It’s no revelation that in this hyper-digital age in which we live, freely available information and media has become increasingly essential for the increasingly impatient Google generation (see this interesting infographic).

Most artists are now expected to incentivise sales of their forthcoming releases by offering some sort of musical freebie to entice the consumerist minds of today’s net trawlers, while others opt to bequeath their entire catalogues for free in the hope of instead earning a living from hugely inflated merchandise sales (see this BBC interview with Odd Future; ignore the reporter’s condescension.)

In response, many labels have launched with the sole motivation of releasing free music purely for the love of it. Good news for the discerning collector, then. Notable examples include Cut Records (run by DFRNT), Origami Sound and Manifesto Music, which is run by the lads over at the ever-excellent Everyday Junglist blog. *Disclaimer, this digression is going somewhere. Keep an eye out for our special feature on free labels coming soon.*

Nonetheless, the latest release on the latter popped into our inbox the other day, so we thought we’d take a listen.

The eighth instalment in the Manifesto series comes from the Bay Area’s very own Aaron King, aka Anodyne Industries. Typically known for his fierce, industrial sound in both IDM and D&B, King delves slightly deeper with this 4-track offering. Opener Amenomibashira unravels with melancholic, flighty piano keys and Middle Eastern flute, building up to a remarkably subdued yet markedly evil drop. The growls and roars of neurofunk reign throughout, accompanied by faintly audible and sparse percussion that creates a deceptively sullen aura.

Despite its relatively mellow intro, Shadows On The Moon is more overtly aggressive, with its scatter-brain percussion, disturbing undertone of drone and singular mega-snare. Reconstruction continues on much the same vibe, but with the addition of the hilarious sample, “I’m going to make your face beautiful again, cut it off and give your body away”. I’d love to know what film that is from.

But Critical Space is undoubtedly the EP’s finest track as the ominous intro, complete with echoed whispers, tribal drums and minor strings, unfurls into a spacious alarm-riddled and sub-heavy journey through what feels like a futuristic nightmare, or a Resident Evil soundtrack.

Another prime collection of suitably eerie cuts from Manifesto Music here then, which sit tight with their, er, manifesto to “promote music in its purest form, true to its essence and free from corrupting and diluting influences”.

Download it here.

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