Buscar:foot into hallucination

Step Ball Chain’s unconventional prototype band trickpony is the 11th release on the ever evolving imprint. An assortment of sensual cyber jams collaged together by the trio over timezones, birthed in Perth, Australia by Mike Midnight and Roza Terenzi; old friends joined by Helsinki’s visionary songstress Maria Korkeila. A trinity of alchemy blossomed into an audio rendition of exquisite corpse, layers of each entity glistening through amongst a united cosmos; trip hop atmospherics and downtempo drippings. The five track EP reveals a metamorphosis of nostalgia, a foot in the ever present and daydreams of future. A subconscious deep dive into lustful pop, guided by spine tingling vocal fantasies; textural hallucination, harmonic odes to the golden era underground and a flirtation with drum and bass, tribal percussive freakouts and dream tinged lyrics of desire. Pillow talk is a timeless exhibit of esoteric treasures, a portal to a private world of modern enchantment that reveals itself in new ways each listen, music for lovers created by a supergroup of innovators to be digested, shared and cherished.

In May, fans were treated to the first new music from Trentemøller since 2022. A new single, "A Different Light," showcased a stunning blend of prismatic space rock and folk. For anyone wondering if it foreshadowed the release of a full-length, Dreamweaver will drop in September, on Friday the 13th.
Featuring 10 tracks that traverse Trentemøller's many musical strengths, Dreamweaver also represents an obvious artistic leap, treading new ground while retaining the overall plot. Tracks featuring vocals come courtesy of of Iceland's Disa, who has been in Trentemøller's fold since the Memoria tour.
Dreamweaver's nylon string-led opening track, and first single from the album, "A Different Light," contains many of Trentemøller's trademarks: exploring dichotomies, musical shadowplay, Nordic frigidity, and warm waves. It opens the door for the steady, hypnotic "Nightfall," with its tetherless vocal, wistful guitars, and early morning desert chill. The third track in the opening trifecta, "Dreamweavers" finds its footing with a percussive soft trot, which starts after what feels like a shortwave radio scan in search of the right chords, eventually dialing in a weightless voice. Ostensibly keeping a ruminative pace with the previous two tracks, the song and, by extension, album soon opens up as the rest of the elements drop into place with a grand, luxurious burst.
Dreamweaver is about to enter its next phase. With the hatch blown off of the portal, the noisy "I Give My Tears," driven by its glissed and fuzzy bass line, pours into the void. It's followed by its sibling, the most chaotic track on Dreamweaver, "Behind My Eyes." Arriving as a piece of noise rock pandemonium, "Behind My Eyes," can't be contained in its plush vault. A whip-crack snare and convulsing guitars smash against each other in the song's verse chamber. The tension builds, as the particles collide, pushing past the point of critical mass, kicking off the chain reaction which is the chorus. At times it harkens back to the proto-gaze tracks that gave birth to dream pop, at others it newly defines what that is. There's no time to contemplate it, though, as the song disintegrates in a microphonic feedback instant.
A respite follows with the somnambulistic pair of "Hollow" and "Empty Beaches." Then, a moment of intensity returns as the soaring textures and tribal drum bursts of "In A Storm" take control, before being taken out with the ambient slo-core of "Winter's Ghost" and "Closure." This diptych wraps up an album which certainly feels on-script for Trentemøller, but is also much more psychedelic than previous offerings.
Dreamweaver will be released on Trentemøller's own In My Room label. It is an exceedingly immersive experience, bound to release any dormant hallucinations you may be harboring.

In May, fans were treated to the first new music from Trentemøller since 2022. A new single, "A Different Light," showcased a stunning blend of prismatic space rock and folk. For anyone wondering if it foreshadowed the release of a full-length, Dreamweaver will drop in September, on Friday the 13th.
Featuring 10 tracks that traverse Trentemøller's many musical strengths, Dreamweaver also represents an obvious artistic leap, treading new ground while retaining the overall plot. Tracks featuring vocals come courtesy of of Iceland's Disa, who has been in Trentemøller's fold since the Memoria tour.
Dreamweaver's nylon string-led opening track, and first single from the album, "A Different Light," contains many of Trentemøller's trademarks: exploring dichotomies, musical shadowplay, Nordic frigidity, and warm waves. It opens the door for the steady, hypnotic "Nightfall," with its tetherless vocal, wistful guitars, and early morning desert chill. The third track in the opening trifecta, "Dreamweavers" finds its footing with a percussive soft trot, which starts after what feels like a shortwave radio scan in search of the right chords, eventually dialing in a weightless voice. Ostensibly keeping a ruminative pace with the previous two tracks, the song and, by extension, album soon opens up as the rest of the elements drop into place with a grand, luxurious burst.
Dreamweaver is about to enter its next phase. With the hatch blown off of the portal, the noisy "I Give My Tears," driven by its glissed and fuzzy bass line, pours into the void. It's followed by its sibling, the most chaotic track on Dreamweaver, "Behind My Eyes." Arriving as a piece of noise rock pandemonium, "Behind My Eyes," can't be contained in its plush vault. A whip-crack snare and convulsing guitars smash against each other in the song's verse chamber. The tension builds, as the particles collide, pushing past the point of critical mass, kicking off the chain reaction which is the chorus. At times it harkens back to the proto-gaze tracks that gave birth to dream pop, at others it newly defines what that is. There's no time to contemplate it, though, as the song disintegrates in a microphonic feedback instant.
A respite follows with the somnambulistic pair of "Hollow" and "Empty Beaches." Then, a moment of intensity returns as the soaring textures and tribal drum bursts of "In A Storm" take control, before being taken out with the ambient slo-core of "Winter's Ghost" and "Closure." This diptych wraps up an album which certainly feels on-script for Trentemøller, but is also much more psychedelic than previous offerings.
Dreamweaver will be released on Trentemøller's own In My Room label. It is an exceedingly immersive experience, bound to release any dormant hallucinations you may be harboring.

