“Steady State”, “Yarrow” and more releases now available in Europe from Soundohm

The extraordinary Milan-based experimental music resource Soundohm has been a great support to my work and Shame File Music for a few years now. Both of my recent collaborative releases “Steady State” (included in Soundohm’s Best of 2025 as well) and “Yarrow” are now available from their excellent online store, and so accessible at much more reasonable shipping rates for those in Europe and the UK. These are actually the last copies of “Yarrow” (sold out here in Australia). Soundohm also stock a good amount of my back catalogue and Shame File Music releases as well.

This week, Soundohm’s newsletter included an in-depth and thoughtful feature on these two releases. It’s rare someone who has obviously listened very deeply to my music writes about it, so I thought I would share the article with you here:

Clinton Green’s aluminium resonances and organic soundscapes from Australia

Having already had a stellar year, the Australian experimental imprint, Shame File Music, winds down toward the end of 2025 with two brand new astounding drops, both honing in sonic explorations of Clinton Green: “Steady State”, his third collaborative outing with UK born, Melbourne-based composer Barnaby Oliver, and the first to be pressed on vinyl, and “Yarrow”, an overwhelmingly beautiful handmade cassette edition, marking his first duo with the New Zealand born, Australian based musician and artist Allanah Stewart.

Serving as deep and prescient dive into the low rumbles of the underground scene, nestled within an already bristling context, each respectively unfurls knotted and highly distinct manifestations at the borders of minimalism and noise, producing immersive and understated soundscapes imbued with the distinct characteristics of each artist’s highly refined sound.

For decades, Australia has been a hotbed for experimental music, producing countless singular artists and trajectories of creative exploration that have shifted the sense of what is possible within the context. Initially founded during the 1990s as tiny cassette imprint, for more than 30 years the Victoria based imprint, Shame File Music, has occupied a crucial place in this story, producing more than a hundred releases dedicated to documenting both the contemporary and historical output of Australia’s thriving experimental music scene. Earlier this year, we had the privilege of exploring asome brilliant releases on the label by Ian Andrews – as Astasie-abasie – and the trio of David BrownTony Buck, and Magda Mayas. Now, rounding out 2025, Shame File casts the light on its own roots, delivering two killer collaborative full-lengths involving Clinton Green, the quiet hand who has run the label all these years: Steady State, the return of Green’s longstanding duo with Barnaby Oliver – issued in a highly limited vinyl edition of 100 copies – and Yarrow, a killer cassette edition – hand-labeled and housed in a hand-made pouch, with dried botanicals sewn in – comprising two sides of sonic convergences between Green and the New Zealand born, Australian based musician and artist Allanah Stewart. Each resting at incredible junctures of sound art, noise, and electroacoustic practice – further illuminating Australia’s remarkable contemporary context of sonic experimentalism, neither of these are going to sit around for long. Grab them while you can!

