Get all 161 Flaming Pines releases available on Bandcamp and save 75%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of little feats, Stratigraphy, Magneto Mori: Brussels, Soundwalkscapes (volume 2), A Storm and its Aftermath, Cassette Album, Ultra Marshes, Bayt Yakan, and 153 more.
Excludes subscriber-only releases.
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Molten
04:08
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Dust Symphony No. 5
07:44
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Goldberg
07:06
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4. |
Cow
08:12
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5. |
Infinity
07:30
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6. |
Ginestra
03:46
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Flaming Pines London, UK
“Flaming Pines is itself a topography of hidden global sounds." The Wire.
We are a label focused on field recording, sound art and experimental ambient music.
If you like Ginestra, you may also like:
A Field Guide To Phantasmic Birds
by Kate Carr
supported by 17 fans who also own “Ginestra”
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Everywhere at the end of time
by The Caretaker
supported by 16 fans who also own “Ginestra”
one of those things that made me cry after the first listen, it's really important music, especially if you're just getting into it
go to albumsupported by 15 fans who also own “Ginestra”
A connected suite of miniatures, a densely layered city walkabout, with subtle extensions of metal touches into drones and rising/falling tones, birds sing along with suspense elements, a keenly observed, masterfully assembled set.
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SAD GODS presents "Singing for Survival - a Compilation for Project Onward"
by Various Artists
A stellar compilation featuring shoegaze and indie favorites like Drowse, Midwife, and Mount Eerie benefitting Project Onward in Chicago.
go to albumThe 17 mindbending songs on this compilation represent minimalist experimental music at its best, a collage of blips and static.
go to albumRecorded inside a nuclear cooling tower, this 25-minute album is distinguished by innovative sound design and musical ingenuity.
go to albumsupported by 15 fans who also own “Ginestra”
“Do you still dream in water?” she asks. He nods—“only when it rains inside.” Their words drift, slow like signal loss,, soft clicks between heartbeats. A drone hums overhead, its shadow stroking their faces. “Are we free now?” she whispers. He laughs, small, broken. “We’re just less afraid.” They share one headphone, listening to the city’s pulse— loops of breath, echoes of what could’ve been “Hold me,” she says. “I am,” he answers, “in the static.”
go to album