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Even in an age in which DJs are bona fide touring phenoms and the SL-1200 has become close to a Les Paul-level icon, Philip Jeck has managed to make something different out of the medium-as-instrument dynamic of turntablism. For starters, his setup contains only vintage record players, such as the 180 Dansettes he fired up for his 1993 sound installation, Vinyl Requiem. And then there’s his method: multiple turntables playing at once, each spinning an aged disc taped off into loop-making lock grooves. Further manipulation, in the form of delay pedals and altered RPMs, results in an ever-changing web of vinyl crackles, garbled voices, and other sounds. As demonstrated on “Above,” the opening track from the English platter-spinner’s new Stoke, the overall effect is at once mesmerizing and disconcerting. Jeck’s DJ hands are busily at work on this eerie collage, layering needle scrapes and bell-like tones with a piercing hiss that hovers above the fray in strafing position. Before the cut’s six minutes are up, Jeck adds a manic piano motif and, finally, what sounds like the clanging of wind-swept pots. Most of Stoke’s pieces aren’t so busy, however: “Below” stretches a sitar almost to the breaking point as it twists through Jeck’s improvisations. “Lambing” plays an industrial hum off of monastic voices that rise and fall as if engaged in a breathing exercise. And “Pax” balances a moody whistling pattern with slowed-down vocals that seem to struggle to sing through Jeck’s sedative touch. Such ghost-in-the-machine evocations haunt Stoke throughout. Though Jeck manages to prove that old records can still sound very much alive, it’s their past lives that leave the biggest impression. —Mark Williams