Comfort Link – The Sedated Tones Of
6.22.17 by Ryan Masteller

I don’t have a lot of time here, so I’ll get right to the point – my plane’s taking off in just over an hour, and I REALLY don’t want to sweat through a long TSA checkpoint line. I mean, if I’m really cutting it close, I might get all drenched in that nasty old stress sweat, the kind that stinks, you know? At least that’s what the deodorant commercials tell me. But here I am, rambling on, wasting my (and maybe your – who knows, you might have piano lessons or soccer practice or church group or something) time, not getting to the point even though I don’t have the luxury to do so. But there’s a reason why I’m chuckling to myself as I engage you here on these electronic pages. See, I’m not actually worried about the plane, if I’m being honest with you (and god knows, I’m always honest with you). I’m not worried about the lines or the inevitable luggage search (I have really weirdly shaped luggage). I’m not gonna sweat. Why, you ask? I’ve got a secret.

The reason that I’m all hopped up on zen right now is because of my old pal Comfort Link. No, it’s not because of “The Celestial Music Of Comfort Link,” although I completely understand why you’d think that. This time around we’ve got “The Sedated Tones Of Comfort Link,” a way different expression of minimal composition than that old tape – that was like three fiscal quarters ago. This one features ghostly organ and samples recorded onto decaying tape, giving it an otherworldly quality as it slowly emanates from your headphones and fills your body with its ectoplasmic sonic goo, dulling any sense of urgency you might have into a soft, fluffy internal hum. The A-side, “Sedate Tones for Tape and Organ,” drones consistently as you find yourself getting lost in it, details emerging from the stasis like ghosts of dreams that gently, ahem, comfort you before disappearing into the ether. The B-side, “Sedate Tones for Tape and Found Sound,” whispers like a scene from a faded black-and-white postcard from a time when things were simpler, when life was easier, and days were less rush-y to planes and nonsense like that. There’s a reason why I mentioned Basinski, Jeck, and Kirby in my previous review. Their spirits still linger over the Comfort Link sound. The recording is immaculate, projecting an aura fit for hushed cathedral meditation before petering out of existence at its finale. I can think of no better way to face the hurry-up-and-wait existence of modern life than with SEDATE TONES all up in my Walkman.

So in the time it took me to write this all to you (like, way longer than it took to read it, trust me), I missed my flight – but that’s OK. I feel like I’ve imparted some wisdom and pointed a few of you in the right direction, the direction you need to go, which is to the sPLeeNCoFFiN website. There you can purchase any number of sundry items to assist you in your travels, but please, make sure you pick up one of those five-dollar Comfort Link tapes – it’s like half the price of a bottle of water.

Nikmis – Widdendream
6.16.17 by Ryan Masteller

Cripes, man, I wasn’t going to say this, but Nikmis might be the greatest thing that’s graced my eardrums in at least a fortnight, and that’s saying a lot because I’ve been spinning that new alt-J jawn “RELAXER” and that sheez is tighter than a trapeze act working without a safety net. But I’ve gotta be honest with you – the mysterious Nagoya, Japan, act responsible for “WIDDENDREAM” might just be the one to knock ol’ alt-J out of the rotation for good. And that’s AFTER I read the whole Santa hat diatribe, which kinda threw me off my game for a little bit, but here I am, back at it, enveloped in the glorious synthesizer melodies concocted – no, COMPOSED – like Nikmis was sitting at a harpsichord in freaking nineteenth-century Vienna. But he was NOT doing that, it only seems like he was, because “WIDDENDREAM” oozes classical and Romantic charm, and I bet Wendy Carlos and/or Morton Subotnick would be gleefully appreciative of its scope and execution. It’s like SWAN LAKE for the patch cord community.

(Haha – alt-J.)

Throughout the entire release, Nikmis warps his brilliant synth in baroque configurations like the Orange Milk house band a pint into “absinthe night” at the Akron (or Wherever, Ohio) compound. He makes one “feel the feels,” as it were, purposefully warping space and time to connect the past and the future, steeping his playing in nostalgia and retrofuturism, but Kubrickian retrofuturism, not the EPCOT Center kind. Life in this bubble is beautiful, and it’s a bubble I don’t want to leave. Everything outside of this bubble is affixed with adjectives like “bloodthirsty” and “malevolent” – and can’t I just stick around inside here for a while? Hey, I got an idea – that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Forget stupid garbage music and forget alt-J and forget my (admittedly sometimes awesome) Sirius XM subscription in my car and forget modern life (it’s rubbish anyhow) – I’m going to hang out with Nikmis all by myself, foisting a constant reminder to my waking consciousness that it’s all been going downhill for a while. But damn it, everybody, Nikmis refuses that downhill trajectory. Nikmis rises the EFF UP.

By the way, Nikmis – and indeed “WIDDENDREAM” – is no stranger to these electronic pages. Check out episode #104 of this here podcast for a peek into his nifty little world. Then stop being stupid and buy a tape from Third Kind Records – there are still some left!