Clinton Green & Barnaby Oliver
Steady State“(Limited LP – 100 copies)
Clinton Green first emerged onto the Australian experimental music scene during the 1990s, harnessing unconventional approaches to guitars, turntables, Walkmans, dictaphones and found objects within an understated, brilliant body of solo work and collaborations with fellow sonic travellers like Scott SinclairErnie AlthoffRen WaltersMichael McNab, and Ian Andrews, in addition to numerous dancers, theaters, and performance artists and his extensive efforts as a curator, facilitator, writer and researcher. Back in 2020, Green delivered The Interstices of These Epidemics, a killer full-length, created as a duo with the UK born, Melbourne-based composer Barnaby Oliver, sculpting “a restricted palette of gestures and sound sources” into an engrossing pair of improvisations. Having proved to be an endlessly rewarding collaboration for Green and Oliver – in fact dating back to 2005 when they worked together on the latter’s Wall of E guitar orchestra – Steady State is their third full-length, and the first to receive the vinyl treatment.
 Illuminating the roots of the two works that comprise the sides of Steady State – Steady and State – Green explains: “This album’s origin goes back to a concert we played in August 2022 at Melbourne’s Tempo Rubato. That concert was in itself the culmination of several years’ focus on developing a minimalist yet subtly expansive musical dialogue centred around my bowing of heavy aluminium bowls, with Barnaby playing various instruments including violin, bowed banjo and piano. Playing acoustically in that space, with the 102-key Stuart & Sons grand concert piano for one piece, encouraged us to return to the venue one Sunday morning a couple of months later to record the same two pieces from our concert. We recorded them with the vision of two vinyl sides in mind.”
The two sides of Steady State are both deeply conversant and distinct. Steady is fantastic intersection of tonal and textural minimalism, comprising sheets of shifting resonances and timbres produced by Green’s bowed bowls penetrated by Oliver’s sparse interventions on piano, delivered like water drops into a sea of sound. Strikingly emotive within its abstract sensibilities and marked by an aching sense of beauty, across its glacial evolutions each artist meets the other with a striking sense of poetry and restraint. The album’s second piece, State, encounters Oliver leaving the piano behind, and thus the kinds of temporal marking, tonal contrast, and percussiveness encountered through his playing on Steady. Here he meets Green on his own ground, producing a similar sonic palette on violin and bowed banjo to the bowing of heavy aluminium bowls. The outcome is remarkable, intertwining the hallmarks of ambient music and noise, while subtly recalling certain meditative states produced by Indian classical music. Howling, deep, masterful, and intricate, shifting the dynamic expectations of improvised music to hone in on interjections at the microscopic level, it’s an immersive journey that reveals further dimensions with every return listen.
We’ve been following the collaboration between Clinton Green and Barnaby Oliver since it first reached our ears back in 2020, and Steady State might just be our favorite of their releases to date: a stunning, understatedly expressive immersion into their sound-world. Issued in a highly limited vinyl edition of 100 copies on Shame File Music – beautifully mastered by Joe Talia – this one isn’t to be missed.

Clinton Green & Allanah Stewart
Yarrow
(Handmade Cassette – 30 copies, only a few available)
 
Collaboration is clearly a central focus within Clinton Green’s practice. Of the many full-lengths that he produced over the last 20 years, only a handful encounter him entirely solo. His latest outing, Yarrow, created with the New Zealand born, Melbourne, Australia, based experimental musician and artist, Allanah Stewart, follows suit. Active on the scene for more than a decade, Stewart is known for her work in experimental and sound art projects, often using handmade and collected objects to generate sound. In addition to collaborating with other artists – notably contributing vocals to Green’s 2024 release, A Conduit – she has worked steadily within the trio Lime Works.
What becomes quickly apparent when approaching Yarrow, Green and Stewart’s first outing as a duo, is that the pair prefer to let both the object – an artfully handmade cassette edition incorporating botanicals – and the sound it contains, speak for itself. They provide no background, nor indication of sound sources or process. Fair enough. Sounds and objects can definitely do as much. Comprising two tracks that respectively clock in at just under twenty minutes – White Yarrow and Pink Yarrow – Yarrow emerges as a murky, swirling expanse of sonorities, creaking and rattling among low rumbles and textures that seemingly nod to some deeply organic primordial landscape with a deft sense of imagism flickering within its abstractions. As the first side progresses, the open sense of improvisational discourse between Green and Stewart gathers momentum, focus, and destiny, verging on the rhythmical without ever fully indulging that impulse. The second side’s piece – Pink Yarrow – continues this destiny with an almost minimalist sense of restraint, somehow imbued with a greater sense of location connected to the physicality of the two performers. Imbuing the idiom of noise with a deep sense of restraint and intimacy, rather than the relentless onslaughts so often associated with the realm of creativity, Green and Stewart continuously travel through a shadowy world together, delivering carefully considered interventions in response to what is placed in their way.
Wondrous in every sense of the word, Yarrow presents a world to be explored and unlocked over time, feeling as immediate and direct as it does mysterious and understated: artful construction created through the real time dialog between deeply sympathetic minds. Issued by Shame File Music in a highly limited, hand-made and numbered cassette edition of 30 copies, housed in a hand-made pouch, with dried botanicals sewn into them by Stewart, its beauty and singularity as an object is perfectly met by the sound that it contains. This is one of those rare offerings that makes you get on a plane and explore the sounds of Melbourne’s underground experimental music scene in real time. Needless to say, with an edition this small, we don’t have many and they’re likely to fly. Grab one of these little works of art while you can! – Soundohm

