Once upon a time, a concert premiere in Europe meant waiting a few days for a news report. Now it means waiting a few hours before someone uploads a recording.
Case in point, Longplayer, an ongoing project by musician and artist Jem Finer (best known as a founding member of the Pogues), who hosted a performance of it last weekend at the Roundhouse in London, on September 12. The Roundhouse appears to be a place where old punks go to make sound art; it was the site of the recent installation of former Talking Heads lead singer David Byrne’s Playing the Building.
Finer’s Longplayer, inspired by the Long Now Foundation (which has inspired music previously by both Brian Eno, who was part of the think tank that helped Finer at the early stages of the Longplayer project, and Neal Stephenson, in his novel Anathem), is a 1,000-year composition, segments of which were performed on endlessly resonant Tibetan prayer bowls (MP3), as shown here:
The above photo and MP3 (along with an even higher-definition FLAC audio recording) were posted by Tim Ferguson at encosion.tumblr.com. More on the project at longplayer.org, including an explanation of its graphical score, depicted here:
No preview track to stream of the new Koushik, and yes it’s the second Stones Throw mention here this week (Monday’s was a two-part MP3 by Oh No, all hip-hop-ified Ethiopian pop samples: 
This website, Disquiet.com, is due for a light visual upgrade. This post is a request for any input from readers as to what improvements would benefit the site. The site will remain true to its current design, which has been in place since the launch of Disquiet.com in December 1996: white background, limited fonts, bare-bone/functional feel. 
If the classic rock band the Who told us to Play It Loud, a lot of netlabels request listeners to do the opposite, to don headphones and focus on the near silence of their often ambient electronic releases. This is what the Resting Bell netlabel did with the new record Wegwerpwee by Netherlands-based musician Bas van Huizen. The reasoning behind the instructions is self-evident on even a cursory listen. The eight tracks on Wegwerpwee aren’t drones, per se, but more like gentle paroxysms of sound. Many of the pieces have the density and friction of something urgent and tumultuous, but the pace of each composition — from the slurring throbs of “Geneescheer” (