Buscar:10 record cover

High Roller Records, RED COVER, black vinyl, ltd 250, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover, insert, poster, original mix with all interludes between the Songs! Original 1986 sound! Specially mastered for vinyl by Patrick W. Engel at Temple of Disharmony!

This is the first time ever Har Mar's breakout 2nd album is available on vinyl. Just in time for the 20th anniversary of its original release. This is the album that contain electro pop classics such as Power Lunch (feat. Beth Ditto) and EZ Pass. The album features collaborations with members of The Faint and Busy Signals. This LP also contains two vinyl-only bonus tracks, "Brothers and Sisters" and "EZ Pass (Mint Royale Remix.)." The artwork was re-imagined by Project Dimmel, who designed the original cover and layout back in the day, and the jacket cover is embossed for an extra-cool tactile feel! It was remastered for vinyl by Jesse Mangum at The Glow.
The inner sleeve contains new liner notes by Sean Tillmann and a bunch of fun pictures. TRACKLIST: 1. Intro 2. Power Lunch (feat. Beth Ditto) 3. Elephant Walk (feat. Clark Baechle and Tiny E) 4. We Could Be Heavy 5. You Can Feel Me 6. H.A.R.M.A.R. (feat. Beth Ditto) 7. One Dirty Minute (feat. Dirty Preston) 8. No Chorus 9. Let’s Get This Party Kickin’ 10. Freedom Summer 11. Love Jam No. 1 12. EZ Pass 13. Brothers and Sisters 14. EZ Pass (Mint Royale Remix)

We Jazz Records presents the second volume of their reworks albums dealing with source material from the Helsinki-based label's catalog. This time around, it's Carl Stone's turn to tackle the source albums at hand and filter the label's output through his musical lens.

We Jazz Reworks is an idea that repurposes some of the label's output 10 albums at a time. That is, the label invites producers whose music they love on board, and one by one, they tackle 10 albums worth of source material, of which they are free to use as much or as little as they choose. The series evolves chronologically, so this volume being number two, the source material is pulled from We Jazz LPs numbers 11 through 20. The artist has complete freedom.

Volume 2 in the series happens with Carl Stone, a legendary figure in creative music. His career spans decades of unlimited musical innovation. Stone's recent output on Unseen Worlds, the label who has also been instrumental in issuing some of his remarkable earlier work, ranks among the most original art of our time and renders notions such as "genre" virtually meaningless.

Here, We Jazz originals by Terkel Nørgaard, OK:KO, Jonah Parzen-Johnson and more are met here with a fresh sense of discovery, spun around and delivered ready for the turntable once again.

Carl Stone says:

"It was wonderful that We Jazz gave me carte blanche to work with any materials from the set of ten releases in its catalog. This freedom to work with everything could have been a mixed blessing though, as it could be a challenge to try to deal with so much musical information. In the end I did what I almost always do: Let my intuition be my guide and to seize upon any musical items that seemed to fit into an overall approach."

"To make a new piece I usually start with an extended period of what really is just playing, the way a child plays with toys. Experimentation without necessary expectation, leading to (hopefully) discovery of things of musical interest, then figuring out a way to craft and shape these into a structured piece of music. Each track uses a different approach, which I found along the way during this play period."

This conceptual approach becomes complete with the design, in which album graphics are treated in a similar fashion, reworking what's there. This time around, the artwork is reinvented by Tuomo Parikka, a regular cover collage contributor for the We Jazz Magazine.

CURACAO BLUE TRANSPARENT VINYL, INSIDE OUT SLEEVE, OBI W/ LINER NOTES, PRINTED INNER SLEEVE WITH SOURCE ALBUM DESIGN REFLECTIONS.