The wheels rattle into the thrilling unknown on The Coral’s first new music since 2018, finding the unsurpassed, metamorphic gonzo-pop five-piece in the company of crooks, sell-by-date candyfloss and plastic skeletons as they release Faceless Angel. Of misplaced memories from a place and time that might never have been, the track precedes a new and vividly evocative body of work from the legendary Merseyside band in the form of their TENTH and first, ever double-album: Coral Island.

Squinting into the neon-lit penny arcades and draining an after hours glass with the displaced and dispossessed once the power is pulled, The Coral’s latest caper concerns listeners with the light, shade, thrills and profound melancholy of coastal palaces packed with fun and fright. Both now and then, or perhaps never as fiction encroaches on reality, the feverous anticipation of a night amongst the screams, fights and romance of the fair become part of life on the newly-built Coral Island.

Welcoming travellers one trepidous step at a time, Faceless Angel sits amongst a series of promised audio visual portraits of and inspired by the Island’s inhabitants. Conceived and created by artist, Edwin Burdis, the single’s video was filmed ‘on’ Coral Island itself, a sprawling diorama purpose-built inside a deserted Chinese restaurant in Cardiff. It’s the band and fans’ first venture onto the surreal land mass, populated by surreal sculptural forms, charity shop-finds, looming mountains and gathering storm clouds. Filmed in debt to the traditional model-based filmmaking methods of greats like George Lucas or Ray Harryhausen, Burdis navigated Coral Island at waist-height and via camera-friendly pathways to gather 360 degree footage from inside and outside his and The Coral’s fascinating, fabricated world. The expansive and ambitious installation also provides the album artwork for Coral Island as well as designs for Faceless Angel and future singles.

Indebted in part to the classic pre-Beatles rock and roll era of Duane Eddy and Chuck Berry alongside the clattering of a weary ghost train’s rusted wheels on worn steel, Faceless Angel’s title evokes DC Comics ominous occult detective series, Hellblazer and the broken character of the strip’s protagonist, John Constantine.

The wheels rattle into the thrilling unknown on The Coral’s first new music since 2018, finding the unsurpassed, metamorphic gonzo-pop five-piece in the company of crooks, sell-by-date candyfloss and plastic skeletons as they release Faceless Angel. Of misplaced memories from a place and time that might never have been, the track precedes a new and vividly evocative body of work from the legendary Merseyside band in the form of their TENTH and first, ever double-album: Coral Island.

Squinting into the neon-lit penny arcades and draining an after hours glass with the displaced and dispossessed once the power is pulled, The Coral’s latest caper concerns listeners with the light, shade, thrills and profound melancholy of coastal palaces packed with fun and fright. Both now and then, or perhaps never as fiction encroaches on reality, the feverous anticipation of a night amongst the screams, fights and romance of the fair become part of life on the newly-built Coral Island.

Welcoming travellers one trepidous step at a time, Faceless Angel sits amongst a series of promised audio visual portraits of and inspired by the Island’s inhabitants. Conceived and created by artist, Edwin Burdis, the single’s video was filmed ‘on’ Coral Island itself, a sprawling diorama purpose-built inside a deserted Chinese restaurant in Cardiff. It’s the band and fans’ first venture onto the surreal land mass, populated by surreal sculptural forms, charity shop-finds, looming mountains and gathering storm clouds. Filmed in debt to the traditional model-based filmmaking methods of greats like George Lucas or Ray Harryhausen, Burdis navigated Coral Island at waist-height and via camera-friendly pathways to gather 360 degree footage from inside and outside his and The Coral’s fascinating, fabricated world. The expansive and ambitious installation also provides the album artwork for Coral Island as well as designs for Faceless Angel and future singles.

