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.

SilenceAndSound (translated from French)

An ultra-prolific artist constantly sought after for composing film scores, theater, and dance, Rutger Zuydervelt, aka Machinefabriek, has little to no time to create music free from external constraints and therefore purely personal, as is the case with Spelonk, developed during live improvisation sessions.

The three tracks are a plunge into an ocean of natural sounds, reworked with effects to create an electro-acoustic system of ethereal beauty, an immersion in three ambient universes with singular properties, sharing the same taste for meticulous craftsmanship, as everything is marvelously intricate and chiseled.

Spelonk combines the artist's multifaceted talents, blending haunting experimentation with the creation of worlds traversing space, to collide with the curves of immensity. Superb.

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.

Raised By Cassettes

Slow building, soft whirrs come on to where they are almost inaudible. Acoustic percussion type tones drop in now. Some whistling.  This feels very desolate, isolated.  Slowly, the percussion follows, like snippets of Phil Collins. A little bit of engine revving comes in now. This feels like you're watching a screen in solid color and every so often a ball will bounce across it in a different color, or a line will form a little wave. Tones come in now which make it feel a bit more dramatic and intense, like perhaps we're finding something we should not be.  This ends the first track, which is interesting because it sits at just over six minutes. The next two tracks are both around the 18 minute mark, which means this could be a 36 minute cassette but the first track wouldn't have a place.

Slowly building once again as we enter the second track. A little bit of a sharper almost rattling now, somewhat buzzing around like a fly as well. The way these sounds come through quietly through that ambient drone behind them make me feel like we're floating through space, just experiencing these things which can only be felt in space. Beeps now, like a touch tone phone. A little bit of a back and forth sonar now, like we're rocking in a boat on the waves of the ocean only in this case I suppose it could be space over water.  A somewhat muted explosion now and we seem to submerging into great depths. This can take on that feeling now like a submarine- dive! dive!  We are on the hunt for Red October. The way this begins moving now, it has picked up a rhythm which feels serious.

Very slight talking behind this, but it's slowly building to this steady pace that makes it feel like we're getting to our destination or at least we've been thrust out of the comfort zone of simply floating around. Some whirrs and such coming in now with the static skip grind. A ringing drone now, somewhat like the emergency broadcast system and it takes away from my left ear which just creates such an odd sensation. This can also just feel like someone playing the music on a keyboard, which can make for a sort of triumphant sound of making it through the hard times of space.  Whirrs cut through now like lasers being fired and this whole sound just feels like we're stuck in a loop. A little bit of tapping now, like glass tones.  Quieter now, little beeps are fading out.  

On the third track we have some beeping come in, like dragged out modem sounds, and then it also sounds like a ping pong ball is dropping across a table.  This is that slow electronics. There is an almost ominous way about this, which I really enjoy, as it can feel like we're about to dive into something else, perhaps somewhere we are not supposed to be. Still, it can also take on the sound of an Atari game, but one which is like a slow paced Pong. A slow whirr comes in behind the sound now, as if we're building to something more. This music is filled with much anticipation. Some scraping now, but also like a ball rolling around or perhaps someone searching for radioactive activity.  This can also, in its own way, feel like we are listening to some sort of an alarm.  

As we get closer to the end, it feels like something can be heard breaking and then this drone that's almost like a howl but not quite is coming in behind the scraping. The scraping sound comes to an end and it feels like we're just fading out now.  The sound is so minimal, but it can feel like it's coming through in waves still, and as we get to the end it drops from being at the level of 1 to 0, but it just kind of also hits all of those points in between. This entire piece of music can really make you question sound and how you hear it in terms of thinking about how quiet something can truly be. At times it might feel like you've reached that lowest volume setting, but then there will be a way for it to some gradually decrease in volume until it is completely quiet.  

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.

