Albert Ayler, Holy Ghost (Revenant)

Finally it has arrived: that other great Revenant box set. I baulked at paying £100 for this on release in 2004 but found myself unable to resist when Cargo dropped the price to a mere £40 last month. The Charley Patton box arrived within a couple of days, but the ten discs and assorted paraphernalia which makes up the Albert Ayler Holy Ghost (“Trane was the father. Pharoah was the son. I was the holy ghost”) set seemed to take an eternity to arrive. Worth the wait, no doubt.

Vikki Jackman, Whispering Pages (Faraway Press)

This site clearly has a new policy: I’m only featuring artists who have an affinity for cats. Those who have no time for these retractably-clawed scratching machines can go and hawk their wares somewhere else as far as I am concerned, say Pitchfork, get them reviewed and then have to step out blinking into the harsh lights of fame, while cat lovers are welcome to get featured here, and remain in a pleasant fog of obscurity. The fact that Vikki Jackman meets my harsh eligibility criteria is one of the few facts I gleaned from her Myspace page. Other than that she has a sideline in making scarves and brooches (in case you are wondering, and as lovely as it undoubtedly is, I passed on the flowery Delilah cowl).

Stray Ghost, Losthilde (Highpoint Lowlife)

There isn’t really a lot of happy music around on this site is there? Reading this, you would never guess that I’m the sort of person who skips through life, fetching old ladies down from trees and helping cats cross the road, would you? My attention was pricked when I read the following quote from the artist known as Stray Ghost: “Happiness is something which, for me, needs no expression in music, the emotion stands by itself, it is self-fulfilling, where as depression, sadness and loneliness are emotions which require catharsis, expression and search for a form aside from myself, a kind of exorcism.” There is probably something for me to think about in that. There is definitely something for me to think about in this, his debut full-length album for the consistently eclectic Highpoint Lowlife label.

connect_icut, They Showed Me The Secret Beaches (CSAF)

Sam Macklin is a blogger, usually writing about music, but also prone to digressions about his cat and the Tour De France. If it wasn’t for the fact that he has a neat sideline in producing his own music under the connect-icut banner, I swear you’d never be able to tell us apart. Well, that and the fact I still have that tattoo of Richard Virenque on my stomach (with the navel as his mouth, gasping open as he sucks in air on the ascent of the Col du Galibier). I’ve always regretted having that done, to be honest.

Trans-Fagaran Express

Well, that was a lot of fun. A week and a half spent shouting “BOO-NA ZEE-WA!” at headscarf-wearing haggle-toothed old women, and high-fiving excitable children, as we cycled through picturesque villages in the lush green countryside, filled to the top with the finest rocket fuel that Romania’s vineyards could provide. Special regards are due to the lovely Linda and Eddie, who introduced me to the mushy polenta-based joys of Romanian food.   Special disregards are due to the less-than-lovely cook at the farm I stayed at one night who re-introduced me to the equally mushy joys of food-poisoning, from which I’m still recovering.  Normal service – not that I can remember what that is – will no doubt be resumed in due course.

Matt Hill, Matt Hill (Kill Shaman)

Matt Hill.  Matt Hill?  Not exactly a google-friendly name, is it?  The corporeal, offline side of my being suffers from the same problem, but as I would release my music under the name of Erasmus Finx (unique, surely) that wouldn’t be a problem. The fact that Matt Hill has not only persevered with the moniker his mother gave him, but also used it as the title of this album probably tells you something about the character of the music herein: quiet, unassuming, and unshowy.  Well, for the most part.

Anduin, Forever Waiting (SMTG)

Just as I think I’m getting out, they pull me back in. I seriously thought I’d just about broken out of my (arguably excessive) drone listening habits, with consecutive reviews of James Blackshaw, Joanna Newsom and Sons of Noel and Adrian. They had proper tunes and everything. My girlfriend could whistle them. Well, she could try. But then I found myself trapped in the house surrounded by an ever mounting pile of excellent, if decidedly unmelodic fare, and the only way I could get out was by feeding them all into the (still working, for now) CD player. Although after listening to this one by Jonathan Lee, aka Anduin, and a few fairly stellar guests, I wasn’t exactly in a rush to leave – not least because I had to hear it again. And again. I’m pretty much institutionalised here, obviously.

Cory Allen, The Fourth Way (Quiet Design)

This album is full of those sounds that make my teeth hurt. It is so highly charged with static that bright blue sparks dance off its metallic surfaces, and I can feel them deep in my fillings. There is a considerable degree of sonic perfectionism here, perhaps a result of having two record label bosses involved: the music is the work of one Cory Allen, keen to make an impression with his first release on his own Quiet Design label, and an additional layer of sheen was applied by the mastering of none other than Taylor Deupree of 12k.

Pocahaunted, Island Diamonds (Not Not Fun) and Mirror Mic (Weird Forest)

I’ve read that the duo known as Pocahaunted have been described as the “Olsens of drone” which, unless it is a reference to the great Danish European Championship-winning side of the 1980s, is a reference that will have to remain lost on me.  Equally hard for me to understand is quite how prolific they are: I have no idea how many albums they have spat out this year since their epic collaboration with Not Not Fun labelmates Robedoor, but I’ve managed to grab hold of Island Diamonds and Mirror Mics – two slightly different variations on the band’s idiosyncratic theme.

Carpathian rhythms…

By the time you read this, I’ll be on my way to Transylvania.  I’m going to be attempting to escape the clutches not just of the fella above, but of the local bear community, on a bike (they will have been attracted by my garish maillot a pois rouges, no doubt) whilst smashed on the produce of the local vineyards. Wish me luck.