Arriving on May 21, the annual Circassian Day of Remembrance, Cherim’s Ğymaq doesn’t preserve tradition so much as dissolve and stretch it into something spectral. Built entirely from fragments of Ored Recordings’ archive, the album reconfigures Circassian vocal traditions, shichepshin violin, and pkhachich percussion into a mutable ambient language where rhythm often blurs into drone.
Voices — from traditional singers Ramazan Daur, Kazbek Nagaroko and others — surface as afterimages, refracted through reverb until they feel like transmissions from a distance. Chopped and pitch-shifted samples on “Ashemez” introduce a faint rhythmic pulse, but the focus remains on timbre and decay. This is not fusion. It’s residue, aligning with hauntological practices: the past as an echo that will not settle.
Cherim’