Etherreal (translated from French)

Followed intermittently on these pages, Machinefabriek is one of those artists too prolific to allow for exhaustive reviews of his releases. It is therefore with an album on Crónica (a label also followed sporadically) that we rediscover the Dutch musician, nearly twenty years (!) after the last review of a solo album. Spelonk, with its simply numbered track titles, presents itself as a soundtrack intended for visuals (film or dance performance, it's not specified) and created with a few effects pedals, electronics, and an oscillator. Quite abstract and minimalist, the result offers eclectic tapping, subtle feedback, and various manipulations, without the whole thing ever sounding overly cerebral. Indeed, a certain warmth, even a soulfulness, shines through throughout the album's forty-odd minutes, even when Rutger Zuydervelt brings more metallic elements to the fore or when sharper notes pierce the sonic continuum (the middle of Spelonk II). Without ever becoming uncomfortable to listen to, the Dutchman offers a reflection on the somewhat random combination of his different materials, coupling basic tinkering with micro-rhythms or feedback-like sounds. Similarly, the pairing, at the beginning of Spelonk III, of a bouncing object (like a ping-pong ball) and highly synthetic bleeps, almost reminiscent of the 80s, makes the piece appealing and stimulating, as does, later on, the combination of a distant breath and scattered sonar-like touches.

Chain DLK

There is a particular kind of honesty in artists who admit they occasionally need to escape their own commissions. Not dramatically, not with some tortured manifesto, just quietly stepping aside to make something that answers to no one. With "Spelonk", Rutger Zuydervelt, better known as Machinefabriek, does exactly that. No brief, no external narrative, no polite obligation to synchronize with images or choreography. Just sound, left alone to see what it becomes.

Released on Crónica, the album consists of three long pieces, austerely titled "I, II, III". Which is either refreshingly minimal or mildly passive-aggressive, depending on your tolerance for conceptual restraint. Either way, it sets the tone: this is not a record interested in guiding you. It barely acknowledges your presence.

Zuydervelt’s process here is deceptively simple. “Hardware jams”, he calls them. Oscillators, pedals, small electronic devices, hands moving, decisions made in real time. But the real work happens afterward, in layering and recombination, where fragments of improvisation are folded into each other until something coherent, or at least compellingly unstable, emerges. The emphasis on listening as a phase of composition is crucial. These are not performances captured; they are environments discovered.

The title "Spelonk" translates roughly to “cave”, and the metaphor holds. Not in the cliché sense of darkness and echo, but as a space that reshapes perception. Inside a cave, distance behaves strangely, sound reflects unpredictably, and your sense of orientation quietly dissolves. That is more or less what these pieces do.

“Spelonk I” opens the record with a relatively contained exploration. Textures flicker in and out, like light filtering through an unseen opening. There is movement, but it feels cautious, exploratory. The piece seems to be testing the acoustics of its own world, sending out signals and waiting for their return.

Then comes “Spelonk II”, which expands everything. Duration stretches, layers accumulate, and the sound field thickens into something closer to a living organism than a composition. Low frequencies pulse beneath granular surfaces, while higher elements drift like debris in slow motion. It’s immersive without being overtly dramatic, which is harder to achieve than it sounds. Many artists equate length with significance. Zuydervelt simply lets time pass and trusts that something will reveal itself within it.

By “Spelonk III”, the album reaches a kind of equilibrium. Not resolution, exactly, but a steady state where the elements coexist without needing to assert dominance. The piece breathes. It contracts and expands subtly, maintaining a tension that never quite resolves into narrative. If the previous track was exploration, this feels like habitation.

Zuydervelt has been refining this kind of practice for years, moving fluidly between commissioned work and more personal releases. His discography under the Machinefabriek name is vast, often orbiting themes of memory, texture, and spatial perception. What distinguishes "Spelonk" within that body of work is its immediacy. There is less mediation here, less conceptual framing. The sounds feel closer to their source, even when they become abstract.

That said, “immediacy” does not mean simplicity. The album’s strength lies in its balance between control and unpredictability. Each layer is carefully placed, yet the overall effect retains a sense of discovery. You can hear the process thinking, adjusting, reacting.

There is also a quiet refusal embedded in the record. In an era where music is often optimized for context - film, playlists, background consumption - "Spelonk" resists utility. It does not accompany anything. It does not explain itself. It exists, patiently, asking only for attention.

Which is, admittedly, a demanding request.

But if you grant it, the reward is a set of spaces that feel strangely alive: alien, as Zuydervelt suggests, but not hostile. Just unfamiliar enough to remind you that listening, when taken seriously, is still a form of exploration.