Pluto’s music has the quality of a planetary emission. Signals emerge from a pall of tape hiss like alien frequencies warped by interference. Percussive vibrations orbit tones so remote they blur at the edges. It is as if Pluto’s melodies exist beyond some horizon—they are only partially available to us, distorted by thick ether.

Untitled belongs to a sonic idiom specific to Queensland, Australia—one set in motion by Breakdance the Dawn and refined by Essential Minerals. Pluto is a part of both circles, pioneering an ur-music where tonality reaches a minimum threshold. On Untitled, he infuses this mode with a raw melancholy, tempering it into something oddly affecting.

Detroit nark boys Traag can twist a cheap mixer and some tape loops into electro hallucinations. Weekend Vacation 2 slithers between lo-fi dancefloor gyrations: Drum patterns lurch at mid-tempo, cut with bonehead samples and bass signals so crusty they fizzle like Moon Mist Faygo. A subtle boogie runs throughout, lending even the wasted tracks an addictive playability. Traag marshals a freakshow of mutant hooks—part techno, part disco, part cockroach—to savage effect.