Honest Jons Records News

Gonzalo Benitez and Luis Alberto Valencia were kingpins of the musica nacional movement in Ecuador. Check them out on the cover, on a rooftop in Quito’s Old Town, surveying their dominion. In 1970, when Valencia collapsed onstage during a performance of the yaravi Desesperacion — ‘My heart is already in ashes’ — and died four days later, aged 52, his coffin was carried through those city streets on the shoulders of his fans.

They began singing as a duo in their mid-teens. During twenty-eight years together they recorded more than six hundred songs, for Discos Ecuador, Nacional, Granja, Ortiz, Rondador, Onix, Fuente, Real, Tropical, Fadisa, RCA Victor — and of course CAIFE.

Their exquisitely romantic harmonising is a sublime blend of collected forbearance and abject self-annihilation, underpinned and elaborated by the heart-piercing, improvisatory guitar-playing of Bolivar Ortiz. Effectively the third member of the group. ‘El Pollo’ sets the tone and intensity for everything that follows: listen to his soloing at the start of our opener, Lamparilla.

Musically a pasillo — a cross between a Viennese waltz and the indigenous yaravi rhythm — Lamparilla draws its verses from a poem by Luz Martinez from Riobamba, written in 1918 when she was 15, under the influence of Baudelaire and Mallarme. Another pasillo here, Sombras is one of the best-loved songs in the musica nacional canon, setting lines about undercover sex and loss by the Mexican poet Maria Pren, which were considered pornographic on publication in 1911.

And Benitez & Valencia looked back still further, to the indigenous roots of Ecuadorian music, as the key to its future. Carnaval de Guaranda is their take on a song dating back to the era of the Mitimaes, a broad group of Bolivian tribes conquered by the Incas and displaced to Ecuador. ‘Impossible love of mine / I love you for being impossible / Who loves what is impossible / Is the truest lover.’

Lovingly presented in a gatefold sleeve with spot-gloss, and printed inners, with stunning photos and expert notes. Excellent sound, drawn from original tapes, by way of Abbey Road, D&M and Pallas.

Cuernavaca / Stateville / Frankincense And Myrrh / Apsara / Ancestral / Spin / Zincali


Approaching his eighty-fifth birthday, sharp and lean, Phil Cohran lives a couple of blocks from the lake on the north side of Chicago. His modest apartment is filled with a palpable richness. His cornet and trumpets, zithers, French horn, harp and frankiphones (an electric kalimba of his own invention); his beloved telescope; African art; a mural of the Chinese monastery where Muslim monks bestowed on him the name Kelan ('holy scripture'); hand-printed posters from the culture wars of 1960s Chicago; all reflect a life dedicated not just to music, but also to science and astronomy, to history and activism. In its range of subject matter the track-list of Kelan Philip Cohran & The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble embodies this invigorating and all-embracing curiosity: a Mexican hill-town filled with perfume and flowers... an Illinois state prison where Cohran taught inmates in the 1960s... heavenly dancers in the temples of Cambodia... a tribute to a sixteenth-century Venetian musicologist. Welcome to the musical world of Kelan Philip Cohran.
Cohran was born in Mississippi and grew up in St Louis. In the immediate post-war years St Louis was a jazz heartland, home of stalwarts like Clark Terry and Oliver Nelson (both of whom he played with), not to mention a genius called Miles Davis. In 1950 Cohran moved to another heartland, Kansas City, where he played trumpet in one of the hardest swinging swing-groups, led by Jay McShann (who famously had given Charlie Parker his first job). With McShann he spent 'the best year of my life', touring as far as Mexico and playing proto-rock'n'roll in Texas with the likes of Big Mama Thornton on vocals. Back in St Louis Cohran led his own group, the Rajas Of Swing, whose show involved wearing red jackets, grey slacks, blue suede shoes and turbans.
Then in the mid-50s he moved to Chicago. He had a small group with a friend, the legendary tenor saxophonist John Gilmore, whose regular gig was to play at Sarah Vaughan's weekly 'birthday' parties, an excuse for the Sassy One to splash the cash and have some fun. ('What, Sarah Vaughan would sing with you and John Gilmore' 'No way, Sarah didn't sing, she was too busy partying.') And in 1959, through Gilmore, he was invited to join Sun Ra's Arkestra, at a crucial period in the evolution of that extraordinary group. Effortlessly wrapping traditions as divergent as boogie-woogie and electronica in an Afro-centric, intergalactic mythology of his own making, Sun Ra casts a huge shadow across conventional narratives of jazz history. 'With Sunny', Cohran simply says, 'I found my own voice'.
You can hear the emergence of this voice on the LP Angels And Demons At Play, recorded in 1960 - Sun Ra's masterpiece from the period. On the track Music From The World Tomorrow, against the urgent whipped and chopped percussion of the Arkestra, it is Cohran's zither, initially bowed and then plucked and strummed, which is the track's magic ingredient. More profoundly it was Sun Ra's example - his defiant self-confidence and sense of purpose - that set Cohran on his own (to quote another Ra composition) 'pathway to unknown worlds'. Indeed this spirit of self-belief led Cohran to turn down the invitation to accompany the Arkestra when Sun Ra moved east in 1961.
Staying in Chicago, Cohran founded the Affro-Arts Theater and performed with the Artistic Heritage Ensemble, recording the group for his own Zulu Records imprint. (Co-members went on to become Earth Wind & Fire; Cohran taught the group's leader Maurice White the mysteries of the frankiphone). The AACM, a musicians' collective of immense influence and importance, had its first meeting in Cohran's front room. With Oscar Brown Jr and Gene Page he wrote and performed in a show celebrating the nineteenth-century Afro-American poet Paul Lawrence Dunbar. He taught music tirelessly in schools and prisons. His studies into music theory and history led him to the discovery of a key book in his life, Gioseffo Zarlino's treatise on harmony, published in Venice in1558. Astronomy is another passion and another area of expertise. One of the gems of the Cohran discography is African Skies, with its lovely harp playing, commissioned by the Chicago Planetarium in 1993.
In Chicago he also raised a large family. Many of his children have gone on to become professional musicians; eight of them are the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. For each of them, their first teacher was their father, who famously insisted on giving them music lessons not just for several hours after school, but for several hours before school as well. Their father's music was all around them as children; they all vividly remember lying in bed at night not being able to sleep because their father was rehearsing with the Jazz Workshop downstairs.
For the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, the voyage to where they are now - whether tearing up festivals from Glastonbury to Melbourne, or touring with Gorillaz, or recording their first album on Honest Jon's - has involved a necessary stepping away from their father's shadow. Phil Cohran is the first to recognise this, happily allowing their sound - heavy on the funk, with the urgency of hip hop never far away - to blossom.
But likewise this album is for all of them a natural step. Recorded in Chicago in June 2011, the idea was beautifully simple - 'my music and their band' as Phil puts it, 'we don't have to rattle on more than that'. Only to point out perhaps that here - in the majestic surge of Zincali, for instance, or in the sheer verve and bounce of Cuernevaca - is music not just filled with the warmth of home. This is music that plumbs the depths and rings with joy.

