"Eine Augenweide. Klas Augustsson's Artwork und Handschrift, die alle Häpna-Veröffentlichungen so unverwechselbar machen, kommen im LP-Format dieser polnischen Liebhaber-Lizenz - Häpna selbst bietet gleichzeitig die erweiterte CD-Version an (H.41) - erst voll zur Geltung. Auch das Wiederhören von Milieu, 2003 zwischen Opera und Rideau der zweite Häpna-Release von Andreas & Johan Berthling und Tomas Hallonsten, wird, zerlegt in vier Etappen, etwas, das man zelebriert. Die leichte Gefahr bei Tape besteht nämlich darin, die minimalen Finessen als ambientes Einerlei, wie angenehm auch immer, an sich vorbei wehen zu lassen. Das Plus, der Mehrwert - von vier Bonustracks mal abgesehen - der zarten Gitarrenzupfer, der träumerisch verstreuten Pianonoten, sporadisch hingehauchten Saxophonklänge und Lapsteeltwangs und seltsam nebulösen Melodikasounds, das durch elektronisches Gesprenkel und Gewölk und silbriges Altweibersommergespinst gewoben wird, entfaltet in der verlangsamten und bewussteren Wahrnehmung der so delikat ins Überwirkliche gesponnenen Gedulds- und Traumfäden erst ihre ganze Zeitvergessenheit. Die vielleicht nur ein anderes, ein organisches Zeitbewusstsein ist - der lange Atem von langsam wachsenden Bäumen ("Oak Player", "Crippled Tree", "Golden Twig") oder gar Schwämmen ("Sponge Chorus"), die Beharrlichkeit von Wurzeln ("Rocked Root", "Root Tattoo"). Andere mögen dabei ans idyllische Mumintal denken, mir kommen Benns Tiertage und Wasserstunde in den Sinn, sein Algenblatt, das sich gegen die Evolution stemmt. Tape genügt es, wenn die Götter die Zeit eine zögernde Stunde anhalten, wenn der Sommer sich anlehnt und den Schwalben zusieht, wie sie die Fluten streifen und Fahrt und Nacht trinken."

"Issued in a limited 500-copy run, Milieu plus is the gorgeous vinyl edition of Tape's sophomore release Milieu (Häpna) that supplements the material laid down at the original 2003 recording session with four additional tracks. Spreading a dozen pieces over four sides may mean that the unified impression of the CD presentation is diminished but it's a small price to pay when the transparent yellow vinyl glows so beautifully on the turntable. On the follow-up to Tape's 2002 Opera debut, the Stockholm-based trio of Tomas Hallonsten and siblings Andreas and Johan Berthling meld a mini-orchestra of sounds-acoustic guitar, organ, banjo, violin, harmonium, trumpet, electronics, field recordings, and more?into enveloping sonic webs. The limpid pools that result transcend any one genre to become instead organic amalgams where a harmonica's wheeze, vibraphone's glow, and accordion's shimmer peacefully co-habit. The mood is generally peaceful and the pace unhurried, and the meditative ambiance imbues the music with wistful and nostalgic character. There are standout moments-the heavenly chord progression in "Augustan Chateau" is particularly lovely, and the subtly countrified breeze of melodica, steel guitar, and vibes that blows through "Golden Twig" is pretty too-but the impact of Tape's sonic aviaries is more cumulative than individually track-based."

