field hymns

Showing 1–10 of 14 results

  • garde forestier – – field hymns

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    Garde Forestier is vaguely sinister 80’s hold music a lunatic French guru turned into mediation loops. Or perhaps it’s a Casio workstation gone on the fritz but becoming sentient, all whilst dealing with the breakdown of its physical body and the unfairness of bothering with such a burden at such a momentous time. Maybe Garde Forestier really is a front for a Danish trio of nuns who built up these tracks in the brief moments free from the rigors of monastic life. Perhaps we are witnessing the first stirring of a post-vaporwave work unbound and unmoored from its stable of lockstep clone acolytes. Perhaps.

    Garde Forestier is from Tours, FR


  • three fourths tigers – indoor voice – field hymns

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    RIYL: the cross-talk of the cerebral cortex whilst dreaming of childhood and just a little bit high

    We are passing into dayglo psychedelic arcades and crystal spheres in the forest, though chrome silly string melting from the trees all over our forearms and faces as we ghost through a mist the vaguely the flavor of raspberry carbonated soda. Three Fourths Tigers is emotional synth and Indoor Voice only adds to the growing body of influential work by Ryan Mulhall, a founding member of the genre.

    Ryan Mulhall (also of Looks Realistic and Ryan Kayhart) lives in Worcester, MA.


  • andreas brandal – murmurs and echoes – field hymns

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    Weary, cold, and alone but not dead, we soldier on under the half-light to some place on the horizon, anyplace really, as the sky and ground remain unbroken, seemingly forever. It has been a real pleasure watching Andreas Brandal evolve from his early roots in experimental noise & drone to this current incarnation as a post-indie/post-rock chamber orchestra Hemingway: “Murmurs and Echoes” sounds like a Western set on an ice field at the nadir of winter.

    Andreas Brandal lives in Bergen, Norway.


  • the snowfields – how to get good sound from a dead ear – field hymns

    out of stock

    The first Snowfields album in 7 years is a sublime affair, sounding like a missing album from Julian Cope’s Krautrock Sampler or Obscured By Clouds/More-era Pink Floyd hitting the Serengetti on a shit-ton of mushrooms for some hazy concert for no one, but getting lost on a beer run. Spacy, complentative instrumentals with big, gooey blobs of pathos.



  • cane swords – temple swords – field hymns

    out of stock

    Akron, Ohio synthesists Cane Swords return to ultra-terrestrial form with an analog odyssey of planetary drift and tindered timbre to fuel interstellar craft seeking deep space revelation. Washes of infinite blue light cool the jet stream as a profusion of electronic sounds wobble cosmic in long form meditations and bursts of sonic spasm. Like a soundtrack to a lost Painlevé film about the deepest riches of hyperdimensional scuba diving heard through beams of teslascope and fractured telegraph — Temple Swords elicits wonder in the true face of the infinite. Requisite listening for deep winter nights both in Sol system and abroad.


  • black unicorn – traced landscapes – field hymns

    out of stock

    Traced Landscapes is the law of correspondence seen from the rear view mirror of a departing space shuttle. A record of the parallel grown between macroscopic and microscopic in the basic urge for pattern, order, and meaning. Or like a thin sheet of paper — the copied blueprints of grand and unfathomable designs. These tracks are alien artifacts unearthed in parched deserts, planets orbiting like electrons, scale a relative term in washes of synthesized serendipity and filtered waves crashing upon shores of conscious reflection. The revelation is akin to the experience of Oedipa Maas in Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49 as she senses the strange connection between city and circuit, “…she thought of the time she’d opened a transistor radio to replace a battery and seen her first printed circuit. The ordered swirl of houses and streets, from this high angle, sprang at her now with the same unexpected, astonishing clarity as the circuit card had . . . there were to both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate.” Please enjoy your experience.


  • giant claw – impossible chew – field hymns

    out of stock

    The sunrise dawns over an earlier Miami, black-purple turning to pink then to yellow-white as flamingos stretch and go about their morning, poking around the mangrove shoots and cattail stands. Girls in bikinis rollerblade around canals with pink Bollés & headphones the size of shooting cans strapped across their tightly permed dull, bronze skulls, never seeing the massive figure coming from the river bottom, cold & dirty with a perverse lust his only sustenance. One by one they fall under his command and turn north into the city to feast on the innocent…


  • cremator – alpha ralpha boulevard – field hymns

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    Cremator’s new album title comes from a tale about a sudden, radical shift from a controlling, benevolent, and sterile society to one of individuality and danger ruled by an elite group called the Instrumentality. Now picture the soundtrack circa 1979 by Klaus Schulze and filmed by Jean Painlevé. Flickering images beyond your stars have trapped you in the dark as you recline in your velvet-lined pod whilst arpeggios and synth washes swirl around the ship, returning from the ether, leaving crystal contrails – and that is just the opening sequence.




  • plvs vltra – yo yo blue – field hymns

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    Rippling like a thumbed-through flip book of vaporous, hazy memories or maybe like a box of old photos left to the devices of the wind, Yo-Yo Blue feels like a curated tour of a fevered dream. Replete with childhood recitals, fragments of half-remembered stanzas and sumptous j-pop interludes, we sense that this was a life lived well and well lived. As the shadows fall around our eyes and the summer skies turn from pink to the bluest-black the sensation of being lifted and rocked slowly slips away…

    PLVS VLTRA is Toko Yasuda, formerly of Enon


  • black hat – covalence – field hymns

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    The voices of futures past howl through PNG files of grass and waterfalls – thumping and thrumming, bumping and humming – but always subservient to the pulse. It’s a very pleasant factory where the tunes for imaginary holidays of post-Christian digital paganism are made: some static is playing dub on a radio in the background, mechanical insects flit about your head plucking harps from a laser bandstand and the air always smells of ozone. But the beat, the beat is what drives us through our toil – always the beat.

    Black Hat is Nelson Bean of Seattle, Washington