From the Fiat Lux album (Cyclic Law Records)

Radiation

Recorded between March and June of this year, Future Flowers is both a reflection and a rebirth - a gentle yet resolute act of hope from composer Hans Nox.

Some of these pieces have lived quietly for years - written a decade or more ago, resting like seeds beneath the soil. Others emerged spontaneously during the recording sessions, unfolding in real time as Hans allowed instinct and feeling to take the lead. The result is an album that bridges past and present, memory and anticipation - where old melodies find new breath, and improvisation opens unexpected pathways.

“I wanted the entire experience to be more free-flowing, more playful, more adventurous than the usual cautious approach I take to composing,” Hans writes. “Rather than regretting where I’ve been or the paths that led nowhere, I’ve chosen to trust my Savior and strive toward the brightness ahead. Yesterday is gone - tomorrow is coming. How much better it is to pursue confidence and courage.”

That sense of spiritual renewal and creative surrender runs through every note. There is a tender humanness here - fragile piano phrases that pause as if mid-thought, ambient textures that drift like light across water, melodies that carry both ache and affirmation. Even the silences seem to speak, offering a kind of stillness that listens back.

Future Flowers is, in many ways, an album about release - about letting go of the weight of the past to make room for something more open, more alive. It celebrates the decision to move forward with faith and boldness, even when the path ahead is unclear. The music does not rush; it unfolds patiently, like petals opening in the sun - quiet gestures of trust and becoming.

Like its title suggests, Future Flowers invites us to believe in renewal - to tend to the unseen roots beneath our lives, trusting that beauty will bloom again in time.

In keeping with the spirit of the music, this release has been lovingly hand-assembled in a limited Fluid Audio edition, pairing Hans Nox’s compositions with bespoke artwork and tactile design. Natural textures, archival papers, and hand-numbered inserts bring a physical warmth to the experience - each copy a small act of devotion, crafted with the same care and intentionality that shaped the album itself.

Gentle, honest, and filled with quiet light, Future Flowers is not just a collection of songs - it’s a testament to resilience, to grace, and to the faith that something beautiful still lies ahead.

Music - Hans Nox
Mastering - Ian Hawgood
Design - Daniel Crossley

Hold Fast

Hey, I'm back from touring with Autechre and didn't get the chance to record any of the sets so i did this one at home to represent what i was playing each night!

WTFLOL - 10 TFN
SHIP SKET - LIMBO
TRACKERMATTE - SUNSPIRE
TRACKERMATTE - NEMERBIM
JODEY KENDRICK - PUT OUT 43
SHIP SKET - MIDNIGHT
TRACKERMATTE - W HI HATS
KINGTRIPS TWO
THE TUSS - DEATH FUCK MENTAL BEATS
WTFLOL - KAPTCHA ACID
THE TUSS - SYNTHACON 9
JODEY KENRICK - BAFFLE
BEWWIP - ABCD
VYTEAR_LABIR DAY
AFX EDIT
THE TUSS - LAST RUSHUP
VYTEAR_E
SOUNDMURDERER MEGA MIX

Enjoy!!!!!!!!!

MARK BROOM_AUTECHRE TOUR MIX_2025

"reassembled signals"
A collection of 4 singles first shared 
only on Bandcamp (dec 2024 - jan 2025)
Now gathered and released together.

Push Button Play

Chroma

Purple #44 - The Analog Issue - Playlist #4 by Moyo Demonio

Fluid Audio presents 'Broadcasting From Nowhere', the debut album from Ondelunghe, a collaboration between Tokyo-based multi-instrumentalist Hiromu Yamaguchi and Italian composer Guido Lusetti. Conceived not through physical proximity but through distance, correspondence, and quiet exchange, the album feels like a message transmitted across frozen air-intimate, fragile, and partly obscured by static.

