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2025 Reissue.



Münchenbuchsee, a suburb of Bern, Switzerland. Stephan Eicher is the youngest of three children. His father, a radio and TV repairman, is also a jazz violinist and a sound tinkerer in his spare time. In the family home's converted fallout shelter turned studio, Mr. Eicher experiments with homemade sequencers, tortures handcrafted drum machines, and abuses reel-to-reel tape recorders—all under the fascinated gaze of young Stephan.

The boy quickly develops a musical curiosity, exploring sound through various experiments and wanderings. Alongside his younger brother Martin, Stephan crafts audio plays on a homemade multi-track recorder (essentially several cassette decks hooked together!), which they write, record, add sound effects to, and perform for family and friends. Just a couple of nice kids, really...

Then comes 1972, and Lou Reed's Transformer album changes everything for the Eicher kids. For 13-year-old Stephan, it's a revelation—especially "Vicious", the opening track, which he plays on repeat for months. He convinces his father to buy him an electric guitar. Not stopping there, his father also builds him a tube amp using an old radio.

Then comes adolescence. A rough one. Stephan leaves home at 16 and moves to Zurich. With obvious artistic talent, he persuades his art teacher to help him get into F+F, a radical, alternative art school—despite his young age. Accepted, he starts learning video techniques, determined to become a filmmaker.

At F+F, Stephan organizes Dada-style happenings and concerts with a group of friends known as the Noise Boys. Among them: one of his teachers on bass, Veit Stauffer on drums (who would later found ReR/Recommended Records), his girlfriend Sacha on vocals, and Stephan on guitar. In one of their early performances, they release a remote-controlled mouse covered in dull razor blades into the audience to create panic and chaos. Keeping with this aggressive, confrontational spirit, they once played a concert while wearing headphones blasting Tristan and Isolde, trying to perform their own songs simultaneously—to maximize the cacophony. The goal was always the same: clear the room.

Their “songs,” if you can call them that, followed suit. Take "Hungeriges Afrika", for instance—performed entirely with power drills and some drum feedback.

To make ends meet, Stephan returns to Bern on weekends to work as a waiter at the Spex Club, the city’s main punk venue. On September 16, 1980, during a show by proto-electro group Starter, the police raid the club and arrest everyone. Stephan, who manages to avoid arrest, seizes the opportunity to “borrow” Starter’s gear left behind. He suddenly finds himself in possession of a Roland Promars synth, a Korg MS20, and a gorgeous CR78 drum machine, which he runs through a Big Muff distortion pedal to get that perfect gritty sound.

He then sets out to reinterpret some Noise Boys tracks, reworking them during impromptu sessions recorded on a dictaphone (yes, a dictaphone—now the lo-fi sound makes more sense, doesn’t it?). He ironically titles the resulting cassette "Stephan Eicher spielt Noise Boys" ("Stephan Eicher plays Noise Boys"). This gem features seven tracks, which are the ones reissued here.

Back in Zurich, he visits his friends Andrew Moore and Robert Vogel, who have a DIY cassette duplication setup. They make 25 copies of Stephan Eicher spielt Noise Boys for Stephan and his friends. Robert encourages him to visit Urs Steiger of Off Course Records and play him the tape.

Without much hope, Stephan shows up at Urs’s office. But Urs is instantly hooked and suggests releasing a 7” single. Due to space constraints, they reluctantly drop two of the seven tracks ("Hungeriges Afrika" and "One Second"). As for the musical score featured on the cover—it was randomly chosen and remains a mystery to this day. Calling all music theory nerds!

The 7-inch is pressed in 750 copies and released in the first week of December 1980—a date Stephan remembers well, as it’s the same week John Lennon was killed. Smartly, Urs sends a promo copy to François Murner, Switzerland’s answer to John Peel, who hosts a show on alternative station Sounds. Murner falls in love with the record and starts giving it airtime. To Stephan’s surprise, sales follow—and people actually seem interested in his music.

Even this modest underground success scares Stephan a bit. He stops making music for a year and moves to Bologna, where he works as a programmer at Radio Città, a feminist radio station.

Meanwhile, Stephan’s younger brother Martin, who’s also involved in the punk scene, joins the band Glueams as a singer and guitarist. Glueams, named after the fanzine run by two of its members (drummer Marco Repetto and bassist GT), eventually rebrands as Grauzone. Stephan is invited to their shows to project hacked Super 8 visuals live on stage.

Urs Steiger, now working on a compilation titled Swiss Wave – The Album, asks Grauzone to contribute alongside bands like Liliput, Jack and the Rippers, The Sick, and Ladyshave (Fall 1980).

For the album, Martin tasks Stephan with producing their recording sessions. Under Stephan's artistic direction, two tracks emerge: "Raum" and "Eisbär". During "Eisbär", Martin plays a minimalist bass line borrowed from post-punk band The Feelies (just an open string). Drummer Marco Repetto struggles to keep time. Later that evening, unhappy with the takes, Stephan builds a four-bar drum loop from a ¼-inch tape and uses it instead of the flawed original. He then adds bleepy synths and wind sounds to complete the track’s icy vibe before handing it over to Urs.

The Swiss Wave – The Album compilation is released quietly at first, but things snowball thanks to "Eisbär", which eventually becomes a smash hit—selling over 600,000 singles.

Meanwhile, Stephan plays in a rockabilly band called SMUV (named after Switzerland’s social security agency) and begins producing artists, including the debut album of Starter (1981), which includes a more pop-oriented version of "Minijupe".

By early 1982, Stephan starts spending time with the post-punk girl band Liliput (formerly Kleenex). They’re older than him, and he happily drives them around in his Renault Major, acting as their roadie.

By 1983, Grauzone—signed to the major label EMI, which turned out to be a misstep—is falling apart. Stephan begins to pivot toward a more mainstream pop sound with his debut solo album Les Chansons Bleues.

But that... is already another story.

As the artwork on the EP depicts, "Darkest hour before dawn" is a dusky scenario representing the Dutch environment known as "the polder" in the lower lands. It questions all kinds of actions taken or not taken to protect, restore, conserve, innovate, or modestly leave the landscape to its own more murky outcome. The darkest hour, full of gloom, will be available around the spring equinox?

Portrait of tracks separately:


"Darkest Hour before dawn"

Is this piece supposed to be an ode to the ancient Dutch hardcore movement, that once and probably only then would be experienced to such intensity or is this still maybe just a little near reminder of it? Anyway starts this unlit track slowly and remains that way but maintains a fat-pumping pulse, possibly reminding of a soldier walking a death march. Settling up those launch pads further down the piece, near the bridge for shooting off some drum-fire 909 snares as if it rocketed. Then, suddenly, the extended delay of that snare turns into a psychedelic drone beside, attending to, or paranoidly chasing comrades soul in his journey throughout and above like a trustful partner?

Arp's LFO that is out of sync with the beat and is being outpaced by it seems to slow everything down even more; meantime creating a pulling, buggy-like effect to the due of all this.

The ascending and descending ghost-pad drawing into the grid of the (tone) key, thereafter parking in them for a while and cycling out again, creating a spatial flow of disturbance and anxiety.

Finishes it with a mountain-big reverberation of organized destruction and chaos. What at first sight seems like simply an innocent route appears to actually be a bit more complex one.


"Lovely memories"

The quite monotonous structure of Lovely memories catchy and groovy song is scanning through your brain files; revisiting, memorizing, and purposely lacking these few "dots above the I" that in some cases you'd gladly be feeling like to square fit it in yourself, of course, when necessary. Connecting the puzzling, dazzling flashbacks together to finally wrap up and perpetuate the pictured events for good, leaving traces of melancholy, loveliness, and perhaps even faith to it.


"24 hours"

Dinginess of 24 hours supposes to be felt in the guts.
The beat, steady with that snare on the 4 & 12, might not be one of the greatest inventions. However, the TR-08's drum line here lays a solid and fertile foundation for a reasonable house track.