"Let me state that I am not a purist when it comes to the format. I like vinyl, I like CDs, and, for popmusic only, MP3s, so as far as that I am happy with 'Milieu' by Tape on CD, as reviewed back in Vital Weekly 399: "The first CD by Tape was reviewed in Vital Weekly 350 and that CD was received well (even when I didn't write that review). Tape is a trio of the brother Berthling (Johan and Andreas) and Tomas Hallonsten. They play a wide variety of instruments from banjo to computer to harmonium to piano to field recordings. Slow and peaceful melodies played on acoustic guitar and steel guitar, while the recordings of domestic sounds hoover somewhere in the back. They list a number of influences, but of all those, I see Gastr Del Sol fit best, alongside with Jim O'Rourke's solo work. Eight sketch like pieces of music, intimate yet powerful. Such diverse elements and yet such a coherent CD. Maybe what Tape does is not new (see Gastr Del Sol, even when Tape is full on acoustic), but it's of great beauty. It combines experiment and song structures, it combines structured composition and improvisation. Less is more is the adagio of this CD. And of course on Hapna, one of the very few labels that is still worth collecting." It's still a review to stand by. In the meantime Tape produced more music, had a remix CD, and toured quite extensively, always displaying their qualities in a soft, pop tone with enough experimental edges. On this 2LP you'll find the original 'Milieu' album plus four tracks that were produced around the same time, but were not released on tape. The addition of some vinyl crackles make this altogether even more charming I think - this album is pressed on yellow vinyl, which looks great, but may not sound as the best around. It's a most welcome re-issue, which looks great as a record of course, but it's the timeless music that really makes the difference. (FdW)"

"This litle beaut nearly passed us by completely, thank god it didn't. Tape's second album manages to slightly outclass their debut offering 'Opera' by building up their uniquely passioned embrace of the world of live acoustic instrumentation. Tape is a trio from Stockholm, Sweden, building their music from a whole array of acoustic instruments, subtle electronics and field recordings. This eight track album manages to combine warm sonics with a slight abstract angle seemingly without any effort at all through the use of banjo, violin, organ, harmonium, accordion, harmonica and trumpet (plus around 10 other exotic instruments). To spotlight individual tracks is not necessary it's the joy you'll arrive at through listening to this album from start to finish that'll really make you fall in love with this CD. At time joyful and at others sadly beautiful, bringing to mind the aura of Mark Hollis' post Talk Talk debut album from 1998. I really can't recommend this album highly enough. Please check it out."

"Tape is quiet. There are no jarring noises, though some easily could have been, but a smooth ride into your own moments of private awe instead. It is thick with the kind of emotions that aren't worth talking about, the kind that you feel very deeply but can never even begin to explain. Tape is just as complex and simple as these emotions are. They can only be expressed by telling of the moments you feel them in, or listening to Tape. In "Oak Player," I'm on a lake in Sweden for the first time. The boat is low in the water, so that it seems it may flood in at any time. The subtle cymbals are my nervousness, since I don't like it when I can't see the bottom where there is water. The horns that swell in and out are my absorption with the event, with the fact that I have never been on a Swedish lake before. Each sense is more alive than it would be in routine life. The smell of the forest on one edge of the lake wafts my way; the aroma is filled with pine needles and the reassuring scent of decay. The sun is warm without being harsh. The water is cool and refreshing. The boat rocks gently back and forth, and I soon get over my fear of being plunged into the water and start to enjoy the gentle, motherly motion. "Sponge Chorus" describes the rippling that the subtle breeze makes on the surface of the water. I watch idly for any aquatic creatures, but only catch a few glimpses of silvery fins swishing away. It is just me on the lake. I can hear people on the shore, but they are too far away to be more than a murmur. The sound of a tape recorder in the background of "Sponge Chorus" is my brain in thought, loving every minute of this undemanding day. Back on the shore, I am watching a small boy play by the water in "Crippled Tree." He doesn't pay attention to me, and has probably forgotten that I am even watching. He's too fascinated by strange things in the mud at his feet. He has chosen a small stick with one branch extending off of it and is poking at the things near his feet. There is mud splattered in the most unlikely places on him, but he doesn't care. He might be looking for rocks, or frogs, or a dragon's tooth. Or maybe he isn't even looking for something, but playing one of those games that only kids can make up, where the rules are whatever they want them to be. "Edisto" is an exploration into the sun-dappled woods. My friend leads me, explaining what some of the plants are and