The fifth release on Objekt’s Kapsela imprint is (re)weave, an EP of crystalline club tracks from Detroit-born, London-based producer Tristan Arp.

(re)weave was written during a prolonged period of flux for the artist. “When I started making this record, my life and the world felt like a maze,” he recounts. As he routed and re-routed through past and future homes – Mexico to New York to Detroit to Mexico and finally to London – his output bore the marks of this repeated uprooting. “I was thinking about making music that reflected these twists and turns, and the knotty pathways through them. I was also re-reading Borges around this time, which must have influenced my interest in labyrinths.”

Accordingly, the EP is a mycelial puzzle, a tangle of spidery, undulating ostinatos and earthy percussion, stitched through with syncopated kicks. Employing the sounds of multitudinous critters and kin – whales, insects, thunder, water, forests – the arrangements sum to a sentient mesh of organic matter, the compositions living and breathing like earthly beings. Kaleidoscopic tendrils explore in every direction but are always underpinned by a driving, percussive backbone. It’s not easily classifiable: it’s bass-driven, but to simply call it “bass music” would sell it short.

In keeping with the winding geographical paths traced over the EP’s creation, (re)weave saw Tristan Arp revisiting and reinterpreting unfinished sessions and incorporating them into newer ideas. Rhythms and sounds have been transplanted and self-recycled from previous projects and woven into the fabric of the record. In this way, (re)weave also describes a looping back over time, a recalibration of the self from past to present through interlocking rhythms, channeling and communing with versions of oneself from times gone by.

The closing track, Wish Server, slows the EP to walking pace and hints at tentatively emerging from the deepest jungle into a delicate, innocent light. Tristan Arp imagines it as a dialog with a baby-self. “Some of my earliest memories are of sitting at my mother’s loom,” he offers. “The sequence of these tracks traces these feelings and follows the thread back to the primordial soup… through mazes… to a feeling of levitation.”