CRACK

Purelink: Expanding Universe

03.04.25
Words by:
Photography: Raphaël Gaultier
Photography Assistant: George Goldberg

After the surprise success of their debut, Signs, Purelink found themselves at the forefront of a tidal shift in electronic music. As they ready their follow-up, Faith, the understated Chicago trio are learning that sometimes it’s the most unassuming voices that cut through the noise

“Never in a million years would I have expected this,” confesses Akeem Asani, one third of the band Purelink, on a mild March evening at Jones Bar in the heart of Ridgewood, Queens. “I can’t believe people are fucking with our chill-ass music. Every day, I try to take it all in.”

When Crack Magazine last spoke with Purelink in late 2023, the trio were new to New York City, having all relocated from their native Chicago around the same time as the release of their debut album, Signs. The near-universal acclaim for the record by respected tastemakers, including Resident Advisor, Pitchfork and Boomkat (who described it as: “like Geogaddi-era Boards of Canada blended with a Batu track at half-speed – whimsical but rhythmically impermeable”), put a much wider audience on to the band, the scope of which they weren’t quite prepared for.

Put another way: “We had been so used to the same ten people listening to our music, and the response shocked us,” laughs Ben Paulson. The feverish publicity led to the sort of opportunities often inaccessible to ambient acts in the early stages of their career – international tours, opening for their idols (among these they mention Tirzah and Astrid Sonne), end-of-year list rankings. In the world of ambient music, the pace of change can be glacial – even within the space of a 14-minute track – and when a breakthrough does happen, it’s barely perceptible to all but the most hardened underground heads. Purelink, however, set themselves apart in two notable ways – not only is their take on ambient techno especially warm, connective and human, they are a band of three close friends (Tommy Paslaski rounds out the group) working largely with their laptops and instruments, rather than a single, impenetrable figure ensconced in mountains of gear. 

 

 

They are the first to admit that they don’t live their lives in particularly unconventional or mysterious ways, or have a specifically esoteric method of making music: “We’re much more normal than people might expect,” Asani says with a grin.

“There are a lot of weirdos in our scene,” adds Paulson, “and that’s great, but it’s true – we’re all really normal.” They all self-identify as proud Midwesterners, who love their families and enjoy hanging out at the bar. Their energy is welcoming and easy to be around, which is perhaps not what one might expect based on the stereotype of the ambient recluse.

“I think part of the band’s charm,” Brian Foote, founder of Peak Oil, the label that put out Signs and whose platform helped elevate Purelink to the masses, tells me, “is that there aren’t a ton of groups making ambient techno, much less ones who smile.” Droll as Foote may sound, he’s right – the trio’s curious minds and affable natures led them to one another, this project and through all the doors that have opened for them over the past year and a half, including their move to New York City. Along with the release of Signs, the relocation marked the start of a new era for the trio, which has seen them settle into their roles as modest vanguards of a contemporary wave of ambient techno while continuing to propel their own sound forward.

Asani and Paulson had separately been considering heading to the east coast for a few years, what with the frequent back-and-forth for shows, DJ sets, day job duties and visits to family already in the area, but the success of Signs spurred the group into action. “It feels like there’s room to grow in New York,” Asani suggests, as the four of us squeeze into a cosy corner booth at their neighbourhood dive. “I don’t think we could do what we want to do in Chicago. I mean, I miss it. We rep  it. Sometimes I wish we could be doing  it there. But it feels like we need to be out here.”

 

There’s no question about the love Purelink have for their roots, from the camo Chicago Bulls cap Asani is sporting to the way the crew discuss legendary bars and DIY spots like Danny’s, Club Rectum and Laura. They swap stories about growing up in the suburbs – childhood friends Paulson and Paslaski in Libertyville to the north, and Asani in Winfield to the west – and making the pilgrimage to Chicago or Milwaukee to see live music. In fact, the guiding decision behind choosing this particular bar for the interview was that it reminded them of their hometown.

As a Chicagoan myself, I can’t help but agree. Dale Earnhardt memorabilia and multicoloured fairy lights deck the walls, and miraculously, you can get a Budweiser on tap for $3 – the Midwest vibes are strong. After politely asking the bartender to adjust the music’s volume so we can record our interview, the band promise to bring him a copy of the magazine when it’s out. For the next hour and a half, we get into the Purelink lore over Lone Stars and Miller High Lifes, the group’s three members excitedly finishing each other’s sentences. Amidst what they’re doing now, we recollect their similar indie-rock beginnings in high school, their love for the films of Paul Schrader and the complementary nature of their astrological signs (which are Virgo, Scorpio and Sagittarius – make of it what you will.)  

The indie music scene in Chicago is reasonably insular, so it was only a matter of time before Asani crossed paths with Paslaski and Paulson. He moved to the city for college and started gravitating towards electronic music, frequenting venues like Smartbar and the Hideout while DJing and producing as Millia. Paslaski and Paulson both went to college out of state but returned home after school, attending DIY shows of all stripes on a weekly basis and making ambient music (both solo and together) under various aliases, including kindtree and Concave Reflection.

