Evan Parker's monumental LP of solo soprano saxophone improvisations, recorded direct-cut and issued by Incus in 1978. Lovingly reissued by Treader — the CD is from PSI — using the original stampers, in a gorgeous hand-assembled sleeve, with glossy front and matt back, flaps out. Unmissable. ‘Parker uses rapid tonguing techniques and circular breathing to create a sound all his own, marked by the simultaneous intonation of multiple notes. One hears a note as well as all the residual tones around it; each breath ends up sounding like a battle between the different registers of the horn. At various times, Parker’s saxophone sounds like dolphin speech, electronic tape squeals, or human murmurs; namely, anything but what it actually is. His language on the instrument is essential listening for anyone interested in acoustic experimental music’ (AllMusic). ‘Eight years after Topography Of The Lungs, and two years after his Saxophone Solos, Monoceros was the most muscular statement of Evan Parker’s solo saxophone muse. Superbly recorded, it seemed to place the listener within the chaotic air flows of the saxophone’s own tubing. Philip Clark said: ‘Parker’s dialogue with the saxophone throws up so much that is unexpected, and indeed unknowable, that the problem he faces is how to keep pace with his own invention’’ (The Wire, Best Albums Of The Year).

Yara Asmar’s new album, “everyone I love is sleeping and I love them so so much”, presents 11 pieces recorded over the past year between the small town of Alfred in upstate New York and Beirut. These sometimes fragile and tentative sound sketches reflect the times as Yara steps out, as if onto ice, into a new life on a new continent. She works with unfamiliar instruments, new materials and new sounds to build on her intimate style; homemade mechanical music boxes and a personal archive of family recordings form the backbone of its delicate textures. Asmar explores the peculiar resonance of the metallophone and her collection of deconstructed toy pianos, and guides her music into ever more surreal territories. The result is a work that is dreamlike, fragmentary and strangely timeless. “Most recorders were one track. The one I have has 4 tracks. I slaved away for so long before I could afford it! I dreamt of it for so long. Every time I passed in front of the store, I would look at it. One day, we were recording outside on the microphones. We were recording using the condenser microphone. I had two so I could record in stereo. They ended up recording both the sound of birds and the music we were trying to actually record. When we finished, we started listening and realised the sounds of the birds were much louder than the actual songs. The sounds ended up being blended. There were all kinds of birds in these recordings. Lovebirds. They sounded like bicycle horns. Their legs and beaks were red. There was also the cut-throat finch. A bird that looks like its throat had been slit because of the red line there. Remember it? They died during the war. Their ears exploded. Every morning we’d wake up and find 7-8 dead birds. Because of the shelling and the sounds of the explosions.” This is one of the last recordings I have of my grandfather, telling me about how he accidentally recorded hours and hours of birdsong onto his reel-to-reel recorder. On my recorder, you’ll find hours and hours of conversations: My grandmother proudly telling me about how she scared off a man who was threatening her with a gun during the war, my grandfather telling me I could come by any time and pick any herbs from his garden, our first lunch after my grandfather’s funeral, the first time that house that had grown quiet was suddenly animated with laughter and song. They are files all labelled by date. January 1, 2025, midnight. An explosion of sound: Fireworks, screams, gunshots, laughter, sirens. I am standing on my quiet balcony, against the city that unfurls like a big sonic carpet. There is a betrayal to being alive because it means to have outlived. I don’t know what it means to constantly be recording out of fear of loss, only that it has been the only way forward, and the only thing that makes sense to me. I have spent the past year in a bit of isolation, between Alfred, New York and Beirut, Lebanon, working with the sounds and objects that have long fascinated me. Being in New York meant finally having access to objects I’d only been able to dream of before. One of them being the symphonion, or disc-playing music box. The mechanism is pretty straight-forward: A motor drives the disc and the holes in the disc pluck the corresponding tooth on the music box comb, producing the sound. These machines use perforated discs, a kind of rotational script, a translation of information into sound through a binary system