Bristol-based Saki Yamada smears oil over lopsided oscillations and growling, industrialized rhythms on her debut album, blotting bleak, dubbed-out ambient textures into haunted electro-acoustic scrapes and alien ASMR squelches. Abyssal and atmospheric gear - mixed and mastered by Demdike's Miles.
Yamada establishes her patina quickly on 'es', building up a startling amount of momentum using contorted, miry environmental recordings, tonal clusters and jolting analog electronix. There's a faint air of vintage dark ambient gear and early industrial biz, but its clouded by dubwise, Bristolian smog and refined by Yamada's precise sound design smarts. And the narrative grows significantly when we're airlifted into 'Awai', a bewildering shiver of Eski synths, oblique rhythms, splintered, cybernetic R&B cries and coiled digital noise. Yamada's soundscapes are eagle-eyed collages that might sound alien at first blush, but scratch a little deeper and you'll spot the discarded husks of club forms, bent out of shape to scaffold her modernist structures.
There's the arpeggiated buzz of trance on the bleary-eyed '210123', and Yamada doesn't recycle the sound to prod at rave nostalgia. She illuminates the latent melancholia looping her blips into an endless cycle without builds or releases. And on 'Tack', her clipped beats move towards the foreground, cutting through an imposing layer of machine noise and saturated dust, before she introduces psychedelic risers and muted acidic squelches just for a moment, just to let us know she can. If it's dance music, it's the most understated take we've heard in a minute. But the beats disappear into a pit of ratcheting clicks and foley scratches on 'Strange Land', lost in an aura of anxious fantasy. Chopped applause, coughs and birdsong suggests we're still on earth, but Yamada's mutated, queasy drones peer out far beyond the ozone layer.
Well good.
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Bristol-based Saki Yamada smears oil over lopsided oscillations and growling, industrialized rhythms on her debut album, blotting bleak, dubbed-out ambient textures into haunted electro-acoustic scrapes and alien ASMR squelches. Abyssal and atmospheric gear - mixed and mastered by Demdike's Miles.
Yamada establishes her patina quickly on 'es', building up a startling amount of momentum using contorted, miry environmental recordings, tonal clusters and jolting analog electronix. There's a faint air of vintage dark ambient gear and early industrial biz, but its clouded by dubwise, Bristolian smog and refined by Yamada's precise sound design smarts. And the narrative grows significantly when we're airlifted into 'Awai', a bewildering shiver of Eski synths, oblique rhythms, splintered, cybernetic R&B cries and coiled digital noise. Yamada's soundscapes are eagle-eyed collages that might sound alien at first blush, but scratch a little deeper and you'll spot the discarded husks of club forms, bent out of shape to scaffold her modernist structures.
There's the arpeggiated buzz of trance on the bleary-eyed '210123', and Yamada doesn't recycle the sound to prod at rave nostalgia. She illuminates the latent melancholia looping her blips into an endless cycle without builds or releases. And on 'Tack', her clipped beats move towards the foreground, cutting through an imposing layer of machine noise and saturated dust, before she introduces psychedelic risers and muted acidic squelches just for a moment, just to let us know she can. If it's dance music, it's the most understated take we've heard in a minute. But the beats disappear into a pit of ratcheting clicks and foley scratches on 'Strange Land', lost in an aura of anxious fantasy. Chopped applause, coughs and birdsong suggests we're still on earth, but Yamada's mutated, queasy drones peer out far beyond the ozone layer.
Well good.
Bristol-based Saki Yamada smears oil over lopsided oscillations and growling, industrialized rhythms on her debut album, blotting bleak, dubbed-out ambient textures into haunted electro-acoustic scrapes and alien ASMR squelches. Abyssal and atmospheric gear - mixed and mastered by Demdike's Miles.
Yamada establishes her patina quickly on 'es', building up a startling amount of momentum using contorted, miry environmental recordings, tonal clusters and jolting analog electronix. There's a faint air of vintage dark ambient gear and early industrial biz, but its clouded by dubwise, Bristolian smog and refined by Yamada's precise sound design smarts. And the narrative grows significantly when we're airlifted into 'Awai', a bewildering shiver of Eski synths, oblique rhythms, splintered, cybernetic R&B cries and coiled digital noise. Yamada's soundscapes are eagle-eyed collages that might sound alien at first blush, but scratch a little deeper and you'll spot the discarded husks of club forms, bent out of shape to scaffold her modernist structures.