Yarrow reviewed

“I can imagine a strong tactile presence here, of four hands rubbing surfaces with some kind of amplification. Other electronics, such as sound effects, are kept to a minimum, if there is a need for them at all. The first eight or so minutes of the music have a somewhat improvised feel, and maybe the whole cassette has, but from that moment on, the music gains a fine density, with multiple sounds rolling over and about, adding more bottom end to the music. This continues on the live recording, which I think is even stronger, mainly because here the two stay on a course they started, right until the finish. The music has something very mysterious with all this low-end rumbling, almost like a horror movie. There is excellent interaction between the two players on this cassette” – Vital Weekly 1493

Three copies left on Bandcamp or purchase the digital version.

“A Conduit” reviewed by Noise Not Music

At the heart of Clinton Green’s latest is the humbly bewitching sound of several broken Walkmans looping over themselves and each other in a jittery, microscopic dance. According to the Shame File star himself, “Loose internal speakers from the Walkmans are positioned between the spindle and play-head. The parts cling together magnetically, yet are agitated by the turning spindle, creating not-quite-regular rhythms punctuated by magnetic/electronic interference.” It’s an approach that has a lot of potential despite its minimalism, a potential that is explored in depth throughout. But in a surprising turn of events (literally; beware the jump scare), the textures and twitches of the miniature motorized network are just one element of A Conduit, especially in eclectic opener “Allegations of Ventriloquism.” I already thought it was a great title, but the lengthy track—described as “a psychodrama; an opera”—delves into said allegations in  a much more concrete manner than I expected, introducing a paranoid narrative via beamed-in speech scraps (provided by Michael McNab, Allan Stewart, Michael Zulicki, and Green himself), slurred tape delirium, and abstract turntable tactility. This last element acts as a kind of structural glue for the loose-strung collage, harmonizing with the miniscule rattle of the Walkmans as the skips and clunks respond to the bass and color of the sampled bits. The much briefer “Emucounter” is stripped down but no less mysterious, bringing the unmistakable buzz of an electromagnetic swarm to the foreground while guitars and reeds cavort upstage. And “Stopcock (Alleged)” is an almost scientific meditation, examining the effects of different placement configurations in a patient lead-up to a twist ending. I would be interested to hear a release that focused on the Walkmans on their own, but they also work so well here as both vital organ and connective tissue.Noise Not Music

A Conduit is out now on Shame File Music

Review of “Archive 7:2004” in Tone Glow

Tone Glow has included the recent digital reissue of Archive 7:2000 in their favourite music of 2023 so far:

Here’s two hours of varied recordings from Clinton Green aka Undecisive God, an Australian underground legend. I’m drawn to the absolute zero-effort art work for this, the lack of extensive background info provided, and how the majority of the tracks aren’t even listed on the Bandcamp page until you purchase the music. It’s a simple invitation: pay $7 AUD and you’ll get a trove of material that you have to make heads or tails of on your own. I like the quiet beauty of “The World is as I See It,” meditative in its oceanic ambience and glints of guitar. It’s as calming as “Can’t Get Better” is anxiety-inducing. On that track, he mischievously ruptures the space with shards of noise as different radio broadcasts (?) play, one of which is a woman that keeps repeating the titular phrase. The “Three Movements for Batman Bridge” tracks are simple, edited field recording soundscapes that capture everyday mystique while “Guitar and Feedback Study 1” is the process of him trying to attain magic through different tools. Consider Archive 7: 2004 a sonic diary that’s been thrust into the world. —Joshua Minsoo Kim

