ryn Jones, AKA Muslimgauze, was always a prolific musician. He first recorded as Muslimgauze in 1982, inspired by the Russian and Israeli antagonism against Muslims to forge his unique aesthetic. Throughout his career, his music remained remarkably true to the core style he developed at this early point: simple electronic music, often veering towards ambient, flavored with Middle Eastern and traditional Islamic melodies and instrumentation. During the 90s, Muslimgauze released dozens of albums, often in extremely limited editions available only through mail order. Despite the limited nature of Jones’ recordings and his controversial political stance—invariably articulated much more clearly in his liner notes than in the actual music—Muslimgauze did manage to become a fairly prominent name within the avant-garde underground.


Following Jones’ sudden death in 1999, his already prolific release schedule has become even more crammed. Apparently, the Muslimgauze vaults are full of unreleased material, and this music has been quickly pouring forth in various art editions and mail order albums. The Staalplaat label, which released many of Muslimgauze’s later albums while he was still alive, has also been at the forefront of these posthumous reissues, even starting a subscription service for devout Muslimgauze followers.


Hamas Cinema Gaza Strip is just one of the many posthumous Muslimgauze records to come out this year, and like all of them it was only available in extremely low quantities. It also happens to be one of the best Muslimgauze albums I’ve heard. More structured and beat-oriented than many of Jones’ recordings—without dabbling in the kind of caustic noise that he occasionally indulged—this CD is a dense and beautiful trip through Jones’ conception of the Middle East, a place he never visited but sympathized with very deeply.


Throughout the album, the drums are mixed uncharacteristically high, giving an immediacy and dominance to the rhythmic elements of this music. The title track makes the best use of this style, placing the hollow-sounding drums above squirts of Middle Eastern melodies and a stately sampled string section. Another of Jones’ favored tactics is the incorporation of voices speaking in Arabic into his music. Throughout the opening “Yasser Arafat in Tunis,” female voices drift in the spaces between the restrained guitar and lively drumming. On “Hezbollah Radio Advert” (which sounds like it could be true to its name), a guttural voice makes its case amid abrasive drum textures and bursts of rumbling noise.


The entire album never veers far from this general style. The surprising “Rent A Hookah” is the one exception, with its bleeps and pulsating rhythms bringing it very close to pure techno territory. On the other end of the spectrum, “Islamiq Groupe” takes things down a notch, submerging the drums and concentrating on a slow, languid flow punctuated by hushed voices and throat-scratching whoops.


Other than that, the album remains relatively static, to both its detriment and its credit. The problem is one with the whole Muslimgauze catalog, to an extent: it all sounds a bit too samey. But while a few songs, most notably the closing two, may get a bit tiresome over their extended lengths, most of the album is textured and lovely enough to get by despite the lack of variety. Jones’ infamous pro-Islam, anti-Israel politics are confined, as always, to the sleeve design and (presumably) the Arabic spoken word segments, which means that Muslimgauze’s message still doesn’t have nearly the impact that the music does. Thankfully, the music on Hamas Cinema Gaza Strip stands on its own regardless of context or politics.