Slightly detuned synths weave a scarf pattern around your upper body, and the lower layers carry a warm blanket for the underbelly, providing you with that cozy sense of consolation. Acidy pokes wring itself sneaky and penetrable around, slicing through the song's already solid flesh. Therefore, balancing its bitter sweetness throughout with these soft-hard saw-tooth drops of sourness.

"24 hours" conveys a dispatch or intercommunication that there is little time left to take actions/charge to fix and restore. Something big is about to come if it hasn't arrived already...


"At night"

This remarkable story is a bit out of ordinary.
At night appeared in the artist's dream just the night before his sick father was raised from death in the hospital and got just another year to live before actually passing away completely and anyway. ; ))
And thus also dedicated to the man.

“Somaesthesia” is for the body, for how the body feels and how the body communicates with its soul. It was written through a year of growth and sickness, which stimmed inflection to a body at rest, a body aroused, a body communicating needs, a body happy, a homeostatic body, a friend body.

These four songs drift through different dimensions of somatic sensation. Deep corporal sensuality, spectrums of control of self, identity, and their relation to others, plateau, release, extra sensorial touch, extraterrestrial encounter, novelty, experiment, finding self where you thought you stood alone, finding self in bass, basing self in body.
Do not disembody, hold closeness to body, trust body, body as a litmus, body as a truth, truth as unmovable, unmovable as grounded, rooted, dense body, flesh body, REAL body, this is your body, feel your body feel.

Somaesthesia: the faculty of bodily perception; sensory systems associated with the body; includes skin senses and proprioception and the internal organs

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves.Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl's newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single "Not Hell, Not Heaven" outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. "It's about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim," explains vocalist Kat Moss. "It's trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain't working for me." The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on "Fantasy." "It's incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated," Moss says. "`Fantasy' is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard." The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, "Are We All Angels," asking questions like, "Is this all there is?" and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. "It's about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn't matter how `good' or `bad' you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do," explains Moss, noting that punctuation on "Are We All Angels" has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl's debut, 2021's How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record's sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called "Seeds to Sow," that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. "It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we're fulfilling that," says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023's widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next.Scowl's growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band's scope. "Will would say, `Everything you have here is correct, but it's in the wrong place,'" says Gilbert. Moss adds: "Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses." But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. "Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate," says guitarist Malachi Greene. "At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes."

Nothing is lost on Cash Langdon. It’s something you can hear in the observational lyrics of his last record, 2022’s Sinister Feeling; but on its follow-up, Dogs, you can also hear it in the camaraderie he cultivates playing live with his band Meadow Dust, a sonic energy that gives off the heat of his native Birmingham. The trio’s fuzzy take on heavy country rock has a worn-in no-fussiness that recalls Neil Young & Crazy
Horse – nothing overthought, nothing understated. And like Young, Langdon’s voice is simultaneously earnest and world-weary – but there’s a sense of humor, too, and a resignation to keeping on (“Dogs,” “Magic Again”). Recorded at Portside Studios (the former location of the legendary Muscle Shoals Sound) in just two days, engineer Brad Timko (Dan Sartain, St. Paul and The Broken Bones) captured Langdon and Meadow Dust at their fiercest yet. The title track “Dogs” and side B heater “Dead Dogs” both take inspiration from the wild dogs Langdon encountered in his neighborhood at the time of writing the record, where he wondered about the sick twist of fate that renders one dog a pet and another a threat. Across songs, he examines how oppressive cycles overlap, intersecting the personal and the societal at all times. The heavy yet melodic “Lilac Whiskey Noise” is the heartbeat of the record, written following an active shooter event that Langdon witnessed at work in 2016. It’s an indictment – not of the perpetrator – but of the systems of power that enable such an act. It’s a microcosm for all of the themes on the album, too: the ongoing violence of simply being awake to the world around you, and the resolve to stay awake anyway.
On the crunchy album-closer “Nothing’s Good Anymore,” Langdon sings about overhearing someone say just that – and you can tell he’s tempted to agree. He’s going to find what kernel of beauty he can. Dogs is a sonic map for finding that beauty in just about anything.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

The industrial treasure chest of Laurent Petitgand & Thierry Mérigout Geins’t Naït unit gets a third and final archival jag, playing to a spectrum of styles from misfit tape cut-ups to sludgy grooves and trampling sidewinds of the filthiest, sickest calibre.

The three volumes mining the Geins’t Naït Archive have parsed some 40 years of work for the most potent industrial blatz, culminating in some of the gnarliest and richest tackle on this final volume. As also highlighted on releases via Vladimir Ivkovic’s Offen Music label, it’s hard to fully surmise Geins’t Naït’s oeuvre, but you kinda know it when it hits. It’s industrial, or more specifically post-industrial, in the classic sense of everything after Throbbing Gristle and their famous label; buzzing with atonality and often heavily rhythm-driven, but not necessarily built for the club. In some senses, it's adjacent to freakier ‘floors in a way shared by the likes of Bourbonese Qualk or Din A Testbild, likeminded miscreants who emerged in TG’s shadow during the ‘80s.

‘Archives 3/3’ opens with a particularly Gallic slant on the paradigm in ‘Michel’, and shells a slew of thee crankiest gear that shares a certain tone and thrust toward trippy abstraction with Anne Gillis. ‘Abstrac 2’ finds them speaking in ogreish tongues on an uncanny waltz, before dialling up the pomp with near-EBM levels of muscularity and fanfare on ‘Poiro’, and unleashing reverse-looped heck like a La Peste joint in ‘GN is Good For You’. The keening pulse and nose attack of ‘Rappel’ reminds us of CHBB, and the evil slug of ‘Hate’ feels summoned from Parisian catacombs, whilst ‘Wladimir’ stands out for its phosphorous synth burn and prototypical Él-G poetry, leaving ‘Base Cour’ to souse the senses in distortion and barnyard squabble.

En Esch's corrosive new album decimates both standards and dance floors alike.

Anyone familiar with industrial luminary En Esch and his essential work in groups like KMFDM and PIG knows he is no stranger to political statements through his art. Now, on his first LP in eight years, Dance Hall Putsch, Esch decimates your standards and dance floors with vitriol. With carefully-sown and complimenting features from fellow KMFDM alumnus Raymond Watts, Guenter Schulz and Mark Durante, plus Vas Kallas (Hanzel und Gretyl), Mea Fisher and Erica Dilanjian (Lords of Acid), Hope Nicholls (Pigface) and more, Dance Hall Putsch delivers everything an industrial fan could want. From opener "Get Lost," with its categorically punishing industrial-metal riffs to the slicing EBM electronics of "Yum Yum Beauty & The Nasty Thief," it's all here and in no less than four languages throughout. En Esch's signature rasp is often contrasted by the sparkling vocals of his female counterparts, and the album is lush with brutal honesty, humor, and even a bonus En Esch-lullaby.

"I began work on Dance Hall Putsch in the early days of Covid-19. I was trying to create an upbeat, rather positive and very danceable album to leave the pandemic days behind us. Then it happened that a war began near where I live with tens of thousands of civilians killed and wounded so far. Everyone was caught by surprise and it influenced me, especially lyrically. "This current conflict is just 500 miles away from Berlin, and while that does not make it more horrific than other wars, it is very close to home. From living with this 'war next door,' the album turned out much more sinister than originally planned. It became a rather political album that reflects on the senselessness and nastiness of all the current wars around us. It's always the innocent and those who hold no power that suffer the most. Their fate isn't always death, but many times indescribable and long-term suffering. We must not forget them or turn a blind eye. "I’m very pleased that I had the opportunity to collaborate with different and interesting colleagues here. Thanx everybody for your interest in my musical works and for your love and support."

