Flying Nun Records - 25th Anniversary Boxset

Ever heard of Flying Nun Records? Probably one of the best record labels on the planet. Want proof? Here's their 25th Anniversary Boxset. 

The only reason I probably don't listen to this as often as I should is that every song is literally one highlight after another; there's way too much good music here to be absorbed in a single sitting. That of course is my problem and not the boxset's. Yes, the best and most consistent music scene of the 80's/90's was set in a small city called Christchurch, far away in New Zealand, and Flying Nun records was its breeding ground, nurturing and establishing (albeit locally) some of the most fiercely experimental and wacked out independent music of its time, which as of 2007 have been handpicked and compiled to perfection. Somehow, something like this should be too good to be true, but the fact that this exists and goes somewhat overlooked in regular independent music revisionism further acknowledges that this is one of the cruelest jokes in music history. Equal parts garage, equal parts jangle, all with the pop sensibility of Apollo - this is a slice of Olympus in itself (or 4 slices, if you're technical and all). To every artist involved here and to Flying Nun records themselves - may your cups runneth over mates. You guys are heroes. 


disc 1
disc 2
disc 3
disc 4

The Field - From Here We Go Sublime

The Field is the recording moniker of one Axel Wilner, an electronic producer from Sweden. His debut effort, From Here We Go Sublime, is easily one of my favourite electronic records of all time.

There is very little else out there that parallels the mood set by this one. It's not trance in the literal sense - microsamples, cut up vocals, icy, polished soundscapes, a sense of complete isolation and longing for times gone hardly make for dancefloors for the regular ravers. But what this is probably what 'trance' has been trying to achieve in its aesthetic, that unabashed bliss/aural ecstasy hybrid. This is minimal at its finest, this is hypnosis at its finest. As someone once said - "The sound of God's walkman skipping" 

Sun & Ice 

Ricardo Villalobos - Fabric 36

A milestone in minimal techno. A great eclectic mix that highlights Villalobos' taste for the unusual (japanese percussion, jazz snares, crazy mumbled female vocals and hundreds of samples I will never be able to identify) that kicks off in sparse fashion and maintains the ideal of its minimalistic aesthetic, adding layer upon layer of sound as it progresses along the way. There is a constant timbral shift, from the lazy calm of the opener and 'Moongomery' to the more melodic 'Andruic and Japan' (the centrepiece of the event and featuring aforementioned crazy women and a lot of tribal clapping percussion) which carries the album into its festive second half. All the while, the Chilean producer entices the senses with a fine array of microrhythms that pulsate with textures, textures that build up and break down over time. This in turn makes Fabric 36 one hell of an inviting and a surprisingly organic listen, where the sum of the album experience is much greater than its parts; and where Villalobos displays a whole new breed of techno; one he's nurtured, let grow and from the sounds of it, eventually left on its own outside a late night carnival. Recommended to all fans of electronic music - don't sleep on this if you're looking for a mix that's greater than the sum of its parts. Also, Villalobos is probably one of the most exciting arrangers in terms of percussion on the electronic scene today.

4 wheel drive

Burial - Untrue

Burial is a dubstep producer from the UK. Notorious for refusing to appear live or engage in celebrity theatrics, he's remained true to his ideals by releasing two of the most groundbreaking records electronic music had heard in ages. 2-step has never been this introspective, nor has it conjured late night urban landscapes like Burial's second album Untrue does. A review from a fellow rymer, the_sound_reigns: 

"Yeah, this fucking album. I've listened to it while baking in the scorching heat of a Canterbury nor'wester and while walking through the rain on a late Seattle afternoon while the sky grew dark and heavy. It sounded just as wonderful in either situation. Contrary to what some might say, this isn't an album that takes life from its surroundings; it's an album that gives life to its surroundings. There are songs that stand on their own as stunning tracks ("Archangel", "Raver") but by and large, this is one bleak and beautiful symphony. Perhaps bleak is overstating it somewhat: take the moment in "Shell of Light" around 3:30 when it all melts into a gloriously uplifting smear of heat-hazed piano and strings. And who would have thought a track called "In McDonalds" could be so knock-out gorgeous? But again, it's when you take the album in its entirety that you get the full picture of how wonderful it is. Try to disassemble it into component parts: murky aquatic funk beats, the deep-bass thrum of dub, neon-on-pavement ambient bleed, the ever-present hiss and crackle of the city speeding by, vocals lost and whirling in the void. You could add these up over and over again and never get close to the beauty and darkness that Burial coaxes from the strands he(?) weaves. Sometimes it's hard to explain why one particular album stands out from the clamouring throng; what's the magic ingredient that takes this particular record and elevates it until it takes hold of me until I can barely breathe with the intensity of it all? Why do I keep circling back to it, wanting to lay back and sink into the sound, fall beneath the hum and clutter of it and lie submerged, listening to the voices leading me down dark and echoing paths. How can something so dystopian be so beautiful? Something that conjures images of cities dissolved in a chemical fog, the only flickering signs of life the voices of the dead still travelling lonely on the airwaves, broadcasting their final messages into the emptiness. It's a transmission from the end of the line, soaring out into the endless void opening up at the death of the universe. This music should play among the burned-out husks of the stars when the human race is long extinct. Still telling our stories, baring our hearts, singing our songs."


cigarettes and nightwalks