of absence and presence. Once I started making the discs, I had the idea of engraving text into the discs to listen to the resulting music. I spent a good portion of that year disassembling some old symphonions and mounting the mechanisms onto resonance cases I would build. The boxes got increasingly bigger until I eventually made a box I could sit inside. So I could “sit inside the sound”. I started making my own discs for the boxes, eventually arriving to a point where I engraved poetry into these discs in order to have the music boxes “translate” the text. I also continued working on the disassembled toy pianos I’ve been working with the past few years, which I find particularly fascinating because of the range of overtones they can produce, specifically when they are bowed. When I first released home recordings, it had felt to me like a bit of a mess of sound and seemingly disconnected instruments. With the years that followed and more experimentation, I started slowly closing all the open loops, and understanding what it was about this mess of sounds that I operated in the middle of. For starters, the objects were all metallic, with the exception of the accordion(which I could also say, creates its sound through the vibrations of metallic reeds). And so if the years that followed confirmed anything, it was that I truly was compelled by metal and its sonic properties, and whatever I did, I found myself coming back to it. I’ve tried to pinpoint exactly why - especially in the past year. One of my earliest memories is that of my cousin telling me how viscerally the sound of a fork scratching on a plate disturbed her. The metallic sound is one that irks and haunts. It can, in an overwhelming blanket of noise disturb the listener, but can also nestle itself in the peripheral ear, noticeable only when it is interrupted. In “of the always puzzle” I use the rods of two toy pianos I found at the Sunday market a few years apart but that somehow seemed connected through a wonderful sort of temporal thread. What I find so wonderful about toy pianos is how each one is tuned a little differently. Maybe it’s the rust, maybe it’s because they were “just toys” and so it wasn’t very important to have them all be tuned the same. But these two sets of rods I found had such a strange relationship to each other sonically; I built a little resonance case for them and installed them onto it. One of the sets of rods sounded completely different when it was bowed from the top and when it was bowed from the bottom. I spent hours bowing the same rod and it sounded different every single time. This recording might initially sound like it’s built through loops, but it was really just me bowing incessantly, over and over again. A while back I was having a conversation with one of the professors in the expanded media department at the New York State College of Ceramics at Alfred University (and an artist whose work I truly admire), Andrew Deutsch, about vibratory potential and what it means to listen for what metal itself might articulate when set into motion. I told him I’d always been fascinated by metal and its sound properties, the different timbres that can be extracted from the material through bowing, plucking, rubbing, striking. He said that Tony Conrad might have called this “sitting inside the sound”. In another conversation with Andrew, I expressed my frustration working with music boxes at their tendency to instantly and irrevocably direct the attention towards melancholia; I wondered if it was hopeless working with an object that has such a strong nostalgic affect. The sound of a music box is immediately familiar, embedded in the collective sensorium. It is a sound that arrives pre-encoded, its fragility linked to nostalgia, its timbre already burdened with sentimentality. “You want to take the nostalgia out of the music box?”, Andrew asked, “Well then, set it on fire”. I laughed, to which he insisted “No really. Set it on fire”. (I didn’t). This record is not a nostalgic record, though it may be easier to frame it that way. There is no future to yearn for and the past does not exist as fas as I’m concerned. There is a big, sprawling, horrifying present that eats everything in its path. This collection of recordings is very deeply rooted in the present, in the sounds that make their way into my home that I work so hard to keep quiet, the voices that I carry in my pocket, and the sounds I find refuge in. It has been a year of grief and a year of exploration. A lot of questions have been asked and I don’t think I’ve managed to answer any. This is a collection of recordings for anyone who would like to sit inside the sound with me. And if you’re ever in Alfred, New York, you are welcome inside the box. Yara Asmar, August 2025, Alfred, New York