'Cuernevaca is a town in the mountains south of Mexico City. I was there in 1950 when I was on the road with Jay McShann's band. It's a place close to paradise, a city filled with the fragrance of flowers. I always wanted to go back... In 1974 I taught workshops at the prison in Stateville, the Big House where Al Capone spent time. There's a huge wall around the prison, and once I took Hypnotic there - ha - to see what the future holds for them... Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, sent a caravan of gifts to King Solomon - a caravan that took more than a day to pass one point - and the main gifts were Frankincense And Myrrh... I wrote Apsara in 1967, when Jackie Kennedy was in the news with her visit to the temple of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Apsara were celestial beings, dancers who brought forth the civilization of ancient Cambodia, by dancing in the holy nectar called Amrita... Ancestral is a meditation drone written for my Friday-night residence at the Ethiopian Diamond Restaurant in Chicago's Rogers Park... Spin is the latest of these compositions. Everything in the cosmos spins, from the smallest objects we can see in a microscope to the largest galaxies. Spin is the motion of all things whether it looks like it or not... Zincali is a name Spanish gypsies call themselves. 'Zin', East Africa; 'cali', the people. One of the offshoots in my research into Moorish Spain has led me to Gioseffo Zarlino, the sixteenth-century master of music at St Mark's in Venice. It's said that Bach lost his sight reading Zarlino's treatise on counterpoint. His greatest composition is his setting of the Song of Songs - 'Nigra Sum', 'I am black'. This is my tribute to Zarlino and to the zincali.'

Previously unreleased recordings by various lineups drawn from Derek Bailey, Tristan Honsinger, Christine Jeffrey, Toshinori Kondo, Charlie Morrow, David Toop, Maarten Altena, Georgie Born, Lindsay Cooper, Steve Lacy, Radu Malfatti and Jamie Muir.

Journalists often make the brief history of Free Improvisation conform to the idea that the history of music is a nice straight line from past to present: Beethoven… Brahms… Boulez. Thus Derek Bailey, Evan Parker and John Stevens — together with Brötzmann and co across the Channel — were the trailblazing ‘first generation’, forging a wholly new language alongside contemporary avant-garde and free jazz. Figures like Toshinori Kondo and David Toop, willing as they were to incorporate snippets of all kinds of music, were the pesky ‘second generation’, happily cocking a snook at the ‘ideological purity’ of Bailey’s non-idiomatic improvisation.
‘Company 1981’ shows up the foolishness — the wrongness — of such storylines. Check the eclectic collection of guests Bailey invited to Company Weeks over the years. He had clear ideas about the music, but he was no ideological purist.

