Balmat HHV Records 7 Items

It took a village to create Le Motel’s Odd Numbers / Số Lẻ. Beneath its pulsing, shimmering tones, the record is alive with the sounds of everyday life—purring mopeds, idle whistling, the din of kitchens and whisper of rain, voices joyful and contemplative, scenes of bustling cities and domestic intimacy.

Le Motel—who runs the Brussels-based record label Maloca—gathered sounds, photographs, and videos while traveling in Vietnam in 2023. From Hanoi he ventured to Hmong communities in the mountains near the border with China, building out a network of contacts gathered from friends and friends of friends. But Odd Numbers / Số

Lẻ—which takes its title from traditional Vietnamese numerological beliefs and customs—is wholly unlike the extractive product typical of exploitative modes of Western tourism; the album’s final shape was deeply dependent upon the participation of the people the artist met in Vietnam.

Back in Brussels after his travels, as Le Motel began working with his materials, he sent early drafts to his contacts, inviting their input. This back-and-forth eventually yielded a dynamic collective effort in which nine of the album’s 15 tracks feature multiple composer credits. Among the album’s diverse collaborators are Yvonne Quỳnh-Lan Dươn, an educator and ethnomusicologist; Chi Chi, the daughter of a Hmong shaman; and Phapxa Chan, who contributes three poems inspired by landscape and Le Motel’s own music (and, in one case, psychedelics).

The result is an album that is not about making sound, broadcasting it as a one-way communication, but instead about the empathic practice of listening—about listening as an integral and even ethical part of musical creation, even (especially!) when that music is created on a computer, rather than conjured by a group of players sharing space in real time. It’s an album that adopts many of the traditional trappings of ambient music while reminding us of the importance of intentional modes of creation. Brian Eno famously said that ambient music must be as ignorable as it is interesting, but Le Motel’s Odd Numbers / Số Lẻ suggests, to the contrary, the richness of experience available to us should we make the effort to open our ears.

Complementing the album, Le Motel’s Odd Numbers / Số Lẻ also takes the form of a multimedia exhibition including photographs, video, and text-based works created in collaboration with Belgian designer and programmer Antoine Jaunard and Vietnamese poet Phapxa Chan. The exhibition is on view from January 23 until March 2, at Brussels’ 254Forest gallery, as part of Photo Brussels Festival 2025.

Dovs are the duo of Vienna's Johannes Auvinen, aka Tin Man, and Mexico City's Gabo Barranco, aka Aaaa. Psychic Geography is their second album together, but it diers considerably from both their respective solo work and their 2019 debut LP together, Silent Cities: Where that album's hardware-based acid kept its gaze focused squarely on the danceoor, Psychic Geography is a strictly ambient aair. The album has its roots in a trio of beatless tracks that peppered Silent Cities; this time, the duo decided to try making an entire album with no drums. "It opened up the chance to make a dierent, more narrative style of music with more complex structures," Auvinen says. Ambiguity and uncertainty are key watchwords for their music, which moves with eerie, liquid grace. Untethered from 4/4 kicks, their music drifts and morphs; familiar acid sequences give way to surprising shifts in tone and mood. And with no drums to distract the ear, the seeming simplicity of their silvery synth lines opens up to reveal remarkable depth and dynamism. Barranco and Auvinen recorded the album together in the studio utilizing machines like the Roland Tb-303, Juno G, Prophet 5, Elektron Octatrack Mkii, Make Noise DPO and Ren?, Mutable Clouds, Roland Sh-101, Behringer TD3, and Sherman Filterbank. Listen on good speakers or headphones, and you can tell: Their gear yields a tonal richness that recalls the ambient and cosmic music of decades earlier. You can practically feel the heat from their circuits warming the air. The meaning behind the name Dovs is as ambiguous as the duo's music. (Dig, if you will, the picture of Picasso's dove of peace--or, perhaps, the outline of a bird pressed into a small white pill.) But Psychic Geography needs little explanation. Dovs' album is a collection of mental maps of imaginary places. Set your coordinates for the mirage on the horizon and prepare to dissolve.