The classic sci-fi series teleports to Demon Records for two thrilling full-cast radio adventures.
From 1977 to 1981, a heroic band of freedom fighters waged war against the merciless Terran Federation,
spearheaded by Supreme Commander Servalan. In the mid-1990s Terry Nation’s intergalactic epic switched from BBC
TV to radio with two new adventures, The Sevenfold Crown and The Syndeton Experiment. Both now come to vinyl
for the first time, alongside cast interviews and extracts from Zen and the Art of Blake’s 7.
Presented across 3 x 140g vinyl discs in three colours, these full-cast dramas star Paul Darrow as Avon with Jacqueline
Pearce as Servalan, Michael Keating as Vila, Steven Pacey as Tarrant, Paula Wilcox as Soolin, Angela Bruce as Dayna,
and Peter Tuddenham as Orac and Slave. Written by Barry Letts (Doctor Who) they feature incidental music by Jeff
Mearns as well as the familiar strains of Dudley Simpson’s iconic theme music.
The removable slipcase cover reveals a trio of coloured LPs - plus a frameable art print - in a widespine sleeve. The
discs are presented in individual sleeves which, when place side by side, reveal a landscape scene of Scorpio in flight.
Full cast and credits are accompanied by graphics illustrating the tech of Blake’s 7.
Make sure you’re Down and Safe with this exclusive limited edition.

The sun, kissing the forehead through half-closed blinds; the night, coming uninvited through a windowpane like a damp, sticky shroud. Light and darkness, solid foundations and elusive glimpses of parallel realities. Armies of digital insects - taken aback by warmth of one brave heart, 90s chillout rooms updated for todays vast and desolated space full of fragile souls desperate in their look for any kind of communion; “artificial intelligence” after three decades of wandering, trying to finally find a helping hand, solace and peace. Shimmer and shine. Welcome to “Pristine”, a new recording from the mind of Jacek Sienkiewicz.
For the past years Jacek has been escaping his image of relentless producer and performer of driving, multi-layered club music. His most recent works include deep ambient records, abstract electro-acoustic experiments, and super smart, stripped-down yet incredibly complex contemporary electronica. The last few records, mostly on his own label Recognition include albums with Max Loderbauer and Atom™, reinterpretations of works by Bogdan Mazurek of the legendary Polish Radio Experimental Studio, scores for radio plays and last year’s massively overlooked “Krasz”, music for theatrical performance of Ballard’s/Cronenberg’s “Crash”.
“Pristine”, a labour of love, is at times abstract and atonal, at times breathtakingly beautiful and tender.
8 tracks written and performed in Jacek’s unmistakable, singular style, and covering many grounds - abstract, electronic forms, neo-classical wonders, super tight compositions and freeform, jazz-like improvisations and stripped-down rhythms. Different moods, machine-translated and reverseengineered in a variety of recording locations, make up this exceptional record.
Shimmer and shine, immerse and enjoy.
Co-Financed By The Minister Of Culture And National Heritage of Poland.
The project has been implemented in co-production with Recognition Records and the National Centre for Culture of Poland