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

»Nuts of Ay«, the thirteenth album by the Berlin-based electronic pop duo Tarwater (Ronald Lippok and Bernd Jestram), is their first in a decade, since 2014’s »Adrift«. Beautifully poised and smartly dressed, it's an album that draws Tarwater’s various pasts into a high-definition present, while bringing the duo, yet again, into productive dialogue with all kinds of fellow travellers.

Tarwater’s music has always been marked by a hypnotic pop-ness, but that’s particularly evident on »Nuts of Ay«, where a song like »Hideous Kiss« weaves together jangling guitar, pastoral flute, and flittering electronics into a gem-like construction. While the lyrics of »Hideous Kiss« are written by the duo, »Nuts of Ay« also continues a longstanding Tarwater tradition of recasting the words of others in their own mould. This time, their remit is broad: poetry from Derek Jarman (»All Nuns«) and Millner Place (»Trapdoor Spider«); lyrics from Jean Kenbrovin (»I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles«), the late Shane MacGowan (»USA«) and, again, John Lennon (»Everybody Had a Hard Year«).

This cast of found and borrowed lyricists also finds collaborative echo in the guest musicians dotted throughout »Nuts of Ay«. Schneider TM turns up on the lovely, Felt-like »Spirit of Flux«, where guitars channel the tangled reveries of Vini Reilly and Maurice Deebank into lush pop. Carsten Nicolai joins, as Alva Noto, dappling »On Waves and Years« with intimate glitching textures; he also provides the album cover art. Elsewhere, Masha Qrella appears on »Down Comes the Goose«, and actor Lars Rudolph pitches in for »USA«.

It may have been ten years since the album's predecessor, but Lippok and Jestram have kept active with other projects. They’ve collaborated with Masha Qrella, Immersion, and Iggy Pop; worked on radio plays with Kai Grehn, some based on the writing of Nick Cave (»The Sick Bag Song«, featuring Tilda Swinton, Paula Beer and Alexander Fehling) and William S. Burroughs (»The Cat Inside«); and made music for several radio-tatorts (radio plays based on »Tatort«, a long-running German police TV series) by playwright Tom Peuckert.

Both voracious and committed in their creative energies, Jestram and Lippok report back from these experiments with »Nuts of Ay«, one of their most compelling, deeply lustrous, dreamlike albums yet. They say there was no concept for the album, which is surprising, perhaps, given its holistic mood, explaining it »grew together like a coral reef in the studio over a period of several years«. There’s something to be said for letting an album gather and mutate naturally, without an overarching framework in place, and »Nuts of Ay« certainly feels like an unforced collection of material that nonetheless inhabits a similar space, one where guitars twist like driftwood next to amorphous, aqueous electronics, Lippok’s droll yet completely convincing vocal delivery riding songs that pulse and plume with curious, unpredictable rhythms.

But you can also hear elements – submerged but still present – of other music that’s inspired the duo: they’ve drawn some connections for us with psychedelic folk, Bowie in Berlin, Burial, and the film music of Popol Vuh and Krzysztof Komeda. This music shares a strong sense of place – whether in the world, or the mind – and the twelve songs on »Nuts of Ay« have such similar presence; a shared mood, a shared world, a shared sense of the possibilities of what electronic pop music could, and should, be. A bold and brave pop experiment.

Artwork by Carsten Nicolai
Mastering by Bo Kondren, Calyx Berlin

»Trapdoor Spider«, »On Waves and Years« & »Breaking Day«: lyrics by Milner Place
»All Nuns«: lyrics by Derek Jarman
»USA«: lyrics by Shane MacGowan
»Down Comes the Goose«: lyrics from a traditional song
»Forever Blowing Bubbles«: lyrics by Jaan Kenbrovin
»Everybody Had a Hard Year«: lyrics by John Lennon

It took four years for The Lumineers to follow up their platinum-plus, multi-Grammy-nominated, self-titled debut. Cleopatra proves Schultz and Fraites - along with cellist/vocalist Neyla Pekarek- are neither taking their good fortune for granted, nor sitting back on their laurels. With the help of producer Simone Felice (The Felice Brothers, The Avett Brothers), the man Wesley calls "our shaman," the band ensconced themselves in Clubhouse, a recording studio high atop a hill in rural Rhinebeck, N.Y., not far from Woodstock. The Lumineers then set about trying to make musical sense of their three-year-plus roller coaster ride. Their skill at setting a visual story to music comes through amidst the delicate, deceptively simple acoustic soundscapes. This time, though, bassist Byron Isaac provides a firm, low-end on the apocalyptic opener "Sleep on the Floor," a ghostly tune about getting out of town before the "subways flood and the bridges break." It's a densely packed, cinematic song that echoes Bruce Springsteen's "Atlantic City" and John Steinbeck's East of Eden. Cleopatra also deals with what Wesley terms "the elephant in the room," the band's success and the way it can sometimes put a target on your back. The syncopated piano rolls in "Ophelia" , the organic sound of fingers squeaking on guitar strings in "Angela" and the Faustian bargain described in "My Eyes" consider the perils of getting what you wish for, with everyone knowing your name, and your songs. The band had total artistic freedom in writing and recording the album, so Wesley and Jer pushed the envelope. "We continue to make the kind of records we want to," says Wesley. "We believe in this music. It's a true labor of love. We just want to keep reaching more people with our songs." Given the evidence on The Lumineers' sophomore album Cleopatra, that shouldn't be a problem.

It took four years for The Lumineers to follow up their platinum-plus, multi-Grammy-nominated, self-titled debut. Cleopatra proves Schultz and Fraites - along with cellist/vocalist Neyla Pekarek- are neither taking their good fortune for granted, nor sitting back on their laurels. With the help of producer Simone Felice (The Felice Brothers, The Avett Brothers), the man Wesley calls "our shaman," the band ensconced themselves in Clubhouse, a recording studio high atop a hill in rural Rhinebeck, N.Y., not far from Woodstock. The Lumineers then set about trying to make musical sense of their three-year-plus roller coaster ride. Their skill at setting a visual story to music comes through amidst the delicate, deceptively simple acoustic soundscapes. This time, though, bassist Byron Isaac provides a firm, low-end on the apocalyptic opener "Sleep on the Floor," a ghostly tune about getting out of town before the "subways flood and the bridges break." It's a densely packed, cinematic song that echoes Bruce Springsteen's "Atlantic City" and John Steinbeck's East of Eden. Cleopatra also deals with what Wesley terms "the elephant in the room," the band's success and the way it can sometimes put a target on your back. The syncopated piano rolls in "Ophelia" , the organic sound of fingers squeaking on guitar strings in "Angela" and the Faustian bargain described in "My Eyes" consider the perils of getting what you wish for, with everyone knowing your name, and your songs. The band had total artistic freedom in writing and recording the album, so Wesley and Jer pushed the envelope. "We continue to make the kind of records we want to," says Wesley. "We believe in this music. It's a true labor of love. We just want to keep reaching more people with our songs." Given the evidence on The Lumineers' sophomore album Cleopatra, that shouldn't be a problem.

Fire Red Vinyl. As one would expect of any historic city, the houses in Decatur, GA are old, and while many have been renovated to suit the needs of the 21st century family, the one Lunar Vacation calls home has not. The porch is quaint and crumbly, the roof leaks, and there is a single bathroom shared by the band's five members who insist that this is not, actually, a bad thing. "I used to be so protective of the songs when I gave them over to the band," lyricist/vocalist/guitarist Gep Repasky says. "There's so much trust involved, but this house helped us grow as best friends, as musicians, as a band." That newfound sense of trust is apparent on Everything Matters, Everything's Fire, whose title, taken from the concluding track "You Shouldn't Be," is a thesis statement. While Lunar Vacation's last album, 2021's Inside Every Fig is a Dead Wasp, happily bathed in the waters of indie pop, their latest effort is exploratory, a product of many hours shared experimenting in a living room together. Inspired by prolific shapeshifters like Yo La Tengo and Björk, Everything Matters, Everything's Fire adopts an ethos that every idea has the potential to be a good one. "Our last album was super produced, manicured," guitarist/ vocalist Maggie Geeslin says. "This one's organic. We embraced mistakes; it made the work even better." In other words: everything matters, everything's fire.

