On average, a new instrumental-based release was unveiled every six hours in March: over 120 releases, not including mainstream jazz, classical, or klezmer. A quarter of one’s waking hours would be required to listen to them all. A quarter of one’s salary would be required to purchase them all (more so for college students and the under-employed). Such copious choice can be overwhelming, but it guarantees something for everybody. This late-winter banquet of guitars and keyboards, pings and strings, demonstrates the vibrant nature of the industry and refutes the theory that the recession has caused a downturn in productivity. Perhaps layoffs have given people more free time, and perspective has made them more introspective. It would be nice to believe that the world’s economic woes had resulted in this small, good thing.

While fans salivated over this buffet, they still had only so many hours and so much money to spare. We hope that our recommendations save our readers time and money. This month, there were many releases our staffers liked; but these are the ones we loved.

Until the Point of Hushed Support is an auditory Rorschach test, an album that seems to amplify the emotions of whoever is listening. Our reviewer Zach Corsa called it “dark and dreadful”; another staffer claimed it broke his heart; and a third found it “achingly beautiful.” The project’s origins can be heard on 2009’s Komarovo (Slaapwel). After Haines enlisted the aid of Peter Broderick and Nils Frahm, his opus grew wings. Rising from the echoes of a lone piano, the string section, church organ, and contrabass leave their perches, fly low for a spell, and finally soar in clouds of gossamer bliss. Triumphant tones burst forth before all ends in flutters. As fans listen, some will cry, others will shiver, and others will fall to their knees, but their support will be anything but hushed. (Richard Allen)

Upon entering Papercuts Theater, listeners will need to leave behind everything they know about the “live album.” This release reflects the age of spectacle and illusion. Dozens of altogether different experiences – concerts, places, and sounds – share the stage of a single apparent cut. The result is so powerful it seems almost real. From the very first scene, the listener is treated to the unrelenting displacement of so-called expression, the anti-romantic bravery of improvisation, and the space-crunching super-machinery of noise. Together, these sounds are utterly engaging. At high volume, this cacophony may make listeners pump their fists and take arms against the triune tyrannies of melody, structure, and comfort. Spectators will be simultaneously enraged and engaged, led to participate in the destruction, at least in their minds. Make sure to buy a ticket – you won’t want to miss this show. (David Murrieta)

Fifteen years after being convicted of arson and murder, thirteen years since the release of his last true metal album, and ten months after his release from prison, Varg Vikernes, a.k.a. Burzum, is re-unleashed on the world. As the single biggest influence on nearly every tentacle of the 00’s explosion in avant-garde black metal, it might be expected that new Burzum material would have little chance of competing with the spacious, ritualistic epics of protégés like Wolves in the Throne Room and Drudkh. Strange, then, that it’s Vikernes’ now-primitive aesthetic that actually distinguishes Belus and helps it succeed. Brilliant new additions to his canon, like “Glemselens elv” and “Keliohesten,” fuse the inimitable Burzum sound with the trance-inducing feel of the Eastern European bands, while punky thrashers like “Sverddans” and baroque exercises like “Belus’ Død” forge a connection with Burzum’s – and Norway’s – past. Belus sounds ancient and arrives weather-beaten and worn, like an old friend returned, wizened, wounded – but still dangerous. (Lucas Kane)

Scott Morgan’s latest ambient offering hypnotizes, holding the audience’s interest throughout. Simple production techniques like volume swells and track panning enhance the album’s alchemy. Variations unfurl with the utmost subtlety. Sounds seem to blend naturally; nothing is forced. On “The Making of Grief Point,” spoken word artist Dan Bejar riffs on the topics of ignorance and inspiration as they pertain to ambient music, providing an absolutely fascinating finale to a truly inspiring album. (Mohammed Ashraf)