Several things happened before a warm day when I met the four members of Frankie Cosmos in a Brooklyn studio to begin making their album. Greta Kline spent a few years living with her family and writing a mere 100 songs, turning her empathy anywhere from the navel to the moon, rendering it all warm, close and reflexively humorous. In music, everyone loves a teen sensation, but Kline has never been more fascinating than now, a decade into being one of the most prolific songwriters of her generation. She's lodged in my mind amongst authors, other observational alchemists like Rachel Cusk or Sheila Heti, but she's funnier, which is a charm endemic to musicians. Meanwhile Frankie Cosmos, a rare, dwindling democratic entity called a band, had been on pandemic hiatus with no idea if they'd continue. In the openness of that uncertainty they met up, planning to hang out and play music together for the first time in nearly 500 days. There, whittling down the multitude of music to work with, they created Inner World Peace, a collection of Greta's songs changed and sculpted by their time together. While Kline's musical taste at the time was leaning toward aughts indie rock she'd loved as a teenager, keyboardist Lauren Martin and drummer Luke Pyenson cite "droning, meditation, repetition, clarity and intentionality," as well as "'70s folk and pop" as a reference for how they approached their parts. Bassist/guitarist Alex Bailey says that at the time he referred to it as their "ambient" or "psych" album. Somewhere between those textural elements and Kline's penchant for concise pop, Inner World Peace finds its balance. The first order of business upon setting up camp in Brooklyn's Figure 8 studios was to project giant colorful slides the band had made for each track. Co-producing with Nate Mendelsohn, my Shitty Hits Recording partner, we aimed for FC's aesthetic idiosyncrasies to shine. The mood board for "Magnetic Personality" has a neon green and black checkerboard, a screen capture of the game Street Fighter with "K.O." in fat red letters, and a cover of Mad Magazine that says "Spy Vs. Spy! The Top Secret Files." On tracks like "F.O.O.F." (Freak Out On Friday), "Fragments" and "Aftershook," the group are at their most psychedelic and playful, interjecting fuzz solos, bits of percussion, and other sonically adventurous ear candy. An internal logic strengthens everything, and in their proggiest moments, Frankie Cosmos are simply a one-take band who don't miss. When on Inner World Peace they sound wildly, freshly different, it may just be that they're coming deeper into their own. Inner World Peace excels in passing on the emotions it holds. When in the towering "Empty Head" Kline sings of wanting to let thoughts slide away, her voice is buoyed on a bed of synths and harmonium as tranquility abounds. When her thoughts become hurried and full of desire, so does the band, and she leaps from word to word as if unable to contain them all. As a group, they carry it all deftly, and with constant regard for Kline's point of view. Says Greta, "To me, the album is about perception. It's about the question of "who am I?" and whether or not the answer matters. It's about quantum time, the possibilities of invisible worlds. The album is about finding myself floating in a new context. A teenager again, living with my parents. An adult, choosing to live with my family in an act of love. Time propelled us forward, aged us, and also froze. If you don't leave the house, who are you to the world? Can you take the person you discover there out with you?" - Katie Von Schleicher

Several things happened before a warm day when I met the four members of Frankie Cosmos in a Brooklyn studio to begin making their album. Greta Kline spent a few years living with her family and writing a mere 100 songs, turning her empathy anywhere from the navel to the moon, rendering it all warm, close and reflexively humorous. In music, everyone loves a teen sensation, but Kline has never been more fascinating than now, a decade into being one of the most prolific songwriters of her generation. She's lodged in my mind amongst authors, other observational alchemists like Rachel Cusk or Sheila Heti, but she's funnier, which is a charm endemic to musicians. Meanwhile Frankie Cosmos, a rare, dwindling democratic entity called a band, had been on pandemic hiatus with no idea if they'd continue. In the openness of that uncertainty they met up, planning to hang out and play music together for the first time in nearly 500 days. There, whittling down the multitude of music to work with, they created Inner World Peace, a collection of Greta's songs changed and sculpted by their time together. While Kline's musical taste at the time was leaning toward aughts indie rock she'd loved as a teenager, keyboardist Lauren Martin and drummer Luke Pyenson cite "droning, meditation, repetition, clarity and intentionality," as well as "'70s folk and pop" as a reference for how they approached their parts. Bassist/guitarist Alex Bailey says that at the time he referred to it as their "ambient" or "psych" album. Somewhere between those textural elements and Kline's penchant for concise pop, Inner World Peace finds its balance. The first order of business upon setting up camp in Brooklyn's Figure 8 studios was to project giant colorful slides the band had made for each track. Co-producing with Nate Mendelsohn, my Shitty Hits Recording partner, we aimed for FC's aesthetic idiosyncrasies to shine. The mood board for "Magnetic Personality" has a neon green and black checkerboard, a screen capture of the game Street Fighter with "K.O." in fat red letters, and a cover of Mad Magazine that says "Spy Vs. Spy! The Top Secret Files." On tracks like "F.O.O.F." (Freak Out On Friday), "Fragments" and "Aftershook," the group are at their most psychedelic and playful, interjecting fuzz solos, bits of percussion, and other sonically adventurous ear candy. An internal logic strengthens everything, and in their proggiest moments, Frankie Cosmos are simply a one-take band who don't miss. When on Inner World Peace they sound wildly, freshly different, it may just be that they're coming deeper into their own. Inner World Peace excels in passing on the emotions it holds. When in the towering "Empty Head" Kline sings of wanting to let thoughts slide away, her voice is buoyed on a bed of synths and harmonium as tranquility abounds. When her thoughts become hurried and full of desire, so does the band, and she leaps from word to word as if unable to contain them all. As a group, they carry it all deftly, and with constant regard for Kline's point of view. Says Greta, "To me, the album is about perception. It's about the question of "who am I?" and whether or not the answer matters. It's about quantum time, the possibilities of invisible worlds. The album is about finding myself floating in a new context. A teenager again, living with my parents. An adult, choosing to live with my family in an act of love. Time propelled us forward, aged us, and also froze. If you don't leave the house, who are you to the world? Can you take the person you discover there out with you?" - Katie Von Schleicher

