Futureproofing #3.5: Ambient Isolationism

A quick one during a historically eventful week, focusing on a pivotal 1994 compilation curated by The Bug.

There's a lot going on this week so I'm keeping this one short. In non-Substack news, I wrote a pretty heavy review of the excellent new Nicolas Jaar double-album for Pitchfork, which connects the dots between Chile’s colonial history and Palestine’s. I learned a lot while absorbing and researching the record, and it’s easily Jaar’s most powerful work yet.

For the rest: one thing I want to use Futureproofing for is highlighting older releases that are unique or influential in some way, but have been forgotten or overlooked. So here's an absolutely mind-boggling one to start.

Various - Ambient IV: Isolationism [Virgin, 1994]

Ambient music is usually discussed in terms of calming, focusing, sometimes even healing, if you're woo-woo like that. But what about when it's not? Sure, there's "dark ambient," but even that is usually meditative in its own way, often just a darker-tinted version of its parent. There's ambient techno, but that’s basically just techno, and there's power ambient, which… never mind. What about ambient music that unsettles, that attacks—not with brute force, but by seeping into the cracks and crevices of your mind, by triggering feelings you don't expect? Or, as a 1993 issue of The Wire put it: "What happens to ambient when it turns in on itself?"

That's taken from a feature in The Wire written by Kevin Richard Martin, AKA The Bug, interviewing Thomas Köner and Main's Robert Hampson. In the article, Martin posits ambient music as a retreat from the world by recluses and rejects, and calls it "isolationism," with a handy discography that includes :zoviet*france:, Speedy J, Merzbow and Köner's classic Permafrost album as examples. "Where ambient seeks psychic self defence by constructing danger-free chillout zones," Martin writes, "isolationist music reminds refugees that there's still an alien, inner life to contend with, and freezes the blood.”

Spooky. That's the idea behind Ambient IV: Isolationism, a landmark 1994 compilation curated by Martin that seems sadly lost to the sands of time. This was the fourth and final part of a compilation series by Virgin Records outlining the history of ambient music, which in the early-'90s meant "chillout" more broadly. (The kind spoken about by my interview guest in last week's issue.) Everyone from Tangerine Dream to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan to The Verve was included in the preceding three volumes, which made up a big tent celebration of something rather ill-defined. Volume four is a left turn—or a plane crash—made up of entirely new tracks commissioned by Martin. It’s unrelentingly dark, even scary, two hours of a black hole that threatens to swallow you and plug your ears with oppressive, rumbling tones.

Take Aphex Twin's contribution, "Aphex Airlines," which to my knowledge has never been reissued or collected on any other release. The story goes that Virgin Airlines commissioned in-flight music from AFX and this is what he handed in. That sounds about right for '90s RDJ, but whether or not the story is true, "Aphex Airlines" is just nasty. The first time I listened to it I thought my headphones had picked up some strange interference. Like "Ventolin" stripped to its most unpleasant parts and made into a sustained drone, it's an eerie, slowed-down monster built around a high-pitched frequency that only becomes more jagged as the track goes on. The last minute is nearly unlistenable and gives Merzbow a run for his money. Yeah, that's ambient.

In 1994, Martin was largely known for his Techno Animal collaboration with Godflesh's Justin Broadrick, a sort of dark ambient-illbient project that refigured hip-hop beats as crushingly slow, heavy dirges. That sound features heavily here, with tracks from artists like Jim Plotkin, Broadrick's Final, Seefeel, Jim O'Rourke, Kranky mainstays Labradford and two different projects from Napalm Death drummer Mick Harris (Lull and Scorn). There's lots of evocative one-track names, and a lot of masculinity, but the compilation is a one-of-a-kind look at a scene full of massively influential artists, a genre that disappeared almost as quickly as Martin could formulate it. 

Ambient IV: Isolationism isn't the easiest record to find—the tracks are on YouTube, but it's not on any other streaming services. But you can stream and download the whole thing (legality: unknown) over at archive.org!

I'll be back next week with some slightly friendlier music… probably.