Light-Space Modulator (Shackleton & Marlene Ribeiro)
The Rising Wave
Light-Space Modulator (Shackleton & Marlene Ribeiro)
The Rising Wave
Boomkat Product Review:
Shadowing his psych-folk excursions with Heather Leigh and Six Organs of Admittance, Shackleton plumbs even deeper pits on his first collaboration with GNOD's Marlene Ribeiro. 'The Rising Wave' is an enigmatic set of dreamy psychedelia that's dubbed and blotted by Shackleton's lysergic treatments and kosmische instrumentation - big big RIYL White Noise, Broadcast, ssabæ, The United States of America, Julia Holter.
Shackleton's evolution over the last few years has been startling to witness; honing his skills working alongside bands like Holy Tongue and artists as diverse as Indian percussionist Giridhar Udupa and Polish clarinetist Wacław Zimpel, he's developed an immediately recognisable touch. The dub alchemy that characterised his early work is still just about there, but now augmented with a hypnagogic lilt that's found an unlikely ally in folk music. 2023's Flesh & The Dream album 'Choose Mortality' was one of the producer's most satisfying to date, and 'The Rising Wave' elaborates on some of those same themes, dilating Ribeiro's weightless folk songs with hallucinated microtonal flourishes and crimped rhythmic pulses. If you heard Ribeiro's killer last solo album 'Toquei no Sol', you'll know broadly where you are, and it's her goosebump-inducing vocals that again provide the central focus here. Shackleton brings out the delicacy in her songs by layering her voice, creating ethereal incantations that wisp around and wash over his thoughtful, painterly electronic instrumentation.
His music's long paid its dues to cosmic psychedelia, and it hits a high poiint here, marrying seamlessly with Ribiero's delicate, folk-y harmonies. On 'Secrets Kept', there's a breath of Broadcast's wooziest gear when Ribeiro's skeletal song reshapes itself in real-time; first, her voice slips and sways alongside delicate acoustic guitar, then the composition swells, adding effervescent analog beatbox vibrations, swirling synths, brassy Moog and a dusty, library-adjacent beat that Shackleton distends only when necessary. It sets the scene for 'Burning Within', where Shackleton introduces xenharmonic chimes and dubwise stabs that will be familiar to anyone who lapped up 'The Scandal of Time', but Ribeiro shifts the accent, drawing our attention to her breathy narration. And 'The Rising Wave' keeps redrawing its boundaries; 'Her Name' ratchets up the tempo, setting Ribeiro's choppy chants against skittering double-time rhythms, proggy organ drones and mbira-like synth tweaks, and 'I Dreamed of a Lover' pitches itself as a precarious meditation, vibrating and filtering Ribeiro's words to expose a fractal psychotropic interior.
If psychedelic folk music suffers from stasis and fetish for nostalgia, 'The Rising Wave' dreams of an alternate reality. The serpentine 'Onda / Do You Believe?' marries Ribeiro's mantras with interlocking kalimba sequences that sound as if they've been galvanised by Zimbabwean traditional forms, and on 'The Long Buried Hope', Ribeiro dims the lights, taking a jazzier, loungier turn while Shackleton responds with Raymond Scott bleeps and spacey Schnitzler-inspired improvisations. At its core, the album's a set of proper songs, but by letting themselves think a little bigger, Shackleton and Ribeiro let the ink bleed so far outside the lines that an entirely different image emerges. Subliminally intricate and startlingly sensual, it's music that genuinely gets under the skin - we're not completely sure whether it's chamber pop, ritualistic minimalism or some kind of subverted library meditation, but it's one of the best things we've heard this year.
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Boomkat Product Review:
Shadowing his psych-folk excursions with Heather Leigh and Six Organs of Admittance, Shackleton plumbs even deeper pits on his first collaboration with GNOD's Marlene Ribeiro. 'The Rising Wave' is an enigmatic set of dreamy psychedelia that's dubbed and blotted by Shackleton's lysergic treatments and kosmische instrumentation - big big RIYL White Noise, Broadcast, ssabæ, The United States of America, Julia Holter.
