Sumbu Dunia
Sister Nature [CS; Noumenal Loom]

Look, not gonna lie, I’ve been sitting on this one a little too long. Sorry and everything, but hey, we are dealing with really good music here, not something I can take lightly for these scant little bursts of thought-splurge/ego-splays I get with the old Cerberus. Moreover, Sumbu Dunia did not make my job especially easy — Sister Nature is an album that slips and slides its way through so many different styles, samples, and sections, it’s tough to remember what happened just a minute ago, and thus, relate those experiences to you, dear reader. Maybe it’s best to start with the big picture rather than the millions of micro-minutae details we’re dealt with: This is new music from the Joana Francisco, who did Lace Bows, which was among Hooker Vision’s best output in the olden tape times (which was, uh…, like, three years ago). Here as Sumbu Dunia, she’s in a mode that’s as impatient as it is a dose of smooth, relaxing refreshment. A collage-composition that’s swift in its shifts but steady as she lands softly into each section, defined by finite mixes of textures both sampled and performed (to the best my ears can discern - I could be way off, who the hell knows how this really comes together ultimately). The results have both the manic feel of Seth Graham’s dizzying mind-scrables, and the humbling meditative medians of stasis that Ahnnu consistently displays. So Sister Nature is both a constant brain-teaser while also being an open window, a site of sheer reflection and relaxation. Glittery synths sink into sands of color, bask in rays of sunshine peeking through the webbed shadows of tree branches, or bob along a 1/2-step Celtic stomp in stupifying stereo. Disparate sounds come together into hymnal prayers, as much about their spiritual efficacy as they are exquisite examples of textural balance, timbral diversity, and harmonic complexity. Both sides split the difference between simmering swathes of moody ambience, indigenous-alien shaman chant circles, and liquid jazz, and the album’s marked unpredictability makes each spin a series of subtle surprises that nonetheless keeps the listener in a familiar place.


Cerberus seeks to document the spate of home recorders and backyard labels pressing limited-run LPs, 7-inches, cassettes, and objet d’art with unique packaging and unknown sound. We love everything about the overlooked or unappreciated. If you feel you fit such a category, email us here.

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