Spelonk I
Spelonk II
Spelonk III

cd/digital, Crónica, January 2026

Order here

Most of the music I make nowadays is commissioned for film, dance, or other projects. And I love it — it’s the best job in the world! — but sometimes I have to pull myself away from it, and make something purely for myself. My 2004 release Omval was one of these works, as is now Spelonk. These projects are always made in short bursts; once I start creating, things fall into place quickly, as if the ideas were (unknowingly) already there and just needed to get out of my system.

The three tracks that comprise Spelonk (simply titled I, II, III) are build with “hardware jams” that I recorded with my live setup. It’s all quite hands-on, with effects pedals, an oscillator, and electronic gadgets. The magic happens when combining different recordings, layering them, and hearing what happens. Listening is always a favorite moment in the process, with a welcome element of surprise. I guess it’s all about creating alien landscapes — alien also to me too — that  are exciting to explore.

I hesitate to say much more about these tracks as colouring the listener’s experience would be an unwelcome distraction. Eyes closed… enjoy the ride.

Rutger Zuydervelt, September 2025

Reviews

The Wire

The restlessly creative spirit of Dutch sound artist and graphic designer Rutger Zuydervelt is manifested through his Machinefabriek persona. In recent times Zuydervelt has provided accompaniment not only for films and dance performances, but also for games, podcasts and installation works by other artists. Spelonk, however, is the sound of him touching base, temporarily suspending collaborative projects to compose alone, in real time, using effects pedals, an oscillator and assorted electronic devices. Although immersed in gadgetry, and attuned to expanding technological horizons, Machinefabriek manages to convey a sense of craftwork, of hands-on skill and informed judgement in the making of these three pieces. The technical dexterity and attentiveness valued by his various collaborators take centre stage in the fine shadings and patterned abstraction of Zuydervelt's sonic designs.

Aural Aggravation

As time passes, our tastes change. For some, they narrow and become more cemented, more deeply entrenched. There’s a broad acceptance that people become more conservative as they grow older – which may explain why, with our ageing population, we – that’s the western world – has become more in favour of conservative values, such as low tax and a belief that the past was a golden age in which hard work was rewarded, and of course, music was better. There is certainly more than a grain of truth in the boomer stereotype. And as a Gen X-er, I’ve observed people I grew up with, and /or have known for many years become set in their ways and their listening habits, locked in the 90s in their musical tastes, and becoming increasingly churlish about the youth of today and the like.

I consider myself fortunate to be surrounded by friends and acquaintances, both in real life and in the virtual world, who are deeply invested in new music. The fact I get sent new music of all kinds from around the globe is only half of the story, as it would be so easy to sweep vast swathes of it aside to listen to, and review, nothing but goth, contemporary iterations of post-punk and new wave, grunge, and reissues. In fact, I could devote my entire listening time and run a website dedicated to nothing but reissues and still be incredibly busy. It would probably garner a huge readership, too. But no: I am constantly encouraged to listen to new music, and the fact of the matter is that I thrive on it, and never fail to get a buzz from new discoveries. As such, since I began this journey as a music writer, my horizons have broadened beyond a range I would have ever imagined.

A measure of this is that my first encounter with the music of Rutger Zuydervelt, back in 2014, was marked by a most unimpressed four-star review, in which I said that Stay Tuned was ‘a bit of a drag’. While I don’t feel particularly inspired to revisit it now alongside my writing of this review, I feel I would likely have been more receptive to its longform minimalism now.

Spelonk is not quite as long in form – three compositions spanning a total of forty-two minutes, and sees Zuydervelt taking some time out from his dayjob to indulge in the act of creating for pleasure – or, perhaps, more accurately, creating out of the need to experience freedom, to feel that metaphorical – and perhaps literal – sigh of release.

As he explains, ‘Most of the music I make nowadays is commissioned for film, dance, or other projects. And I love it — it’s the best job in the world! — but sometimes I have to pull myself away from it, and make something purely for myself. My 2004 release Omval was one of these works, as is now Spelonk. These projects are always made in short bursts; once I start creating, things fall into place quickly, as if the ideas were (unknowingly) already there and just needed to get out of my system.

