In this avant-garde musical odyssey, Wallraf delves deep into the realms of surrealism, concocting a cacophonous symphony of tapeloop-based chaos.

Hailing from the potential avant-garde mecca of Hamburg, Herr Wallraf is more than just a noise artist – he's a veritable theorist, a sonic philosopher if you will. His work delves into the repressed and uncanny sonic residues of everyday life, crafting soundtracks for the existential crises that plague our modern existence. Move over, Spotify playlists – Wallraf is here to soundtrack the creeping disaster we call life. And so, for example, it seems to hear the nightmare seizing in the form of creeping distortions, the sleep of the snoring subject in the opening track "He Bit His Tongue In His Sleep"), or the patterns of wallpaper seem to evoke nightmares that crush the observer into deviations that might recall those of the narrating subject in Gombrowicz's Cosmos (on the following track "Where Nothing Happens But The Wallpaper"), and so on, on contemporary plots where drones of sounds, increasingly suffocating and vaguely reminiscent of the corrosive noise rock of Starfish Enterprises (the prodromal project of Koen Lybaert before it mutated into Starfish pool), become protagonists of these concrete nightmares.

But don't let his academic credentials fool you – Wallraf's sonic explorations are anything but dry. His works have graced the shelves of numerous international tape labels, proving that noise knows no borders. And if that wasn't impressive enough, he's also dabbled in the live scoring of silent films, because what's better than watching a silent movie accompanied by a cacophony of industrial noise?
"The Commune of Nightmares" is more than just an album – it's a manifesto, a rallying cry against the banality of capitalist realism. Each track is a tape-looped fever dream, crafted from a hodgepodge of discarded cassettes and dusty 4-track tapes from the bowels of the late 90s. It's a musical game of cadavre exquis, played with random strangers and former versions of Wallraf himself. Because who needs sleep when you can have nightmares this avant-garde?

So, if you're ready to embark on a sonic journey that will leave you questioning the very fabric of reality, look no further than "The Commune Of Nightmares" by David Wallraf. Just be sure to buckle up – it's going to be a bumpy ride through the depths of the uncanny.

For those of you unfamiliar with Platonoff, this artist hails from Saint Petersburg, Russia and has been quite prolific on Inner Demons as of late. I had previously reviewed some of Platonoff's other work on Inner Demons and enjoyed it, so I was interested to see what this installment had in store for us. With a name like War, it is sure to be a nice, uplifting album, right? Let’s see what we have here from General Platonoff.

"Obeying the Call of Thanatos" kicks it off with interesting digital noise and squalls mixed in with clanking machinery-like metal. Kind of reminds me of a noisier Bardosenetticube, which is always a good thing. "Foreign Affairs Now" follows with squealing noise, like running over a bunch of elephants with a lawn mower. Next up, we have "War," and if the goal is to think of the machinery of war, Platonoff has a pretty good auditory metaphor going. "War" is machinelike, with a warbling bass undercurrent. This is the factory of war. There are no heroes here, only workers that function as cogs in the machinery. I am reminded of Adolf Eichmann's assertion that he was simply a technician, a bureaucrat that kept things moving. As Hannah Arendt observed, evil is not so much spectacular, but banal. "Defeat" closes it all out, and if the previous track was the battle, this is the crumbling aftermath. This is the sound of ruins that are actively falling apart.

Overall, this is very well done, and manages to evoke the presumably desired emotions. This album weighs in at around 32 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.

Juice Machine hail from Eugene, Oregon and is the improvisational live electronics wife and husband duo of Heather Chessman and Roger Smith, better known as Chefkirk. They describe their music thus: "Working in and around the confined genres of noise, tape music, found sound + drone while focusing on minimal tonal + maximal textural audio with rhythmic pulses and sharp jabs of uneasy waves and slurred motivational speeches." I enjoyed Smith’s solo outing, so let’s see what happens when we throw a spouse into the mix.

This is incredibly glitchy with plenty of analog bleeps and bloops, static washes, and filters that have been dropped to the bottom. Bits of voice are heavily processed beyond recognition to the point where it is absolutely unintelligible. Animal noises, looped sirens, and other field recordings round it out giving it a weird feel that is not quite noise. It's noisy, of course, but this is kitchen sink style noise, which I enjoy immensely. The overall effect is heavily improvisational, and you get the sense that they did this in one take. This is an instance where the collaboration is clearly more than the sum of its parts.

This is a good time and if you like noise with a heavy analog flavor, this is likely to be up your alley. Well worth picking up. This album weighs in at around 18 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.

I very much enjoyed Noise Hangover’s previous releases, "Event Horizon" and "Azathoth," so I was interested to see what was in store this time around. And in case the Azathoth title piqued your interest, their stated workplace on Facebook is "Plateau Of Leng at Yuggoth Inc." Watch out for the fungi out there, everyone. So let’s get hammered with Noise Hangover and see what happens.

"No Future" is a heavy droning number with low end drone interspersed with high pitched feedback squalls and analog tones mixed together. The feeling is unsettling, and the toggling between high pitches and low drone puts you on edge. Towards the end everything becomes more spastic, and the measures shifts are replaced by frantic turns of the knobs and everything sort of falls apart into a cacophony of noise. Well done.

"The End of Everything" unloads a slab of dissonant drone that is heavy enough to put on a scale. Imagine someone holding down all of the keys on a synth and then turning it up to 11. This is underscored by rumbling noise, hiss, and feedback. At the end, it all dissolves into a sea of feedback and fades away. Like everything.

If you're looking for peaceful drone, you'll need to look elsewhere. If you want to piss off your neighbors, Noise Hangover has got you covered. This is incredibly well done, and I have yet to find a Noise Hangover release that I didn't enjoy. Well worth picking up. This album weighs in at around 18 minutes.

Like many artists on Inner Demons, I had not heard of Ibiza Shock Troops, but they are the work of Carl Kruger on beats and Chefkirk on noise. They describe themselves as “Doomed to dance since 2007.” I had not heard of Carl Kruger before, but I enjoyed Chefkirk's last outing on Inner Demons, so let's dive in and see what we have here.

This disc consists of 6 tracks of around 3 minutes each. There are no titles to give us a sense of what we are in for. As for what we are in for, all I have to say is “Holy analog filter and feedback, Batman! What the hell is this?” We kick it off with serious analog noodling, like playing with a stylophone through a distortion pedal with a basic beat riding through it. I suppose one could dance to it, but this is techno on acid. As we move through, the “oonce oonce oonce” beat keeps relentlessly marching on, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony going over it. Lots of noise and a synth line joins in the fun as they keep adding more and more high pitched analog squalls and whatever they have on hand. I was listening to this and found myself moving to the beat before I even realized it. I guess the Dead Milkmen were right, and we'll dance to anything.

I have to admit that this was a lot of fun. The beats play the straight man to the noise's comedian and this makes for a weird juxtaposition. Give this to your favorite techno fan and see what they think. This album weighs in at around 18 minutes and is limited to 42 copies.