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Charmaine Lee is a firebrand Australian-born, NYC-based noise artist and improviser known for her unflinching approach to experimental vocal performance. Her music moves between cosmically charged masses of sound and distinctly embodied utterances, insisting firmly against the notion that sonic experimentalism and play could be anything other than boldly human. A spectral collage of twisting gestures that deftly dance between explosive plosives, resonant growls and gurgles, tongue trills, and cheek pops, the sound worlds Lee creates seep out an ambient glow of her unique influences and the personal practice built upon them. Fresh from a sprawling, lightning-fast run of performances through all fifty US states on her Awaken The Dragon tour, Lee's herculean approach to musical dynamism appears something like a perpetual motion machine: mesmerizingly potent and propelled by mystical force.
The tour celebrates the release of Lee's new album, Tulpa, which just earned its rightful place in Bandcamp's list of the Best Experimental Music of 2025, and presents her unique sonic language at its most charged—frenetic gestures of vocal techniques and electronic processing resonate tube amps at the edge of feedback, culminating in the reflective mirror pool of a calm, Noh-inspired duo track with Ned Rothenberg. Released at the end of October 2025, Tulpa emerged alongside three other new and exceptional releases from the initial cohort of Lee's new artist-led record label, Kou Records. Founded alongside Randall Dunn, an acclaimed engineer, producer, and composer known for collaborations with Sunn O))), Stuart Dempster, and Oneohtrix Point Never to name just a few, Kou Records centers the idiosyncratic and process-based approach that makes Lee's music feel simultaneously fresh and timeless. We reviewed the first release from Kou Records over a year ago, a collaboration between Lee and legendary electronics improviser Ikue Mori, and after a patient wait for more captivating sounds, are over the moon to be able to spin the first full cohort of albums.
Included in these new releases from Kou are the first solo instrumental records from improvisers and composers Jessika Kenney and Eyvind Kang, as well as a solo drumming record from a young and exciting Korean-born, Australia-based improviser, Chloe Kim. Kenney's Uranian Void hears their globally inspired mastery of pitch and resonance turned inward, a seance of self which travels between warmly held vocal tones, whispered reflections, and electronic utterances. Kang's Riparian offers two contrasting microtonal modal pieces improvised on viola d'amore, braiding bending pizzicato songs into meditative bowed passages like interwoven streams discovered on a wandering woodland path. Chloe Kim's Ratsnake takes a more forward and explosive approach informed by jazz, new music, and Korean percussion, drumming up daring passages of punctuated melodic loops that explode and spill out as textural mass, kinetic energy inevitably dissolving into states of calm undulation.
I was lucky enough to catch Lee's recent Los Angeles show at 2220 Arts & Archives, which featured herself, Kenney, and Kang alongside Yan Jun, another tremendously talented voice and electronics improviser based in Beijing. Culminating in a group performance, the air in the venue encircled into coalesced forms like sand patterns caught in standing waves, a clear testament to the creative power of Kou's central premise, putting intergenerational and idiosyncratic improvisers in close conversation. Celebrating Kou's exciting set of inaugural releases and the surely supreme sounds soon to come, I touched base with Lee after the tour to talk about her trip around the country, the work she and Dunn are doing at Kou, and to trace a sense of her unique perspective on building a personal language in improvised music. Read the full interview below!
An Interview with Charmaine Lee
Perfect Circuit: You've just finished a major US tour through all 50 states—how has it been exploring the country at such a rapid pace? Have any specific places or experiences surprised you?
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Charmaine Lee: I’ve been home less than a week from the tour. Spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually, I feel like I took an ice-cold bath and came out with a kind of clarity I’ve never experienced before. I’m somehow more grounded in my creative and personal life and, at the same time, more aware of how much I don’t know. That combination feels strangely invigorating.
Physically, I’m completely exhausted! I got super sick the minute I returned—my body basically screamed at me after holding on for over a hundred days. It’s no joke how extreme the climate changes are moving through the country, sometimes within the same afternoon. And I had to constantly shift between very social environments and long stretches of solitude, or driving through quiet landscapes with my partner Randall Dunn. Coming home after that is its own kind of transition.
It will probably take years to process everything. One thing that’s stayed with me is how many communities we encountered doing transformative work outside the spotlight. For example, we performed at Pine Ridge Reservation on a Lakota skatepark organized by Kyle Mesteth of Ground Control. Watching him uplift his community with few financial resources was incredibly moving. These aren’t people receiving major grants or patronage, yet Kyle shows up every single day for the people around him. It made me believe that one of the strongest political forces in the US right now is small-scale solidarity—people showing up for each other even when larger systems don’t incentivize it. Especially in an era where social-media algorithms reward the most nihilistic outlooks, seeing that everyday commitment felt deeply inspiring.
