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This Music Greets Death


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  • Cassette + Digital Album

    Limited edition glitter red blue silver cassette housed in a transparent jewel case.

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album


    10" lathe cut of vinyl-only release 'Revolution 0 / Son 0' (WW014)

    A: "Revolution 0 (feat. Rupert Clervaux)"
    B: "Son 0 (feat. Julia Shariffulina & Rupert Clervaux)"

    Exclusive artwork by Karina Sadreeva–Nurieva
    Mastered by Rupert Clervaux

    The record comes with a lyrics sheet in both English and Russian. Rupert Clervaux's lyrics were translated to Russian by Ekaterina Zakharkiv

    Handmade in realtime by DISC_ARCHIVE in Berlin, Germany

    EDITION OF 30 (20 via Bandcamp), ONE PER CUSTOMER
    Purchase automatically grants you a download of 'This Music Greets Death'

    Includes unlimited streaming of This Music Greets Death via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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    edition of 30 

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The greyblack wastes feel different underfoot, than in the poem. Fractured metres jar the pace of a badly healed ankle. Beware now of darkness spoken, through a city veiled in colluding eyes. A face unknowingly recognised. Tracing itself into archives of self-evidence. In the light of failure, is the venture or the outcome more absurd? In dreams of familiar voices, we look for an echo of unfamiliar resemblance, a mirror-image to linger over. Let blood be blood. Let it forge its own legacies by nourishing muscles into new movements, by priming lop-siped hemispheres for receptive imagination... "Even at night, a trace of sunlight hangs in the east. Air creates an immobile, blue canticle." … I still listen for a trace of Ingeborg — an apparition, disappeared into the walls long ago. I dream again and again of Emma's voice interlaced with music. Killers were needed. And we heeded well the word of the old 'Homage': a siblinghood of equals thinking for themselves can become effective fighters just as quickly as newly-shaven heads can be broken and rebuilt into a troop of lethal boot-lickers. But it's not the time, it's the numbers. We're always too late to talk about time. The numbers subsume. A few weeks ago I was concerned that I'd expressed my affection for one particular person too much. Now, tracking my uneven steps was the nagging certainty that I hadn't expressed it anything like enough. What cruel twist has you occasionally mistake a spectre of regret for a known presence approaching. Fate, we'd always said, was for us to imagine in the mind and make real in the world. But again, it doesn't hold. If the only serious philosophical question really is suicide, then it's no longer solipsist — it's collective. What if the consensus is simply self-erasure? But then what is the integrity of a consensus reached under the influence of consumption. And the jagged terrain of all exploits kicks some into the hole before others. Until we all slide past the horizon, unable then to retrace our steps, to right any wrongs.
Carousel 02:37
phase randomize structure amorphous texture to withdraw stems to grey salvation tempting intrinsic smell touched by leather wind through the skin latency rage spill to capture praise the cell euphoria climb higher
Drying blood, becoming chalky like the red clay that models the human form… the conceit of tradition’s weight, the fallacy of one future sustained by it. Sustaining until music greets the end, like that fabled light––a rhythm diminishing in tempo from seconds to minutes, days, months, years… into the indiscernible pattern of an immeasurable venture. A story-teller spoke of a second death, some short or long time after breathing stops: the last time your name is ever spoken. Maybe then, a first conception too, some long or short time before the zygote forms: the origination of whatever heritage and tradition will fuse with your worldly arrival. Dried blood, becoming the red clay that models the son… the conceit of a man giving birth, the preposterousness of original sin. A poet reassures us that the moment of death is not to be feared. It is the end of all sensation––it cannot itself be felt. Your mind pulls backwards rapidly.. Somebody calls out your name... greeting you. This is before you learn to speak for yourself––taking in your first breath of oxygen in air. And living itself is like your very first dream––shocking, unimaginable––before dreaming recedes, pooling in the cracks of the ground of being.


