No Mono - Islands (2LP) - White Vinyl

Some collaborations feel inevitable once you hear the right voices together. Tom Snowdon and Tom Iansek first crossed paths on #1 Dads’ Return To, with Snowdon’s gravity pulling Iansek’s sparse production into something haunting. No Mono takes that spark and builds a whole weather system around it. Islands arrived in two chapters in 2018, with Part 1 in May and Part 2 later that year, released through Pieater, and it plays like a single, slow exhale across both halves. The mood is nocturnal and patient. Nothing is rushed, but nothing meanders either.

Iansek’s production is the kind of restraint you only get from a studio head who knows when to leave space. He is known for Big Scary and #1 Dads, and you can hear that measured touch in the way synths hum against close-miked vocals, the way sub-bass swells are felt before they’re heard. Much of this was crafted in his Melbourne orbit, and it has that familiar BellBird hush, where keys, programmed percussion and breaths of reverb hang together in a dim room.

Butterflies set the tone early on. Snowdon’s voice seems to hover a few inches above the instruments, soft but never fragile, like it’s pressing right up against the mic. The track lifts in small increments rather than big drops, built on heartbeat pulses and flickers of choral harmony. Violence Broken is the gut punch. It creeps in with austere piano and then floods the room, proof that Iansek can turn a whisper into a wave without crowding the mix. Tidal Fight rides a different current, a little more kinetic, a little more teeth on the hi-hats, as if the duo is testing how far they can push the tempo without breaking the spell. Frostbitten, from Part 2, earns its title with glassy textures and a vocal that sounds like it has been sung into cold air.

What keeps Islands from drifting into pure ambience is the songwriting. These aren’t sketches. They’re sturdy songs with architecture, only the beams are hidden. Snowdon carries melody like a torch, and he never over-sings. He leans into long vowels, lets lines bend, then lands them with a phrase that snaps you upright. There are shades of James Blake in the silence, a little Radiohead in the thrum, but the chemistry is its own thing. Where #1 Dads often feels like a songwriter tidying the room, No Mono lets the mess glow.

The sequencing across both parts is a quiet triumph. Part 1 gathers the language of the record, introduces its pulse and palette. Part 2 tests that language against harsher weather. You can play them straight through and hear a single arc, which is how the Islands vinyl lands best. On a decent system, the low end blooms and the vocals sit at a human height. You catch tiny production choices that get lost on tinny speakers, like the air around a piano note or a synth that flickers at the edge of hearing. If you are the type who digs through a Melbourne record store on a Saturday, you’ll know why this is the pressing to chase. And if you prefer to buy No Mono records online, the double set that pairs both parts is the easy move.

A quick word for the skeptics who worry about slowcore drift. There is tension here. The duo is always working the edges of silence, shaping it. The percussion is often implied until it isn’t, and those moments land hard. When the choir-like backing vocals rise, it feels earned. When the bass opens up, it is a payoff, not a trick. It is music for late trams and quiet kitchens, for the walk home when the city is still humming and you are not ready to let it go.

If you are building a small shelf of Australian modern classics, Islands belongs there next to records that reward careful listening. No Mono albums on vinyl are not just merch for the faithful. They make the songs breathe. As a bonus, Islands vinyl tends to be well pressed, which suits music that lives in the softest parts of the spectrum. However you get it, whether you’re crate-digging among vinyl records Australia wide or clicking through a cart, you are getting a record that knows how to keep its secrets and still let you in.