Description
Tabustar leans on hip-hop without settling into it.
The groove doesn’t arrive as a given; it wavers, assembles itself, falls apart again.
What you hear are fragments that circle each other, catch briefly, then slip.
Nothing locks for long. Repetition is tentative, almost provisional.
Loops appear as if they might hold, then thin out before they do.
The ensemble doesn’t carry a common pulse.
It produces shifting alignments: moments where things meet, then drift out of phase again.
Time is not shared, it’s negotiated locally and temporarily.
The sound is dry, almost skeletal.
Each element is placed with precision, but never quite sits still.
Small displacements keep everything slightly ajar.
It stays close to a familiar language, but works it from the edges,
where structure begins to loosen and show its seams.
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Composed By – Benoît Moreau
Saxophone – Laurent Estoppey
Guitar – Immanuel Heitor Idéalen
Drums – David Meier
Organ, Electronics – Benoît Moreau
Lacquer Cut – Flo Kaufmann
Recording and Mastering – Antoine Etter
Design – Laurent Schmid and Benoit Moreau
Screen Printing – Atelier Obscur
Pressing – MEKvinyl
Parallel to this vinyl LP, Thödol Records published a CD version.
Recorded on October 11th and 12th 2025
Phonotope Studio, Renens, Switzerland
A1 Flow 7:02
A2 Pulse 9:42
A3 Loop 2:38
B1 Sample 9:24
B2 Gust 6:57
B3 Loop 1:21
2026, Speckled-Toshe and the authors – SPT25-2
“Tarabust is an unstable word. Two distinct worlds meet in it, attract it, and thus divide it according to two processes of morphological derivation that are both too plausible for the philologist to decide between them. The word tarabust is itself disputed between the group of that which belabors and the group of that which drums. Between the rabasta group (the noise of quarreling, the belaboring group) and the tabustar group (hitting, talabussare, tamburare, the family of resonators, of drums). Either vociferous human coitus. Or percussions of hollow objects. Acoustic obsession is unable to distinguish in what it hears between what it ceaselessly wants to hear and what it cannot have heard. An incomprehensible noise that belabors. A noise that could either be quarreling or drumming, panting or blows. It was very rhythmic. We come from this noise. It is our seed.
Pascal Quignard, The hatred of music, Yale University Press, New Haven & London, p. 39