The three tracks that comprise Spelonk (simply titled I, II, III) are built with “hardware jams” that I recorded with my live setup. It’s all quite hands-on, with effects pedals, an oscillator, and electronic gadgets. The magic happens when combining different recordings, layering them, and hearing what happens. Listening is always a favorite moment in the process, with a welcome element of surprise. I guess it’s all about creating alien landscapes — alien also to me too — that are exciting to explore.’

‘Alien landscapes’ is a fair description of these sparse works, constructed with layers of ominous drone. On ‘Spelonk II’, there are chittering sounds which scratch like guitar string scraping against a fret, or perhaps a ragged bow dragging against a worn string, but by the same token, untranslatable voices come to mind. The drones are eerie, ethereal, and hang low like mist or dry ice: it’s not nor merely an example of dark ambient work – there is very much a 70s sci-fi feel to it, hints of BBC Radiophonic Workshop emerge between every surge and crackle as slow pulsations reverberate among the unsettling abstraction. Over the course of the track’s eighteen minutes, there is movement, evolution, and just past the midpoint, there is a shift, where trilling organ-like notes and digital bleeps emerge, evoking recordings from space travel, and, as rippling laser sounds begin to burst forth, vintage sci-fi movies and 70s TV.

There are moments of near silence as ‘Spelonk II’ drifts into ‘Spelonk III’, also eighteen minutes in duration. Here, clanks and bleeps bubble and bounce and echo erratically, unpredictably, over a backdrop of low hums and reverberations. The low-end vibrates subtly but perceptibly, and while the experience is not one which instils tension, the cave-like digital drips and sense of space, as well as darkness, is not relaxing. You find yourself looking around, wondering what’s around the corner, what’s in the shadows. And while there’s no grand reveal, no jump fright here, the second half of ‘Spelonk III’ grows increasingly murky and increasingly squelchy and unsettling.

Over the album’s duration, Spelonk grows in depth and darkness, becoming increasingly dark, strange, and unsettling. Rutger Zuydervelt makes a lot out of very little, to subtle but strong effect.

Luminous Dash

Spelonk I is een ware stiltetrack, waarbij je aanvankelijk de rust in jezelf opzoekt om geluiden van de stilte te onderscheiden. Triggerende losse percussie-elementen duiken op in een steeds duidelijker wordende elektronische ruis, die overgaat in een walmende galm. Bevreemdende sonische golven overspoelen de – bijna angstaanjagende – stille soundtrack, waarbij je na meer dan zes minuten bijna vergat dat de tijd verder tikte tijdens het luisteren.

Ook Spelonk II lijkt aanvankelijk een veilige stiltehaven. Tot scherpe soundscapes de lucht verzwaren. Steeds luider en sterker aanwezig. Steeds met meer, omringen de klankwasems ons, met verzengend fluisterende elektronische ademhalingen. Er worden repetitief zachte ritmes gewekt door donkerder wordende soundscapes, die opgetrokken worden naar hogere tonen, hogere sferen… waar plots verstorende blieps en beeps opduiken. De stilte en rust wordt naar het einde toe opnieuw teruggevonden en die lijkt naadloos over te gaan in Spelonk III, waarin elektronische druppels vallen, uit mekaar ketsen op een buitenaards meertje. In deze spelonk wordt het donkerder, gevuld met een snerpende boventoon, als een ruis tussen stalactieten. Een ruis waarbinnen leven wellicht onmogelijk is, want op het einde is het stil…

Deze tracks zijn amper muziek te noemen, doch erg filmisch. En dat is een compliment, want het lijkt bij elke Spelonk alsof je een klankmuseum binnenstapt, waar je in elke hoek iets nieuws ontdekt.

Overblog (translaten from French)

