Futura Grotesk
10th anniversary reissue of the acclaimed, sought-after 2014 debut move by Valentina Magaletti & Tom Relleen (RIP) as Tomaga, enacting ritualistic, pugilistic duels of drums, machines and grotty analogue industro-dub that splits the difference between 23 Skidoo and Shackleton.
Newly remastered by Marta Salogni and reissued alongside the band’s debut EP to sound more biting and grouchy than ever, seven track album ‘Futura Grotesk’ is the one that really staked Tomaga’s sound in a timeless vein of post-punk experimentalism during a critical phase of shifts in UK music that looked back to move forward, or at least perpendicular, to prevailing trends. Erstwhile scene lynchpin Tom Relleen brought a cranky yet tactile feel for space and blunted atonalities to Magaletti’s disciplined dervishes in the wake of her chops on the first Raime album, and the pair would continue to knit, knot and fray that sound over more than a dozen releases until Relleen’s untimely passing in 2020.
The gulf of time since 2014 places ‘Futura Grotesk’ as strange vestige to a time of stylistic tumult; an artefact of a shared dreams, half-remembered. Future-proofed, as with the original post-punk and industrial movement, by its sinewy minimalism, but also inflected with traces of vintage dub, Radiophonic electronics and strains of experimental jazz, it somehow flits between the lingering shadows of dubstep like Shackleton on ‘Alphabet of Night’, as much as Robert Rental’s scuzzy kosmische synth meditations in ‘Long Term Green’, and blasted Scorn-esque bullishness on ‘Malintesi’.
Their title piece feels like a Giallo library music piece blown out by 23 Skidoo, and ‘Mountain Opener’ reels back in the imagination to Khan Jamal Creative Arts Ensemble dicing with drums and tapes in ’73, and ‘Days Like They Were Before’ dials up Craig Leon’s odes to the Dogon mysteries via snaking basslines in a way that speaks to their pooled and finely parsed knowledge of obscure records and vibes and is strongly symptomatic of a subconscious neo no wave scenius that emerged during the past decade’s era of flux and puzzlebox opening of the past via new prisms.
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10th anniversary reissue of the acclaimed, sought-after 2014 debut move by Valentina Magaletti & Tom Relleen (RIP) as Tomaga, enacting ritualistic, pugilistic duels of drums, machines and grotty analogue industro-dub that splits the difference between 23 Skidoo and Shackleton.
Newly remastered by Marta Salogni and reissued alongside the band’s debut EP to sound more biting and grouchy than ever, seven track album ‘Futura Grotesk’ is the one that really staked Tomaga’s sound in a timeless vein of post-punk experimentalism during a critical phase of shifts in UK music that looked back to move forward, or at least perpendicular, to prevailing trends. Erstwhile scene lynchpin Tom Relleen brought a cranky yet tactile feel for space and blunted atonalities to Magaletti’s disciplined dervishes in the wake of her chops on the first Raime album, and the pair would continue to knit, knot and fray that sound over more than a dozen releases until Relleen’s untimely passing in 2020.
The gulf of time since 2014 places ‘Futura Grotesk’ as strange vestige to a time of stylistic tumult; an artefact of a shared dreams, half-remembered. Future-proofed, as with the original post-punk and industrial movement, by its sinewy minimalism, but also inflected with traces of vintage dub, Radiophonic electronics and strains of experimental jazz, it somehow flits between the lingering shadows of dubstep like Shackleton on ‘Alphabet of Night’, as much as Robert Rental’s scuzzy kosmische synth meditations in ‘Long Term Green’, and blasted Scorn-esque bullishness on ‘Malintesi’.
Their title piece feels like a Giallo library music piece blown out by 23 Skidoo, and ‘Mountain Opener’ reels back in the imagination to Khan Jamal Creative Arts Ensemble dicing with drums and tapes in ’73, and ‘Days Like They Were Before’ dials up Craig Leon’s odes to the Dogon mysteries via snaking basslines in a way that speaks to their pooled and finely parsed knowledge of obscure records and vibes and is strongly symptomatic of a subconscious neo no wave scenius that emerged during the past decade’s era of flux and puzzlebox opening of the past via new prisms.
10th anniversary reissue of the acclaimed, sought-after 2014 debut move by Valentina Magaletti & Tom Relleen (RIP) as Tomaga, enacting ritualistic, pugilistic duels of drums, machines and grotty analogue industro-dub that splits the difference between 23 Skidoo and Shackleton.
Newly remastered by Marta Salogni and reissued alongside the band’s debut EP to sound more biting and grouchy than ever, seven track album ‘Futura Grotesk’ is the one that really staked Tomaga’s sound in a timeless vein of post-punk experimentalism during a critical phase of shifts in UK music that looked back to move forward, or at least perpendicular, to prevailing trends. Erstwhile scene lynchpin Tom Relleen brought a cranky yet tactile feel for space and blunted atonalities to Magaletti’s disciplined dervishes in the wake of her chops on the first Raime album, and the pair would continue to knit, knot and fray that sound over more than a dozen releases until Relleen’s untimely passing in 2020.