There's the arpeggiated buzz of trance on the bleary-eyed '210123', and Yamada doesn't recycle the sound to prod at rave nostalgia. She illuminates the latent melancholia looping her blips into an endless cycle without builds or releases. And on 'Tack', her clipped beats move towards the foreground, cutting through an imposing layer of machine noise and saturated dust, before she introduces psychedelic risers and muted acidic squelches just for a moment, just to let us know she can. If it's dance music, it's the most understated take we've heard in a minute. But the beats disappear into a pit of ratcheting clicks and foley scratches on 'Strange Land', lost in an aura of anxious fantasy. Chopped applause, coughs and birdsong suggests we're still on earth, but Yamada's mutated, queasy drones peer out far beyond the ozone layer.
Well good.
Bristol-based Saki Yamada smears oil over lopsided oscillations and growling, industrialized rhythms on her debut album, blotting bleak, dubbed-out ambient textures into haunted electro-acoustic scrapes and alien ASMR squelches. Abyssal and atmospheric gear - mixed and mastered by Demdike's Miles.
Yamada establishes her patina quickly on 'es', building up a startling amount of momentum using contorted, miry environmental recordings, tonal clusters and jolting analog electronix. There's a faint air of vintage dark ambient gear and early industrial biz, but its clouded by dubwise, Bristolian smog and refined by Yamada's precise sound design smarts. And the narrative grows significantly when we're airlifted into 'Awai', a bewildering shiver of Eski synths, oblique rhythms, splintered, cybernetic R&B cries and coiled digital noise. Yamada's soundscapes are eagle-eyed collages that might sound alien at first blush, but scratch a little deeper and you'll spot the discarded husks of club forms, bent out of shape to scaffold her modernist structures.
There's the arpeggiated buzz of trance on the bleary-eyed '210123', and Yamada doesn't recycle the sound to prod at rave nostalgia. She illuminates the latent melancholia looping her blips into an endless cycle without builds or releases. And on 'Tack', her clipped beats move towards the foreground, cutting through an imposing layer of machine noise and saturated dust, before she introduces psychedelic risers and muted acidic squelches just for a moment, just to let us know she can. If it's dance music, it's the most understated take we've heard in a minute. But the beats disappear into a pit of ratcheting clicks and foley scratches on 'Strange Land', lost in an aura of anxious fantasy. Chopped applause, coughs and birdsong suggests we're still on earth, but Yamada's mutated, queasy drones peer out far beyond the ozone layer.
Well good.
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Bristol-based Saki Yamada smears oil over lopsided oscillations and growling, industrialized rhythms on her debut album, blotting bleak, dubbed-out ambient textures into haunted electro-acoustic scrapes and alien ASMR squelches. Abyssal and atmospheric gear - mixed and mastered by Demdike's Miles.
Yamada establishes her patina quickly on 'es', building up a startling amount of momentum using contorted, miry environmental recordings, tonal clusters and jolting analog electronix. There's a faint air of vintage dark ambient gear and early industrial biz, but its clouded by dubwise, Bristolian smog and refined by Yamada's precise sound design smarts. And the narrative grows significantly when we're airlifted into 'Awai', a bewildering shiver of Eski synths, oblique rhythms, splintered, cybernetic R&B cries and coiled digital noise. Yamada's soundscapes are eagle-eyed collages that might sound alien at first blush, but scratch a little deeper and you'll spot the discarded husks of club forms, bent out of shape to scaffold her modernist structures.
There's the arpeggiated buzz of trance on the bleary-eyed '210123', and Yamada doesn't recycle the sound to prod at rave nostalgia. She illuminates the latent melancholia looping her blips into an endless cycle without builds or releases. And on 'Tack', her clipped beats move towards the foreground, cutting through an imposing layer of machine noise and saturated dust, before she introduces psychedelic risers and muted acidic squelches just for a moment, just to let us know she can. If it's dance music, it's the most understated take we've heard in a minute. But the beats disappear into a pit of ratcheting clicks and foley scratches on 'Strange Land', lost in an aura of anxious fantasy. Chopped applause, coughs and birdsong suggests we're still on earth, but Yamada's mutated, queasy drones peer out far beyond the ozone layer.
Well good.