Hands In The Dark – psychotropic wonderland

February 27 2026

Mike Majkowski, “Invisible” (Hands in the Dark, 2025)

Tony D'Amico Current Album Reviews Hands In The Dark, Mike Majkowski

This Australian double bassist has quietly become one of my favorite minimalists over the last few years, as he has perfected a signature strain of austere, slow-burning soundscapes that occupy the blurry terrain between the slow-motion dubscapes of loscil and the spare and subtle magic of early Oren Ambarchi solo albums like Suspension. This latest release, Majkowski’s first for Hands in the Dark, is billed as “a selection of six moody and mysterious pieces produced between 2019 and 2025” that ventures “deeper into downtempo, meditative and hypnotic minimal electronic realms.”

Fittingly, the concept of invisibility was an inspiration as well, resulting in an album in which minimalism is arguably distilled to its logical extreme, as each piece feels like a hypnotically looping locked-groove that is gradually reshaped by a series of small and nearly imperceptible changes in its pulse. Unsurprisingly, that glacial and exacting approach lands Invisible with one foot very much in “cerebral sound art” territory, but several of these pieces also work quite nicely as deconstructed Bark Psychosis-style post-rock or hyper-minimal techno, as Majkowski is unquestionably a man who knows how to keep a pulse smoldering.

The opening “Haunt” provides a fairly representative introduction into Majkowski’s vision for Invisible, as a deep bass buzz and a slow-motion ride cymbal groove provide the backdrop for a gently see-sawing two-note motif. While the beat is one of the album’s more rolling and propulsive ones and the melodic motif is unusually minimal and static, the overall effect is roughly the same as the album’s other five variations on a theme: a cool vamp sneakily undergoes a subtle, slow-motion transformation of some kind.

In this case, the interactions between the melody and the underlying hum starts to produce ghostly tendrils of overtones or feedback. “Haunt” also shares the rest of the album’s spare and spacious aesthetic of clinical sharpness and crystalline clarity, as that is the most effective setting for tiny, small-scale changes to make their impact felt and that is essentially this album’s raison d’etre: six slow-motion magic tricks that feel akin to time-lapse footage of a flower blooming. While some pieces admittedly have cooler rhythms than others, the rhythmic pulse is mostly there to hypnotize the listener while Majkowski’s ghost sorcery quietly transforms the atmosphere.

The most instantly gratifying track is probably “Drive,” as its slow and sexy shuffle and bleary pulse feel like a hallucinatory strip club scene endlessly looping in a state of suspended animation until a chirping bit of feedback grabs the steering wheel. Elsewhere, “Mirrors” sounds like a duet between a deep bass throb and the flickering hum of a broken shortwave radio, but the throb steadily becomes more lingering, distended, and meditative. “Time Being” is the most dub techno-adjacent piece, as its submerged throb is slowly reshaped by murky flutters and buried clicks, while “Over” is my personal favorite, as a wobbly, queasy, and subtly dissonant drone is languorously propelled forward by subtly panning ping-pong percussion and a sliding bass plunge.

In fact, Majkowski only arguably misses the mark with the closing “Blue,” but that seems to be mostly because he could not resist trying to push this aesthetic into even more glacial, understated, and unstable terrain, reducing the formula to just a dirge-y crawl with an unsteady bass throb and a motif that sounds like someone erratically tapping a bell with their fingernails. I suppose I cannot fault Majkowski for wading too far out into the weeds that once, as the baseline aesthetic of Invisible is already a challenging and slow-moving one, so why not go for broke? In short, this is mainly one for the connoisseurs, as Majkowski unleashes a quietly mesmerizing master class in patience, control, and nuance, but his rhythmic backdrops are overachieving enough to appeal to fans of simmering and pared-to-the-bone post-rock and minimal techno as well.

Listen here.

April 4 2021

Tomaga, “Intimate Immensity” (Hands In The Dark, 2021)

Tony D'Amico archived brainwashed reviews Hands In The Dark, Tomaga, Valentina Magaletti

It is unfortunate that this final album from Tomaga is being released in the shadow of Tom Relleen’s untimely passing, as Intimate Immensity probably could have been the London duo’s breakthrough release otherwise. I first became aware of the project through a combination of drummer Valentina Magaletti’s many other appearances (Vanishing Twin, Raime, Helm, etc.) and stumbling upon Memory in Vivo Exposure while briefly obsessed with exotica-inspired ambiance. While I would not describe this latest album as particularly exotica-inspired for a Tomaga release, Relleen and Magaletti have always had a unique, eclectic, and constantly evolving off-beat vision, so there is no dearth of unusual juxtapositions and unexpected divergences among these ten songs. I suppose Vanishing Twin’s Stereolab-esque aesthetic is as good a reference point as any, as the best songs here feel like the soundtrack of an arty European cult film from the ’60s or ’70s improved with subtle hallucinatory flourishes, exotic atmospheric touches, and muscular dub-wise grooves.

I would not describe myself as particularly drum-obsessed, but there are definitely a handful of drummers and percussionists who are reliably compelling when freed from the constraints of conventional songs and Valentina Magaletti is one of them. She is a bit of an aberration in that regard though, as she tends to churn out killer beats rather than wild, free-form solos. Tomaga has long been the home for those killer beats and Relleen is the perfect foil on Intimate Immensity, enhancing Magaletti’s grooves with deep, dubby bass motifs, evocative splashes of color, and eclectic melodic themes. In some ways, Muslimgauze is another one of Tomaga’s closest kindred spirits, but if Bryn Jones had not been monomaniacally obsessed with the Middle East and had instead spent his time in tiki bars watching Serge Gainsbourg and Guy Maddin films and obsessively absorbing every weird soundtrack that Finders Keepers reissues.

In that light, the album’s best song is a bit of an anomaly, as “Intimate Immensity” has the feel of a bizarrely sensual, tripped-out elegy, as an achingly lovely descending string motif floats above a slowed-down “Funky Drummer”-style beat and rubbery, ping-ponging electronics. The industrial-tinged “British Wildlife” is a delight as well, resembling a Carter Tutti remix of a Martin Denny album, yet the album’s most sustained run of greatness occurs mid-album, as “The Snake,” “Very Never,” and “More Flowers” are all cool as hell. All sound very cinematic and would be perfect for a late ’60s spy movie set in Marrakech or my next escape from a haunted tropical island, but the alternately rolling and lurching grooves ensure that they feel like something for more visceral and vivid than a mere pastiche of cool influences. While I have not quite made it through Tomaga’s entire discography yet, I would be extremely surprised if any of the duo’s previous albums surpass this one, as the highlights here feel impressively revelatory.

Samples can be found here.