The gulf of time since 2014 places ‘Futura Grotesk’ as strange vestige to a time of stylistic tumult; an artefact of a shared dreams, half-remembered. Future-proofed, as with the original post-punk and industrial movement, by its sinewy minimalism, but also inflected with traces of vintage dub, Radiophonic electronics and strains of experimental jazz, it somehow flits between the lingering shadows of dubstep like Shackleton on ‘Alphabet of Night’, as much as Robert Rental’s scuzzy kosmische synth meditations in ‘Long Term Green’, and blasted Scorn-esque bullishness on ‘Malintesi’.
Their title piece feels like a Giallo library music piece blown out by 23 Skidoo, and ‘Mountain Opener’ reels back in the imagination to Khan Jamal Creative Arts Ensemble dicing with drums and tapes in ’73, and ‘Days Like They Were Before’ dials up Craig Leon’s odes to the Dogon mysteries via snaking basslines in a way that speaks to their pooled and finely parsed knowledge of obscure records and vibes and is strongly symptomatic of a subconscious neo no wave scenius that emerged during the past decade’s era of flux and puzzlebox opening of the past via new prisms.
10th anniversary reissue of the acclaimed, sought-after 2014 debut move by Valentina Magaletti & Tom Relleen (RIP) as Tomaga, enacting ritualistic, pugilistic duels of drums, machines and grotty analogue industro-dub that splits the difference between 23 Skidoo and Shackleton.
Newly remastered by Marta Salogni and reissued alongside the band’s debut EP to sound more biting and grouchy than ever, seven track album ‘Futura Grotesk’ is the one that really staked Tomaga’s sound in a timeless vein of post-punk experimentalism during a critical phase of shifts in UK music that looked back to move forward, or at least perpendicular, to prevailing trends. Erstwhile scene lynchpin Tom Relleen brought a cranky yet tactile feel for space and blunted atonalities to Magaletti’s disciplined dervishes in the wake of her chops on the first Raime album, and the pair would continue to knit, knot and fray that sound over more than a dozen releases until Relleen’s untimely passing in 2020.
The gulf of time since 2014 places ‘Futura Grotesk’ as strange vestige to a time of stylistic tumult; an artefact of a shared dreams, half-remembered. Future-proofed, as with the original post-punk and industrial movement, by its sinewy minimalism, but also inflected with traces of vintage dub, Radiophonic electronics and strains of experimental jazz, it somehow flits between the lingering shadows of dubstep like Shackleton on ‘Alphabet of Night’, as much as Robert Rental’s scuzzy kosmische synth meditations in ‘Long Term Green’, and blasted Scorn-esque bullishness on ‘Malintesi’.
Their title piece feels like a Giallo library music piece blown out by 23 Skidoo, and ‘Mountain Opener’ reels back in the imagination to Khan Jamal Creative Arts Ensemble dicing with drums and tapes in ’73, and ‘Days Like They Were Before’ dials up Craig Leon’s odes to the Dogon mysteries via snaking basslines in a way that speaks to their pooled and finely parsed knowledge of obscure records and vibes and is strongly symptomatic of a subconscious neo no wave scenius that emerged during the past decade’s era of flux and puzzlebox opening of the past via new prisms.
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10th anniversary reissue of the acclaimed, sought-after 2014 debut move by Valentina Magaletti & Tom Relleen (RIP) as Tomaga, enacting ritualistic, pugilistic duels of drums, machines and grotty analogue industro-dub that splits the difference between 23 Skidoo and Shackleton.
Newly remastered by Marta Salogni and reissued alongside the band’s debut EP to sound more biting and grouchy than ever, seven track album ‘Futura Grotesk’ is the one that really staked Tomaga’s sound in a timeless vein of post-punk experimentalism during a critical phase of shifts in UK music that looked back to move forward, or at least perpendicular, to prevailing trends. Erstwhile scene lynchpin Tom Relleen brought a cranky yet tactile feel for space and blunted atonalities to Magaletti’s disciplined dervishes in the wake of her chops on the first Raime album, and the pair would continue to knit, knot and fray that sound over more than a dozen releases until Relleen’s untimely passing in 2020.
The gulf of time since 2014 places ‘Futura Grotesk’ as strange vestige to a time of stylistic tumult; an artefact of a shared dreams, half-remembered. Future-proofed, as with the original post-punk and industrial movement, by its sinewy minimalism, but also inflected with traces of vintage dub, Radiophonic electronics and strains of experimental jazz, it somehow flits between the lingering shadows of dubstep like Shackleton on ‘Alphabet of Night’, as much as Robert Rental’s scuzzy kosmische synth meditations in ‘Long Term Green’, and blasted Scorn-esque bullishness on ‘Malintesi’.
Their title piece feels like a Giallo library music piece blown out by 23 Skidoo, and ‘Mountain Opener’ reels back in the imagination to Khan Jamal Creative Arts Ensemble dicing with drums and tapes in ’73, and ‘Days Like They Were Before’ dials up Craig Leon’s odes to the Dogon mysteries via snaking basslines in a way that speaks to their pooled and finely parsed knowledge of obscure records and vibes and is strongly symptomatic of a subconscious neo no wave scenius that emerged during the past decade’s era of flux and puzzlebox opening of the past via new prisms.