Kali Malone’s music reminds the listener that spectacle is felt in the chest. Its otherworldliness, represented by its scale, duration, and presentation in spaces defined by the aesthetics of transcendence, activates intimately held feelings of wonder and insight. Here is a space where sound can unlock a state of reflection and unwavering tenderness. Still, the creation of that music, Malone’s own experience of it in performance, has been one defined by focus and rigor, by adherence to structures that dictate cyclical returns and the detailed work of exploring microtonal harmony. For all its grandeur, her music is elemental at its core: born of sweat, concentration, the physicality of pipes vibrating as air rushes through them, the desire to share the emotional intensity ignited with each tonal shift. Burning Song, Malone’s first new album of solo compositions since early 2024’s All Life Long, represents a transformation in her compositional strategy towards a process that is more intuitive and direct. Feeling supersedes matrices, and each piece proceeds linearly, connected to one another by subtle bridging tones. The album was recorded at the historic Thomaskirche in Leipzig, Germany, where J.S. Bach was cantor for the last 27 years of his life; his body rests beneath the sanctuary. Malone is the first musician to perform contemporary works on the church’s Bach Organ, an instrument completed in 2000 but with bespoke tuning and temperament systems based on historical norms of the baroque period. She is joined by Lucy Railton on cello and Stephen O’Malley on bowed acoustic guitar, the same trio that honed a profound connection based on deep listening through the development of Malone’s work Does Spring Hide Its Joy. Recording took place over the course of two late nights in August 2025, with the engineer Francesco Donadello placing over 20 microphones throughout the room and closely upon the instruments, allowing the listener to locate themselves within the music as it fills the historic sanctum. Chord follows chord, each in slow succession, emerging like stones of various shades and shapes on a winding path. The trio moves as one, stepwise, through passages that are alternately ambiguous and radiant, at times triumphant as the tones rise towards the organ’s upper register. By discarding canon form, which has dominated much of her organ work, there is a clear sense of freedom that allows these pieces to unfold more gradually and speak more declaratively than ever before. Even with the presence of one of the most canonized and dissected composers of all time just underfoot, Malone felt the pressure of tradition lifting, an ease of being dictating the flow of the music. She is careful to never extend the narratives of any individual piece beyond what feels conclusive, resulting in a relatively compact cycle of compositions. The first half of Burning Song was commissioned for the 2023 Venice Music Biennale and presented at the remarkably ornate San Pietro di Castello. Initial seeds of these pieces were developed on a piano backstage at Bozar in Brussels following a solo electronic performance, long after the audience and staff had departed. It was the first time Malone had used the piano as a compositional tool since her childhood, offering a portal to a younger self. The album’s final three pieces were composed swiftly in the month preceding the recording session in 2025, their stately progressions emerging within her mind’s ear with a sense of ease and inevitability, hovering in the moment just before understanding, where revelation lives. The album’s final piece, “My Eve My Dawn,” represents a clear vision of this process; foregrounding the cohesion between endings and beginnings, it moves through passages of sadness and joy, the linking tones offering a sense of continuity, and thus of acceptance. The metaphor of burning holds two meanings. Fire moves in ways that appear intuitive, changing shape moment by moment, and relentlessly insistent. Here, Malone moves from harnessing the fractaline beauty of mathematics to reveling in the impact of feelings, of foresight, of something more undefined and from within. But burning is a process of change in which transformation spreads from a nexus point to rapidly consume whatever it encounters. The freedom found in the process of composing and realizing Burning Song is one that opens innumerable doors of possibility. In the fertility of ashes grows whatever comes next. Jonathan Williger, June 2026

OTOROKU is proud to reissue Evan Parker's first solo LP "Saxophone Solos". Recorded by Martin Davidson in 1975 at the Unity Theatre in London, at that time the preferred concert venue of the Musicians' Co-operative, Parker's densely woven and often cyclical style has yet to form; instead throaty murmurs appear under rough hewn whistles and calls - the wildly energetic beginnings of an extraordinary career.  Reissued with liner notes from Seymour Wright in an edition of 500.  --- "The four pieces across the two sides of Saxophone Solos – Aerobatics 1 to 4 – are testing, pressured, bronchial spectaculars of innovation and invention and determination. Evan tells four stories of exploration and imagination without much obvious precedent. Abstract Beckettian cliff-hanging detection/logic/magic/mystery. The conic vessel of the soprano saxophone here recorded contains the ur-protagonists: seeds, characters, settings, forces, conflicts, motions, for new ideas, to delve, to tap and to draw from it story after story as he has on solo record after record for 45 years. ‘Aerobatics 1-3’ were recorded on 17 June 1975, by Martin Davidson at Parker’s first solo performance. This took place at London’s Unity Theatre in Camden. ‘Aerobatics 4’ was recorded on 9 September the same year, by Jost Gebers in the then FMP studio in Charlottenburg, Berlin. Music of balance and gravity, fulcra, effort, poise and enquiry. Sounds thrown and shaken into and out of air, metal and wood. It is – as the titles suggest – spectacular." - Seymour Wright, 2020.