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[Above: Charmaine performing at a Lakota skatepark in Pine Ridge, South Dakota]
PC: It seems clear to me that both personal relationships and your relationship to your instruments and tools are key to your work as an improviser, but are places, environments, and your movements between them important to your artistic perspective?
CL: They’re absolutely central. For me, live music is about 90% environment, audience, and sound system, and only about 10% pre-conception. Soundcheck is vital because it’s where I figure out the personality of a space, how far I can push things, and what parts of my vocabulary really “pop.” I’m constantly adapting to the context—reverberant halls, underground basements, techno clubs, tiny bookstores. My music meets the space but doesn’t depend on it in the way, say, an organist’s does.
PC: I've been really inspired by the personal ethnography you wrote outlining your experience building a personal practice in improvisation with voice and electronics, walking through the development of your vocal style, experimentation with microphones and amplification, and eventual adoption of modular synthesizers and other tools. What advice would you give to instrumentalists looking to bring electronics into their practice?
CL: If you’re working with amplified sound at all, electronics are already part of your practice. Even a single microphone changes how your instrument exists in space, so understanding that relationship is crucial. It’s not just about amplification but about the creative possibilities that emerge from the interaction between instrument, amplifier, and speaker.
Over time, I’ve realized that my body, my microphones, and my synthesizers function as one interconnected system, which helps me make clearer choices around instrumentation, effects, and processing.
PC: Musicians that use electronics often have a constantly changing setup that incorporates new tools as a central part of their creative process. How do you approach defining your setup, and when do you incorporate new tools vs. staying the course with your current set of equipment?
CL: If you could draw a curve depicting how quickly I add tools to my setup from when I started ten years ago to today, it would look like a slow incline for about four years, a sharp rise for three, and then back to a slow incline. My voice is always central, and I’m usually very slow to add things, partly because I’m self-taught and partly because I’m interested in getting to the essence of an idea rather than executing it directly.
For example, I often find organic repetition more interesting than a looping pedal. Early on, I focused intensely on what my voice was capable of with amplification and mixing—like using a contact mic on my throat. Later I became more curious about augmenting and spatializing that vocabulary, which prompted more processing tools. But most of what you hear still originates from the body.
One practice that’s been helpful is learning a new tool deeply and then putting it aside for a bit, just to see what it inspired in my vocabulary. Sometimes the tool exists to provoke something else rather than become a permanent fixture.
PC: You've worked significantly with modular synthesizers to cultivate your distinct sonic character, and have been performing with a Eurorack rig on this tour. What brought you to modular, and why do you find it useful or inspiring for your work as an improviser?
CL: The modular trap is no joke!! After a few years of working only with microphones and a mixer, I wanted to spatialize and expand my sound. My partner at the time, Chris Goudreau (who goes by the noise project SICKNESS), encouraged me to explore Eurorack because it balances tactile interaction with wide-ranging digital effects. I credit a lot of my initial learning to him.
I started with a tiny 3U rack and now use the Intellijel 7U, but the rack is still entirely for live processing of my mic signal: pitch tracking, granular sampling, filtering, distortion, panning, reverb. I route the effects to momentary switches so I can move quickly through them like tape collage. I love to use it as a responsive playground, especially for solo sets where I’m responsible for every sound coming from my voice.
[Above: Charmaine recording Tulpa at Applehead Recordings.]
PC: Your early development as an improviser was in close contact with Joe Morris at the New England Conservatory. How have Joe's perspectives on improvisation shaped your own development of a musical language or performance practice?
CL: Joe’s theory on the Properties of Free Music is the foundation of my entire improvisational practice. It lays out five modes for group improvisation: solo, juxtaposition, complementing, unison, and silence. Learning this framework allowed me to collaborate with artists from radically different practices without relying on genre or scene.
What I learned the most from Joe is about prioritizing process over aesthetics. Once the process is clear, aesthetics can shift and adapt depending on what the music needs. I rarely feel trapped creatively because I’m always thinking about how sound is organized rather than trying to fit into a style.
For example, it’s easy to say “I want to make drone music,” instead of asking what a drone does to our perception. What becomes audible in its absence? Why is extreme continuity of sound psychologically compelling? We encounter so much surface-level music online that it becomes tempting to cut and paste those aesthetics into our own practices without understanding the processes that generated them in the first place.
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PC: Speaking about your collaboration with Spektral Quartet, you've mentioned in another interview that you decided to "give them a performance practice" for making a piece rather than providing a traditional score. How do you approach introducing and teaching your own musical language to other musicians?