Shackleton's evolution over the last few years has been startling to witness; honing his skills working alongside bands like Holy Tongue and artists as diverse as Indian percussionist Giridhar Udupa and Polish clarinetist Wacław Zimpel, he's developed an immediately recognisable touch. The dub alchemy that characterised his early work is still just about there, but now augmented with a hypnagogic lilt that's found an unlikely ally in folk music. 2023's Flesh & The Dream album 'Choose Mortality' was one of the producer's most satisfying to date, and 'The Rising Wave' elaborates on some of those same themes, dilating Ribeiro's weightless folk songs with hallucinated microtonal flourishes and crimped rhythmic pulses. If you heard Ribeiro's killer last solo album 'Toquei no Sol', you'll know broadly where you are, and it's her goosebump-inducing vocals that again provide the central focus here. Shackleton brings out the delicacy in her songs by layering her voice, creating ethereal incantations that wisp around and wash over his thoughtful, painterly electronic instrumentation.
His music's long paid its dues to cosmic psychedelia, and it hits a high poiint here, marrying seamlessly with Ribiero's delicate, folk-y harmonies. On 'Secrets Kept', there's a breath of Broadcast's wooziest gear when Ribeiro's skeletal song reshapes itself in real-time; first, her voice slips and sways alongside delicate acoustic guitar, then the composition swells, adding effervescent analog beatbox vibrations, swirling synths, brassy Moog and a dusty, library-adjacent beat that Shackleton distends only when necessary. It sets the scene for 'Burning Within', where Shackleton introduces xenharmonic chimes and dubwise stabs that will be familiar to anyone who lapped up 'The Scandal of Time', but Ribeiro shifts the accent, drawing our attention to her breathy narration. And 'The Rising Wave' keeps redrawing its boundaries; 'Her Name' ratchets up the tempo, setting Ribeiro's choppy chants against skittering double-time rhythms, proggy organ drones and mbira-like synth tweaks, and 'I Dreamed of a Lover' pitches itself as a precarious meditation, vibrating and filtering Ribeiro's words to expose a fractal psychotropic interior.
If psychedelic folk music suffers from stasis and fetish for nostalgia, 'The Rising Wave' dreams of an alternate reality. The serpentine 'Onda / Do You Believe?' marries Ribeiro's mantras with interlocking kalimba sequences that sound as if they've been galvanised by Zimbabwean traditional forms, and on 'The Long Buried Hope', Ribeiro dims the lights, taking a jazzier, loungier turn while Shackleton responds with Raymond Scott bleeps and spacey Schnitzler-inspired improvisations. At its core, the album's a set of proper songs, but by letting themselves think a little bigger, Shackleton and Ribeiro let the ink bleed so far outside the lines that an entirely different image emerges. Subliminally intricate and startlingly sensual, it's music that genuinely gets under the skin - we're not completely sure whether it's chamber pop, ritualistic minimalism or some kind of subverted library meditation, but it's one of the best things we've heard this year.
Boomkat Product Review:
Shadowing his psych-folk excursions with Heather Leigh and Six Organs of Admittance, Shackleton plumbs even deeper pits on his first collaboration with GNOD's Marlene Ribeiro. 'The Rising Wave' is an enigmatic set of dreamy psychedelia that's dubbed and blotted by Shackleton's lysergic treatments and kosmische instrumentation - big big RIYL White Noise, Broadcast, ssabæ, The United States of America, Julia Holter.
Shackleton's evolution over the last few years has been startling to witness; honing his skills working alongside bands like Holy Tongue and artists as diverse as Indian percussionist Giridhar Udupa and Polish clarinetist Wacław Zimpel, he's developed an immediately recognisable touch. The dub alchemy that characterised his early work is still just about there, but now augmented with a hypnagogic lilt that's found an unlikely ally in folk music. 2023's Flesh & The Dream album 'Choose Mortality' was one of the producer's most satisfying to date, and 'The Rising Wave' elaborates on some of those same themes, dilating Ribeiro's weightless folk songs with hallucinated microtonal flourishes and crimped rhythmic pulses. If you heard Ribeiro's killer last solo album 'Toquei no Sol', you'll know broadly where you are, and it's her goosebump-inducing vocals that again provide the central focus here. Shackleton brings out the delicacy in her songs by layering her voice, creating ethereal incantations that wisp around and wash over his thoughtful, painterly electronic instrumentation.