LP reissue of Collective Calls, the first duo LP from Evan Parker and percussionist Paul Lytton. Mythically alluded to as ‘An Improvised Urban Psychodrama In Eight Parts”, Collective Calls utilises electronics, pre-records and homemade instruments to wryly in/act self investigation. Having just recorded the cliff jumping Music Improvisation Company with Derek Bailey, Christine Jeffrey, Hugh Davies and Jamie Muir, Parker was at the point where [he] was thinking, ‘what’s the next thing?’ On Collective Calls, only the 5th release to appear on the newly minted Incus label, percussionist Paul Lytton arrives with an arsenal of sound making sources to push Parker into ever new territory. Recorded in the loft of The Standard Essenco Co on Southwark Street by Bob Woolford (Topography of the Lungs, AMM The Crypt), Collective Calls has more in common with noise or music concrete than with jazz; sitting comfortably alongside Italian messrs Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza or the husband-wife duo of Anima Sound. According to Martin Davidson, it was a Folkways record called Sounds of the Junkyard that Lytton was obsessed with around the time of this release - its track titles like “Steel Saw Cutting Channel Iron in Two Places” working to give you a good idea of the atmosphere of Collective Calls. Paul Lytton had encountered the use of electronics in music in 1968 when he was invited to play drums on the recording of An Electric Storm by White Noise (along with David Vorhaus, Delia Derbyshire and Brian Hodgson). He had seen Hugh Davies using contact mics in the Music Improvisation Company, and soon set about assembling a Dexion frame akin to drummer John Stevens’, except that his own was armed with several single-coil electric guitar pickups, long wires and strings with connected foot-pedals to modulate pitch. Influenced as much by Stockhausen, Cage and David Tudor as he was by Max Roach and Milford Graves, Lytton’s percussion is abstract, expressionist and at times totally mutant. Sometimes rolling extremely fast, then screeching almost backwards over feedback, Lytton gives Parker room to play some of his weirdest work. Parker is listed as performing both saxophones, his own homemade contraptions, and cassette recorder - regularly thickening the already murky brew by playing back previous recordings of the duo. Imagining their set up in a 70s loft, it’s an assemblage more akin to what today's free ears might see at a Sholto Dobie show, spread out on the floor of the Hundred Years Gallery, the shadow of Penultimate Press lurking in a corner. It’s a testament to Parker’s shape shifting sound - the ever present link to birdsong being at its most warped here - terrifically free and unfussy, wild and loose from any of the dogma that might come in later Brit-prov years.

Hardcover, 8.5 x 11 inch, 108pp First edition of 150 copies Recital, New York, 2026Wildweeds Volume II is the followup to Wildweeds (2021), Loren Connors’ first art book, and continues a series of limited artist’s books from Recital devoted to his work outside of music. Following Night of Rain, the book returns to the fragile flower forms of the original Wildweeds, but in a more expansive and varied collection of paintings, drawings, and haiku. Across 108 pages of full-color, hardbound printing, thin stems wander through enormous fields of white, blooming in eruptions of radiant yellow, blue, green, red, and violet. Some pages are nearly empty. Others retain stains, folds, shadows, and the physical disturbances of the original works. The result is a rare survey of Connors’ art, gathering years of paintings and drawings that have largely existed in isolation into one continuous sequence.The haiku appear throughout the white space as small interruptions, sometimes nearly swallowed by the page. “wandering / into the sky / April mist.” They do not caption the paintings so much as drift alongside them, creating another kind of line, pause, and disappearance. The effect is deeply consonant with Connors’ music: the brief guitar poems of Airs, the shadowed miniatures of Lullaby, and the many other recordings and editions that have established his singular language across decades. A note from Connors’ guitar can hover on the edge of audibility, its beauty emerging through restraint and duration; the paintings possess the same fragility. A line bends, a flower appears. Colors pool and then recede into the surrounding white.For this volume, Connors mailed hundreds of paintings and drawings as they were being made, arriving in folders with little concern for preservation or presentation. New drawings arrived often, another envelope every few weeks for a year. From this accumulation, the book was photographed, edited, sequenced, and arranged into its present form. In the preface, Yuko Otomo places Connnors' work within the tradition of Haiga, the Japanese practice of bringing haiku and visual art together. She writes of Mujo, or impermanence, and Ku, or emptiness: the open, shifting space in which things appear and disappear. A flower blooms, a leaf falls, a line fades into the page. Francis T. Patnaude, Jr. describes Connors’ artistic impulse as an attempt to “give form to the formless.” Wildweeds Volume II is an opportunity to spend time inside his quietly accumulated body of visual work: a monograph giving sustained form to years of paintings and drawings. Portrait photograph by Suzanne Langille; art photography and design by Sean McCann.

Intricate, crystaline duo set from London-based musician and computer programmer, Li Song, and Paris-based musician and sound artist, Tom Soloveitzik, recorded as part of the second iteration of Regan Bowering's SPACE series at OTO in February 2026. Seemingly emerging out of the room itself, the performance begins so quietly that at first Soloveitzik's breathy, gossamer-thin saxophone tones are barely audible over the scuffing chair legs and shifting audience members. But the effect is subtly enrapturing, drawing the listener in and tuning the ear, so that when Song's chirruping electronics tentatively join the fray the deceptively minimal sonic canvas is already as big as it needs to be. From this starting point, the pair weave a hypnotically stark assemblage of shifting patterns and textures, which spiral out and circle back in on themselves in constantly mutating configurations. The effect is an enthralling symbiosis of electronic and acoustic sounds that reveal themselves on their own terms, allowing the listener to drift within the spaces left between. -- Recorded by Rory SalterMixed by Oli BarrettCover illustration by Yuling Huang

No noise walls, you could even call it sparse at points if you fancied it. More like failing miserably to sneak through a house full of scrap metal and busted electronics in the pitch black of night. Clattering objects with the upmost precision, wonderfully collaged improv tape jabs and so on. Healthy helpings of suspense, excitement and chaos - well worth your time. Everything by Theo Gowans --- Cassette cover text layout by Infant Tree