Panoram makes soundtracks for daydreams gone sideways. Picture the scene: an afternoon nap with the television on, quietly, in the corner; snatches of conversation drift in through the open window. Wandering, half-formed thoughts take unexpected detours; before you know it, there’s a movie playing out against closed lids, the colors bright, the characters unfamiliar. Accidental rhythms, incidental melodies, imitations of life, messages in code.

Across 17 fragmentary, sketch-like tracks, Panoram carves a labyrinthine path in which nothing is what it seems: a fantasy world of breathy vox pads, faux guitar, detuned synths, bursts of flute and orchestral percussion, and even the occasional cheeky cartoon sample. It’s chillout music with a chilly edge, ambient with a darkly ironic undertone. (The briefest glance at your news outlet of choice should be enough to confirm that the title—Great Times—ought to be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism.) Panoram has been making music under his principal alias for more than a decade now, releasing albums on labels like Firecracker, Running Back, and his own Wandering Eye. (He has also performed and recorded with Amen Dunes, and has co-production credits on Amen Dunes’ forthcoming Sub Pop album Death Jokes.) Panoram’s output has ranged widely, taking in abstract pop, classical composition, twisted takes on library music, and cyborg funk. One record of “bio-acoustic transmissions” came with a cannabis leaf pressed in clear wax; his 2021 album Pianosequenza Vol. 1 gathers his experiments on the Yamaha Disklavier. But Great Times offers the truest picture yet of a project that has never been easy to pin down. Loath to overshare details about his personal life, Panoram instead lets the music do the talking, using his cryptic tracks to express the slipperiest sorts of ideas—the thoughts that take root where anxiety, distraction, and the most fleeting traces of grace commingle. Panoram’s approach flies in the face of contemporary ambient orthodoxy, with its emphasis on immersion and uplift. Great Times expresses something thornier, more difficult to translate, yet also more tantalizing to contend with. Its 17 tracks offer a chance to get lost—and an invitation to remain in the maze as long as you like.

Balmat is a new label with a cloudy outline. Jointly shepherded by Philip Sherburne and Albert Salinas, two friends living in Cardedeu, Catalonia, and on the Balearic island of Menorca, Balmat grew out of Lapsus Radio, a weekly show on Spain’s Radio 3. Balmat’s mission is simple: to foster new ideas, expand upon personal obsessions, and put enveloping sounds out into the world. “Balmat” means “empty” or “void” in Catalan. But quite apart from any negative connotations, we prefer to think of it in terms of possibility: a space waiting to be filled. Balmat’s first release comes from Luke Sanger, a Norwich, UK-based artist whose two decades of electronic music making have encompassed a range of tools and techniques, from MaxMSP to modular synthesis. Along the way he has built an extensive catalog encompassing ambient atmospheres, abstract soundscaping, and more. With Languid Gongue, he puts multiple approaches into play. Experiments in microtonal composition balance out pieces in standard tunings, while esoteric electronic machines merge with familiar acoustic treatments and microphone techniques. The result is a constellation of his signature sounds: freeform new-age fantasia; spring-loaded toytronic arpeggios; quartz-driven braindance clockworks. Drifting between consonant, almost lyrical compositions and shape-shifting textural sketches, the album drifts with the nonchalance of a sky-high cirrus cloud, and it glows as if illuminated from within. When we heard the material, we knew that it was the perfect choice to launch the label. To us, it sounds like a roadmap for points unknown.

"Music is my forever cove," writes Portland, Oregon's Luke Wyland of the ideas that give shape to Kuma Cove, his latest album under his own name. Though named after a real place on the Oregon coast, Kuma Cove casts its gaze far beyond the sightseer's line of vision. Recorded live in the studio and blurring obvious lines between computer-based composition and electro-acoustic instrumentation, it is an album about flow, borders, transitory states, and shelter. Composed of discontinuous ripples and repetitions ("I'm forever searching for a better descriptor than looping, which feels too simple and flattened by overuse," Wyland says), shaped into richly emotive arcs, and informed by his experience as a person who stutters, it is also an album about identity, self-expression, and the energies that sluice through and across what we perceive as linear time--like floodwaters seeking an exit, like streams running into the sea.