the general ecosystem of the forest, but I'm barely listening. I merely nod my head, while my eyes scan from side to side. It's rather out of character for me, but I don't care what anything is or why it lives there. I'm just interested in it. There are strange, natural things that I have never seen before. I stop to examine things as much as I can, almost afraid to touch, as if it were a museum. In "Golden Twig," my friend has invited a few people to the lake. We sit around, drinking liquor and talking about trivial things, enjoying each other's company. A couple of people have decided they want to teach me funny sayings in Swedish, and I've had enough to drink to not be shy about it. A few others are entertaining each other with amusing stories, in both Swedish and English. The cool night air and the lake echo our voices back to us comfortingly. All of us feel very secure and peaceful. I wake up early the next morning, for no reason other than that early morning is a wonderful time of day. I make coffee, though no one else is yet awake, and sit out in the grass to drink it. The red cottage that we are staying in has been by this lake for a long time, and there are ruins of older homes in the woods. So I let my mind wander, imagining the different things that might have been happening nearby one hundred or five hundred or a thousand years ago. I hear the faint scraping in "Long Bell" as if a man is sharpening his sword against a huge granite boulder. My friend is the next person up. He stealthily joins me, carrying his own cup of steaming black coffee. We say nothing to each other. After so many years of friendship, you know you don't have to. Just sitting there together is enough, even if you are thinking of different things. We watch the natural world move around us. I am filled again with child-like wonder that is so beautiful, it feels like it will break my heart. The album ends with "Switchboard Fog." I know I am going to have to leave the lake, so the last moments by it take on an extra sense of poignancy than what they would have had if I could stay. My mind is half on the journey ahead and half consumed with trying to remember each detail of the present. My heart is filled with the music of slow, sad string instruments. I was really hoping for something that would be relaxing today, and this was exactly what I needed. There is nothing more relaxing to me than a good, long session of vivid daydreams. If my imagination ever turns barren, I'll turn to Tape for refreshment. 9/10"

"Tape are a family trio of sorts. The Berthling brothers (Johan runs the Häpna label and has previously collaborated with Oren Ambarchi) call upon Tomas Hallonsten to help flesh out their muted, down-played vision. Arcing around a core of folk-drawn acoustic guitar, harmonium, and electronics/tapes, the band flesh out their songs with an armory of sparingly applied instrumentation and the odd special guest... if 'flesh out' is an appropriate term for such wildly understated music. You could try to hinge it into some kind of post-rock, instrumentalist tradition, but Milieu is far too slippery and interesting to sit well within such a backward context. Parts of Milieu are a little reminiscent of the psychedelicised folk song-forms of San Francisco's Blithe Sons, but Tape have their own character: a hidden, humble, yet generous approach to piecing together their music; an elaborate take on an utterly charming modesty. On "Crippled Tree," a field recording documents a young lady calling out to her pet, a conversation between two men, the crunch of grass and dried weeds against shoes, the soft flurries of wind against microphone. Tape drop winding spools of acoustic guitar and tiny flickers of piano into the piece. You could imagine these sounds, drenched in reverb and made 'mysterious,' making up the core of some negligible, vapid New Age floatation ? the most unfortunate sound next to silence. But Tape leave the sounds alone, letting their natural resonance ring out. "Crippled Tree" sounds like a trio of quiet, introverted musicians who've happened upon inhabited parklands. Unsure of why or where, they just settle into the context and play, softly. If the trio?s music reminds me of anything, it's the instrumental pieces that David Grubbs dotted through his past two solo albums, The Spectrum Between and Rickets and Scurvy. Small threads of acoustic guitar are tied together in unexpected weaves and tangles, left to figure their own way back to their original configuration, while armies of small sounds continually break the main motifs? concentration. Tape repeatedly garland their folkish, lilting melodies with beautifully incongruous asides, like the electronic burbling and cutlery clatter that etches its way through "Golden Twig." That the same track features some wonderfully hammy lap steel guitar is another indication of Tape's ability to force several disjunctive sounds together into lovely, arch miniatures. So it's 'lovely', 'charming', and 'beautiful' ? but also quite moving, in its own adroit manner. Tape evince a certain dryness of approach; they never overstate the cause. Thirty-two minutes, eight songs, sparsely arranged and gorgeously played. In a world of bald, bored exaggeration, such restraint and humility makes for a pleasant change of scenery. At the very least."