At heart, Stas Sharifullin is a supporter. His label Klammklang (co-curated with Julia Sharifullina), his teaching work, his shape-shifting multi-disciplinary artistic practice and his other projects are all a testament to his unique ability to work alongside and lift others up. Perhaps that’s also part of why he has never released a full-length record under his HMOT moniker – until now, he’s been too busy helping others.

But his first ever full album – ‘This Music Greets Death’, written between 2014 and 2021 – is finally arriving. A grim-sounding title is accompanied by a soft watercolour painting of strange, gentle creatures and their unknown world. A curious juxtaposition. But all is clear to Stas Sharifullin, and everything is as it should be. “This is a record about the horizon of possibilities,” shares the Moscow-based sound artist. Here, death signifies a new beginning, a clean slate, a starting point of discussion. We’ve gotten this far and everything has gone wrong – where do we go from here?

In a sense, this is a record of extra-ordinary optimism, a record celebrating curiosity and hope, despite an opening track which could be interpreted as nothing but bleak. “What if the consensus is simply self-erasure?,” asks Rupert Clervaux in an almost matter-of-fact tone. The music which follows, however, is unified by a sense of wistful playfulness and incredible fluidity. It’s obviously electronic music, made by a human using various machines, but it’s seemingly humanless, self-generating, just emanating organically. Melodies meander unpredictably, loops intertwine like malfunctioning music boxes. Some pieces end abruptly, reminding you of that feeling when a cloud suddenly covers the sun on a summer day; others feel like they could go on forever and you wouldn’t ever notice.

Stas Sharifullin’s collaborative spirit shines through in half of the tracks, with Rupert Clervaux, Nikolay Kozlov, Perila, Zurkas Tepla and Julia Sharifullina making appearances as either co-producers or vocalists, their contributions adding unique, but subtle flavours to the pieces which slot into the fullness of the album seamlessly.

Perila adds her usual dose of spectrality to the almost-uplifting single “Climb Higher”, while Nikolay Kozlov provides his trademark barely-there dub sensibility to “Fake Feathers”. “Oneiropolois” is a jarring, cleansing short piece featuring Russian electronic punk artist Zurkas Tepla. “Carousel” is a bubbly, yet melancholy, “Goodbye Black Sky” – which alludes to Krasnoyarsk and the local ecological disaster – is brooding and beautiful. Throughout the record, HMOT walks a thin line: this music is about something ending, but perhaps even more it’s about something beautiful rising from the ashes. And that’s precisely why ‘This Music Greets Death’, it welcomes it with open arms, because it knows things can only get better from here.


"...elegiac-abstract synthesizer sounds, cloudy soundscapes, meticulously arranged sound games. Through features with the lyricist Rupert Clervaux, who already thinks about the philosophical question of suicide in the opening piece with a sonorous voice, the ambient pop hope Perila or noise weirdo Zurkas Tepla, Sharifullin gets other impulses and thus expands the already broad range of sounds around their distinct voices. That makes this album a matter of different styles and moods that breaks with common ambient clichés: This music has to be listened to with full awareness. Because a good thing not only needs time, it also needs the necessary attention." - Kristoffer Cornils,

"The album marries post-industrial sounds, nature, and mysticism..." - The Calvert Journal

"Melody, minimalism and mystery permeate the whole album." - Was Ist Das?


released October 8, 2021

Released by Warm Winters Ltd. as WW013
10" lathe cut vinyl 'Revolution 0 / Son 0' released by Warm Winters Ltd. as WW014

Produced and mixed by Stas Sharifullin, except tracks №4, №8 and №10 made together with Nikolay Kozlov, Zurkas Tepla and Julia Sharifullina respectively; tracks №1, №7 and №10 featuring vocal contributions by Rupert Clervaux and Alexandra Zakharenko.

Mastered by Rupert Clervaux

Artworks by Karina Sadreeva–Nurieva

Design by Violetta Postnova


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HMOT Moscow, Russia

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