Splitting off briefly from usual drummer Chris Corsano, Burning Star Core's C. Spencer Yeh and experimental jazz elder statesman Paul Flaherty embarked on a brief Northeast jaunt in the closing months of summer, 2007. Taking full advantage of the abandoned rhythm section, the violin and saxophone duo lose none of their power or chaotic potential while skillfully wielding the precise interactions allowed for in such an intimate musical setting. A logical addition is found in trumpeter Greg Kelley's inclusion on two of the pieces, as his breathy playing fits neatly in with the obtuse sonics explored throughout.

The already mysterious musical world of Loren Connors is made even more so by these recordings, finally unearthed after being lost for nearly 30 years. Of course the loss would not be nearly so poignant if it weren't for the fact that the recording shows Connors serenading the grave of Midnight Mary, the ghost of whom will apparently kill anyone who remains in the graveyard after midnight. While Connors clearly came out the other side alive, it does give these delta-drenched chants a certain weight as once more a bluesman—albeit a fairly loose interpretation of one—once more play games with the devil in search of musical ends. Keeping consistent with the folklore, it works yet again.

Calder refracts the Northern Lights of the Icelandic countryside—where Lower was recorded—into music as beautiful and arresting as the Aurora Borealis itself. Fusing acoustic instrumentation with electronic instruments is not a new concept. To say that it has been done well, in an era of ubiquitous self released CD-Rs and instant digital downloads, is not usually warranted. The music available far outweighs the music that is listenable. Larus Sigursson and Olafur Josephsson take the simple elements of guitar, piano, and glockenspiel, along with a handful of other instruments and transform them in a process that is best described as alchemical.

After coming first coming together for one absolute monster of a collaboration, guitarist Michio Kurihara (best known for his exquisite playing in Ghost) again joins Boris for what is essentially a disappointing album. The two long pieces featured here form two ends of the same spectrum; one highlights how powerful a simple, noisy drone can be and the other shows just how bad self-indulgent guitar freakouts can be.

This album combines two pieces from either end of Ferrari’s catalogue. A piece from his classic late 1960s period is paired with a more modern composition from 2000. Both pieces show how there is no distinct sound to be associated with the composer and how he did his best to innovate consistently during his career. The album has been lovingly put together and is one of the better posthumous releases that have seen the light of day.

Neil Campbell forms part of a trend of contemporary musicians who feel that they need to release every single thing they do. Acid Mothers Temple, Merzbow, Wolf Eyes and Nadja are other big names that come to mind and while these all release decidedly sub-par material, the good releases tend to make this practice forgivable. Unfortunately, Campbell has been more miss than hit for me and this has put me off his work as the risk of being burned is too great. Needless to say, I was surprised when I actually liked Plug Music Ramoon which, although patchy, is one of the more interesting items in his post-Vibracathedral Orchestra back catalogue.

The reappearance of these two unpardonably out-of-print platinum-selling albums recorded in the later years of the R&B group's celebrated 3+3 lineup presents listeners with aural snapshots taken at the twilight of '70s funk and disco.  By this time interpersonal tensions in the group and the changing tastes of audiences had begun to affect the sextet, though one could hardly tell given the radioactive funk emitting from these songs.

Mark Nelson’s post-Labradford work has always done more for me than Labradford itself. This is not a disparaging comment on Labradford but a testament to how good Nelson has become. With each Pan•American release, Nelson has further crafted his distinctive and often copied style. These are not just interesting sounds or clever use of musical form, the music goes beyond that (and any "post-rock" clichés) to become a genuinely moving experience.

I cannot think of a single artist that is afflicted with such a relentless torrent of inspiration and amazing ideas that a triple album is warranted.  Texas's Korperschwache have not changed my opinion on this issue, but they have made a surprising successful, varied (particularly for a noise band with a Holocaust-derived moniker that names songs after H.P. Lovecraft monsters), and listenable effort nonetheless; especially when considering that the band began in 1995 with the intention of producing "blown-out junk noise hell built on the maxim that you can never be too loud or too obnoxious."