The number 6 next to the name is indicative, as Rutger Zuydervelt, aka Machinefabriek, appears here at least twice as often due to his numerous collaborations, for example with Bruno Duplant for Edge of Oblivion in May 2024, or with Giovanni Di Domenico for Painting A Picture / Picture A Painting in June 2025. Alongside the many commissioned scores for films and various performances, he continues to develop a spontaneous personal body of work, such as this new album Spelonk (Cave), consisting of three pieces constructed from reworked improvisations in a relatively short time using effects pedals, an oscillator, and electronic processes. He doesn't like things to drag on, preferring to preserve some of their original spontaneity. A "short" piece, just over six minutes, followed by two longer ones, each about eighteen minutes long: "Spelonk" I, II, and III, quite simply. Rutger Zuydervelt invites us into a cavern, the cavern where the sculpted sounds of his universe are born. Light, radiant drones, rebounds and crackles, rising waves of deeper drones: we set sail on a strange vessel, for an underground journey, perhaps beneath ice—I still remember the beautiful Stillness soundtrack for Esther Kokmeijer's film, shot in Greenland and Antarctica. For one seems to hear tectonic movements in this environment where everything is muffled, as if vaporized. It is a world of tremors, of sketches, for ghostly apparitions. "Spelonk II" is even more diaphanous at the beginning. Rutger Zuydervelt works with intraluminal textures, if I may say so, textures that unfold in slow, sinuous movements, creating a shimmering sonic continuum, on the verge of vanishing, yet constantly reborn. Rhythmically punctuated by muffled percussive strikes, it's a journey through sumptuously strange landscapes, playing on powerful contrasts between heavy, abyssal bass and ultra-light, swirling, and erratic treble. Gradually, against a backdrop of loops, a hypnotic atmosphere takes hold, haunted by subliminal chants. And we arrive in the land of opaque mists, at the heart of a gently radiant substance... At the beginning of "Spelonk III," the materiality of the sounds intensifies. A bouncing ball, sonic clucking, and playful micro-commas create a Joan Miró-esque universe. The whole thing is once again carried by a buzzing, clawed, and fractured current. Something rises, invades, and sweeps along. Rutger Zuydervelt's music circumscribes the unnamable, giving form to invisible worlds. This time, one might say, "In his house at R'lyeh, the dead Cthulhu waits dreaming!" If here, in his own way, he is the musical cousin of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, Machinefabriek tames cosmic horror and distills its bewitching beauty.

Subjectivisten

...Maar nu is er dan weer een nieuw album, te weten Spelonk, uitgebracht op het prestigieuze Crónica label. Hoewel je de muziek van Machinefabriek niet per se in de kleine hoeken dan wel grotten hoeft te vinden, zal zijn publiek zich toch wel een beetje aan de schaduwzijde van de muzikale wereld bevinden. Het opent ook het jaar voor de NNM-serie, wat ik wel een mooi gegeven vind. Over de muziek zegt Rutger zelf:

“De drie nummers zijn opgebouwd met “hardware jams” die ik heb opgenomen met mijn live-setup. Het is allemaal vrij hands-on, met effectpedalen, een oscillator en elektronische gadgets. De magie ontstaat wanneer ik verschillende opnames combineer, ze over elkaar heen leg en luister naar wat er gebeurt. Luisteren is altijd een favoriet moment in het proces, met een welkome verrassing. Ik denk dat het erom gaat buitenaardse landschappen te creëren – ook buitenaards voor mij – die spannend zijn om te verkennen.”

Verder wil hij liever niks zeggen over deze 3 nummer, omdat hij vooral ruimte wil overlaten voor het plezier en aan de verbeelding van de luisteraar. Met dat laatste zit het wel goed. De nummers, simpelweg “Spelonk I t/m III” getiteld en met een totale lengte van dik 42 minuten, nemen je mee naar een plek buiten de realiteit en soms zelfs even weg van deze planeet. Het voelt als een bezinnend moment om even na te denken en tijd voor jezelf te nemen. Als kind was ik wel eens boos of verdrietig, maar vooral ook altijd in mijn hoofd bezig. Dan kon ik me wel eens terugtrekken en met de armen over mijn knieën gevouwen op mijn eigen plek gaan zitten om zo de dingen te overdenken. Zo voelt ook deze muziek, die op ongedwongen wijze je aanzet tot peinzen en even de boel de boel te laten. Het is een uiterst subtiel en verstilde mix van ambient, musique concrète, drones, neoklassiek, veldopnames en elektronische experimenten, die je -als je ervoor gaat zitten- niet onberoerd zullen laten. Tevens doet het filosofisch denken aan de allegorie van de grot van Plato. Een waarneembare, zintuiglijke wereld van de mensen met alle imperfecties versus een weerspiegeling daarvan waar de perfecte orde heerst en tijd geen rol speelt. “Alles wordt, niets is”, aldus Plato. En wellicht is dat ook het motto voor dit album, zij het dat dit niet niets is, Het is hoe dan ook een prachtalbum geworden, dat andere werelden dan wel nieuwe gedachten en dimensies opent.