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

Transcendental outernational funk and psychedelic jazz from mystery L.A.- based collective Sun Atlas

2nd edition with alternative sleeve and label design.

Little is known about Sun Atlas. The group members are hidden behind masks and costumes to keep their identities secret and to put the focus entirely on the music and oneness. A sense of community and universal spirit as an alternative to idolization and individualism is heavily reflected in their eclectic musical style.

The sound of Sun Atlas is mystical and cosmopolitan, combining afrobeat, cinematic soul, spiritual & ethio jazz with space sounds, hiphop-breaks and a garage funk vibe.

Their cryptic first 45 single "The Mystic Parade" b/w "Grand Theft" sold out immediately after release and has often been mistaken for either "lost" hiphop samples, 70s habibi funk or another project in disguise from the inner circles of the Mocambo, Big Crown or Daptonefamilies (which it is not).

Return To The Spirit picks up where Sun Atlas' first single leftoff, with everyone wondering where the journey might lead. With the door to a colourful universe opened, the full-length format gives time & space for further exploration.

Zooparty ist laut Record Collector (UK) ,Schwedens beste Punkband"! Wenn du deinen Punk verdammt eingängig magst, dann kann ich dir das nicht genug empfehlen", so Maximum Rock'n'roll (USA). "No matter what you say" ist ihr sechstes Album und enthält 12 brillante, zeitlose neue Punkrocksongs. Original-Sex Pistols-Basist Glen Matlock ist als Gast mit dabei (und wenn man sich ,Elephants" anhört, ist das wie eine Rückblende/ Hommage an die "Holidays In The Sun"-Zeiten). Außerdem spielt Hans Östlund von The Nomads noch mit. Die Texte wurden zusammen mit Stephen Straughan (UK Subs) und Gaz Moore (The Reverends) geschrieben. Produziert hat Chips Kiesbye (Sator, Nomads, Hellacopters, The Boys etc.) und das Master stammt von Henryk Lipp. Bislang spielten ZOOPARTY dreimal auf dem Rebellion Festival in Blackpool, UK. Sie tourten durch das Vereinigte Königreich, die Tschechische Republik, Deutschland, Irland, Norwegen und Schweden. "No Matter What They Say" ist ein klassisch, zeitlose Punkrock-Juwel! 180gr. 180g-Vinyl Edition in einer Auflage von 300 Stück (weltweit) gesamt, erhältlich in klassisch schwarzem und sehr limitiert auf farbigen Vivyl! Ein Coop-Release von Sunny Bastards (Welt ohne Schweden) & Bollmora Records (Schweden)

Zooparty ist laut Record Collector (UK) ,Schwedens beste Punkband"! Wenn du deinen Punk verdammt eingängig magst, dann kann ich dir das nicht genug empfehlen", so Maximum Rock'n'roll (USA). "No matter what you say" ist ihr sechstes Album und enthält 12 brillante, zeitlose neue Punkrocksongs. Original-Sex Pistols-Basist Glen Matlock ist als Gast mit dabei (und wenn man sich ,Elephants" anhört, ist das wie eine Rückblende/ Hommage an die "Holidays In The Sun"-Zeiten). Außerdem spielt Hans Östlund von The Nomads noch mit. Die Texte wurden zusammen mit Stephen Straughan (UK Subs) und Gaz Moore (The Reverends) geschrieben. Produziert hat Chips Kiesbye (Sator, Nomads, Hellacopters, The Boys etc.) und das Master stammt von Henryk Lipp. Bislang spielten ZOOPARTY dreimal auf dem Rebellion Festival in Blackpool, UK. Sie tourten durch das Vereinigte Königreich, die Tschechische Republik, Deutschland, Irland, Norwegen und Schweden. "No Matter What They Say" ist ein klassisch, zeitlose Punkrock-Juwel! 180gr. 180g-Vinyl Edition in einer Auflage von 300 Stück (weltweit) gesamt, erhältlich in klassisch schwarzem und sehr limitiert auf farbigen Vivyl! Ein Coop-Release von Sunny Bastards (Welt ohne Schweden) & Bollmora Records (Schweden)

Transcendental outernational funk and psychedelic jazz from mystery L.A.- based collective Sun Atlas

Little is known about Sun Atlas. The group members are hidden behind masks and costumes to keep their identities secret and to put the focus entirely on the music and oneness. A sense of community and universal spirit as an alternative to idolization and individualism is heavily reflected in their eclectic musical style.

The sound of Sun Atlas is mystical and cosmopolitan, combining afrobeat, cinematic soul, spiritual & ethio jazz with space sounds, hiphop-breaks and a garage funk vibe.

Their cryptic first 45 single "The Mystic Parade" b/w "Grand Theft" sold out immediately after release and has often been mistaken for either "lost" hiphop samples, 70s habibi funk or another project in disguise from the inner circles of the Mocambo, Big Crown or Daptonefamilies (which it is not).

Return To The Spirit picks up where Sun Atlas' first single leftoff, with everyone wondering where the journey might lead. With the door to a colourful universe opened, the full-length format gives time & space for further exploration.

The ltd.first vinyl edition comes in black vinyl in a deluxe handmade tip-on sleeve.

The songs on Ana Egge's 13th album, ‘Sharing in the Spirit’, while often deriving from the unconscious realm of her own dreams, deal openly with the most pressing issues of the waking world - politics, addiction, sex, and love. It was produced by Lorenzo Wolff following their previous collaboration, 2021's Between Us. The album opens with "Don't You Sleep," a civil rights celebration of hope and hard work. "Where Berries Grow" is a near-biblical bluegrass beauty about people Ana has loved and known. The album also deals with themes of alcoholism and sobriety with "Mission Bells Moan" and a cover of the Ted Hawkins classic "Sorry You're Sick." The final track, a cover of "Last Day of Our Acquaintance," pays heartfelt tribute to Sinead O'Connor. Ana's compelling signature mix of fearless strength with an almost innocent sense of fun is on full display, and not only in the music, The cover photo is an old, cherished snapshot of Ana and her sister as giddy kids, riding a minibike. Bold, brave, sweet, and honest, Egge has created another collection of intensely personal songs, where dreams are brought to the surface and the private is made public.

Getting into an album by Cyril Cyril is being invited to a party where you thought you didn't know anyone, only to realize that this chap's gal is your bro's cuz, and leave with everyone's cell. Their music seems familiar because it's not deaf to its neighbors, in the broadest sense : Geneva, their lair, Europe, their playground as a duo, and the world, their grocery store. There's plenty in those two heads, but just the two of them on stage. For their third Born Bad album, they have invited two lads from Orchestre Tout Puissant Marcel Duchamp, Ines Mouzoune, multi-instrumentalist from Amami, and Violeta Garcia's cello on Le Futur ca marche pas. On the ruins of Switzerland, people dance hard but consciously, and won't complain about them having a go at the homeland - notably in " Sweetzerland Bunker Love ", where they claim it's time to "free the money from the banks". There's something rotten in the state, wherever it may be, and they prefer to put its fall to music. And they're not shy about it, either: this album features heavy guitar/drums text-driven ballads (beautiful "Mensonge" opens the album with a certain gravitas), polyrhythmic noisy drum splatter with crafty vocal knitting ("Plus rien a? faire"), deconstructed and harmonically ambitious compositions ("Les Phoenix de l'amour"), and latino frogs croaks, because yes, why not. Since their previous efforts "Certaine Ruines" and "Yallah Mickey Mouse", it turns out that the future isn't working out so badly for the two Cyrils. (Not so) Quietly sitting on crates of records, they patiently build their sound. Never tired of sick networks and never-ending struggles, Cyril Cyril is a rousing mess, shouting out the common spleen while still managing to have a good laugh.