Coral Morphologic and Nick Leon's Projections of a Coral City marks a series of collisions between distant worlds: the organic and the artificial, the Eocene and the Anthropocene, sea and cement--and even, perhaps, ambient music and activism. Coral Morphologic are the Miami duo of marine biologist Colin Foord and musician J.D. McKay; since 2007, they have used a variety of multimedia projects to generate environmental awareness of marine biodiversity--most notably Coral City Camera, an underwater webcam streaming live from an urban reef ecosystem in PortMiami. Their citymate Nick Leon is a linchpin of South Florida's contemporary leftfield electronic scene, with releases for Tra Tra Trax, Future Times, and Naafi, and credits on records by Rosalia, Gaika, and Iceboy Violet, among others. This collaborative project dates back to 2022, when Coral Morphologic mounted a monumental projection-mapping installation on Biscayne Boulevard. For five nights in late November and early December, macroscopic films of corals played out across the exterior of Knight Concert Hall. The installation was, on the one hand, a glimpse into a possible future, imagining how the city's skyline might appear if unchecked global warming and rising seas led coral reefs to colonize the built environment. But it also represented a look back into the deep past, a reminder that Miami is literally built from marine limestone mined from the Everglades. Its concrete foundations began life, eons ago, as a marine ecosystem--the same ecosystem that may one day reclaim them. As above, so below. As an album, Projections of a Coral City is a suite of interconnected movements spread across two sides of vinyl. The tones are watery, the mood elegiac, the colors a washed-out pastel. Forms that appear static on the surface gradually open up to reveal hidden depths teeming with microscopic movement. You might detect resonances with other aquatically minded works--Jurgen Moller's Science of the Sea, Harold Budd's liquid piano compositions, even the slow-moving melancholy of Dr. Roger Payne's Songs of the Humpback Whale. But ultimately Projections of a Coral City creates the impression of a world unto itself--a hauntingly beautiful space at the meeting point between sorrow and hope.

Minor Science aka UK-born, Berlin-based musician Angus Finlayson pushes forward his vision of ambient music as neither static vista or merely mood-setting atmosphere, but rather a dynamic matrix of textures, sensations, and even rhythms. He makes his Balmat debut with Absent Friends Vol. III, the third installment in a shape-shifting series across a variety of formats and platforms. The first two Absent Friends--a 2014 set for Blowing Up the Workshop, and a 2017 cassette and web player for Whities (now AD93)--were hybrid affairs, part DJ mix and part collage, mostly featuring music made by other people. Then, in 2020-21, Finlayson developed the project into a live show of his own material. Armed with hundreds of bespoke stems created in his studio--idiosyncratic FX chains, feedback loops through cheap rack gear, heavily post-processed field recordings, found voices, etc.--he would improvise on four CDJs, mixer, FX, and live synths, extending techniques he learned as a club DJ into a live context, accompanied by visuals by Stockholm-based artist Paul Witherden. Absent Friends Vol. III is an album of studio versions of the music developed for the live show. But in Minor Science's world, even a category as simple as "studio versions" is slightly opaque. "Most of these tracks weren't 'composed' in the studio," Finlayson explains: "The sounds started out as stems and source material for the live show, and might not have been intended to go together--but then through performance, they settled into shapes that worked. I then recreated those performances in the studio." That organic process of ideation and realization might help explain the unusual coherence of the album, in which sounds and textures flow seamlessly from one to the next, sometimes seeming to stand still, and sometimes looping back. There are virtually no melodies, few recognizable motifs or riffs, yet the eight-track album nevertheless moves with a distinctive logic and a determined sense of purpose, from the frozen-in-time shimmer of the opening "Introduction" through the early cuts' studies of space and light; from the seemingly autobiographical "Summer Diary" through the rushing trance (yes, trance) arpeggios of "Contingency" and on to the dulcet denouement of the closing "Gather Your Party (Dispersed Mix)."