them and fair the best on the album. Their depth and texture flow nicely and help draw the listener in, discovering other layers and textures within.

The sound of workers and machines add interesting touches and give the songs a somewhat otherworldliness, like hearing those ancient deities and their heavenly conversations. These vocal samples seem to be the basis for the more sparse/minimal tracks, but they’re altered enough that their provenance isn’t completely obvious. Taking Clould into a weirder direction, the warped words feel very alien and help to reinforce the fact that the sky realm wasn’t always ours to enjoy. 

Clould is an intriguing study of the skies through the lens of modern machinery, technology, and industry, shining a different light on the realm that was once only a dream for mortals. While it’s a little uneven, it’s a nice artistic work and is definitely worth checking out. Delving further into the layers reveals a lot more than what’s on the surface and putting the time in to discover what’s underneath is quite enjoyable. Paul Casey

via Musique Machine

Jos Smolders’s “Textuur 2” reviewed by Music Map

Originali e stravaganti dissonanze popolano i tessuti sonori di Textuur 2, il nuovo lavoro di Jos Smolders (uscito per Crónica Label), un progetto tanto ostico quanto affascinante che sa incuriosire, spaventare e ipnotizzare, secondo capitolo di una serie nella quale l’autore investiga la decostruzione e la frammentazione di suoni strappati dal loro contesto e ricollocati in un puzzle musicale totalmente nuovo.

Textuur 2 non è solo un’altra coraggiosa dichiarazione di poetica di Jos Smolder. Nel secondo volume di questa serie, infatti, l’artista olandese riparte dove si era fermato nel primo ma aggiunge, amplifica e ricama tutto ciò che ancora sentiva necessario affermare. Partendo, come nel caso del progetto precedente, dagli studi di Pierre Schaeffer, uno dei suoi punti di riferimento, Smolders ha tra i suoi principali obiettivi quello di scarnificare il suono fino a renderlo pura astrazione. Persegue questo scopo con astuzia e con sapienza, rendendo i brani superfici dimensionali nelle quali paiono possibili salti spaziotemporali di ogni tipo.

I pezzi di questo lavoro hanno due titoli: vi è “Collection”, che è suddiviso in due parti tra loro intervallate da altre composizioni, e vi è “Permutation”, in dieci capitoli che vanno dalla A alla J. Essi sono la perfetta manifestazione degli obiettivi di Smolders: ritmi completamente imprevedibili e disarticolati al loro interno finiscono per creare un sorprendente equilibrio e un’armonia altrettanto stramba e sghemba. Figli di una precaria e instabile tranquillità continuamente minacciata e violentata, le dodici tessere che animano Textuur 2navigano negli inferi di un mondo ormai privato di ogni qualsivoglia parvenza di innocenza e di speranza.

Come a zattere in un fiume di incertezza, ai capitoli di Textuur 2 ci si affida e ci si vota: il minimalismo lacerante dei primi passaggi di “Permutation” si infrange nelle strane sensazioni che emana la fulminea “Collection 2”, sorta di interludio electro-pop, mentre la totale disintegrazione di “Permutation E” ed “H”, totali tuffi nella sperimentazione sonora più cupa e spiazzante, sono tra le più autentiche e intriganti schegge dell’universo per nulla conciliante che Smolders vuole dipingere con questa sua pulsante serie, un lavoro complicato ma ammaliante, non facile da digerire al primo ascolto ma talmente misterioso e oscuro da invitare a numerose e approfondite esplorazioni. (Samuele Conficoni)

via Music Map

Miguel A. García & Àlex Reviriego’s “Heralds de l’hivern” reviewed by Bad Alchemy

Tauchen MIGUEL A. GARCÍA& ÀLEX REVIRIEGO bei ihrem mit Electronics bzw. No Input Mixer, Feedback & Synth kreierten Heralds de l’hivern (219) wirklich ein in Tarkowskis „Solaris“ und Kubricks „2001: A Space Odyssey“? ‘Vorboten des Winters’ – die Zugvögel auf dem Cover? – , ‘Votivgaben’, ‘Lákhesis’, die Moira, die den Lebensfaden bemisst, und das ganz opake ‘Fubel prelude’ geben darauf keinen Hinweis. Reviriego, der in Barcelona zuvor mit dem Kontrabass sich vor Trakl, Fred Astaire, Mary Flannery O’Connor und Celan verbeugt hat, zitiert Laotse mit ich scheine dumm und umnachtet / schwankend wie das Meer / haltlos wie der Wind / Andere sind geschäftig / ich bin fern wie ein Einsiedler und spricht schlicht von trauriger Musik, nicht bloß als persönliches Empfinden, vielmehr fun­damental und existenziell. Darüber kann man zu mit perkussiven, elektronischen oder kristallinen Akzenten beschossenem oder bezwitschertem und seinerseits sausendem, surrendem, dröhnendem Flow erst einmal ganz irdisch brüten. [BA 125 rbd]

Marc Behrens’s “Clould” and ”Aiear“ reviewed by Bad Alchemy

MARC BEHRENS führt bei seinem aus Air und Ear gezwitterten Aiear (218, digital) mit düsentriebigen Dopplereffekten und mit „Clould“ (220) in den konjunktiven (could) und assoziativen Raum in und über den Wolken. Mit dem Frankfurter Airport vor Ort, dessen Flugschneisen und den eigenen 36 Flügen als Klangquelle für eine Meditation über die Transformation des Fliegens als mythologischer und märchenhafter Un-‘Möglichkeit’ zum ordinärsten Massentransfer der galaktischen Untertypen Debilitales und Antisapientina­les. Dabei werden, statt der einstigen Kommunikation mit höheren Mächten, hier die all­fälligen Automatendurchsagen klanglich mitsublimiert, als würde selbst darin, wie in tan­trisch-esoterischen Bījamantras, das Göttliche evoziert. [BA 125 rbd]

Síria’s “Mahe Man / Mau Jeito“ reviewed by Bad Alchemy

Diana Combo aka SÍRIA war bereits mit den Kassetten „Cuspo“ und „Boa-Língua“ auf Cró­nica. Mahe Man / Mau Jeito (217, digital) ist einerseits eine zu Bassdrone, Knisterloops und Stringsound von Jeremy Young (von Sontag Shogun, Cloud Circuit) angestimmte Ver­sion von ‘Bote Chin’, einem persischen Liebeslied von Ali-Akbar Sheyda (1880 – 1945), das die ferne Geliebte besingt als chinesische Schöne, mein Mond, mein Idol, mein Messias und Ärztin meiner Seele. Und andererseits der von @C gefertigte Remix eines rührenden Dei mau jeito ao coração, das Síria mit Fado-Feeling zu sentimentaler Orchestrierung von Kaveh Sarvarian angestimmt hat, von der nur das triste Keyboard und zerrüttete Strings bleiben, während der Herzschlamassel auf fast 10 Min. gedehnt wird. [BA 125 rbd]