His music's long paid its dues to cosmic psychedelia, and it hits a high poiint here, marrying seamlessly with Ribiero's delicate, folk-y harmonies. On 'Secrets Kept', there's a breath of Broadcast's wooziest gear when Ribeiro's skeletal song reshapes itself in real-time; first, her voice slips and sways alongside delicate acoustic guitar, then the composition swells, adding effervescent analog beatbox vibrations, swirling synths, brassy Moog and a dusty, library-adjacent beat that Shackleton distends only when necessary. It sets the scene for 'Burning Within', where Shackleton introduces xenharmonic chimes and dubwise stabs that will be familiar to anyone who lapped up 'The Scandal of Time', but Ribeiro shifts the accent, drawing our attention to her breathy narration. And 'The Rising Wave' keeps redrawing its boundaries; 'Her Name' ratchets up the tempo, setting Ribeiro's choppy chants against skittering double-time rhythms, proggy organ drones and mbira-like synth tweaks, and 'I Dreamed of a Lover' pitches itself as a precarious meditation, vibrating and filtering Ribeiro's words to expose a fractal psychotropic interior.
If psychedelic folk music suffers from stasis and fetish for nostalgia, 'The Rising Wave' dreams of an alternate reality. The serpentine 'Onda / Do You Believe?' marries Ribeiro's mantras with interlocking kalimba sequences that sound as if they've been galvanised by Zimbabwean traditional forms, and on 'The Long Buried Hope', Ribeiro dims the lights, taking a jazzier, loungier turn while Shackleton responds with Raymond Scott bleeps and spacey Schnitzler-inspired improvisations. At its core, the album's a set of proper songs, but by letting themselves think a little bigger, Shackleton and Ribeiro let the ink bleed so far outside the lines that an entirely different image emerges. Subliminally intricate and startlingly sensual, it's music that genuinely gets under the skin - we're not completely sure whether it's chamber pop, ritualistic minimalism or some kind of subverted library meditation, but it's one of the best things we've heard this year.
Boomkat Product Review:
Shadowing his psych-folk excursions with Heather Leigh and Six Organs of Admittance, Shackleton plumbs even deeper pits on his first collaboration with GNOD's Marlene Ribeiro. 'The Rising Wave' is an enigmatic set of dreamy psychedelia that's dubbed and blotted by Shackleton's lysergic treatments and kosmische instrumentation - big big RIYL White Noise, Broadcast, ssabæ, The United States of America, Julia Holter.
Shackleton's evolution over the last few years has been startling to witness; honing his skills working alongside bands like Holy Tongue and artists as diverse as Indian percussionist Giridhar Udupa and Polish clarinetist Wacław Zimpel, he's developed an immediately recognisable touch. The dub alchemy that characterised his early work is still just about there, but now augmented with a hypnagogic lilt that's found an unlikely ally in folk music. 2023's Flesh & The Dream album 'Choose Mortality' was one of the producer's most satisfying to date, and 'The Rising Wave' elaborates on some of those same themes, dilating Ribeiro's weightless folk songs with hallucinated microtonal flourishes and crimped rhythmic pulses. If you heard Ribeiro's killer last solo album 'Toquei no Sol', you'll know broadly where you are, and it's her goosebump-inducing vocals that again provide the central focus here. Shackleton brings out the delicacy in her songs by layering her voice, creating ethereal incantations that wisp around and wash over his thoughtful, painterly electronic instrumentation.
His music's long paid its dues to cosmic psychedelia, and it hits a high poiint here, marrying seamlessly with Ribiero's delicate, folk-y harmonies. On 'Secrets Kept', there's a breath of Broadcast's wooziest gear when Ribeiro's skeletal song reshapes itself in real-time; first, her voice slips and sways alongside delicate acoustic guitar, then the composition swells, adding effervescent analog beatbox vibrations, swirling synths, brassy Moog and a dusty, library-adjacent beat that Shackleton distends only when necessary. It sets the scene for 'Burning Within', where Shackleton introduces xenharmonic chimes and dubwise stabs that will be familiar to anyone who lapped up 'The Scandal of Time', but Ribeiro shifts the accent, drawing our attention to her breathy narration. And 'The Rising Wave' keeps redrawing its boundaries; 'Her Name' ratchets up the tempo, setting Ribeiro's choppy chants against skittering double-time rhythms, proggy organ drones and mbira-like synth tweaks, and 'I Dreamed of a Lover' pitches itself as a precarious meditation, vibrating and filtering Ribeiro's words to expose a fractal psychotropic interior.
