Limpe Fuchs – String Stone Weight

LP and digial | Releases December 8
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At the beginning of the 1970s, Limpe began to develop her own instruments of wood, metal or stone. She founded the group Anima. String Stone Weight contains a recording of her concert at Shiny Toys Festival 2016.

“On a sultry late summer afternoon I sit in the sun and wait for Limpe Fuchs. This very evening she will be performing with her extraordinary percussion- and string-instruments, possibly accompanied by a cleansing thunderstorm. As is always the case, she will challenge her audience, leave a lasting impression and in the end let everyone enthralled out in the night. Precisely because Limpe Fuchs in concert is a happening, if you have ever partaken, you’ll never forget the sound of rolling balls on polished floor as it chimes so musically as all these other commonplace items! But she’s not here yet.

With her String Stone Weight stored in her trunk she’s somewhere on her way: pendulum strings, lithophone, wooden horn, kettledrum, cable reel and whatsoever- all this thrilling unwieldy stuff! From Peterskirchen into the world. Since decades she’s traveling from performance to performance, crisscross europe- by this time with more than 20km/h- and makes music for all those that like to excite their ears with some not so well-tempered sound spheres. Equally impromptu as intently, with severe austerity and loosened joviality, she plays her instruments, paints onomatopoeic with her voice in the air and fabricates a rustling silence.

But she’s not here yet. Where is she got to? I hope she’s not sitting in traffic, at this weather! I continue to wait, impatiently, full of pleasant anticipation. Then she turns around the corner, waving out of the window, parks her car and gets out. “Grüß’ Dich!“, she smiles, opens up her trunk and we unpack her instruments.”   Holger Adam

Nils Quak – Sur l’eau

MC and digial | Releases November 3

Sur l’eau is the second release from Nils Quak for Ana Ott. The sounds on this tape tread carefully as if they don’t want to disturb anyone. At least most of the time. The intertwined and recursive patches on Quak’s modular synthesizers yield evocative results of machines left alone in the playing infinitely changing sounds. Distant chirps like digital crickets remembering a summer that never happened. Somewhat melancholic yet too distant to allow direct signifiers.