The origins of Cos date back to the second half of the sixties when Daniel Schell joined forces with Jean-Paul Musette, Pascale Son and Robert Pernet to form Classroom. When Classroom split, Daniel Schell and Pascale Son moved ahead and formed Cos together with Charles Loos, Alain Goutier and Bob Dartsch. They produced an experimental jazz rock sound linked to the influences above mentioned, but without being mere copycats since they always managed to keep to their own personality.



Viva Boma was their second LP, originally issued in November 1976, and added some African influences to the mix, including the cover which, designed by Alain Goutier upon a concept by Daniel Schell, depicted a trio of hipopotamus that made reference to Boma, a portuary city at the banks of the river Congo, and Bomma, Belgian word for grandmother (hence the title appearing either with one or two m's on different parts of the artwork).



The Wah Wah reissue comes housed in a

OVERVIEW: Field Medic’s latest album doesn’t waste any time getting to what feels like a mission statement for the record with the first lines “I want to fall off the face of the earth and probably die” on opener “Always Emptiness.” The longtime songwriting project of Kevin Patrick Sullivan - Mr. Field himself, the bay-area native who finds himself living in LA these days - has always had moments of melodrama like this, but his latest album grow your hair long if you’re wanting to see something that you can change feels as emotionally charged and poetically devastating as anything he’s ever given us. Sullivan has been turning turmoil into beautiful music for almost 10 years as Field Medic. The project that had origins in busking San Francisco streets has blossomed into a full-time touring act with a few TikTok viral moments. 2018’s full-length Fade Into the Dawn and the pandemic-era mixtape/album hybrid Floral Prince both offered a glimpse into how Sullivan’s songwriting has evolved since his earliest songs

By early 2020, Kayleigh Goldsworthy had finally figured out who she was. The long-time hired-gun musician from Syr- acuse and based in south Philadelphia, who had spent a decade backing up the likes of Dave Hause, Bayside, Frank Iero, and others, was ready to commit fully to a solo career of her own work. The day after New Year’s Day 2020, Gold- sworthy started recording her second solo LP, seven years after her debut Burrower, with Will Yip at Studio 4 outside Philly.

Then everything changed. The job and life Goldsworthy had pursued since her teen years was ripped away: tours, shows, studio time, even band practices and writing sessions, all gone. Along with those went away a hard-won sense of self.All those things that had given Goldsworthy the confidence and push to believe in herself and her work disappeared.

“I had figured out who I was,” says Goldsworthy, “then this whole thing happened, and I had to figure out who I was again.”

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

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Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Sofa Movements is pleased to present a collection of five dancefloor friendly house jams and one kinda-303-triphop gem from Paradiso Rhythm.

