Selected works from John Chantler's time at Stockholm’s Elektronmusikstudion EMS.  --- John Chantler / reed organ, serge synthesizer --- Tracklisting: 1. ( part I ) 13:02 2. ( part II ) 08:44 3. ( part III ) 14:47 --- Recorded and arranged March 2016—November 2017 at EMS, Stockholm; ZKM, Karlsruhe; NOTAM, Oslo and 1703, Stockholm. Thanks to staff EMS, ZKM and NOTAM for their help and support. KM residency was supported by The Australia Council for The Arts. Elements of '( part III )' originally commissioned by Audiorama, Stockholm.

This is a recording of the ten minute piece kindly commissioned by Alan F Jones for the Organ for the Senses festival held annually at the Spreckels Pavilion in San Diego using their open air organ. The music was performed by Justin Murphy-Mancini and recorded by Alan Jones. This audio is from a rehearsal performance a few days before the public premiere on 27 May 2017. --- Justin Murphy-Mancini / organ --- Tracklisting: 1. Move Along, Nothing To See Here - 10:14 --- Recorded by alan jones/laminal audio at spreckels pavilion organ, san diego, may 2017

A duo for saxophone and synthesizer. Johns/John lock into a series of cycles and frequency systems that while loosely in the tradition of the patterned saxophony and accompanying string drone of La Monte Young and the Theatre of Eternal Dream Music’s B Flat Dorian Blues. The pair obliterate the instrumental hierarchy that Young espouses for an altogether more unknowable intensity of experience. -- John Chantler / synthesizer Johannes Lunds / alto saxophone  --- Liner notes: Two Dreams For Endless Skies Music makes my mind drift uncontrollably. When I saw John Chantler and Johs Lunds perform at Copenhagen’s Mayhem venue I had a vision: I awake suddenly to discover that I have been sleeping on a beach. It’s a rainy early morning and I’m laying on my back in the open on the sand, the hood of my jacket blinding my peripheral vision. I have no idea how I got there and only see grey clouds above and hear the waves and wind. I stare into the sky blinking from light speckles of falling rain, my mind reeling from two dreams. I try to stem the rapid decay that dreams inherently suffer from: 01 Static I’m a child living on a west coast Canadian island and the nights I hate most are the silent ones. To fall asleep to anything other than silence is preferable – rain the best, howling wind reassuring, a violent storm just fine – it’s an emptiness broken sporadically by a creaking tree, a snapping branch and other terrifying small sounds that emanate from the encroaching forest. It’s the terrifying absence of background sounds that makes me aware of how far away from everything I am here. It makes me claustrophobic – the dark edges of the forest encroach, the only thing keeping them from closing in is the light outside the front door washing the dark green trees, ferns and rocks with a creepy dim light. Around this time, while I start to understand my fear of silence, I am given a portable radio. I spend nights slowly panning the tuning dial through the shimmering static noise of the radio spectrum, picking up the odd AM channel that somehow has made itself audible all the way out here where I am. Faint songs blend into speech into rich hisses into warbling glissandi and squeaks and pops – engrossing noises that I imagine come from orbiting satellites, distant planets and other worlds. 02 Waves In the next dream I travel with my father to the northern tip of Vancouver Island. We hike through the forests of Cape Scott Park towards the sea. It takes us all day to get there. Along the trail I listen to the relentless roar of the wind and crashing waves coming off the ocean. The coast persistently seems just over the next hill but doesn't appear – the white noise grows more wearing and the hike turns to a slog. The park we are in contains a series of overgrown fields and dilapidated farm houses. Built by late 19th century Danish colonists, they were abandoned just over a decade later when the roads and utilities the government had promised didn't materialise. The settlements have a spooky peacefulness, beautiful but mournful in the subsuming nature. Through ghost farms and fields, then some low bushes, we finally arrive at the shore. Here the white noise of wind and waves takes full hold. The white-capped sea churns out to the horizon and the pale bright sandy beach stretches to either side of us for kilometres. Far down the beach we see a number of large dark lumpen shapes plonked upon the sand. As we walk towards them the shapes slowly reveal themselves to be a colony of recently deceased sea lions. In the heat of the blaring sun some of the giant cadavers have become bloated enough to cause their boiled and steaming guts to explode out onto the beach. Dotted in constellations around the carcasses and across the shore are hundreds of brightly coloured size 10 Nike running shoes, all for the left foot. A shipping container must have fallen off a freighter during a heavy storm, breaking apart and dumping the left footed shoes into the sea, where they drifted to the shore and washed up on this beach. They look so peculiar and fake against the guts and endless nature – vibrant running shoes, floating through infinite space, bobbing across the swelling grey sea, in the brilliant rays of sunshine, or the luminous light of the moon, blown on by howling wind through the slow motion murk of my memory. A large black bear emerges from behind one of the giant sea lion carcasses and raises itself up onto its hind legs. I jump up but instead of the beach I am back in the venue and my ears are ringing. Finish There’s an idea that the essential human use of music is as a mask – that at its core music is a way to drown out all the external noises that our most inner primordial self automatically processes as a warning, setting our nerves alight. What this understanding of music might mean for, say, love songs, dance or noise music is hard to fathom, and the idea becomes too reductive to be interesting. But it is useful sometimes, inasmuch as the idea connects music directly to animals, landscape and endless cosmos – dumping us humans and our machines and activities into what was once called nature. Sound and silence drift uncontrollably, endlessly, until they find music. Music makes our minds drift uncontrollably but gives us an interface with the world. Nathaniel Budzinski