Belgium based Boskat is a super-energetic duo that seamlessly blends seriously impressive riffs reminiscent of Rage Against The Machine and Billy Talent with a crushingly virtuosic live show and a great sense of humor. Now, it's time for their debut album 'Welcome to Planet Urmit,' set to release on March 15, 2024 on Suburban Records.

Although known for their energetic virtuoso rock duo performances, their first full-length album also explores various vibes and genres. "The goal was to create a record that doesn’t get boring - I think we succeeded! You can hear characteristics from (post)grunge, hip-hop, nu-metal, punk rock, prog rock… and more. There are Easter eggs for every rock fan!" frontman Vincent explains.

From out of nowhere - if nowhere is the febrile, warped and twilit imagination of Julia McFarlane - comes Whoopee, the second album by J.McFarlane’s Reality Guest. Whoopee is an esoteric, kaleidoscopic movie in music form directed by Julia McFarlane and co-conspirator Thomas Kernot. Full of life, breakbeats and smokey vignettes on the fragile nature of interpersonal relationships, Whoopee is a stylistic evolution from everything McFarlane has done before. Surreal, beautiful in parts and replete with the aching wisdom McFarlane’s songwriting has always promised, this Reality Guest pulls back the curtain on a whole scene of naked truth. Recorded in Melbourne in bursts since the release of 2019’s Ta Da, Whoopee features a new sound palette and band member in Kernot. The duo dive deep into electronic pop tropes, mining digital synths, samples, breakbeats and deep bass grooves, largely dispensing with live instrumentation. If Ta Da took twists and turns with your expectations, offering a Dada-ist, monochromatic take on pop music, Whoopee is McFarlane’s subterranean love-sick pinks, reds, greens, purples and blues. Becoming something of a tradition, the album starts with an instrumental intro pilfered from a 90s’ spy film or cinema intro music, puffing up the listener for the heart-squeezing bathos of Full Stops. Over a bleary backdrop of walking bass lines, jazz- inflected keys and smoked-out atmosphere, McFarlane’s poetry narrates the fragile state of a relationship: “You put a full stop where I thought there’d be a comma, I want the story to continue even with all the drama.” Over a palpable pain, the narrator is revelling in the drama of a relationship, addicted to tumult and heightened emotion. On Sensory, a space age bachelor lounge pad ballad, the converse state of the previous song is explored, here the narrator is battling the numbness of being out of the drama, stuck in a sensory-deprivation tank, anaesthesized and battling to emerge from the fog. Wrong Planet explores an otherworldly pop music, hewing a bright hook out of a sense of confusion. A bona-fide, sing-along chorus bursts out of the narrator musing on the absurdity of existing in this reality. It speaks of one of Julia McFarlane’s main talents, her knack of inspecting human relationships and states with a clear perspective, like an alien visiting Earth and realising everything we are is really, really strange. Whoopee is both more accessible than previous Reality Guest work and somehow more obfuscated. Where the production on Ta Da was dry, sharp and strange, this Reality Guest is blurred, almost smeared with the effluvium of 90s+00s culture and existence. Through it all, it’s hard to deny the undeniable pull of the songs. Precious Boy carries on the lounge theme with a whole sampler of cut up sounds fading in and out of the haze as McFarlane’s voice is right up to the speaker cooing and free- associating, maybe in love or maybe in confusion... maybe they’re the same thing? Sometimes the listener is invited to just bathe in the tone of the vocal, as on Apocalypse, where the texture and timbre of the vocal is luxurious, bathing in piano tinkles and double bass throb. On lead single Slinky, a cut up beat reminiscent of Washingtonian Go-Go drum patterns leads, the song slipping through your fingers, elusive and presenting sound as pure pleasure. Closer Caviar jumps back into the broken breakbeats of a surreal funk, fuelled by the sensory pleasure of the music, a hedonistic whirl in rapture, the narrator now living life to the fullest in all its giddy heights and deep troughs. This is the album’s main character fully-actualised and in the terrible, beautiful moment.

From the rotten bowels of Portland USA crawls out the most hideous death metal unit called Petrification who have cursed mankind with their old school style of filth since 2017. After their Summon Horrendous Void EP (2017) and Hollow of the Void album (2018) Petrification is now ready to release their next full-length opus called Sever Sacred Light via Svart Records. Petrification’s themes may revolve around the cosmic horrors and repugnant themes, but this isn’t your typical nowadays technical progressive metal where the number of notes compensates for the lack of true vision. Sever sacred light delivers eight tracks of crushing doom laden and HEAVY - in the true sense of that word - death metal combining the down tuned caveman mid-tempo riffs of Coffins to Bolt Thrower style grooves spiced with an Autopsy worship. You can also hear the echoes from certain Finnish death metal acts from their most dark past, but (sl)easiest way to describe the Petrification’s blunt to the core delivery is: sick old school death metal for the diehards.

From the rotten bowels of Portland USA crawls out the most hideous death metal unit called Petrification who have cursed mankind with their old school style of filth since 2017. After their Summon Horrendous Void EP (2017) and Hollow of the Void album (2018) Petrification is now ready to release their next full-length opus called Sever Sacred Light via Svart Records. Petrification’s themes may revolve around the cosmic horrors and repugnant themes, but this isn’t your typical nowadays technical progressive metal where the number of notes compensates for the lack of true vision. Sever sacred light delivers eight tracks of crushing doom laden and HEAVY - in the true sense of that word - death metal combining the down tuned caveman mid-tempo riffs of Coffins to Bolt Thrower style grooves spiced with an Autopsy worship. You can also hear the echoes from certain Finnish death metal acts from their most dark past, but (sl)easiest way to describe the Petrification’s blunt to the core delivery is: sick old school death metal for the diehards.

New Heavy Sounds is super stoked to announce a very very special team up between our favourite punk sisters, Shooting Daggers and Death Pill. Both bands have recorded a brand new song, and what better way is there to present them (or any kind of punk) than a good old split single. So kicking off the Shooting Daggers/Death Pill split, is this never before recorded Death Pill track 'MONSTERS'. Ukrainian punk trio Death Pill certainly made a stir when they hit the UK as part of their first ever European tour. Articles in the likes of the Guardian and Sunday, featured in all the music mags, plus the band showed that they were a pretty ferocious musical outfit, as those who were witness to the full on live experience can testify. Whilst in London, the band also had time to cut 'MONSTERS'. Recorded live in the studio with Wayne Adams (Pet Brick, Big Lad and producer of Green Lung) at the helm, MONSTERS is a short, sharp shock. An angry, sardonic and skewed amalgam of riffs and full on blast beats … it growls and it rips. The band says .. “This track is about how our parents knowingly or unknowingly lose their children. As an example - here are the most painful things you could hear from your folks: "When will you finish your music games?” "You will never achieve anything!” "When are you finally going to do something useful?" Therefore, when there was an opportunity to record a one live song in London, the choice of a song became obvious. Just imagine the "surprise" on the faces of our mums... Many thanks for Ged and Paul from the NHS label for supporting this idea, and to Wayne from Bear Bites Horse for the sick and fat sound” What makes this release all the more exciting, is that Shooting Daggers are dropping their first new music since last year's EP 'Athames'. Sal, Bea and Raquel are most definitely on the way up, their exciting blend of hard as nails hardcore, punk attitude and a neat melodic sense have made them a much sought after outfit, for gigs and festivals here and across Europe. They are slowly but surely proving themselves to be one of THE bands to watch in 2024. If the EP left their growing legion of fans gagging for more, new track 'NOT MY RIVAL' will not disappoint. It's a catchy, pogo-tastic, queercore punk banger, full of feminist grit and a killer earworm chorus. The band says ... "Not My Rival, is a song about dismantling the male gaze, fighting against the internalised patriarchal messages that we all unconsciously absorb. It's about breaking the cycle of female rivalry. We want to encourage lifting each other up instead of tearing each other down" The Shooting Daggers debut album is due in the new year .... you have been warned, this is the shape of things to come. But there’s more ... a very special 7” single strictly limited to 250 copies. Classic black vinyl, with a reversible foldover sleeve with artwork from each band on each side so you can choose your own cover, full colour printed labels housed in a poly overbag

1995's 100% Fun is the third leg of Matthew Sweet's Holy Trinity of Power Pop! Produced by Brendan O'Brien, it's a densely-layered production full of grinding guitars, heavy bass lines and BIG drum sounds.