We are excited to reissue Kuedo's classic 2011 album 'Severant' on double vinyl for the first time, and with a bonus track 'Work, Live & Sleep In Collapsing Space'. The cover artwork has been redesigned by Raf Rennie (Who also designed Kuedo's recent album on Brainfeeder, Infinite Window). In terms of feeling, ‘Severant’ explores the space between the detached world of the imagination and the real-time world; that feeling of coming out of a daydream, on the edge of the drift from the day-to-day grind. Jamie says of this moment ”As reality shapes imagination and escapism affects your choices in the real world, there is a strange relational loop between the two and the space in between the two. There’s a bitter sweetness in that gap, it has a certain emotive quality, kind of in between being and non-being”. Again, musically ‘Severant’ is inspired by related themes. It sounds as if it’s in a sweet spot between the emotive, innately futurist synth soundtracks of Tangerine Dream and Vangelis, borne from a time when the very idea of futurism was more prevalent, in combination with musical ideas and inspiration from the emotionally ambivalent, materialist fantasies of ‘coke rap‘ such as The Clipse. Rhythmically the record is influenced by what Jamie calls ”the two ultra modernmusics of modern times”, footwork from Chicago, which Planet Mu has explored in depth on its recent releases, and again the drum machine grids of coke rap. Jamie says ”I wanted to capture a really futurist sentiment, kind of melancholy and grand luminescent, so I used the instrument that most evokes that for me - that sweeping Vangelis brass sound.” And on coke rap he talks about the emotional ‘half being’ of the music, the energetically charged, detached ambivalence of the MCs, and the admission that the MCs could be ”fantasising without admitting to doing so.”

On 'Cover to Cover', The Brother Brothers pay homage to those early
influences and other favorite songwriters with unique arrangements of
twelve beloved classics they want more people to hear
Among their eclectic picks: Tom T. Hall’s “That’s How I Got to Memphis,” Jackson
Browne’s “These Days,” James Taylor’s “You Can Close Your Eyes,” Hoagy
Carmichael’s “I Get Along Without You Very Well (Except Sometimes),” Robert Earl
Keen’s “Feelin’ Good Again,” Richard Thompson’s “Waltzing’s for Dreamers,” Judee
Sill’s “Rugged Road” and Tom Waits’ “Flowers Grave.” Their exquisite version of
The Beatles’ “I Will” holds special significance, because they created their own
harmonies over the solo-vocal original when they were six.

"Good music never dies!" - This was Diane Ellis' mantra when she set out to produce this, her first record, in 1979. She recalls hearing the Rose Royce classic Love Don't Live Here Anymore on the radio and instantly thinking it would make for a great reggae cover, immediately envisioning the sound she was looking for. Drafting in the legendary Boris Gardiner and vocalist Sharon Forrester they created this timeless version of a perennial classic - now available here in it's full extended discomix glory for the first time on 12" since it's original outing, and backed with hornsman cut placing Dean Fraser's sax front row center.

The record was made when Ellis was studio manager for the world-famous Tuff Gong studios, but wanted her outing as a record producer to be a totally independent venture - gaining the great Bob Marley & the TG team's blessings in the process. And so Aquarius Studio in Half Way Tree was where it was all laid-down. Diane credits the Legendary owner and pioneering producer, Herman Chin Loy, as also being of great help on the record, providing a guiding ear throughout the process.

Despite this the evident strength of this first production, Ellis would follow up with only one other production, Junior Tucker's cover of "One of the Poorest People" (this time one recorded at Tuff Gong studios, and releasing the 56 Hope Road subsidiery). While both records performed well on local radio and charts, Diane exited the music industry shortly after. Now 43 years later, Diane is overjoyed her production is having a comeback, saying that "the support and love felt during the project can never be replicated, and I give thanks to all who supported then and now".

Unlearn is the long awaited fourth album of DJ and producer 2econd Class Citizen. It marks the artist's return back to the newly relaunched label Equinox Records. Their previous collaborations achieved high acclaim for their genre bending fusion of hip hop, electronica and folk music.

The new album is an exploration of an artist journeying beyond their conventional confines. It is a musical adventure peppered with vintage samples concerning the perception of reality and our struggles with conforming to a broken society.

Unlearn is the most musically accomplished work of 2econd Class Citizen to date. As one would expect the drum programming, scratching and production is on point. Several tracks feature soothingly melodic and energetic passages of jazz saxophone from Leroy Horns and electric guitar riffs provided by long term collaborator Paul Drury.

2econd Class Citizen, real name Aaron Thomason, resides in Brighton, UK. He is also a painter and visual artist fascinated with abstraction and the chaos of mixing colours. His musical approach on the new LP draws many parallels to this creative process. An original painting from the artist forms the albums striking cover.