Indebted in part to the classic pre-Beatles rock and roll era of Duane Eddy and Chuck Berry alongside the clattering of a weary ghost train’s rusted wheels on worn steel, Faceless Angel’s title evokes DC Comics ominous occult detective series, Hellblazer and the broken character of the strip’s protagonist, John Constantine.

3x12" Repress


Some serious hot tracks on this fourth instalment of the Scandinavian Swords series. It breaks with its predecessors' forms. Deviating from the austere brevity that marks Northern Electronics out, Scandinavian Swords IIII: Atlas of Visions completes a survey of the label's confidants and components in the same breath as it introduces a swarm of new artists and genre-collisions. With the swell of the last 12 months behind them, Anthony Linell and Jonas Ronnberg have forged the compilation with a paradoxical formula: Atlas of Visions stakes itself as a milestone release that retains the sure-footed programming of its proprietors yet cuts a new silhouette for what the platform of a Northern Electronics release consists of. Presented across two volumes, Atlas of Visions courses through the hyper-pigmented and infectious fallout zone between club-focused works and the abstract territories of experimental modes. The release compiles egression and intensification into a pandemoniac whole, a refracting design for fractured times. Recommended!!!

There is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it anecdote tucked into one of
the many fine documentaries about seminal 20th Century artist
Jean-Michel Basquiat regarding the habits of his studio practice.
As we watch inspiring footage of Basquiat darting from one
piece to the next with rapid-fire brush strokes, a friend or
gallerist in a voice over says that it was not unusual for
Basquiat to be working on several paintings in the same
moment as several radio stations and televisions played in the
background. Not much more time is spent on the anecdote but
it feels like a skeleton key into Basquiat’s endlessly alluring,
neoexpressionist work.
And while Bryan Devendorf’s solo curio ‘Royal Green’ doesn’t
possess the only-in-New York vibe of Basquiat’s work, there is
something shared in its many-channels-open style of creation.
Satellite signals, strange voices from lost television
documentaries and radio operas are all woven into its fabric -
like it’s using these endless tides of media and information to
unlock the subconscious. Even its covers - Bob Dylan,
Fleetwood Mac, The National (with a nice big wink), The
Beatles - are like stunning, albeit satanic takes on hymns, or
like American standards almost dragged into the underworld.
Like the best of Spacemen 3, Sparklehorse or massively
underrated San Fran band Skygreen Leopards - the music
makes you queasy in one movement and lulls you into
blissmode in the next. It’s the very edge of outsider pop
songwriting.
For all the amphitheaters and festival fields Devendorf has
played to over his career, ‘Royal Green’ almost feels like an unlearning and a newfound love of homemade/found/fractured
sounds - and how, if collaged just so, detritus can become
stunningly gorgeous and surreal. And not without hooks. Look
no further than ‘Frosty’, which could be Little Billy Corgan’s
decayed demo tape from just before the Smashing Pumpkins
appeared on the scene. And the unspooling, slightly unglued
dream-pop of ‘Breaking the River’ is as rapturous as it is
sinister. And that’s probably where Devendorf wants it.

There is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it anecdote tucked into one of the many fine documentaries about seminal 20th Century artist Jean-Michel Basquiat regarding the habits of his studio practice. As we watch inspiring footage of Basquiat darting from one piece to the next with rapid-fire brush strokes, a friend or gallerist in a voice over says that it was not unusual for Basquiat to be working on several paintings in the same moment as several radio stations and televisions played in the background. Not much more time is spent on the anecdote, but it feels like a skeleton key into Basquiat's endlessly alluring, neoexpressionist work. And while Bryan Devendorf's solo curio `Royal Green' doesn't possess the only-in-New York vibe of Basquiat's work, there is something shared in its many-channels-open style of creation. Satellite signals, strange voices from lost television documentaries and radio operas are all woven into its fabric _ like it's using these endless tides of media and information to unlock the subconscious. Even its covers _ Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac, The National (with a nice big wink), The Beatles _ are like stunning, albeit satanic takes on hymns, or like American standards almost dragged into the underworld. Like the best of Spacemen 3, Sparklehorse or massively underrated San Fran band Skygreen Leopards _ the music makes you queasy in one movement and lulls you into blissmode in the next. It's the very edge of outsider pop songwriting. For all the amphitheaters and festival fields Devendorf has played to over his career, `Royal Green' almost feels like an un-learning and a newfound love of homemade/found/fractured sounds _ and how, if collaged just so, detritus can become stunningly gorgeous and surreal. And not without hooks. Look no further than "Frosty" which could be Little Billy Corgan's decayed demo tape from just before the Smashing Pumpkins appeared on the scene. And the unspooling, slightly unglued dream-pop of "Breaking the River" is as rapturous as it is sinister. And that's probably where Devendorf wants it.