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The new album from Joshua Chuquimia Crampton takes its name from the Andean ceremony Anata, which gives thanks for the harvest before the rainy season. Made up of seven dense and distorted instrumentals, the record is the California-based Aymara musician’s attempt at capturing the energy of ceremonial music – not some rosy, polished version, but how it might sound recorded on a phone, clipping and all.
The concept might sound bizarre, but for fans of JCC, it makes total sense. His music, often self-released and proudly unmastered, is characterised by its murky textures and amp-blasting volume. He took this rudimentary approach to the max with last year’s collaborative project Los Thuthanaka, alongside his sibling Chuquimamani-Condori, which was splattered with cartoonish vocal samples, whistles and syncopated rhythms. Here he returns to his solo formula, with just guitar, bass and a few Andean instruments. You’d call it stripped-back if it wasn’t so noisy.
Opening track Chakana Head-Bang! throws the listener right into the deep end as a foggy drum beat crashes into a storm of feedback and then a jagged rock riff. Noise blasts through the album, anchored by looping, hypnotic melodies. Occasionally, you can lock into a groove, as in Ch’uwanchaña ~El Golpe Final~, where the jagged rhythm echoes the jauntiness of Andean folk music, or in Mallku Diablón, beefed up by the bombo italaque drum.
Amid the noise are pockets of warmth. Sometimes, JCC’s rhythm guitar is so rich and soaring, it sounds celestial. The effect is especially evocative on Convocación “Banger/Diffusion”, where the distortion suddenly clears into a woozy reversed guitar loop. Even at their loudest and most scrappy, the tracks conjure up a wistful feeling, which only intensifies over repeat listens. It confirms JCC’s theory about the meditative capacities of loudness, articulated in a recent interview: “It’s not supposed to be painful, but it’s supposed to change you, it’s supposed to make you feel healed in some way.”
Also out this month
The Black Hill, the Glass Sky is a new compilation by Glasgow DIY label Somewhere Press that enlists musicians from the city and beyond to respond to a poem exploring Scottish folklore and terrain. Among these 11 excellently curated contributions, there are droning soundscapes, avant folk experiments and shades of dream pop, plus a striking murder ballad recital from Dylan Kerr. It’s a thrilling and evocative listen. Unnoticed (Ransom Note) is the latest release from Dutch experimental musician and Plus Instruments founding member Truus de Groot. As you might expect from her genre-bending, five-decade career, there’s lots going on – sometimes to a fault – as it jackknifes between eerie modular ditties and 80s-inspired club rhythms, scattered with speak-sing vocals and strange sounds. Copenhagen group Rayakita make their debut with a self-titled set of atmospheric, mostly instrumental compositions (Macadam Mambo). Combining the tranquility of ambient with the gentle kick of downtempo dance music – all filtered through a psychedelic haze – it’s the ideal Ibiza chill-out room soundtrack.
