Ypsmael + Eloine
Lost Teeth (CD-R)
Chocolate Monk 2022

1) unstarts
2) flume
3) shadowment
4) kapselung
5) balast
6) inductor
7) fractional
8) basin

ypsmael: electronics, field recordings, acoustic and amplified objects, mangled voice, baritone guitar and drums
eloine: invented instruments, found objects and field recordings

recorded in 2020 & 2021 in sankt georgen + meersburg, germany and san francisco, usa
mixed and mastered by david michalak


(Vital Weekly) Behind Eloine we find Bryan Day, the man who runs the Public Eyesore label and Eh? Records. He is also a musician who creates his instruments from old electronics, metal, wood, and constructes the weirdest things. Ypsmael is Norm Mueller from the southern part of Germany, where he moved coming from England. From him I reviewed a cassette in Vital Weekly 1313. I don't know what he does, other than what I am told, "uses an array of electronic and acoustic sound sources, sonic artifacts and audio detritus derived from various instruments, circuit-bent, amplified objects and environmental sound at the core of his compositional and improvisational approach". It is match that works well with Eloine. The music is finely executed, controlled chaos of sounds overlapping and bouncing. Of percussive attacks, non-rhthmical of metal threads strung acrooss the floor; a thud and a thumb here and there, and Ypsmael creating ever changing masses of sounds, bubbling and burping, like a pan on a hot stove. You couldn't list this a drone music, or improvisation, or even electro-acoustic music as it is a bit of all of that. What I particularly enjoyed about this release is the vibrant character of the music. It seems always moving and changing, which gives great speed to the music. Think all those people who crawled on stage with their contact microphones, carefully touching upon objects, but on 78 rpm. Moving and shaking, moving and shaking. Very direct, in your face music, but that's something of a trademark for Day, I believe. Eight pieces of energy in forty-two minutes and all stones and tables turned, all amplified and all heard. Excellent. - Frans de Waard

(Lost In A Sea Of Sound) The room waits. Furniture covered in plastic, vinyl carpet runners contoured in every walk able route. There is a silence, a deep unused hush passing through years then decades. A clock chimes with a repeated sequence and each sonic vibration causing the room to shudder with sprawling arrays of ragged fissures. There is more. A prolonged quietness interrupted to reveal the sonic disturbance it's nestled over. Plastic and vinyl exhaling previous years of life, coffee stains, pet hair, dirty feet, physical properties boiling beneath the smooth exterior. There was life, motion and commotion, built over years of use. Covered now to create a facade of pristine sonic restfulness. This energy is restless. External vibrations slowly decaying the protective shell. A vase falls and breaks, stale water spilling out across the slick surface, the room gently roars with a complex menagerie of aural wonder. The door opens and a gentle older man enters, drying up the water and removing the glass. All quiets again and the room waits. A low rumble, shuffling metal upon metal, a paralyzing clang catching conscious off balance. The juxtaposition of serenity and early tremors of chaos. Lost Teeth nibbles at thoughts. Like a dragon fly unfortunately caught in a screen room, almost bouncing against the ceiling and it's lone bulb of light. A beautiful insect held within an unnatural environment. Capture and release is quickly facilitated. Lost Teeth seems like this, an aural energy of gorgeous complexity caught in a recording. We listen and hear these passages pressurize the containing boundaries. Thoughts dart with ideas of how much creativity is really lying beneath. Like ice cracking as an unfortunate soul steps forth. Will the sonic constraints of recording parameters hold, or will speakers shatter with the patient mite Ypsmael + Eloine perfectly lay down? In physical format on compact disc (r) in an edition of sixty. This is a Chocolate Monk label release out of the UK. Copies are currently available.- Ken Lower

(Bad Alchemy) Eloine, das ist Bryan Day, der Macher von Public Eyesore & Eh?, dessen überschießende Kreativität widerhallt in Naturaliste, Shelf Life, Seeded Plain oder Bad Jazz und in Pet The Tiger oder Euphotic sogar Seit' an Seit' mit kalifornischer Avantprominenz wie Tom Djill & Gino Robair. An sich aber lautet sein Motto wie 2021 die mit Mason Jones (Trance) & Michael Gendreau (Crawling With Tarts) in Collision Stories realisierte LP - „Avant L'Obscurité“. So auch hier mit jenem Kollegen in Baden-Württemberg, den bei „Box of Black“ (BA 113) die Berührung mit dem schwarzen Monolithen in einen industrial lärmenden nackten Affen verwandelt hat. Dessen metallische Maschenschaften interagieren nun ein Anthorozän später mit dongenden Lauten und Atemzügen, elektrifiziert sirrendes Zwitschern, Knarzen und Pfeifen mischt sich auf dunkel dröhnendem Fond mit wie von knarrenden Stahltrossen geharkten, geklopften, gefederten Klängen. Als eine 'primitive', art-brut-rohe Bricolage, als wären da verschlissene Cyborgs am Werk, mehr Schrott als Mensch, die ihr bisschen Strom mit kultigen Reminiszensen an die Soundculture verschwenden und dabei längst ausgefallene Automatik händisch ersetzen müssen. Transhumane Kehlen fauchen Laute in den Wind, der übers dystopische Gelände fegt, ein kleines Intonarumori-Orchester überspielt eifrig knackend, tickend, mühsam Worte formend seine Dysfunktionalität. Als zahnlose 'Künstler' versuchen die '-borgs' ihr Gnadenbrot zu verdienen und der Verschrottung zu entgehen. Dem heutigen Avanti, dem bei 'inductor' großväterlich die Stunde schlägt, kommt da sein Futurum II entgegen, mit debilen Beats, eisernem Kirren, mbiraeskem Zupfen, rubbelig hoppelndem Metallstift, der zusammen mit loopendem Schwung Turntablistik und sogar eine gedehnte Gesangsspur simuliert. Das Dystopische hat dabei etwas Vorläufiges, Spielerisches, ja sogar Rührendes – weil es nicht so kommen muss! - Rigo Dittmann

Here’s something that’ll keep your kitchen lit. (For you 20-year-olds, a “kitchen” is like the break room at work, but in your apartment.) From front to back, this disc hits like possessed plasmatic visitations happening in the middle of an otherwise silent instructional cooking program. You know that means metallic borborygmus and delicious lurching — the percussive collateral damage recognizable to anyone who has attended after-hours jousting with live but grievously unwell horses in a public library. Fear not, disdainers of randomized flail, Ypsmael + Eloine have done this before (because late fees). The duo maintains a delectable balance between electro fweep, tape fwip, and considered fwunk of the hit-it-or-quack ilk — without neglecting, as some of our peers are wont (let’s face it), sonic backdrops that enhance the ambient depth of field. The beautiful yet unprecious recording and the bounty of friction throughout Lost Teeth bring to mind a compact, super-portable Nuova Consonanza. Oh, yes they do. The homemade instrument, the field recording, the non-musical object, and the musical instrument manipulated outside the bounds of traditional propriety serve the needs of these two freedom-lickers, based respectively in Germany and San Francisco, a detail that should scream “secret tingle spoken here.” - S. Glass