If psychedelic folk music suffers from stasis and fetish for nostalgia, 'The Rising Wave' dreams of an alternate reality. The serpentine 'Onda / Do You Believe?' marries Ribeiro's mantras with interlocking kalimba sequences that sound as if they've been galvanised by Zimbabwean traditional forms, and on 'The Long Buried Hope', Ribeiro dims the lights, taking a jazzier, loungier turn while Shackleton responds with Raymond Scott bleeps and spacey Schnitzler-inspired improvisations. At its core, the album's a set of proper songs, but by letting themselves think a little bigger, Shackleton and Ribeiro let the ink bleed so far outside the lines that an entirely different image emerges. Subliminally intricate and startlingly sensual, it's music that genuinely gets under the skin - we're not completely sure whether it's chamber pop, ritualistic minimalism or some kind of subverted library meditation, but it's one of the best things we've heard this year.
Estimated Release Date: 25 April 2025
Please note that shipping dates for pre-orders are estimated and are subject to change
Boomkat Product Review:
Shadowing his psych-folk excursions with Heather Leigh and Six Organs of Admittance, Shackleton plumbs even deeper pits on his first collaboration with GNOD's Marlene Ribeiro. 'The Rising Wave' is an enigmatic set of dreamy psychedelia that's dubbed and blotted by Shackleton's lysergic treatments and kosmische instrumentation - big big RIYL White Noise, Broadcast, ssabæ, The United States of America, Julia Holter.
Shackleton's evolution over the last few years has been startling to witness; honing his skills working alongside bands like Holy Tongue and artists as diverse as Indian percussionist Giridhar Udupa and Polish clarinetist Wacław Zimpel, he's developed an immediately recognisable touch. The dub alchemy that characterised his early work is still just about there, but now augmented with a hypnagogic lilt that's found an unlikely ally in folk music. 2023's Flesh & The Dream album 'Choose Mortality' was one of the producer's most satisfying to date, and 'The Rising Wave' elaborates on some of those same themes, dilating Ribeiro's weightless folk songs with hallucinated microtonal flourishes and crimped rhythmic pulses. If you heard Ribeiro's killer last solo album 'Toquei no Sol', you'll know broadly where you are, and it's her goosebump-inducing vocals that again provide the central focus here. Shackleton brings out the delicacy in her songs by layering her voice, creating ethereal incantations that wisp around and wash over his thoughtful, painterly electronic instrumentation.
His music's long paid its dues to cosmic psychedelia, and it hits a high poiint here, marrying seamlessly with Ribiero's delicate, folk-y harmonies. On 'Secrets Kept', there's a breath of Broadcast's wooziest gear when Ribeiro's skeletal song reshapes itself in real-time; first, her voice slips and sways alongside delicate acoustic guitar, then the composition swells, adding effervescent analog beatbox vibrations, swirling synths, brassy Moog and a dusty, library-adjacent beat that Shackleton distends only when necessary. It sets the scene for 'Burning Within', where Shackleton introduces xenharmonic chimes and dubwise stabs that will be familiar to anyone who lapped up 'The Scandal of Time', but Ribeiro shifts the accent, drawing our attention to her breathy narration. And 'The Rising Wave' keeps redrawing its boundaries; 'Her Name' ratchets up the tempo, setting Ribeiro's choppy chants against skittering double-time rhythms, proggy organ drones and mbira-like synth tweaks, and 'I Dreamed of a Lover' pitches itself as a precarious meditation, vibrating and filtering Ribeiro's words to expose a fractal psychotropic interior.
If psychedelic folk music suffers from stasis and fetish for nostalgia, 'The Rising Wave' dreams of an alternate reality. The serpentine 'Onda / Do You Believe?' marries Ribeiro's mantras with interlocking kalimba sequences that sound as if they've been galvanised by Zimbabwean traditional forms, and on 'The Long Buried Hope', Ribeiro dims the lights, taking a jazzier, loungier turn while Shackleton responds with Raymond Scott bleeps and spacey Schnitzler-inspired improvisations. At its core, the album's a set of proper songs, but by letting themselves think a little bigger, Shackleton and Ribeiro let the ink bleed so far outside the lines that an entirely different image emerges. Subliminally intricate and startlingly sensual, it's music that genuinely gets under the skin - we're not completely sure whether it's chamber pop, ritualistic minimalism or some kind of subverted library meditation, but it's one of the best things we've heard this year.
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