Equinox Records is run by DJ Scientist in Germany. The Unlearn project marks the 51st release and provides the perfect launch vehicle for the dormant label to rise again. The vinyl release of Unlearn as well as the single Be Together signify the first stops in a release plan which will please fans of the label.

FEEDBACK:

"Woah! It's sounds rad! Really heavy and cinematic!"
Kid Koala

"A dark and deep dive into a world of dense and diced samples and moody muted melodies. Would sit well next to Shadow's freakier forays into fractured funk. Or Format's last psychy LP, for sure."
DJ Moneyshot of The Allergies

"I love it. The new treatments with the additional instruments sound great, especially the horns. Glad to see that Equinox is back in action. Dope cover art."
Dday One

"It sounds like 2econd Class Citizen has been at a mountaintop retreat studying and meditating and came back with some superpowers."
Buddy Peace

Australian art-punk combo Tropical Fuck Storm continues its hot streak of brain-bending releases with Moonburn, a maxi-single cassette on Joyful Noise Recordings. Side A offers the new song, "Moonburn," a ballad in the classic TFS style written and sung by Gareth Liddiard. Fiona Kitschin steps up to the microphone on "Ann," a cover of The Stooges that swaps Ron Asheton's scorching guitar part for a deranged sound collage of guitar freakouts, siren noises, and electronics. Side B includes an acoustic take on the fan-favorite song "Aspirin (Slight Return)" and a haunting cover of Talking Heads' "Heaven."

Axe Gabba Murda Mob back on PRSPCT with another 2 track EP filled with the best deep house summer anthems out there. Looking for the perfect soundtrack to spice up your Ibiza getaway with the lads or ladies? No need to search any further. Hellfish & Bryan Fury got you covered.

Covered in beer, piss, puke and 200BPM hardcore that is!

During the 13 years of existence of our label we have managed to turn many a dream project into reality and reissued countless numbers of forgotten and overlooked gems. There has, however, been one dream we've chased for years that is now finally manifesting itself on vinyl - the albums of the most remarkable Finnish post rock band Magyar Posse and especially the second of their three records, Kings of Time. Magyar Posse's debut album We Will Carry You Over The Mountains (2001) was already an impressive, ambitious work in which the band effortlessly mixed Goblin and Ennio Morricone influences into their melodic and atmospheric blend of instrumental post-something. It was, though, the second album Kings of Time, that took the band from the darlings of the local alternative music press to such levels of artistic expression that even the mainstream media had to pay attention. The album, consisting of seven untitled songs, sounds like music to an imaginary sixties new wave film that mixes Soviet space drama with spaghetti western gunfights on a scorching hot desert, all covered with slavic melancholy. The record was released originally covered in a striking red and black 20's Soviet avantgarde style cover design. The Svart Records vinyl reissue comes in a blue cover that better reflects the changed times. The vinyl also includes a booklet full of memorabilia and text that look back to the creation of this spectacular album.

During the 13 years of existence of our label we have managed to turn many a dream project into reality and reissued countless numbers of forgotten and overlooked gems. There has, however, been one dream we've chased for years that is now finally manifesting itself on vinyl - the albums of the most remarkable Finnish post rock band Magyar Posse and especially the second of their three records, Kings of Time. Magyar Posse's debut album We Will Carry You Over The Mountains (2001) was already an impressive, ambitious work in which the band effortlessly mixed Goblin and Ennio Morricone influences into their melodic and atmospheric blend of instrumental post-something. It was, though, the second album Kings of Time, that took the band from the darlings of the local alternative music press to such levels of artistic expression that even the mainstream media had to pay attention. The album, consisting of seven untitled songs, sounds like music to an imaginary sixties new wave film that mixes Soviet space drama with spaghetti western gunfights on a scorching hot desert, all covered with slavic melancholy. The record was released originally covered in a striking red and black 20's Soviet avantgarde style cover design. The Svart Records vinyl reissue comes in a blue cover that better reflects the changed times. The vinyl also includes a booklet full of memorabilia and text that look back to the creation of this spectacular album.