Intervention's 19-track Expanded Edition 2x LP set is the defining presentation of this great album! While the original repertoire's 12 tracks are bigger and better than ever, the 7 Bonus Tracks are on their own 12" 45 RPM 180-gram LP!

100% Fun's album art was lovingly restored by Intervention's Art Director Tom Vadakan, and printed as a gorgeous "Old Style" gatefold by Stoughton printing in LA. It's printed on heavy stock and film-laminated for superior coluor depth, beauty and durability. The center labels are printed by Dorado.



Mastering Notes
100% Fun is 100% Analog Mastered from the Original Master Tapes by Ryan K. Smith at Sterling Sound. The Master Tapes are 30ips 1/2" analogue reels, and the seven bonus tracks are on their own reel. Intervention's cut is big, punchy and dynamic with plenty of producer Brendan O'Brien signature crunch completely intact. Matthew's amazing vocals really shine here amid the layered densities of O'Brien's mix. A big, bold improvement over the 1990s original LP, and so much better than the CD as to make that comparison a total farce.

So a Burner fan is a Rock'n'Roll fan. When Bjorn (guitar/vocals) and Mats (bass) finally found their drummer Jan, the trio is solid as a rock. In September 2018 they wrote and recorded the songs for their first album which was released via Time To Kill Records in spring 2020. Now the Swedish diesel rockers Burner are back! After their first attack with the debut album "Baptized in Gasoline" the band has received praise from all corners of the globe. And after a successful tour with English monster Orange Goblin the band started focusing on their upcoming new album. Burner say: "After the release of Baptized in Gasoline we continued to write new songs as always. Soon there was enough material for a second album and recording began. We always do everything with a smile and our sick sense of humor. The inspiration it comes from anything really, there are so many bands that have inspired us over the years. Janne came up with the idea for the cover and title and work moved on. We are really happy with the result and our fans will be in for a nice surprise. "Hittin' The Target" will be our second release and once again it will be filled with hard rock'n roll riffs. The perfect soundtrack for gulping cold beer!

Bathed in a green haze, the crowd oozed to the mutant rock and roll roaring from the basement's dusty depths — everything and everyone was sweaty and sticky. But as Speedy Ortiz crammed into the back corner, their grins just inches away from ours, D.C.’s Dougout became a moshed-and-sloshed sauna of 20-somethings delirious on rock euphoria.

After spending much of the new millennium bored out of my skull by network soap indie, Speedy Ortiz — not to mention its pals in Pile, Ovlov, Grass is Green and the rest of New England’s burgeoning basement scene — was rock's wild howl. The songs were unpredictable, yet weirdly memorable, swaggering with a winky and wry sense of self. Riffs would twist with a topsy tenderness, then slam a ruptured discord. Sadie Dupuis' sphinxian-yet-sensitive lyrics were not only matched but accentuated by her coil-sprung vibrato. How could Speedy Ortiz not immediately become my new favorite band?

What began as a short-lived solo project recorded in Dupuis' off-hours as a rock camp counselor became a four-piece band in Northampton, Mass., by the end of 2011: Dupuis on guitar and vocals with drummer Mike Falcone, bassist Darl Ferm and guitarist Matt Robidoux. They made cool mixtapes, cracked inside jokes and gushed about teenagers that opened for them on tour. They freaked out (via LiveJournal) when they met the bassist from Polvo or Helium's Mary Timony, but also rolled their eyes at '90s indie-rock comparisons. The band's first single — the gender-bending got-laid grunge yowler "Taylor Swift'' — elicited that rare response of the simultaneous giggle and headbang. The Sports EP amped up the taut yet rubbery riffery.

Released July 9, 2013, Major Arcana is filled with wedding chapel exorcisms, oiled-down attractants and criminally twisted puny little villains — this is Dupuis' haunted lexicon as she scales the toxic Aggro Crag of a breakup. And while Dupuis wrote these songs, the band's convulsing arrangements and diverse influences sprawled the squigglier edges of feedbacked fuzz to mete out matters of the heart. Falcone — who, it's worth noting, has a knack for vocal harmony — swung as much as he smashed the drums. In easily tipoverable songs, Ferm's burly bass and percussive overdubs gave the unruly glee its momentum. Robidoux ripped skronky guitar solos and countered Dupuis' riffs with decorative splatter. Over a four-day marathon session at Sonelab in Easthampton, recording engineer Justin Pizzoferrato sparked the studio imagination of Speedy Ortiz — not only leaning into gritty tones but layer-caking dense dynamics that made these songs pop and pulverize.

For all her sweet-toothed seething, Dupuis was not easy on herself. Everyone's allowed the idiot growing pains of your 20s and the misery that follows, but I can only imagine the emotional exhaustion that playing these songs on the road, night after night, must have wrought. "But you left something on my lips: a mark so sick," she repeats over the doomy destruction that ends the album. Thinking back to the many Speedy Ortiz shows I caught in those early years, including an unofficial after-after party for my own wedding, "MKVI" often served as the noisy down-and-out closer — heads would bang in solidarity as the crowd became co-authors in the chaos, the biting phrase now a hex, Speedy Ortiz forever our coven. —Lars Gotrich

To celebrate the 10th Anniversary of Major Arcana, Speedy Ortiz release a remastered edition on Carpark Records.

Four years after they went all the way to Antarctica, Flat Worms are back in gen pop with the rest of us - but, as intoned on the album opener "Sigalert," "back again like I never was." Is this a nod to the way time passes over our sorely vexed synapses? Or are we to believe that there"s hope to be found in this broken world? Kick back with Witness Marks and see what other traces Flat Worms have left us in the dust. The album title alone leaves a foreboding impression. But look closer - "witness marks" aren"t something out of a forensic analysis - they"re actually practical; scratches placed in old clocks designed to aid continued maintenance further in time. Sure, there"s big questions and more on the board; primarily if we"re at all distinct from the absurdity coming down around us, or just another character in the mirror? Flat Worms are looking inward this time, outlining personal space in relation to themselves and others - sometimes even people they barely know. Among the slabs of slategrey outrage, the flowers of compassion are blooming, and the simmering power of their trio grows exponentially. Working once again with Ty Segall, Flat Worms continue to find new answers by digging into themselves and playing their kind of rock: hard and flat, bass and drums thrusting stalwartly forward with conviction, guitar twisting and spinning in outrage, deadpan vocals decrying a dire set of circumstances. The democracy of working together, so often messy and frustrating, was found to be a powerful release for Justin, Tim and Will. Acting as one, Flat Worms navigated challenging times by coming together, finding release in the clockwork repetitions of practice and the shared creative space they occupied together against the encroaching world. In the short century of their existence, Flat Worms have agitated against the status quo with a disquieting lyric bent, to emphasize the psychosis of the times. These are positions taken within songs, sung out to individuals in the world. As evidenced by the lyrics, "But I know I can always see you at the show Even though it"s only temporary and it"s time to go." . . .Witness Marks surveys an evolving sense of community. Flat Worms are dedicated to persevering and using the power of their collective. Come witness!

