Blue Marble 1972 is a new label from Poland, launched with unique styling. Its music is boxed in a taller, slightly skinnier version of the classic digipak, which is a great look, particularly when graced by such nice cover art and striking typography. These are the imprint’s first two releases.
The legend of the “mountain king” is a pan-European messianic fable re-told countless times, about an ancient monarch or champion who sleeps under a distant mountain and who, when the time is come, will rise and lead his people to glory. Mountain King by Hands Like Clouds is the tenth-year anniversary edition of a one-off effort made available only in a tiny run by the Polish ambient artist who records as Ghosts of Breslau, accompanied by a host of sidemen from the Portuguese psychedelic folk group The Joy of Nature. Mountain King offers a subtle interplay of electronics that float and freight the air and instruments made of wood and wire that sometimes venture the seed of a melody, sometimes drift and drone, clatter and peal. A calm wandering tale, a bedtime story told by a sage to his grandchildren. In celebration of its anniversary, a slew of remixes by domestic colleagues are appended to the original. Zenial opens and closes with “medium charge level” dream scenarios, the second edging close to nightmare. Bojanek breaks the spell of fanciful reverie, coming in all bouncy and chugging like a locomotive, while Zamek UFO clanks metal in an echoing drearscape. Club Alpino, Gaap Kvlt and Tonopah Test round out the contributors, all of who contribute to making this edition a fitting tribute and enthusiastically welcomed re-issue.
I’m a big fan of Slovakian ambient composer Emil Maťko and would warmly recommend a wide swathe of his subtle watercolor work as Ström Noir. With the double CD Jouska, Maťko unfurls a series of long, quiet and minimal sustaining drones, presumably emanating from his guitar but often easily mistaken for organ or harmonium. Each track has been christened in either English or Slovakian and bespeaks a certain heavy heartedness. Clocking in at just under two hours, it opens with the heavily fuzzed out “Fade into Forever” followed by “The Fauna of Mirrors,” a track badly frayed at the edges (which is good). But from that point on, Maťko’s drones lift, keen, and glisten. Certain tracks are a little tart, others taste sweet. First spectral, then starry. Despite the melancholic titles, the lasting impression is that Jouska chronicles a journey from murk to unlimited visibility. A yeoman display of variations on a theme.
Stephen Fruitman
Avant Music News 