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2LP
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GB 120LP
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Double LP version. The Slovenian "imaginary folk" trio's most epic and transportive album yet. Powered by acoustic and often handmade instruments, these expansive compositions echo the borderless, collective spirit of groups like Don Cherry's Organic Music Society and Art Ensemble of Chicago. Drawing on this geography of contemplation and psychic energy, from a country previously swallowed up by Yugoslavia and before that, reaching back centuries, the Roman, Byzantine and Austro-Hungarian Empires, the Slovenian trio of Iztok Koren, Ana Kravanja and Samo Kutin conjure up an extended album of intuitive transcendence and reflection on the unique sounding The Liquified Throne of Simplicity. Finding a home once more with Glitterbeat Records' adventurous, experimental, mostly instrumental, platform tak:til, and following on from the debut I Can Be A Clay Snapper (GB 051CD/LP, 2017), and the equally acclaimed A Universe That Roasts Blossoms For A Horse (GB 079CD/LP, 2019), Sirom's fourth such inventive and illusionary album incorporates some aspects of the former whilst expanding the inventory of eclectic instruments and obscured sounds. For the first time the trio also ignore the time constraints of a standard vinyl record to fashion longer, more fully developed entrancing and hypnotizing peregrinations. This new, amended, approach results in 80 minutes of abstract and rustic folklore, dream-realism, explorative intensity and cathartic ritual. And within that array of realms there's evocations of Jon Hassell's Fourth World experiments, visions of Samarkand, the esoteric mysteries of Tibet, an unplugged faUSt, and pastoral hurdy-gurdy churned Medieval Europe. These off-the-beaten-track performances converge history and geography with untethered fantasies and ambiguous atmospheres; all of which are made even more so fantastical, and even symbolic, by both the poetic, allegorical fabled track titles and the softly surreal illustrative artwork by the small village-based painter Marko Jakse, whose signature magical, if solemn, characters and landscapes adorn the album's cover and inlay. Music, in part, as a therapy The Liquified Throne of Simplicity offers a portal to other musical, sonic worlds: an escape route out of the on-going pandemic and its demoralizing, mentally draining effects and the crisis it has sparked in Slovenia, with certain far right groups especially taking advantage to ramp up the discourse of nationalism. By instinct, and in parts by coincidence, Sirom once more entrance with their vague undulations and illusionary echoes of places, settings, time and escapism on another highly magical album.
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CD
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GB 120CD
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The Slovenian "imaginary folk" trio's most epic and transportive album yet. Powered by acoustic and often handmade instruments, these expansive compositions echo the borderless, collective spirit of groups like Don Cherry's Organic Music Society and Art Ensemble of Chicago. Drawing on this geography of contemplation and psychic energy, from a country previously swallowed up by Yugoslavia and before that, reaching back centuries, the Roman, Byzantine and Austro-Hungarian Empires, the Slovenian trio of Iztok Koren, Ana Kravanja and Samo Kutin conjure up an extended album of intuitive transcendence and reflection on the unique sounding The Liquified Throne of Simplicity. Finding a home once more with Glitterbeat Records' adventurous, experimental, mostly instrumental, platform tak:til, and following on from the debut I Can Be A Clay Snapper (GB 051CD/LP, 2017), and the equally acclaimed A Universe That Roasts Blossoms For A Horse (GB 079CD/LP, 2019), Sirom's fourth such inventive and illusionary album incorporates some aspects of the former whilst expanding the inventory of eclectic instruments and obscured sounds. For the first time the trio also ignore the time constraints of a standard vinyl record to fashion longer, more fully developed entrancing and hypnotizing peregrinations. This new, amended, approach results in 80 minutes of abstract and rustic folklore, dream-realism, explorative intensity and cathartic ritual. And within that array of realms there's evocations of Jon Hassell's Fourth World experiments, visions of Samarkand, the esoteric mysteries of Tibet, an unplugged faUSt, and pastoral hurdy-gurdy churned Medieval Europe. These off-the-beaten-track performances converge history and geography with untethered fantasies and ambiguous atmospheres; all of which are made even more so fantastical, and even symbolic, by both the poetic, allegorical fabled track titles and the softly surreal illustrative artwork by the small village-based painter Marko Jakse, whose signature magical, if solemn, characters and landscapes adorn the album's cover and inlay. Music, in part, as a therapy The Liquified Throne of Simplicity offers a portal to other musical, sonic worlds: an escape route out of the on-going pandemic and its demoralizing, mentally draining effects and the crisis it has sparked in Slovenia, with certain far right groups especially taking advantage to ramp up the discourse of nationalism. By instinct, and in parts by coincidence, Sirom once more entrance with their vague undulations and illusionary echoes of places, settings, time and escapism on another highly magical album.