Review of “Here?/Secret”

Green mentions a compositional procedure for choice of tape, tape speed and direction and panning, which yields a combination of sounds disturbingly mismatched to eerie perfection, much in the way of a prolonged chance collision…the ordinary is repurposed into a hallucinatory melange of sounds beyond conventional comprehension. It taps into a powerful strand of late 20th Century experimental music, going back to Cage’s collages from the 1950s, that’s occasionally forgotten only to be taken up again a generation later… – Boring Like A Drill

Review of “Here?/Secret” by Noise Not Music

This newly released two-track set makes no attempt to conceal the ugly, knobby seams and blemishes inherent to physical media and fusions or exhumations thereof; like a zealous dig through the bargain cassette bin at your local thrift store—old answering machine archives and sound effects collections and obsolete dictations and forgotten world music thrown (in)discriminately into the “yes” bag—“Here?” stitches an abstractly (yet disturbingly) coherent sequence from voices mangled to oblivion and harsh analog ephemera, while “Secret” plays with sputtering negative space, radio squawks, and sporadic bursts of raucous, chattering chaos made even more gleefully caustic by the hiss and screech of the low-fidelity playback. Moments of warm beauty also lurk quietly in the marshes of both halves, only briefly emerging when absolutely necessary to avoid wasted impact: a flutter of buzzing drone like a ray of light through the dust, a snatch of familiar innocence amidst bedlam. Lovely stuffNoise Not Music

Here?/Secret is available here.

Review of “Relativity/Only” in Vital Weekly #1296

Clinton Green […] presents a new LP and again the turntables play an important role, like in much of his recent work […]. Unlike in the work of many other musicians with the same apparatus, here [it is] to hit upon objects around it. In Green’s case, this is mostly percussion objects, drums, and bells. The cover has a better wording for this process; “beaters and objects suspended from an overhead swaying horizontal pole strike percussive objects on three rotating turntables”. I assume Green moving around these turntables, placing new objects, removing old and keep the music vibrant and energetic. The one thing this is not is static. One may suspect that the rotation of the turntable leads to a steady rhythm, which Thomas Brinkman once cleverly turned into dance music, but none such is the case here. On this LP we find four pieces, two on each side. It is difficult to tell the two per side apart; on the first side everything is fast and on the other side everything is slow. That is an interesting choice, I think but it works very well. Side A is a wild ride, chaotic mostly, from moving and removing all these objects around the three turntables, a hybrid of sound, ants crawling around sort of thing. The two on the other side are meditative touches, scratches upon a surface and is of delicate sparseness. Here too nothing stays the same for very long, or, maybe not at all. It shares, however, the same love for the chaos as on the other side, which curiously ties both ends together. This is another most enjoyable record from Green, […] a fine example of the sort of turntable usage I enjoy very much. Vital Weekly #1296

Relativity/Only is available on vinyl and digital here.

Note: despite what the review, I did not move objects around the turntables during the recording of these pieces, the variation is build into the sound sculptures, largely facilitated by the swaying pole beaters are suspended from.

Recent reviews

Tone Glow have featured reviews of my Relativity/Only album and THIS Ensemble’s Brown Paper Business in their recent Favourite Albums of 2021 so far:

Clinton Green Relativity/Only Lately, my cat has been more anxious than usual. She runs around and gets into things more often when I’m not in the best moods, because I don’t have the energy to play and keep her from getting bored. To get her to chill out and stop going nuts at 3 AM, I’ve started putting videos of birds and squirrels on the TV so that she’s got something to focus on and feel like she’s hunting. She gets enraptured with this stuff and will watch it for hours, and it does its job at calming her down, but it’s had an unintended side effect—now I’m addicted to it too. I’m mostly amused by her amusement—it’s adorable when she swipes at the screen trying to grab a little critter or when her head whips in the direction that a bird flies off screen—but it’s also pretty good visual stimulus. We’ve watched all of the videos on the incredibly titled Birder King channel together, some multiple times; it’s officially a family bonding activity.