CL: Spektral Quartet was the first collaboration where I tried teaching a group my performance practice directly. I adapted Joe’s method and spent several days working with them, although I wish we’d had more time. What I’ve found most effective is creating a graphic score—more like a roadmap—and then translating the details orally through my own voice. That combination seems to get to the heart of the idea more quickly, while letting the performer bring their own personality to the music.
PC: Is it important for you that listeners and audiences are able to understand your uniquely cultivated perspective and musical language? How do you approach making your unique language "legible" for listeners that have less experience in noise and improvised music, or do you think of that at all?
CL: I’ve thought about legibility for years, and honestly, I’ve chosen to assume a baseline intelligence from audiences that doesn’t depend on prior experience. 99.9% of the time, that trust feels warranted. It’s a slippery slope when you start hand-holding the audience too much—people begin to expect it, which then influences your own choices.
But I am deeply passionate about education. I lead performance lectures around the country where I talk very transparently about process, tools, and approach in the hopes that others feel a sense of agency to create their own musical language.
PC: This process of developing a personal musical language is also central to Kou Records, the new record label you've started with producer and engineer Randall Dunn. Can you describe for us the central premise behind Kou Records?
CL: The name “Kou,” pronounced “koh,” comes from the Chinese word for “mouth.” The label is dedicated to artists who’ve developed singular musical languages. They defy genre in favor of a wide range of influences synthesized into a vocabulary that is deeply personal and idiosyncratic.
Our process is old-school: we work closely with artists over a concentrated period in the studio, with Randall at the production and engineering helm. That container emphasizes performance and improvisation—the urgency of people making something together in real time, in a room. The sound is direct, physical, and alive. We value presence over perfection and trust that how we listen shapes what we hear.
The end result is a 12” vinyl with digital release.
PC: Why did you want to start a label, and what does this curatorial act mean to you?
CL: I have entirely selfish motivations behind starting a label—namely, so that I can see behind the scenes how some of my favorite artists make music! But I also felt there was a need to re-contextualize musicians who come out of improvisation and use it as the foundation for highly individual languages.
Randall and I are deeply passionate about creating an international and intergenerational relationship between artists. We want to show that artists even at their most perceived maturity are still growing, exploring, learning, and that there is a throughline between that and an artist just starting to explore the depths of their vocabulary. Our curatorial choices also consider where an artist is from and based geographically, with heavy emphasis on the US and Asia. Our hope is that the label serves as a kind of antidote to the Euro-centric lens that dominates so much of new music.
We’re focused on vinyl for now, not because it’s flawless, but because it best supports the idea that how you listen shapes what you hear. We want to make an object full of love, inside and out.
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PC: Being a musical artist and running a label are different, but related threads of activity—how has your work as an artist informed your work on Kou Records, and vice versa?
CL: We’ve recorded nine records since March. Every time we finish one, I feel an alchemical shift in how I think about time, form, harmony, rhythm—not to mention what’s possible in a life. The influence of these artists on my thinking feels endless.
Our own experience as artists and bandleaders, combined with Randall’s experience working with hundreds of labels, helps us build a genuinely artist-forward structure: contracts, creative freedom, press, and discourse. Decisions like not streaming on Spotify come from that foundation and are supported unanimously by our artists. The amount of trust they’ve given us is something we’re deeply grateful for, and I think you can hear that in the music.
PC: It strikes me that between the four releases, we hear quite unique sound worlds from each artist, informed by their well-cultivated individual practices. Do you feel Kou Records has any specific sound/form/aesthetic imperatives or framing beyond its primary mission statement?
[Above: Kou artists Charmaine Lee, Jessika Kenney, Eyvind Kang, and Chloe Kim]
CL: My dream for the label is that you put on any record in our catalogue and not be able to pinpoint when it was made. There’s a timeless quality that we’re going for with the sound—that it was made in spite of time, both in the future and in the past. Our design approach is similar—picking up one of our records should feel like finding a future relic.
Production-wise, we give Randall carte blanche to treat the studio as an instrument. He’s constantly inventing things on the fly, both analog and digital. We strongly believe in investing in the front-end of sound, because it impacts everything that follows.
PC: Aside from their specific relationship to Kou's mission for representing artists with their own musical languages, I'm curious how you centered on these three other artists—I'm aware Eyvind Kang and Jessika Kenney have worked with Randall before, but I'm curious if you can trace for us the social element that brought you to theirs and Chloe Kim's work.
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CL: Randall has been working with Eyvind and Jessika for many years, so when I approached him about joining the label, those were the first two names he suggested. They embody the spirit of Kou and have perfected their own languages. What makes it even more special is that, after thirty years of making music, these are each of their first solo instrumental albums.