Harkening back to his days in Slapp Happy, Anthony Moore returns with his latest brilliant song cycle for Drag City  On Beacon Hill: at twilight we find Anthony Moore, roots winding backwards to the halcyon days of Slapp Happy and the ‘70s progressive art rock scene, at guitar and piano. With the atmospheres and accompaniments of AKA & Friends, he breathes infernal new life into songs from his six decades of multivarious music making. This new delivery system is unto a séance, a communal incantation, twining Anthony’s avant and pop traditions together in a darkly radiant coil of folky chamber music; a rope to lower the listener through cobwebs and murk, unveiling new life beneath Anthony’s mad old lines. It is new life that we will need if we hope to reoccupy this cursed earth. AKA are Anthony Moore, Keith Rodway and Amanda Thompson. A pagan family of sound worshipers hailing from that unholiest of all places: Hastings UK, home of Crowley and Turing. Like their sinister forbears in that infamous tradition, this latest trinity shares a passion for subverting pattern and number, factoring unlikely permutations arising from sea and horizon, greensward, the southerly aspect, and the planisphere as half-world. Their equatorial shore speaks of a planet of water and earth, fire and air. AKA’s humble tools of choice for this endeavor are guitar, piano, organ, synthesizer and vocals. The Friends of AKA are Tullis Rennie, trombone and electronics; Olie Brice, double bass; Richard Moore, violin; and Haydn Ackerley, guitar. They too navigate the shoreline of the south coast, haunt the same taverns and regularly play together in whatever combinations fit the bill. Leaving the drums (and their drummer) at home to realize anew these dream-laden songs, AKA & Friends ensure that the notes fall around the beat and not on it, so as to define the pulse with absence. As such, time is liberated, prised free from the merciless clock; a rhythm of waves, passing through a steady-state universe of no beginnings and no endings. Discontinuities are dissolved, all is transition. On Beacon Hill: Anthony Moore with AKA & Friends manifest a sensuous post-devastation lounge act, seeking to re-invoke natural orders by naming — rather than cursing — the darkness in its many guises. Like final-phase Johnny Cash on a lost episode of Twin Peaks, Anthony’s innate gravitas is a light through the surreal landscape, as the players combine themselves again and again, their efforts rising and falling in shared space. Their gothic jazz orchestra carves delicately through Anthony’s songs, releasing the melodies and the melancholy to drift upward, like smoke against a sooty and scorched backdrop. On Beacon Hill: fantastic, prophetic journeys, dry eyed but deeply affected, through the shadow depths of Anthony Moore’s mirror. As we listen, we gravitate and journey alongside fellow refugees in solidarity and solitude alike.

Afro-jazz ancestral healing at the crossroads of tradition and tomorrow Matsuli Music is proud to announce the first vinyl reissue of Philip Tabane’s Sangoma ("Spiritual Healer") since its 1978 release. Remastered from the original tapes with lacquers cut by Frank Merrit and pressed on 180g heavyweight vinyl at Pallas in Germany, this definitive edition re-asserts the power of one of South Africa’s landmark recordings. Featuring new liner notes by cultural critic Kwanele Sosibo and artwork restoration by Siemon Allen, Sangoma returns in full force through an extended Malombo line-up, fronted by Tabane's spellbinding guitar - ancestral, timeless, and unbound. Philip Tabane (1934–2018), the mercurial guitar genius of South African music, forged a sound that was as rooted in the spirit world as it was in daily life. With the Malombo Jazzmen of the 1960s, Tabane disrupted Western notions of “jazz,” bringing the resonant rhythm of cowhide malombo drums into the foreground. While outsiders and the uninitiated often reached for labels like “primitive yet sophisticated,” Tabane and his collaborators named it more truthfully: “music of the spirit.” By the time of Sangoma, Tabane stood at a crossroads. Fresh from a period of three years’ touring in the United States where he graced the Newport Jazz Festival, and played alongside Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Pharoah Sanders and others, he brushed off comparisons with characteristic self-assurance: “No, I don’t play like Miles. Miles plays like me.” Back home in South Africa, and with a newly signed international distribution deal with WEA Records, he harnessed this momentum into a larger band setting, capturing a rare intensity.   The result was Sangoma—an album that bridges contradictions: expansive yet intimate, celebratory yet haunted by exile and return. Tracks such as “Sangoma,” “Hi Congo,” and “Keya Bereka” are not simply performances but living testaments, songs that would remain in his repertoire for decades. Unlike the moody, immersive character of much of his work, here Tabane is on the move—urgent, restless, uncontainable. As he announces on the second track, “Maskanta wa tsamaya” (“something that kicks ass”). More than four decades on, Sangoma is both an historical document and a timeless invocation. From his home in Mamelodi to the world and back again, Tabane’s spiritual healing endures—raw, electric, and unbowed.

Legendary collab from 1976, encontering Red Crayola locked in a brillaint sonic conversation with the art collective Art & Language, recorded in London and New York.

Beautiful vinyl pressing from Drag City of Scott Walker's monumental, groundbreaking masterstroke from 1995

Recorded circa 1995/96, mostly in John Fahey’s room at a Salem, Oregon boardinghouse, the performances on Proofs and Refutations prefigure the ornery turn of the page that marked Fahey’s final years, drawing another enigmatic rabbit from his seemingly bottomless musical hat, making confoundingly delightful demands upon your listening (and thinking) ears.