 

One fortuitous day in 2019, Paslaski was browsing at Shuga Records, the shop where Asani worked, and they struck up a conversation. Soon after, the trio began going to shows and sharing their touchstone records with each other. “[We were on] this path of shared enthusiasm about the same types of music,” Paslaski reflects. “Club music, ambient-adjacent music, experimental music, lots of Basic Channel and Rhythm & Sound… Different types of indie music, dream-pop. Our first time jamming and making music together was in February 2020, and then everything shutting down, getting isolated…”

“We had nothing better to do [than make music],” Asani chimes in.

“[The music we were making] was a different kind of ambient from what was already going on in Chicago at the time,” Paulson notes from across the table, still clad in his puffer jacket. “There were lots of different flavours. We would go to those shows and enjoy the music, but it wasn’t necessarily our specific vibe.”   

“I will say, I always felt that there was never a shortage of ambient music being made in Chicago that was moving me and making me feel excited, like Matchess, TALsounds, Mukqs and Itsï [Ramirez],” Paslaski remarks. “But I never felt like there was a cohesive place where all of the things I loved could come together [until Purelink].”

The Second City helped Purelink hone their signature sound, find their footing as performers and thrive within a smaller DIY community. But longtime internet friends, more (and bigger) live bookings, and the possibility of making a name for themselves in a larger city beckoned. With more eyes on the band than ever before, the move to New York City became a chance to explore and evolve both musically and as people; a fresh beginning and, potentially, an opportunity to shake off preconceptions following the press’s labelling of the trio as torchbearers of the dub techno revival.

 

 

“It’s the 20-year trend cycle,” Paulson hypothesises when I ask him what factors he attributes to dub techno’s resurgence in popularity. “It’s a matter of fact – people forget [about the music], and then people who weren’t exposed to it [the first time] find it, and they’re like, ‘I’ve never heard anything like this before.’ That’s what happened to us.”

Much has been theorised about how, post-lockdown, hard-hitting, high-BPM dance music took over. But in the past year or two, there’s been a deliberate turn back to slower, more chill genres with roots in the 1990s, like trip-hop, minimal and dub techno. Think cult favourite a.s.o.’s self-titled 2023 album or Loidis’ One Day, which RA named Record of the Year in 2024. Loidis gave his take on the phenomenon frankly in an interview with the same publication: “The prevailing trends in dance music are more and more maximalist. I missed restraint, subtlety and sensuality.”  

Purelink certainly tend towards the subtle and the sensual, though I’d describe their music not so much as restrained, but as unbounded in its simplicity. The dub techno comparisons do hold weight, particularly given the group’s explicit fondness for the work of Moritz von Oswald and Mark Ernestus, and as Asani put it to Crack Magazine in 2023, “We like to wear our influences on our sleeves.” However, they don’t want to be pigeonholed, especially when they’re drawing from a broad spectrum of influences and given their proximity to more energetic dance music – Asani as a DJ and producer, Paulson and Paslaski more as ardent club enthusiasts.

“I have a very vivid memory of Tommy and Ben coming to my apartment in 2019… they put on Distance by Rhythm & Sound. It was an earth-shattering moment” – Akeem Asani

“I have a very vivid memory of Tommy and Ben coming to my apartment in 2019, and right before they left, they put on Distance by Rhythm & Sound,” remembers Asani. “It was an earth-shattering moment. I was like, this is the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. I’m more than happy to be a spokesperson for dub techno – we love dub techno and it will always be an inspiration to us – but I hope people can gather we’re not solely dub techno. Faith, [our upcoming album,] is not dub techno.”

“Brian [Foote] called us chillout music,” offers Paulson readily. “He said we were ambient techno and chillout music – like comedown, afterparty. And it’s nice to be in that realm! The KLF’s Chill Out changed me in a huge way.” 

“And it’s not only dub techno we love,” Paslaski clarifies. “We’re influenced by post-rock, bass music, shoegaze, electro-acoustic music, pop music…”

“Electro swing,” jokes Asani without missing a beat.

Parov Stelar’s debatable impact aside, the breadth of the band’s reference points, as well as their newfound focus on live performance, comes through especially well on Faith. As Purelink’s live bookings picked up after the release of Signs, they found themselves on bigger stages and in closer company with musicians they revered. So when the crew was asked to open for Tirzah at the Knockdown Center in August 2024, they knew they wanted to put together something special. Although their studio and live setups at the time were computer- and interface-heavy, they introduced live instrumentation for the Knockdown show, with Paulson and Asani taking turns on bass, and Paslaski playing the cello, in addition to their laptops and two CDJs running loops.

 

 

“That kind of set definitely inspired what we wanted the new music to sound like,” Asani explains. “More instrumentation, whether it be sampled or actual instruments, and being able to do it live in some capacity.”