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LP
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GB 079LP
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LP version. 180 gram vinyl; includes download code. Slovenian "imaginary folk" instrumental trio return with a kaleidoscopic third album. Handmade and global instrumentation meets fearless sound exploration. There's a sequence in Memoryscapes, a lovely French-made short film, in which Sirom set about fashioning music from a pile of pots, pans, saucepan lids and empty cans of supermarket lager on the kitchen table. The three members of the band -- Ana Kravanja, Samo Kutin, and Iztok Koren, in any order you like for this is a collective endeavor -- are gently fending off any question that attempts to reduce their music to type. "Imaginary folk" is Samo's preferred description, but the word "preferred" is doing some heavy lifting here. The band are more than happy to bust two myths that seem to have grown up in the last couple of years. First, this is not Slovenian traditional (or traditional Slovenian) music. It might be produced from and by each of the three landscapes in which the band were raised -- the Karst, the hills of Tolmin, the eastern plains of Prekmurje -- but unpicking what came from where is an impossible endeavor. That leads you to the second misconception: that Sirom are an improvisational band. For sure, improvisation is an indispensable part of the initial songwriting process; but it's an expression of their collective manner of working rather than any musical statement per se. Keen-eared listeners will hear a continuation of the last song on Clay Snapper (GB 051CD, LP) in the first song of the new record: a nod, perhaps, to the fact that they began work on the new record immediately after the last. But whatever has gone into the music, from the band's home landscapes to their previous and in some cases still current musical projects (classical, hardcore, flatlands post-rock), Sirom sound like no one else. The world of the new record -- A Universe that Roasts Blossoms for a Horse -- is indeed subtly different to that of the last: the viola still teases and tugs at the percussion and the banjo still periodically tries to break free and set up on its own, but there's a glimpse of electricity in "A Pulse Expels Its Brothers and Sisters", courtesy of Samo's homemade tampura brač, more vocals, albeit as unsettling as ever, and a new sense of spaces being pried open.
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CD
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GB 079CD
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Slovenian "imaginary folk" instrumental trio return with a kaleidoscopic third album. Handmade and global instrumentation meets fearless sound exploration. There's a sequence in Memoryscapes, a lovely French-made short film, in which Sirom set about fashioning music from a pile of pots, pans, saucepan lids and empty cans of supermarket lager on the kitchen table. The three members of the band -- Ana Kravanja, Samo Kutin, and Iztok Koren, in any order you like for this is a collective endeavor -- are gently fending off any question that attempts to reduce their music to type. "Imaginary folk" is Samo's preferred description, but the word "preferred" is doing some heavy lifting here. The band are more than happy to bust two myths that seem to have grown up in the last couple of years. First, this is not Slovenian traditional (or traditional Slovenian) music. It might be produced from and by each of the three landscapes in which the band were raised -- the Karst, the hills of Tolmin, the eastern plains of Prekmurje -- but unpicking what came from where is an impossible endeavor. That leads you to the second misconception: that Sirom are an improvisational band. For sure, improvisation is an indispensable part of the initial songwriting process; but it's an expression of their collective manner of working rather than any musical statement per se. Keen-eared listeners will hear a continuation of the last song on Clay Snapper (GB 051CD, LP) in the first song of the new record: a nod, perhaps, to the fact that they began work on the new record immediately after the last. But whatever has gone into the music, from the band's home landscapes to their previous and in some cases still current musical projects (classical, hardcore, flatlands post-rock), Sirom sound like no one else. The world of the new record -- A Universe that Roasts Blossoms for a Horse -- is indeed subtly different to that of the last: the viola still teases and tugs at the percussion and the banjo still periodically tries to break free and set up on its own, but there's a glimpse of electricity in "A Pulse Expels Its Brothers and Sisters", courtesy of Samo's homemade tampura brač, more vocals, albeit as unsettling as ever, and a new sense of spaces being pried open.