He's alive!!! And can he sing! Could this be the world's first experimental MOR album? Nah, but time will tell whether or not it is the most supreme. Wackos of the world, take over.

Long awaited x2LP reiusse of Gastr Del Sol's legendary 1996 full-length.  Quite possibly the greatest Chicago post-rock record ever laid to date, and for many Gastr's crowning achievement,  featuring contributions by Kevin Drumm, Sue Wolf, Günter Müller, Mats Gustafsson, Tony Conrad, John McEntire, and others,

XXXCLUUSIVO !! These aren't available outside of the US, don't delay ! We are taking pre-orders for a shipment to land in time for our summer fair  THE LP EDITION OF THIS HAS BEEN DELAYED! PLEASE EXPECT ORDERS START OF AUGUST   Limited edition CD/LP version of the 3rd album by JCC - “Profundo Amor”. CD first edition 1st run limited to 200 hand-numbered copies. Artwork/design by Puro Fantasía. Limited edition vinyl pressing - limited to 100 pcs!  --- Composed, performed & produced by JCC forElectric & acoustic guitars, tapeExcept “Profundo Amor” and “Forastero” traditional Aymara melodies.For my daughter (& her mother) and all of the “unknown medicine” they’ve yet to bring.Artwork by Puro Fantasía

XXXCLUUSIVO !! These aren't available outside of the US, don't delay !  The 4th album by JCC. Limited edition CD / LP version of “Estrella Por Estrella” in special case with double-sided artwork by Puro Fantasía. Includes one exclusive track “Chupa-te ~Reflexion~” which will not be available digitally. "Estrella Por Estrella is a series of compositions for acoustic and electric guitar. Opener “Unifying Force” mixes glistening tones mix with crushing riffs; though the track only has a four minute runtime, it seems to stretch out as far as the night sky. Crampton wrings different emotions out of these basic sounds (see the meditative “Now That I Know U” or the blistering mania of “Acidito”), but his compositions on Estrella Por Estrella are all unified by a shared sense of scale. This is huge music, an album that often feels as vast as the universe itself." - undrcurrents --- Composed, performed & recorded in Northern California by JCC for electric and acoustic guitars.[Un-Mastered]"Sol, mi música siempre es un regalo para ti. I hope you reach for this one when it catches your eye" ---

an excerpt from Edward George's 10,000+word liner-note 8 page booklet that comes with the double LP: DELAY, 1961 (THE STORY SO FAR) They are, Seymour said, in movement, and in keeping with their claim, their music is, like a Brownian bridge, an A&J; Tranean train, a Byrdian plane, or a Blountian space-time myth-machine, a way of playing themselves into the historio-graphical hands, or better yet, the loving arms, or perhaps, to be precise, the metaphysical embrace, of ‘a new creative space’, and playing is a way, the only way, when you think about it, of getting and staying in movement, the only way of staying ahead of themselves. Staying ahead of themselves was always important, and tricky too: they were on the (musical) trail of someone who preceded them, was ahead of himself, or at least ahead of his own epoch, the late 1950s, and theirs, the late 20th and early 21st century, in which he was, before they found him (or he found them, the way music finds you — and finds you out) present as no more than a discographical evanescence. And to complicate things further, the way they talked about what they were doing as they proceeded along that trail, you’d think they were archaeologists (and not anthropologists), or geologists (and not ethnographers), as well as exemplars of whatever discipline it is through which the capacity for inhabiting and transforming the body, the corpus, of another takes place: ‘We excavate and reinhabit documents and fragments of plans and compositions that he left behind to make music that though it originated in the 20th century will speak to the 21st’. They said that, on the back, or the strength, of their first album, and it was enough to make you wonder where in the world it was that they started from, what their point(s) of departure might have been. […] PARENTHETICAL ENTRY 23 (Ahmed), in whose name is praise and desire, are: Antonin Gerbal = (drums), Joel Grip = (bass), Seymour Wright = (saxophone), Pat Thomas = (piano). This album: It swings, hard. As a guaranteed reference I got myself a copy of Count Basie’s Atomic, and after careful consideration, I think Would / Wood / Oud Blues can be said to rate as highly as Atomic on the Bassie Swing Metric, whose precision is comparable to the Official NLH Shaka Sirens Metric, on which one B Matic tells us, Jah Shaka’s use of sirens on the dub plate of Michael Prophet’s ‘Gates of Zion’, ‘weighs in at a hefty 9.2 on the Official Shaka Siren Metric, the highest score ever recorded on YouTube[1] — almost breaking our measuring equipment’. […] Edward George, London 2023