“I think we saw that in the [warmer, acoustic-leaning] sounds we’d already tried before,” Paulson points out, “and we really wanted to see where it could take us. A lot of the music we like has that acoustic texture, where it feels more live and less digital. We’re completely digital, so to implement [a live element] in certain ways kind of breaks [us] free from some of the worlds we inhabit.”

While Signs was more widely and positively received than any member of Purelink initially expected, the hype didn’t change the manner in which they approached the recording process for Faith. Purelink like to think of themselves as a jam band in the studio – you can take the guys out of the Chicago suburbs, but you can’t take the Chicago suburbs out of the guys – and now, with the addition of live instrumentation, this characterisation feels more apt  than ever.

“Sometimes we’ll have a jam where it’s like, this happened and it felt good, and it turns into a composition. And sometimes it’s a product of willing it into existence and being patient and experimenting,” Paslaski muses.

“We try to make every moment count… This kind of music is about endless possibilities, but people get caught in the same tropes, and we’re trying to evade that as much as possible” – Ben Paulson

“We try to make every moment count in the music,” Paulson says. “And we come at it from almost a pop-writing way, like using a guitar progression where a vocal melody would happen. This kind of music is about endless possibilities, but people get caught in the same tropes, and we’re trying to evade that as much as possible.”

Another way Purelink experimented with the possibilities of their sound post-Signs was to involve vocalists, which they hadn’t done previously. All three members are quick to assure me they’re not singers or lyricists, so they reached out to musicians they knew and admired to see if they wanted to collaborate. Faith’s first feature comes from Hyperdub experimentalist Loraine James, who sings on the album standout, Rookie. Her voice anchors the track as it unfurls, Paulson’s guitar samples wispy in the background; it feels like a natural pairing, as well as a beautiful example of Purelink’s desire to branch out of their own world.

“It was easy to work with Loraine because we’d already played with her multiple times, and there was an instant connection,” Paslaski effuses. (Not to mention the pair share a birthday, down to the year.) “[We played together] at the Hideout in Chicago, she was on the Tirzah bill with us and we played the same day at Sustain-Release too. Akeem and Loraine were on the Sustain basketball team together!”

“We won!” Asani interjects. “It was so sick.”

 

 

“I don’t know if many vocalists would be as adept at taking on the type of music we make or if other people would connect with it as much,” Paulson expounds. “But we sent it to her, and a week later, she sent us exactly what you hear on the song. There was no editing, no re-record, nothing. It was the one thing, and it was, like, perfect.” 

The penultimate track on Faith features spoken word from the musician and MFA student Angelina Nonaj. It’s a particularly intimate moment on the record, calling to mind Félicia Atkinson’s delicate soundscapes. Nonaj’s contribution, the band informs me, is an excerpt from their thesis project. “I’m sharing with you some real life content, like – the way I make is purely informed,” ruminates Nonaj on First Iota. “Life, every day. Feelings mostly. The voice is real. I come up with what comes up, like – I’m on my way to get fake nails. Not everything beautiful has to be real.”

The poetics of Nonaj’s words resonate with me, but for others hearing this music, vocals may simply act as another texture, prescriptive only as much as a given listener desires. There are many modes of experiencing deeper, slower genres like ambient and dub techno; it can be more active, or more passive. You can choose to turn on, tune in or drop out.

“When you make ambient music, you’re in a daze,” Paulson elucidates. “It’s long hours of listening to the same stuff over and over again, searching for a feeling. You’re trying to lose yourself.”

 

 

“We’re seeking sounds where you can leave [the track] running and not get sick of it,” agrees Paslaski. “To get so engrossed by something that it almost takes you in.”

In this vein, there’s something to be said for exploring the permeability of your body in relation to its environment by listening to soothing sounds, instead of engaging in endurance-based feats of marathon clubbing. (Of course, the two are not mutually exclusive pastimes, and both experiences lower your blood pressure, but a balance is nice.) Paslaski shares an anecdote in which a friend who doesn’t normally listen to electronic music told him they fell asleep listening to Purelink, and was worried he would be offended by this. But he took it as a compliment, pleased his work was able to physically bring their body to a place where they could surrender to unconsciousness. 

A few hours after we depart Jones Bar, the Purelink crew and I reconvene at a house show in Bed-Stuy to take in some soothing sounds ourselves. You can see why this spot would appeal to a band with DIY roots: the living room is bathed in neon pink light, and you can hear the woozy thrum of the DJs in the basement from a speaker in the corner. Kielbasa skewers and bespoke cocktails are consumed in the kitchen, and downstairs, the tiny room is packed as the audience sways to Madjestic Kasual b2b Ian Kim Judd. Their eclectic selections nicely complement the homespun, acoustic elements of Faith.

In the midst of it all, Asani, Paulson and Paslaski move with a gentle magnetism, chatting with friends and among themselves. It’s clear they’ve already become comfortable in the city, using the change of scenery as an impetus to develop their sound and mindset as a group. The stakes have certainly shifted since the days of their incubatory pandemic studio sessions, but now, five years on, it’s safe to say Purelink are more than ready to take their music out of the nest and into the wider world.

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