TRIM is an improvising quartet brought together by Dominic Lash (guitar) with Phil Durrant (modular synth), Steve Noble (percussion) and Rachel Musson (saxophones). After Musson was unable to make this show, Colin Webster was recruited on saxophone duties, resulting in two absolutely barnstorming sets under the freshly coined banner of TROM. You know how it is. Times are hard, things get stressful. Sometimes you’ve just got to blow off steam by blasting the doors off an unassuming Hackney music venue and sending the audience barreling down the street. Such was the case at OTO on 5th April this year, when Lash, Durrant, Noble and Webster summoned up the kind of utterly cathartic sonic scree that made a wonderful irrelevance of this having been their first ever performance as a quartet. Make no mistake, this is no one-note performance - the group cover a hugely varied amount of terrain over the two sets' combined near-80 minute run-time - but the sheer sense of exuberance on display here is hard to ignore. A rapidly rotating interplay sees all four musicians trading shapes that mutate and evolve with an almost breathless momentum. There's an exhilarating sense of new forms being created in realtime, forms that seem to blur and shift depending on your vantage point. Whatever angle you come at it, however, this one doesn't let up for a second. On this basis we look forward to welcoming back both TRIM and TROM here, with hopes for TRAM, TREM and TRUM too at some point in the future. -- Recorded by Billy SteigerMixed and mastered by Oli Barrett

Release #200 of our live digital series! After over a decade and so many incredible sets, we knew that the 200th release had to be something special, and it really doesn't get much more special than this. Where to start? Joe and John have provided so many incredible moments at OTO from the beginning that it's an impossible task to summarise them all. Some of these performances have been released on the label before - whether with Decoy or Joe and John's quartet alongside Lol Coxhill and Chris Corsano - but remarkably this is the first time that we've ever hosted a duo performance from them. Boy oh boy was it worth the wait. This first duo performance from these two took place in the Austrian mountains at the festival Artacts in Tirol, in the afternoon with snowy mountains glimmering through the windows. One of those magical moments in music, where the audience sat there completely moved - with tears in the eyes, tears of happiness. You might be thinking that a response like that might be hard to top. Well, dig in... -- Recorded by Billy SteigerMixed and mastered by Oli Barrett

On Pleading Light, Berlin-based Egyptian musician Assyouti reworks the score to Carl Theodor Dreyer’s seminal 1928 film The Passion of Joan of Arc. Matching the heightened expressivity of Dreyer's masterpiece is no easy feat, but Assyouti's skilful adaptation manages it, becoming less an alternative soundtrack than a heartfelt evocation of the film's astonishingly memorably imagery. Voices and orchestral fragments are slowed, looped and eroded to the point of rupture, shifting from accompaniment to textural matter that flares and falls to ash as distortion and decay quietly overtake the image. Throughout, a richly expansive chorus teeters on the precipice between the spiritual and the sepulchral, the human and the synthetic. It's hard not to get swept away with it all; this is music to get lost in. The set's near 40-minute runtime stretches from featherlight, angelic tones to a coruscating density. At times we sense things straining at the limits of the speakers themselves - not so much a matter of volume as an abundance of scope. This is sound-craft on a very broad sonic canvas. -- Recorded by Billy SteigerMixed and mastered by Oli Barrett