Four years after they went all the way to Antarctica, Flat Worms are back in gen pop with the rest of us - but, as intoned on the album opener "Sigalert," "back again like I never was." Is this a nod to the way time passes over our sorely vexed synapses? Or are we to believe that there"s hope to be found in this broken world? Kick back with Witness Marks and see what other traces Flat Worms have left us in the dust. The album title alone leaves a foreboding impression. But look closer - "witness marks" aren"t something out of a forensic analysis - they"re actually practical; scratches placed in old clocks designed to aid continued maintenance further in time. Sure, there"s big questions and more on the board; primarily if we"re at all distinct from the absurdity coming down around us, or just another character in the mirror? Flat Worms are looking inward this time, outlining personal space in relation to themselves and others - sometimes even people they barely know. Among the slabs of slategrey outrage, the flowers of compassion are blooming, and the simmering power of their trio grows exponentially. Working once again with Ty Segall, Flat Worms continue to find new answers by digging into themselves and playing their kind of rock: hard and flat, bass and drums thrusting stalwartly forward with conviction, guitar twisting and spinning in outrage, deadpan vocals decrying a dire set of circumstances. The democracy of working together, so often messy and frustrating, was found to be a powerful release for Justin, Tim and Will. Acting as one, Flat Worms navigated challenging times by coming together, finding release in the clockwork repetitions of practice and the shared creative space they occupied together against the encroaching world. In the short century of their existence, Flat Worms have agitated against the status quo with a disquieting lyric bent, to emphasize the psychosis of the times. These are positions taken within songs, sung out to individuals in the world. As evidenced by the lyrics, "But I know I can always see you at the show Even though it"s only temporary and it"s time to go." . . .Witness Marks surveys an evolving sense of community. Flat Worms are dedicated to persevering and using the power of their collective. Come witness!

GALLUS bottle that sense of anticipation, the idea that anything could
happen. Throwing back to the days when responsibilities were few, anticipation was high, and opportunity was around every corner. The band combine the energetic bounce of Sports Team with the tongue in cheek running commentary of life in 2022 of Yard Act and the introspection of contemporaries Fontaines D.C.

The band's reputation for electric, and at times chaotic, live shows grew quickly, and they soon took to filling rooms up and down the UK, Europe and beyond. Having supported the likes of Biffy Clyro and played to thousands at festivals and
showcases, including SXSW, The Great Escape and ESNS, in the last 12 months,
Gallus' reputation on the international stage is starting to grow in notoriety. This
was reflected in the band being crowned Best Rock/Alternative Category at the
Scottish Alternative Music Awards in 2022.

BLUE & BONE VINYL

Eric D. Johnson rarely lingers at one location too long. As a kid growing up in the Midwest, Johnson's family moved around a lot, but it wasn't until he became a touring musician years later that motion became a central part of his identity. That transient lifestyle stoked an enduring reverence for the world he watched pass by through a van window. A sense of place is a unifying theme he's revisited with Fruit Bats throughout its many lives. From the project's origins in the late '90s as a vehicle for Johnson's lo-fi tinkering to the more sonically ambitious work of recent years, Fruit Bats has often showcased love songs where people and locations meld into one. It's a loose song structure that navigates what he calls "the geography of the heart." "The songs exist in a world that you can sort of travel from one to another," says Johnson. "There are roads and rivers between these songs." Those pathways extend straight through the newest Fruit Bats album, aptly titled A River Running to Your Heart . Self-produced by Johnson_a first for Fruit Bats_with Jeremy Harris at Panoramic House just north of San Francisco, it's Fruit Bats' tenth full-length release and one that finds the project in the middle of a creative resurgence. After two decades of making music, hard-earned emotional maturity has seeped into Johnson's songs, resulting in a more complex sound that's connected with audiences like no other previous version of Fruit Bats. A River Running to Your Heart represents the fullest realization of that creative vision to date. It's a sonically diverse effort that largely explores the importance of what it means to be home, both physically and spiritually. And while that might seem like a peculiar focus for an artist who's constantly in motion, for Fruit Bats, home can take many forms_from the obvious to the obscure. Lead single "Rushin' River Valley" is a self-propelled love song written about Johnson's wife that clings to the borrowed imagery of the place where she grew up in northern California. Then, there's the gentle and unfussy acoustic ballad "We Used to Live Here," which looks back to a time of youthful promise and cheap rent. But the wistful "It All Comes Back" is perhaps the most stunning and surprising track on the album, Johnson's production skills on full display. Built upon intricate layers of synths, keyboards, and guitars, it's a pitch-perfect blend of tone and lyricism that taps into our shared apprehensions and hopes for a post-pandemic life. "We lost some time / But we can make it back / Let's take it easy on ourselves, okay?" sings a world-weary but ultimately reassuring Johnson in the song's opening lines. It's the kind of performance that makes you hope Fruit Bats stays in this one place, at least for a little while longer.

Eric D. Johnson rarely lingers at one location too long. As a kid growing up in the Midwest, Johnson's family moved around a lot, but it wasn't until he became a touring musician years later that motion became a central part of his identity. That transient lifestyle stoked an enduring reverence for the world he watched pass by through a van window. A sense of place is a unifying theme he's revisited with Fruit Bats throughout its many lives. From the project's origins in the late '90s as a vehicle for Johnson's lo-fi tinkering to the more sonically ambitious work of recent years, Fruit Bats has often showcased love songs where people and locations meld into one. It's a loose song structure that navigates what he calls "the geography of the heart." "The songs exist in a world that you can sort of travel from one to another," says Johnson. "There are roads and rivers between these songs." Those pathways extend straight through the newest Fruit Bats album, aptly titled A River Running to Your Heart . Self-produced by Johnson_a first for Fruit Bats_with Jeremy Harris at Panoramic House just north of San Francisco, it's Fruit Bats' tenth full-length release and one that finds the project in the middle of a creative resurgence. After two decades of making music, hard-earned emotional maturity has seeped into Johnson's songs, resulting in a more complex sound that's connected with audiences like no other previous version of Fruit Bats. A River Running to Your Heart represents the fullest realization of that creative vision to date. It's a sonically diverse effort that largely explores the importance of what it means to be home, both physically and spiritually. And while that might seem like a peculiar focus for an artist who's constantly in motion, for Fruit Bats, home can take many forms_from the obvious to the obscure. Lead single "Rushin' River Valley" is a self-propelled love song written about Johnson's wife that clings to the borrowed imagery of the place where she grew up in northern California. Then, there's the gentle and unfussy acoustic ballad "We Used to Live Here," which looks back to a time of youthful promise and cheap rent. But the wistful "It All Comes Back" is perhaps the most stunning and surprising track on the album, Johnson's production skills on full display. Built upon intricate layers of synths, keyboards, and guitars, it's a pitch-perfect blend of tone and lyricism that taps into our shared apprehensions and hopes for a post-pandemic life. "We lost some time / But we can make it back / Let's take it easy on ourselves, okay?" sings a world-weary but ultimately reassuring Johnson in the song's opening lines. It's the kind of performance that makes you hope Fruit Bats stays in this one place, at least for a little while longer.

The Older I Get, the Funnier I Was, which follows Thomas’ brilliant 2020 HBO special The Golden One and his Can't Believe You're Happy Here EP released earlier this year, surveys a range of emotion and offers a broad sonic palette, moving between pop punk, electro, and the obvious influence of the singer-songwriters he grew up listening to in early childhood. It conjures the ennui of Bright Eyes alongside the barefaced storytelling of John Prine, the overstuffed lists of Fred Thomas with the lackadaisical humor of Colleen Green, among many others.

Thomas attributes the dexterity of the record to Duterte, who recorded and engineered most of it in addition to serving up plenty of encouragement when Thomas got down on the process. “As a comic, I used to test out new songs during sets to see if the funny bits were hitting, but since I wrote this in isolation I ended up writing lyrics and worrying less about making jokes,” Thomas says. That said, the album’s plenty funny. Stand-out and lead single “Rigamarole” opens with a Thomas-voiced infomercial that recalls his oft-cited lookalike Jim Carrey as the Grinch, before launching into a buoyant pop song about being depressed.

