Collector, seeker and storyteller Charles Bals brings his curatorial finesse to Hamburg's Bureau B with Ambientale, a journey into otherworldly sounds from the years 1983-2000. Drifting effortlessly between digital exoticism, mellow fusion, new age groove and library electronics, the pieces range from largely obscure to utterly un-google-able, and coalesce into a stunning soundtrack to tranquil seas, desert sand and starlit skies. Cinematic and enigmatic, Ambientale is a stranger you've only just met but can't stop thinking about. A familiar face to those who dwell in the deep end of the record pool, Charles is an obsessive digger, always on the track of an otherwise unheard sound. Through two trips to "Club Meduse" and star-crossed lovers "America Dream Reserve" and "Black Rain," he's also established himself as a mixtape auteur, weaving together the strange and beautiful into evocative compilations that transport listeners to distinct, imaginative realms. While his previous sets resembled Super-8 vignettes, populated by sun-kissed hedonists and drifting outsiders, Ambientale sees Charles leave the human world behind, exploring all the world's wilderness on the scale of an IMAX epic. Bals opens his sonic travelogue with the bamboo flutes and resonant gongs of esteemed Italian maestro Luigi Ceccarelli, joined by the clean lines and Eastern tonalities of the little-known RanōBoru. The journey deepens with a double-feature from Tokyo composer Akira Mitake, sliding from dreamy New Age soundscapes into the lush groove of floral fusion. Digital rhythms and snaking bass add a Latin accent to the bouzouki of Individual Sensitivity's "Greece Ambientale," while the lilting percussion and shimmering synths of Steve Shehan's smooth jazz rarity "Evening In The Sahara" segue perfectly into a masterpiece of French Balearic from Private Joke. A smoky saxophone rises like mist, echoing through the rainfall on Adriano Maria Vitali's "Velvet Blue Circles," before Masami Tsuchiya pulls listeners into the depths with the aquatic ambience of 1983's "Never Mind," its electronic palette the perfect vehicle to ensure that Akira Mitake's "Spectrum" surprises, rather than startles, with its booming machine drums a superb point of difference. From there, we wander once more into the digital undergrowth, exploring the mystical and magical sounds of the Italian library ensemble Gruppo Sound, along with a rare glimpse of Blue Note new age from Gil Mellé. Police sirens and street noise signal our return to the city, forming the backdrop to the tumbling drums and moody electronic stabs of "Ship Out" by Ferris Wheel, an utterly unknown piece rumored to be a promotional track from a Venezuelan garbage company -- the final twist of intrigue to this otherworldly voyage.