West Virginia Snake Handler Revival “They Shall Take Up Serpents” marks the arrival of a landmark record, documenting the last, snake handling church in Appalachia. Featuring hillbilly rock guitars, trance-like rhythms, and howling vocals, this album was recorded 100% live and without overdubs by Grammy-award winning producer and author, Ian Brennan (Tinariwen, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Zomba Prison Project).The first release of American music ever by Sublime Frequencies, Brennan states, “As much as I’ve traveled around the globe to remote areas such as Comoros, the southeast Sahara or up-river in Suriname, few places have felt more foreign or ‘exotic’ than this part of Appalachia.“The recording represents in many ways a companion and counterpoint— the other side of the Deep South, so to speak— to the music that was explored on the Parchman Prison Prayer albums. The Snake Handler album was an attempt to listen across that divide— a divide that’s never fully healed and continues to haunt and imperil the USA to this day.”The recording took place during a two-plus hour Sunday service in the West Virginia mountains.Brennan states, “I’d sworn to stay far away from the snakes at the service, but instead they were waved in my face as they coiled in the preachers’ hands, and I crouched down at the foot of the altar tending to the equipment. The pastor soon was bitten and blood splattered, pooling on the floor. The female parishioners hurriedly came to wipe up the mess, and it instantly became clear just what the rolls of paper towels stacked on the pulpit had been for. You can actually hear this moment transpire towards the end of the track ‘Don’t Worry It’s Just a Snakebite (What Has Happened to This Generation?)’.“The congregation leapt to its feet and a mini mosh-pit formed. The tag-team preachers huffed handkerchiefs soaked in strychnine, as they circled like aggro frontmen and an elderly worshiper held the flame of a candle to her throat, closing her eyes and swaying. The church PA blew out from the screams as a bonnet-wearing senior whacked away at a trap kit that dwarfed her. It was the most metal thing I’d ever seen, rendering Slayer mere kids play.”The flock claim to be the first church that merged Rock and Roll with firebrand preaching— that the music was stolen from them by Satan, that they are the originators. Given that snake handling ministries can be traced back to at least 1910, there might even be a faint something to the claim.The pastor’s father and brother both died after being bitten by timber rattlesnakes, and the pastor himself suffered greatly from one a few years back— his forearm swelling to twice its size and turning slime green. As a result, he fell unconscious and his forearm had to be sliced open from wrist to bicep to relieve the pressure. Nonetheless, Pastor Chris steadfastly claims that “Jesus is our anti-venom.”“Some people think we’re Devil worshippers, that we’re a cult. But snake handling is only a small part of what we do.”In the 1970s there were reportedly five-hundred snake churches throughout Appalachia, but now there is only one— in West Virginia, the only state where serpent handling remains legal. It’s estimated that in the past century more than one-hundred preachers have died from poisonous snakebites inflicted while leading these services. This includes the founder of the first snake handling flock, George Went Hensley, who was illiterate and once convicted of selling moonshine during the Prohibition era.His death was officially ruled a suicide due to his refusing medical treatment.The local county’s population has dropped by more than 80% in the wake of the West Virginia coal industry’s globalization gutting, and the area now leads the USA in drug-related deaths per capita while also being the poorest in the state.Within minutes of launching into trance-like states during the service featured on this album, both preachers became drenched in sweat. More than strict scripture, the preachers are gifted improvisers able to vent for hours at a time.Brennan states, “Pastor Chris joked, “You definitely don’t want to hear me sing.’ But, in fact, he is a gifted vocalist with singular phrasing.”Like so much of the most classic music ever made, it sounds as if it is emanating from the past and the future simultaneously— some parallel universe where instead of discovering amphetamines, The Damned found God (or maybe both) and became born again.The vinyl edition includes a long 13-minute bonus track & features a 4-page booklet sporting stunning photos of the congregation’s rituals in action.