Whitmer Thomas will admit that when he traveled home to small town Gulf Shores, Alabama to record his HBO stand-up special, The Golden One, he expected to be greeted as a returning hero, a conquering king, or at minimum, a guy with a moderately successful career as an entertainer in Los Angeles. “I expected a big welcome home, open arms, but when I went back I realized: nobody fucking knows me. Nobody remembers me,” Thomas says. “In the years I’d been performing that show, I’d been romanticizing my childhood in this mythologized place, but the visit made me see that I’m not really from there anymore.”

The sense of alienation compounded when Thomas recognized how few people in town remembered his mom, to whom The Golden One is dedicated and largely about. Thomas grew up watching her perform with her twin sister at the legendary Flora-Bama Lounge, where he set the special, and still counts her as one of his musical influences. His new album, The Older I Get, the Funnier I Was, isn’t overtly about his mom, her presence is deeply felt throughout. While in Gulf Shores, Thomas discovered dozens of her old recordings, all of which had been wrecked by Katrina, but upon returning to LA, Thomas paid “a fancy place in Hollywood” to fix the tapes and hired Melina Duterte (Jay Som, Bachelor, Routine) to mix them. The two struck up a collaborative friendship, and Thomas had the sound of his mom’s voice back. “I was listening to songs she recorded when she was about my age, just these heartfelt, sweet Americana songs,” he says. “I decided then that I wanted to lose the Ian Curtis voice I always sing with; I wanted to do what came naturally, because my mom always sounded like herself, even when she was singing some cheesy reggae song about, like, Jamaica.”

Thus he went into The Older I Get, the Funnier I Was knowing it was time to retire his darkwave persona, and leaning into his natural, chirpier voice, which he says sounds “like a 12-year-old’s.” It makes sense: much of the album chronicles what Thomas calls “being a kid and feeling like you have no control and overcompensating by being annoying.” “So much of the album is about witnessing drug and alcohol addiction as a kid and seeing what it does to people, but also realizing that there's nothing you can do about it,” Thomas says. It’s familiar territory (see: “Partied to Death”) but the methodology is different this time around; true to its title, The Older I Get, the Funnier I Was isn’t always looking for laughs. Thomas might’ve left his hometown behind, but his kid self is still tagging along, a Peter Pan shadow he can’t untether himself from. The first line he sings on The Older I Get, the Funnier I Was is: “There should be a room at every party where you can just sit and watch a movie.” Find a 12-year-old who wouldn’t say the same.

Beautifully drunken it hums, the piano in “PianoPiano”, the last tune of “How to Spread Lies”, the first EP by Roman Flügel for the Hamburg based label Dial in the year 2010. Or take “Strich”, a peculiar electrical slow-motion grinder, out on his “Mutter” EP for Klang Electronic in 2006. Since long, the renowned Berlin based DJ and producer is investigating in spheres beyond the dance, the groove, the ecstasy. Zones, where the molecules harmonize, senses relieve, and the soul quietens. All his last albums, “All The Right Noises” (Dial), “Themes I-XIII” (ESP Institue), “Eating Darkness” (Running Back) have moments of tension and relaxation in a deep harmonious connection.

Now “Balmy Evening”, a sundown record for sunup’s. Eleven notions in adventurous journey music, embracing the freedom of structure, blurring the musical pulse into harmonic meditation and mysteriously grooving zones, leaving all unnecessary accessories behind. A quality, that many of his collaborative and solo productions from past 30 years comprise. Still, most of them squint on the dance floor, where jack is king. Not so “Balmy Evening”, where real party bangers are absent. There are moving tunes like the slow Kraftwerk-melody-leaning funkateer “Duftschulter”, or the artificially jacking “Greenhouse”, where nervous Synth patterns ball along soft breaks and decreet kicks. Also, “Super Sonne”, an odd, seemingly improvised synth conversation might ask some souls out for a dance.

But all others, like “Atmosphere”, “Frei”, Dolphins, “Goth”, or “Ambienteuse”, rather seek for the tranquil in each one’s spirit. Listeners need be ready for surprises. Ready for impulsive ideas, linked to a harmonious flow, always ready to grow. An album full of silence, utterly loud, beautifully diverse humming, displaying a playful, exploratory side of a celebrated club music producer, to whom atoms dance in manifold ways.

Somewhere in the middle of the first track, “Torres e Baldios”, there’s a sudden change of pace with percussion rhythms interfering with the trance-like sound of the first six minutes. It sounds like steps, people running away on a corridor bashing their feet. It dazzles you because of how unexpected it is, how unpredictable those sounds sound like and, most of all, how it makes perfect sense. It is a monstrous piece. And the beginning of a new age for Ondness, in the same year he defied his Serpente moniker to create an absolute classic, “Dias da Aranha”.

What makes “Oeste A.D.” so remarkable is the intangible idea of nostalgia. “Aqua Matrix Alternative Nation” recreates with a slowed down mentality the theme of one of the main events of the Expo 98 in Lisbon. It’s nowhere similar to the original, what it does is to mess around with the global ideas that were such a big part of that event. The Portuguese musicians that were invited to collaborate with Expo 98 were mesmerized by the ideas of union and globalization, creating overpriced music that sounds like shit today. “Aqua Matrix Alternative Nation” messes around with that vibe in a positive way. Think Mark Leckey playing around with his rave memories. Same thing, but in Portugal we had Expo 98.

Jokes aside, B Side is more futuristic with “Torres e Baldios II” and “Endless Domingo”, a nod to “Endless Summer”, by Fennesz, and “Endless Happiness” (from “Beaches And Canyons”), by Black Dice, mashing up – freely - both covers and reminding of how great 2001/2002 was for experimental music. Both tracks are full of sci-fi drama and this sickness of the future that has been travelling with Ondness since its early days. But the approach here is somehow different. Before “Oeste A.D.” the Ondness sound was fragmented, sparse and intensively reflexive. There was this uncertainty to it that made the previously releases so good. But “Oeste A.D.” is full of clarity, the phrases are straightforward, and the music moves in one direction, continuously. Before, there were loads of unanswered questions. The only doubt is when will the world start to care and listen to Bruno’s brilliant music. Now sounds like a good time.    

The turn of the millennium ushered in an apex visionary phase for English esoteric duo Coil. Relocating from the city to the coastal quiet of Westonsuper-Mare freed them to follow even more fringe obsessions, fully untethered from peer influence. During a single six-month stretch in 2000 they released the devious underworld sequel to Music To Play In The Dark, arcane drone summit Queens Of The Circulating Library, and a malevolent hour-long synthesizer exorcism prophetically titled Constant Shallowness Leads To Evil. This latter work remains one of the group’s most miasmic and mind-expanding creations, on par with Time Machines – a sustained divination of shuddering, psychoactive noise, rippling with the motion sickness of an all-seeing eye.

Thighpaulsandra characterizes the album as “an exercise in brutality,” born from a thorny patch of his Serge modular unit that Peter “Sleazy” Christopherson found entrancing. Processing this sliver of electronics into a ravaged labyrinth was a trial and error process, aided by Christopherson’s visual sense of sound, stretching and manipulating it for maximum spatial disorientating. Frequencies nauseously crawl across the stereo field, burrowing into the ear like a sinister brainwashing experiment. An outlier / centerpiece is the 13-minute alien tribalist sea shanty, “I Am The Green Child,” guided by John Balance’s sung-spoken free verse concerning vengeance, oblivion, and insanity, culminating in the memorable refrain, “We're swimming in a sea of occidental vomit.” But the rest of the record seethes in unhinged instrumental chaos, divided into 18 micro-movements of a composition called “Tunnel Of Goats.” Intended to scramble the functionality of a CD player’s shuffle mode, the piece throbs, thrashes, and flatlines in compressed frenzies of twisted synthesis, at the threshold of some bottomless purgatory, forbidding and unknown.