This release from eminent sound ecologist Francisco Lopez and Michael Gendreau—member of Crawling With Tarts (1983-1998)—is less a collaboration between the two than a pairing together of similar pieces culled from recordings they each made in the Far East. Lopez created his tracks from original recordings of machinery in Singapore, China, Taiwan, and Japan, whereas Gendreau's microphone captured sounds from inside the factories of Taiwan and Malaysia. Together as a two CD set, the musical pieces presented by each artist are quite complimentary of each other.

This collection featuring four artists from different countries is strung together by the conceits that all of the artists are relatively unknown and all of them are women.  The disc is agreeably diverse, taking turns through lo-fi pop, fuzzy electronics, and odd singer-songwriter territory.

Although the Roll Over Rover label co-head Sean McCann is a relatively recent addition to the underground experimental scene, he has already carved out a name for himself with fully realized releases on a number of labels. On this album—loosely based on Albert Ayler's work of the same name—McCann uses bowed mandolin, processed banjo, vocals, and a plethora of other techniques to create a work that doesn't so much pay homage to the jazz legend's work as take off from where Ayler's spiritual approach left us.

With well over 20 releases to its name, Anthony Mangicapra's Hoor-paar-Kraat project has taken on many guises over the years, containing no less than 14 different collaborators over the course of its varied discography. No matter the personnel though, the unit has consistently pushed at the boundaries between drone, noise and musique concrète to masterful effect. Here, Mangicapra teams up with four cohorts and comes up with a beautifully consistent and thematically realized piece. That it has been printed in a relatively large run (for this sort of release anyway...) of 200 is good news, but unfortunately not so good that anyone who wants one can afford to bide their time should they desire a copy. Such is the tape world I suppose; c'est la vie.

I’ve long been under the mindset that "post rock" is a euphemism for "prog rock."  Just like "industrial" began to mean "synth pop with distortion" circa 1983.  Not that there's anything wrong with prog rock, who doesn’t love a guy in a cape behind a battery of synths that look like they could have landed the Apollo. Apse are definitely in this genre and for the most part they do pretty well, though I wish this would have been an instrumental album.

Having collaborated with the likes of Damo Suzuki and members of Zeni Geva and Acid Mother’s Temple, it’s not surprising at all that this is going to be a loud and “out there” sort of project.  And it is, traipsing the line between free jazz and noise with reckless abandon.  Never leaning fully onto one side or the other, it makes for an interesting dichotomy throughout both studio and live discs.

Not quite a lost classic and hardly considered a hit in its own time, this accomplished solo debut from an enduring talent is not some mere soul curio. Unlike records rereleased to satisfy some obsessive collectors' lust for digging up obscure R&B regardless of true quality, this album succeeds on its own merits and the potency of its performances.

Much like labelmate Minotaur Shock, Belgium's Dim Dim takes a contrarian and perverse approach to contemporary electronic dance music. Whip is a loopy, absurdist dance party of an album, largely due to Jerry Dimmer's skillful and deranged incorporation of exotica, turntablism, and Negativland-style plunderphonics.

Adhering to the edicts of minimalist techno, the music produced by Jon Gaiser is only minimally enjoyable. Focused listening provides few rewards, but is unobtrusive as the soundtrack to a night spent in back room of a club. At its least it gave me a rhythm to tap along with on my feet.

This German duo is a rave late and a Deutschmark short. However, those stuck on an interminable techno beat will rejoice; this music from electronica’s sordid past has been faithfully recreated for them yet again.

This compiles eight rather austere avant-garde guitar works from artists spanning the world (yet featuring a disproportionate number of Texans).  Thankfully, one of those Texans is Jandek, who conspicuously counterbalances the somewhat academic sensibility of the album.  Despite this aesthetic of high-art sterility, the album has a impressively high success rate.