Yamaguchi’s contributions-piano and field recordings, carry the brittle tenderness of winter breath. Keys sound as though pressed with hesitation, leaving behind vapour trails of melody that threaten to vanish the moment they form. The recordings themselves crackle and hiss, as if weathered by frost, capturing the small, persistent noises of a world bracing against silence: creaking surfaces, shifting air, something moving just out of sight.

Lusetti’s work-what he refers to as electronic pointillism, does not counter these gestures but suspends them. His tones drift like cold particulate matter, dust motes in a beam of static, circling the piano without ever enclosing it. Occasionally, other voices, Henrik Meierkord’s cello, Ed van der Berkel’s trumpet, Daniele Varelli’s shakuhachi-surface not as performers but as spectral presences. Their sounds arrive like signals from an abandoned transmitter, lingering momentarily before dissolving back into the dark.

The album unfolds slowly, as though aware that silence has weight, and too sudden a movement might shatter it. Notes hang, unravel, and fall away like light snow. The music never insists; it waits. To listen to Broadcasting From Nowhere is to tune into a frequency that feels both familiar and unreachable, a broadcast sent from a place you’re not entirely sure exists, or ever did.

Credits:

Hiromu Yamaguchi: piano, field recordings
Guido Lusetti: free electrons, found voices

Henrik Meierkord: cello 
Ed van der Berkel: trumpet
Daniele Varelli: shakuhachi 

Mixing and mastering: Hiromu Yamaguchi

www.fluidaudio.co.uk

Ondelunghe - Rust Nostalgia

the sound of nothing falling
↓
the night kept replaying itself
like it forgot how to end

each shadow looked a little misplaced
like it had wandered off from another memory

the windows were breathing again
soft, rhythmic
like waves that never learned to crash

somewhere behind the walls
a machine was dreaming
it hummed in lowercase
something gentle, something almost kind

you said, listen,
but there was nothing to hear
only the echo of what sound used to be

streetlights blinked without reason
their light felt distant, exhausted
like it was trying to remember
why it ever touched anything at all

the city exhaled dust
the air trembled
everything shimmered for a second
then forgot why

we walked until the silence became heavy
our footsteps out of sync
as if time had lost count

a bird moved across the sky
but it looked more like a glitch
than flight

i thought of gravity
and how softly it holds us
when it’s tired of pulling

the sound of nothing falling
was louder than we expected

AFTERIMAGE SLEEP

THE SOUND OF NOTHING FALLING

LISTEN-BUY-SHARE

afterimage sleep.
↓
there was a room
i can’t remember if it was real
or a replay from a night that never happened

dust floating like lost pixels
the hum of an unplugged monitor
still dreaming of its light

you were there, i think
wearing that silence again
the kind that folds around a word before it’s born

i tried to say something small
but the air cut my voice into lowercase
like a secret the sky forgot to keep

time kept buffering
and the clocks were all set to maybe
you smiled the way static does
when it thinks no one’s watching

somewhere the rain pressed rewind
and we stood under it
as if to remember what warmth felt like

your hand flickered through mine
transparent, impatient, slow
and i swear i saw the whole world breathe once
then fall asleep again

the city outside
looked like it missed its own reflection
windows blinking like tired stars
each one holding a version of us that stayed

then: fade / repeat / echo / nothing
just the soft collapse of memory
into the same blue noise that started everything

everything glows for a second
↓
stay

light

still

flicker

empty

echo

almost

air

drift

glow

again

blur

slowly

fade

quiet

lost

return

second

gone

blue

end

again

everything glows for a second

EVERYTHING GLOWS FOR A SECOND

a light that never found the ground.
↓
the street forgot its name
and the air stopped meaning anything
you looked up
and the sky flinched

we were outlines
stuck between two screens
half awake
half erased

the light came in slow motion
like it was scared to touch us
we didn’t move
we were already gone

the static hummed a little too long
like it was trying to say something
but forgot what language was

everything felt borrowed
even the silence
especially the silence

by morning
nothing had changed
except the part of us
that stopped pretending to stay

Radiation

AUNCOM.com