Other-worldly Canon singing from MIEN (YAO) hill tribes in China, Vietnam, and Laos. Raw, ethereal, and cosmic – for fans of Bulgarian choir and Javanese Court Gamelan & Sundanese styles of vocal ascension.Although their name comes from a pejorative Chinese expression that means “dog” or “savage" – stemming from a legend that they were founded by a dog who saved the life of the daughter of a Chinese emperor and thus was rewarded with her hand in marriage – the largest branch of the YAO minority call themselves MIEN, which means simply “people". They number 4 million and are spread over the southern Chinese provinces of Guizhou, Guangxi, Yunnan and also migrated to Vietnam, Laos and Thailand over the last centuries. Part of the Miao-Yao (Hmong Mien) group of the Sino-Tibetan ethnolinguistic family, they have many subgroups, usually defined according to colors of their traditional clothes.

Assiko Golden Band de Grand Yoff is the sprawling drum collective tearing up Dakar’s nightlife scene. Senegalese poet Djiby Ly (Wau Wau Collectif) is backed by fourteen different percussive instruments plus horns, winds, balafon, and the occasional accordion, combining Count Ossie’s spiritually elevated polyrhythms with Fela Kuti’s orchestra and Tony Allen’s groove.Based in the impoverished neighborhood of Grand Yoff and operating as a mutual aid group for the larger community, the band builds its songs on ancient rhythms passed on from Senegal, Cameroon, and the infamous Gorée Island. In both Wolof and French, Djiby preaches a message of uplift and cooperation rooted in the Sufi teachings of the Mouride Brotherhood, as well as Christianity and animist religions. “Senegal, my life my joy” is the call and response chanted over cascading, infinitely layered drum patterns on opener “La Musique Du Cœur.” “We build our own country” the band proclaims in Wolof on “Xarritt.”For twenty years and across three generations of band members, Assiko have played raucous all-night jams at weddings, secret parties, and political rallies. Grainy cellphone footage of their live shows has spread online. But this is their first album, the result of a collaboration with Swedish musician and archivist Karl-Jonas Winqvist (Sing A Song Fighter), who met the band in Dakar in 2018 and facilitated recording sessions and overdubs via Whatsapp (no small feat with so many musicians). This is vital, exciting, and innovative music, alive with energy and purpose, a band rooted in a very specific community but speaking to the world.

For the first time on vinyl, Yo La Tengo’s understated, lonesome score to Kelly Reichardt’s classic “Old Joy.”Recorded in a single afternoon at Yo La Tengo’s studio in Hoboken, Old Joy is a drifting, improvisatory journey, born out of years-long friendship between the band and the film’s director. The six instrumental tracks, created in collaboration with legendary guitarist Smokey Hormel, carry that unmistakable Yo La Tengo sound, but delivered in service of another great work of art. The music, like so much of Reichardt’s film work, is low-key yet arresting, stripped down to the essentials, warm and unpretentious. The record includes two variations on the beloved “Leaving Home” theme, released for the first time on vinyl after years traveling in Yo La Tengo fan circles. This music is a balm, remarkably full of emotion despite (or maybe because of) its restraint and minimalism. Originally released on They Shoot, We Score, a CD compiling several of the band’s soundtracks, Old Joy stands as a cohesive whole here, blooming and rewarding repeat listens. Sliding reverbed guitars, muted piano and percussion, the hum of an old amp - the blurry memory of an afternoon in the studio, or a short-lived road trip through the backwoods of Oregon. Small-run, high-quality LP pressed at Smashed Plastic in Chicago, on black and transparent pink vinyl.

Shutting Down Here is a special work. Symbolically, it covers a period of thirty years, between two visits by Jim O'Rourke to the GRM, the first, as a young man fascinated by the institution and his repertoire, the second, as an accomplished musician, influential and imbued with an aura of mystery. Shutting Down Here is a piece shaped like an universe, a heterogeneous world in which collides the multiple musical facets of Jim O'Rourke: instrumental writing, field recordings, electronic textures and cybernetic becomings, dynamic spaces, harmonic spaces, silent spans . This variety of approach, strangely, does not in any way weaken the coherence of the whole and this is the talent of Jim O'Rourke, a talent, properly speaking, of composition, where all the sound elements compete and participate to stakes that exceed them and of a common destiny, that is to say of an apparition.