Experimental Noise Music - Free Bandcamp Download Codes | Band.codes

HELVETE-KUN

The sky turns strawberry-milk pink. The clouds blush. Buildings shimmer like little sugar cubes beneath the unbearable heat. The birds continue doing bird things because nobody has informed them that existence has approximately forty-seven seconds remaining. Cherry blossoms whirl through the streets. Car alarms begin singing together. Somebody drops an ice cream. Somebody kisses somebody. Somebody misses the bus. Somewhere, perhaps, a little dog is asleep. And then— everything catches fire. The city. The trees. The park. The vending machines. Life. Death. Memory. Tuesday. The birds. The little doggie. me. I am burning too. 🌸🔥🌸 I look at my hands becoming beautiful orange things. I am happy. Really. Content. Everything is exactly where it needs to be. This album feels a little like that. Post-noise-avant-drone-rock-folky-collage-plunderphonics-harsh-🌸BEAUTY🌸. The most beautiful last day in the history of last days, ending inside an absolutely admirable charnel garden. THE APOCALYPSE but smiling. The apocalypse after the best jambon-beurre or bowl of phở you have ever eaten. The apocalypse after a perfect night when you made love to your soulmate and the two of you drank that bottle of Chablis you had been saving for years... The apocalypse smelling faintly of Chanel No. 5 and gasoline. The apocalypse saying: Thank You. Thank You for everything that existed. Every wonder. Everything disappears now, but it was all truly remarkable, wasn't it? Outside, the cherry trees are on fire. They look gorgeous. -Sir Kuliktavikt

TW & Family

Laondon

TW grew up on the streets of London, Ontario and the imprint of this non-descript mid-sized Canadian town has lingered. Taking inspiration from his early years in ‘the other London’, TW has again crafted a fractured and fragmentary tale told through disparate guitar pluckings, found sounds and echo-chamber vocals. With mis-remembered sounds, spellings and sights forming the backbone of the music, TW has hacked away to create something low-fi but also intricate and multi-layered. ‘Laondon’ is his most ambitious musical project yet, building on recent releases including ‘Read this 37 page novel by’ (Illuminated Paths), ‘News-Papier’ (Scavenger Sounds) and a collaboration with Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson, Adam Buffington and Anla Courtis on ‘Top Tomatoes’ (Chocolate Monk). Error Prone Records is proud to bring this unique and raw album to both cassette and digital. credits

UgUrGkuliktavikt

Notre-Dame-des-Sept-Allégresses

A tribute to an important monument in the history of Trois-Rivières, which was consumed by flames on October 3, 2024 -- Un hommage à un monument important de l'histoire de Trois-Rivières, qui fut consommé par les flammes le 3 octobre 2024

Luna Lunática, ThisTongueIsAKnife, Amishrobots & Rumonoise

Luna Lunática ⌀ ThisTongueIsAKnife ⌀ Amishrobots ⌀ Rumonoise

This exciting four-way split brings together Luna Lunática, ThisTongueIsAKnife, Amishrobots, and Rumonoise—four singular artists, four unmistakable voices, four radically different ways of expanding the ever-shifting vocabulary of experimental noise. Each contribution opens onto its own universe. Here, noise mutates into texture, gesture, atmosphere, ritual, collapse. Harsh and fragile. Meditative and overwhelming. Abstract yet deeply physical. There's something here for any noise lover! -Sir Kuliktavikt

EL ZOMBIE ESPACIAL

BENNU: Plague of Devils

The roughness envelops time. It watches over it, transforming listening into a pleasurable exercise. At times, melodic hints can be heard. We couldn't perceive the instrument producing it, perhaps because there isn't one. The sonic richness pulls us forward with an unequivocal, certain force. It is a constellation, a galaxy with its own rules of operation. The constant graininess surrounds the listening experience until we stop listening and begin to notice other sensitive planes. I couldn't call this work noise. Rather, I could refer to it as a constant, rich movement teeming with nuances and intense colors. Time and form, builders of the universe that presents itself, in this case, to my perception. - GERMÁN MEIRA

Stagn(ant)

Queen Edifice

Queen Edifice leaks upward. A carnival corpse, bloodless, patient, threading its way through wet soil and softer things. It cracks the floor politely. It enters the head without knocking. Stagn(ant) stretches a single 55-minute organism until it forgets it was ever music. Drone as architecture. Plundered ghosts stitched into a breathing wall. A hotel misremembered into a fairground. Specters blink in and out of permission. A padded room: bed, nails, no explanation. A corridor coughing rust. An abandoned station where echoes rot before arriving. Sometimes, a dead radio hit resurfaces, smiling wrong, then collapses into noise like a face sinking in tar. This does not haunt. It installs. It seeps into the folds, lays something small and irreversible, not a seed, not even a thought, more like a question that dissolved mid-formation. Queen Edifice does not end. It remains slightly inside you. -Sir Kuliktavikt

[unknown artist] & UgUrGkuliktavikt

Death's invitation, a call for eternal bliss

Nothing is known Nothing will ever be known. It ends in a room where the mirror does not reflect, where the bed is made of bone and static, and someone (something) has been waiting under the floorboards of your dreams for so long you now call it you. Death's invitation, a call for eternal bliss

UgUrGkuliktavikt

De Vermis Mysteriis

La ville n'est plus qu'une énorme plaie ouverte et infectée. Les panneaux qui indiquaient autrefois le nom des rues arborent maintenant des noms écrits dans une langue inconnue (“ph'nglui mglw'nafh”, “wgah’nagl fhtagn”). Puis, la rue elle même commence à courber… à se fendre. Il y a quelque chose en dessous qui grouille. Quelque chose qui ne demande qu'à sortir. Le béton vole alors en éclat, laissant apparaître le ver blanc, gigantesque, nervuré, suintant et luisant d'une étrange luminosité blafarde. Des gens avec le visage tuméfié, la chair fondante, les yeux coulants, se mettent à sortir des maisons délabrées… ils forment un cercle autour du ver, gesticulent, dansent approximativement, chantent dans une langue impossible, s’arrachent des bouts de peau (qu'ils dévorent en gloussant), se prosternent devant leur nouveau Dieu. Et dans un ciel de plus en plus affolé, les étoiles meurent une à une.

KommandOOverdose & I,Eternal

Exquisite corpses, taken literally. Cadavers dipped in hollandaise sauce. Fingers especially crispy. You wander deeper into an ever-thickening sonic vapor. Electrical wires perform a danse macabre, coiling lovingly around your decomposing shell, moaning with pleasure. Another fall. A damp dungeon. One light only. A single electric globe glued to the ceiling. Blood seeps inside it. No exit. Just tiny holes in the walls. From one hole, an ear drops, still twitching. Then the spiders come. From all the holes. Thousands. Millions. The globe laughs and explodes in a spray of blood. Spiders cover your skin. You bleed. You laugh. They crawl into your eyes. Your eyes. Yours ; yes. YOUR EYES. This record does not want to be understood. It wants to keep falling with you. -Sir Kuliktavikt