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CD
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GB 051CD
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Hailing from Slovenia, Sirom play vividly textured instrumental folk musics in which handmade global instrumentation meets fearless sound exploration. Samo Kutin and Ana Kravanja first met at the improvisational music workshops conducted by leading Slovenian improviser Tomaz Grom and Japanese improvisational percussionist Seijiro Murayama. Other shared influences include classical minimalism and global musics. The couple eventually formed the kalimba-based duo Najoua, before forming Sirom with Iztok Koren. The band's emergent sound oscillates between a wide array of acoustic folk sounds and contemporary post-rock meditations, often drifting from improvisation to structured composition and then back. The trio describes it as "imaginary folk" or "folk from a parallel universe." According to Kutin, the guiding concepts of their music-making are: "To play on acoustic instruments, to work with repetition and a common sound. Each of us can play a simple thing, but the overall result is that a complex thing comes to life. The quality of sound depends on the combination of the instruments and that's why we modify and prepare instruments or create our own." As an avid sound-seeker, Kutin began to develop an interest in building instruments out of everyday objects like drawers, computer boxes and other "junk" (as he lovingly calls his creations), in addition to re-tooling the ones he brought back from his globetrotting adventures (which have included personal encounters with local musicians in India, Morocco, Mali, Greece, and elsewhere). In the little village of Lesno Brdo, tucked in the rolling hills six miles south of Ljubljana, Kravanja and Kutin organize music performances and festivals on a farm they rent, and divide their time between music-making and vegetable farming. With I Can Be A Clay Snapper, the trio have devised a work of fearlessly textured sonic landscapes both linked to and unbound by the past and present, geography and tradition, the real and imagined. Hypnotic, otherworldly, and epic, Sirom's music moves like the restless waters of their homeland. No matter how hushed or slow it may seem, it is never standing still. Iztok Koren: banjo, three-string banjo, bass drum, percussion, chimes, balafon, objects; Ana Kravanja: violin, viola, ribab, cünbüs, balafon, ngoma drum, mizmar, objects, voice; Samo Kutin: lyre, balafon, one-string bass, frame drums, brač, gongoma, mizmar, objects, voice.
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LP
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GB 051LP
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LP version. 180 gram vinyl; Includes download code. Hailing from Slovenia, Sirom play vividly textured instrumental folk musics in which handmade global instrumentation meets fearless sound exploration. Samo Kutin and Ana Kravanja first met at the improvisational music workshops conducted by leading Slovenian improviser Tomaz Grom and Japanese improvisational percussionist Seijiro Murayama. Other shared influences include classical minimalism and global musics. The couple eventually formed the kalimba-based duo Najoua, before forming Sirom with Iztok Koren. The band's emergent sound oscillates between a wide array of acoustic folk sounds and contemporary post-rock meditations, often drifting from improvisation to structured composition and then back. The trio describes it as "imaginary folk" or "folk from a parallel universe." According to Kutin, the guiding concepts of their music-making are: "To play on acoustic instruments, to work with repetition and a common sound. Each of us can play a simple thing, but the overall result is that a complex thing comes to life. The quality of sound depends on the combination of the instruments and that's why we modify and prepare instruments or create our own." As an avid sound-seeker, Kutin began to develop an interest in building instruments out of everyday objects like drawers, computer boxes and other "junk" (as he lovingly calls his creations), in addition to re-tooling the ones he brought back from his globetrotting adventures (which have included personal encounters with local musicians in India, Morocco, Mali, Greece, and elsewhere). In the little village of Lesno Brdo, tucked in the rolling hills six miles south of Ljubljana, Kravanja and Kutin organize music performances and festivals on a farm they rent, and divide their time between music-making and vegetable farming. With I Can Be A Clay Snapper, the trio have devised a work of fearlessly textured sonic landscapes both linked to and unbound by the past and present, geography and tradition, the real and imagined. Hypnotic, otherworldly, and epic, Sirom's music moves like the restless waters of their homeland. No matter how hushed or slow it may seem, it is never standing still. Iztok Koren: banjo, three-string banjo, bass drum, percussion, chimes, balafon, objects; Ana Kravanja: violin, viola, ribab, cünbüs, balafon, ngoma drum, mizmar, objects, voice; Samo Kutin: lyre, balafon, one-string bass, frame drums, brač, gongoma, mizmar, objects, voice.
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