"When I first heard the music of Tape, it was like a breath of fresh air. Opera was a slab of super-subtle, slightly manipulated folk music that found its way into my heart quickly and my CD player even more often. Musically, Milieu is very similar to their debut album, and although it doesn't stray much from the path that the group laid down on their first disc, it still shows there is fertile room to explore. As mentioned in my previous review, this trio makes use of an absolutely huge variety of instrumentation. Besides guitar, synths and computers, they make use of banjo, violin, horns, vibraphone, and all kinds of other things. Their overall sound is very nocturnal, with fragile melodies ever-so-slightly manipulated and pulled into a backdrop for a quiet night under the stars. Tracks still take their time in reaching a destination, but never stretch out so long as to become boring. The disc opens with "Oak Player," a track that opens with a vibraphone melody that weaves through some gentle acoustic guitar and a layer of electronic fluttering and soft percussion. Like most of their music, it's not a track for the impatient, as it slowly pulls together more and more until there is a restrained moment of celebration at the end (replete with horns). "Sponge Chorus" makes even more use of electronic effects, as horns, keyboards, guitar, and loads of squiggly sounds all move along the floor of the ocean, only surfacing on occasion. Although electronic filtering definitely plays a large part in the release, Milieu is still a disc that breaths with a very organic life. "Golden Twig" wheezes with harmonium, but feels downright tropical with what sounds like lapsteel and tons of other vibrant flourishes. It's easily one of the best tracks on the release, and probably one of the best that the group has ever done. The same goes for the album closer of "Switchboard Fog," a slowly-building track that makes great use of a very few piano flourishes and a steady rise on an accordian. Although a couple tracks work too similar of a theme ("Root Tattoo" and "Edisto"), this is another little gem of a release from a group that seems very content to not make a huge racket. Your new soundtrack for relaxing. "

"The Stockholm-based trio of multi-instrumentalists ? Andreas Berthling, Hapna boss Johan Berthling, and Tomas Hallonsten, all of whom blend their acoustic instruments with tape recordings and computer improvisations ? are clearly quite comfortable with genre-crossing. But unlike a lot of contemporary ?experimental music,? the genres involved aren?t necessarily free improvisation and new music composition. Instead, this gentle, open-ended music bears the sonic imprint of folk and psychedelic music. The electronics here buzz with the tonal friendliness of some of Jim O?Rourke?s more recent recordings (e.g. a fusion between the acoustic, quasi-Americana of Bad Timing and the burbling glitch-pop of I?m Happy . . . ), but one can certainly also detect the influence of Fennesz and Gastr del Sol. Open acoustic guitar strumming mixes with brass cadences and clawing, scratching electronic eruptions. The brief, almost gnomic tracks are complex despite their relative accessibility; they are much more songlike and a good deal more accessible than the pieces on Tape?s previous disc, Opera. They allude, they gesture, and they intrigue but are marked by a reserve, almost a musical shyness. For example, the sweetly melancholic piano and guitar on ?Crippled tree? grow close to wearing their emotions on their sleeves, as it were, but are soon shrouded by a hurdy-gurdy drone or the crackle of feedback. In this tentativeness, I was reminded of a similar effect achieved by Thom Yorke?s voice on Radiohead?s Kid A: desperately shielding or muffling its most enchanting, sensitive qualities. There?s a fragility to Tape, almost as if they?re not sure they actually want to be saying anything, content instead simply to luxuriate in the bed of sounds. At only a half hour, this disc might seem too brief. But this dark-hued lullaby of a record is elliptical and effervescent enough to satisfy."