Chloe Kim is based in my hometown of Sydney. I first heard about her through the jazz scene there, and then, separately, Eyvind mentioned her name in conversation, which sparked deeper listening. I fell in love with the way she incorporates Korean rhythmic traditions into jazz and improvisation. Putting the four of us together was instinctive—a cool generational story, two younger artists paired with two masters. I think of Eyvind and Jessika as offering profound perspectives on pitch, and Chloe and myself exploring rhythm.
PC: The visual elements of the label, including collaborations from legendary comics artists and illustrators on album artwork, music videos, merch, and more are also an important element of Kou Records. How do you center on finding visual artists to work with, and how does the visual language of Kou's releases support its broader mission?
CL: Randall and I are totally obsessed with comics, especially underground comix and artists from the golden and silver age. Don’t come to our house unless you want to drown in them! We go to every kind of convention we can find and take notes like students. Social media helps, but nothing beats recommendations. Many artists have pointed us toward people in their networks, which has been amazing.
For the front cover, we work closely with the musicians to commission original artwork by some incredible artists like Maura Chen and Keli Mashburn. For the back cover, Randall and I curate an artist to do a special portrait of each musician. Much like our curation of the sound-side of things, we focus on visual artists who have their own unique styles and encourage them to approach the portraits in a similarly idiosyncratic way. For example, the first cohort featured portraits by Lale Westvind, Caroline Harrison, Pat Aulisio, and Randy Ortiz.
We worked closely with an incredible artist and graphic designer, Una Blue, to bring together the visual design, logo, and overall look and feel of the label. We wanted everything to feel like a future relic, something pulled from another time and yet also fresh.
Randall and I feel strongly about continuing the conversation between visual art and music. One of the messages we’re holding is a celebration of people who work with their hands, artists who’ve invested in their craft. It’s something AI will never replace.
PC: How involved are you with the recording and production sessions for Kou's releases, either through technical or artistic direction?
CL: I’m involved in every step—from initial conversations to recording, mixing, mastering, and release. My focus in the studio is on creating the right space and energy so everyone can collaborate deeply. Sometimes that means artistic guidance, and sometimes it means recognizing when everyone needs to sleep!
Outside of music, I spent almost ten years working in nonprofit and for-profit operations and fundraising. I bring that experience to the label so the entire process can feel as supportive and organized as possible.
PC: Kou Records is certainly a curatorial project in some sense, but it could also be viewed as a specific artistic process—artists work closely with Randall in the studio, capturing a sense of people working together in real time. Do you conceptualize the production process as a collaborative part of the work, or do you and Randall strive to capture the artist's independent vision as closely as possible?
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CL: For us, production is completely interwoven with the work. We spend several days recording with each artist and make many decisions on the fly, based on inspiration and chemistry in the moment. Randall has an incredible instinct for workflow and surprise, and that keeps everything alive. You can hear it in the recordings.
PC: Both in this run of Kou's first releases, as well as the artists slated for the 2026 roster, there is a focus on solo performers—is this focus intentional, or how might Kou be open to ensembles or other groups?
CL: We’re focused on featuring solo artists or composers for the next few cohorts, but absolutely plan to expand to groups. I’m also thinking a lot about how to thoughtfully bridge Kou artists to each other, whether through collaboration or live performances. For example, my LA show was four solo sets with Eyvind, Jessika, Yan Jun, and myself, followed by a quartet with all four of us.
PC: In the Kou Records about page, it mentions that "Each year, the label releases a group of artists as a cohort and draws a new context around their work". Looking forward to 2026, what can you tell us about the next cohort of Kou Records artists and the context drawn around their work?
CL: I can’t believe it, but it looks like we’ll release nine records next year, with a spring cohort and a fall cohort. David Torn, Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe, Henry Fraser, Aliya Ultan, and Taiga Ultan make up the spring.
David has been at the forefront of innovation on the electric guitar for over fifty years. Robert uses modular synthesis and voice in a way that feels completely his own. Henry is one of the most creatively expansive bassists right now. Aliya and Taiga—who are sisters—grew up nomadically with intense classical training, and bring an outsider perspective that feels both rare and surprising.
Our cohorts are very much about lineage and the transmission of ideas—across generations, geographies, and technical approaches. It’s about inheriting a musical language, questioning it, abandoning it, and reshaping it entirely on your own terms.
For us, putting these artists together isn’t about genre alignment—it’s about tracing how imagination travels. The spring cohort is almost like a constellation of musical lineages that refuse to stay fixed. In bringing them into the same frame, we’re trying to show how radically different practices can still speak to one another when they’re all committed to reinvention.
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