The cat, likewise, seems to enjoy some things that I’m into. It’s well known that cats mimic the habits of their owners when they’ve bonded, and she’s pretty much attached to me at the hip. She follows me from room to room, expects to be fed when I’m eating, and has a spot on the couch imprinted with her shape right next to the spot that’s shaped like me. My favorite thing, though, is that she gets enamored with the music I listen to when I play it from my laptop speakers. Relativity/Only is a recording of a kinetic sculpture at work, and the resulting sounds are strictly percussive—metal on metal, drums being struck, wooden objects being dragged across surfaces. She seems to especially find sounds like these fascinating; she’ll stand by my computer and stare, rub her face against the speakers, and circle around me trying to figure out the source of the sound. This is already one of my favorite types of music, but I’m particularly likely to play an album repeatedly if it gets a cute response from the kitty.

This album, probably due to its dynamic stereo panning that makes it sound like there’s something moving around the room, has gotten a response out of her more dramatic than anything else I’ve played. It’s one of my favorite musical experiences I’ve had this year because of how I’m uniquely able to share it with my cat. It gets me thinking about how personal experiences can elevate a piece of art, and sometimes those experiences can be so narrow that it’s hard to imagine it ever applying to someone else. Relativity/Only might not end up being your pet’s favorite album, but I now mine has good taste—she learned from the best. —Shy Thompson

THIS Ensemble “Brown Paper Business” – Melbourne’s Shame File Music has long been one of Australia’s most important experimental labels, both unearthing and reissuing the country’s long-forgotten noise, musique concrète and tape music from the 70s and 80s, as well as releasing new albums from some of Australia’s leading experimental acts. In January, the label put out one of their most ambitious releases to date: a wooden box, housing two CDrs, which contain a single, two-hour performance by the roving, malleable performance troupe known only as the THIS Ensemble.

The music here truly defies description, but let me try anyway. There’s plenty of spoken-word and tape loops, and instruments half-played or possibly just shuffled around the stage. On top of this, on the first track alone, I think I can make out maracas, a slide whistle, a dripping faucet, a balloon rubbing against a metal pipe, jangling keys, wind buffeting a microphone, a rice cooker, and two guitars. While much of the proceeding 110 minutes operates in the same register of shifting, unplaceable sounds, the ensemble do manage to cover a surprising amount of ground, sometimes veering into rock, jazz, noise, acousmatic drone, and trancelike percussion circles. Through all this, the spoken poetry, full of lopsided phrases and wordplay, and delivered in an absolute deadpan, both anchors the diffuse material and cuts through the air of monastic seriousness which typically attends a two-hour, avant-garde performance. At times, even the performers can be heard laughing at what they themselves are doing onstage. 

In this way, THIS Ensemble embodies something I love about the Australian avant-garde underground: it is both ambitious and self-deprecating, not afraid to poke fun at its own extreme weirdness. Experimental music is weird! It can be pretty silly stuff. This isn’t to say that Australia doesn’t have its own share of stuffy, self-serious sculpteurs du son. At its best, however, the scene balances its adventurous inclinations with a flair for the comedic, giving audiences and performers alike permission to stop holding their breath. Brown Paper Business is a fantastic distillation of this ethos. At two hours, it can be a taxing listen, but its slowly shifting landscape and slyly circular structure reward a more-than-casual engagement. Brown Paper Business is huge, yes, and frequently very difficult music, but it is also one of the most fun experimental albums I’ve heard in a long while. Gird your loins, and take the plunge. —Mark Cutler