"Intelligent Dance Music has become a much heralded thing, but intelligent ambient's just as difficult to pull off without landing in snoresville. In that vein, Stockholm, Sweden's Tape succeeds where other "folktronica" acts noodle themselves into a corner or fall prey to an over-determined laptop. On Milieu, the trio's second album, the compositions are carefully and emotionally layered, a midnight Fahey/Parch pantomime against a rusted silo. Birthed patiently by lamplight, Milieu's unspoken landscape is inhabited by a sleepytime progression of percussive washes, analog whirls, acoustic arpeggios. Beneath it, there's a sense that the ever-present vibraphone and glockenspiel are tapping out a secret language. It follows the tone set by its successor, Opera, but the nocturnal rumbles are more tuneful with less static downstrokes. Overall, there are more flourishes to rustle the upper branches: Andreas and Johan Berthling and Tomas Hallonsten blend acoustic instruments, electronics and field recordings in a way that shows the stitching but isn't collagist. It's the barroom mope of Tom Waits' Closing Time re-approached by Tortoise. Or perhaps it's just easy listening. The tracks are brief and contain enough spaciousness to allow counterpoint and rhythmic variance, but also solid melodies and even hooks. Some kindred spirits are Cincinnati-based Joshua Treble, Tim Hecker, Talk Talk, a less avant Gastr del Sol, or an ultra-concise Fennesz. The closest approximation for me, however, is The Books, though Tape show more restraint and are apt to stick to a single voice rather than to pour all the samples on the table. The album opens with "Oak Player", a gentle folk recital with vibraphone, guitar arpeggios, bells, flutters, brushed cymbal taps and rides, synth notes, chimes, and maybe a harmonium, among other things. I once saw a guy in a tuxedo play an orchestra of variously filled water glasses, and this comes close to eliciting similarly understated awe. There isn't much to it, but what's there is done skillfully. It's the kind of compositional purity that people often mar with sappy vocal samples or clips, and here they continue the firefly minuet without puncturing the spell. For me, it's a late Spring night on a roof in the suburbs-- catching the honeysuckle smell of an overgrown lot across the street-- listening to the street lights turn off and on and off. Buds, birds and unopened flowers emerging from a cardboard box. "Sponge Charms" continues treading between melancholia, nostalgia and joviality. Horns, keyboard, and guitar are backed by a tableau of static and loosening cables that drift through the same soporific ring of the first track: tiny toys walking in twos, cricket cut-ups, the aquatic-evoking sounds of a tape rewinding, New Years noise makers muffled beneath a foot of snow and ice and performed as accompaniment to a waltz. The track empties out with the sweeping sounds of dried weeds, sand, pine needles, underwater monsters-- a small-scale take on Nurse With Wound's Salt Marie Celeste, but in a cedar pond. There's a definite sense of submersion. Otherwise, I love the sloppiness of the synthesizer on "Golden Twig": The garish highs and lows mop over the lapsteel and vibe as accented flutters move between speakers like insects escaping a net, butterflies losing their maps, someone choreographing a bug light. And on "Switchboard Fog", the album's strongest track (and its closer), you can feel another sort of agglomeration, a ragtag orchestra of tired hobos building to a rousing crescendo of piano, accordion, synthesizer, and violin and finally getting it right: One note at a time leaps to an ecstatically lilting, jam-packed ending. It's actually heartbreaking, like the finale of some tear-jerk film. A number of these eight tracks create similar epiphanies, like you're bearing witness to a colt being born in some stable somewhere-- all damp and new and creaky on its legs, looking left and right and figuring what this new container involves, if escape's a possibility. It can be unwise to make effusive claims for tiny music, but by allowing the space for this sort of interpretation, Tape's creation also increases in size. These Swedes never come forward to say much about who they are or what they're doing; they allow the music to amble with charmed grace, leaving it to you to provide the picture. [7.9/10]"