One of the founders of Fluxus, Charlie Morrow injects blasts of Cageian fun into half the recordings here, whether blurting military fanfares from his trumpet, or intoning far-flung scraps of speech. Cellist Tristan Honsinger and vocalist Christine Jeffrey join in the joyful glossolalia, while Bailey, Toop and Kondo contribute delicious, delicate, hooligan arabesques, by turns.
The remainder are performed by a different ensemble: Bailey, bassist Maarten Altena, former Henry Cow members Georgie Born and Lindsay Cooper on cello and bassoon, the insanely inventive Jamie Muir on percussion, and trombonist Radu Malfatti, showing his mastery of extended technique. Were that not enough, there’s the inimitable purity of Steve Lacy’s soprano ringing high and clear above the melee. Glorious!

There’s always been this idea that Free Improvisation is somehow Difficult Listening, but when the doors of perception are thrown open and prejudice cast aside, you realise that it’s not difficult at all. “Is it that easy?” chirps Morrow, at one point. Indeed it is.
Enjoy yourself.

The second volume brings sublime crossings of gospel with the soul, funk and jazz of the Black Power era. Twenty rapturous cuts dot dazzlingly between Muscle Shoals soul, screwed breakbeat, Mizells-style fusion, disco and proto-house. Triumphant re-workings of Sly Stone, Donny Hathaway and Herbie Hancock’s Head Hunters will have listeners throwing their pew cushions into the air.

Full-size booklet; beautifully designed, with stunning, rare photographs and original Savoy artwork.

The first of three volumes: stomping, rollicking gospel music, intermingling with raw soul, searing blues, hard-rocking doo-wop and jazz, and storming r&b.

Infused and incandescent with the hurting, surging indignation of the Civil Rights movement, here are twenty-four precious scorchers by giants like the Staple Singers and Jimmy Scott, alongside devastating sides by less celebrated names like the Harmonising Five of Burlington, North Carolina, and teen-group the North Philadelphia Juniors, culminating triumphantly with slamming, sanctified versions of Hit The Road Jack and Wade In The Water.

Gatefold sleeve, with full-size booklet; beautifully designed, with stunning, rare photographs and original Savoy artwork.

Exhilarating, previously unreleased recordings by Derek Bailey and his guests at Company Week in 1983: Jamie Muir, Evan Parker, Hugh Davies, Joëlle Léandre, John Corbett, Peter Brötzmann, Vinko Globokar, Ernst Reijseger and J.D. Parran.
What’s remarkable throughout this album is the respect and affection the musicians show for each other, exemplifying the dictionary definition of ‘company’ as ‘the fact or condition of being with another or others, especially in a way that provides friendship and enjoyment.’

It starts with Landslide, a brilliant, spiky, spluttering, twanging reunion of Music Improvisation Company members Evan Parker (tenor sax), Hugh Davies (electronics) and Jamie Muir (percussion). Next up, Seconde Choix, with Joëlle Léandre’s close-miked prepared bass and Bailey’s acoustic guitar seemingly heading in different directions before coming together miraculously in just four minutes.

The opening of First Choice, a duet between Bailey and Muir, is a revelation for those who moan that the guitarist plays too many notes. His patient and truly exquisite exploration of harmonics is beautifully counterpointed by Muir’s metallic percussion.

On Pile Ou Face (Heads Or Tails) Davies concentrates on his high register oscillators, carefully shadowed by Parker’s soprano until Léandre’s deft, springy pizzicato lures them into the playground. JD In Paradise is a surprisingly delicate wind quartet, with John Corbett’s trumpet, fragile and Don Cherry-like, punctuating the sinuous interplay between Peter Brötzmann and J.D. Parran (on sopranos, flutes and clarinet), while trombonist Vinko Globokar growls approvingly in the background.

Igor Stravinsky’s definition of music as the ‘jeu de notes’ comes to mind listening to Bailey’s duet with cellist Ernst Reijseger (executing fiendish double-stopped harmonics with staggering ease). Technical virtuosity has never sounded so effortless – it is, as its title Een Plezierig Stukje simply states, a fun piece.

On the closing La Horda, Bailey and Reijseger team up with the horns for what on paper looks like it could be rough and rowdy sextet but which turns out once more to be a thoughtful, spacious exchange of ideas, shapes and colours.

Still deeper forays into the musical landscape of the Windrush generation. A dazzling range of calypso, mento, joropo, steelband, palm-wine and r’n'b. Expert revivals of stringband music, from way back, alongside proto-Afro-funk. An uproarious selection of songs about the H-Bomb and modern phones, prostitution and Haile Selassie, mid-life crisis and the London Underground, racism and solidarity, the Highway Code and a 100% West Indian Royal Wedding.
For example some frantic British-Guianan joropo music-hall about Eatwell Brown from Clapham, who starts out biting off a piece of his mother-in-law’s face at a party, then devours everything in his path… a chunk of Brixton Prison, a Union Jack, a policeman’s uniform. Or Marie Bryant — collaborator of Lester Young and Duke Ellington — taking time off from skewering the South African PM Daniel Malan at her West End revue, to contribute some arch, swinging filth about uber-genitalia. Superior sound, courtesy of Abbey Road, D&M and Pallas; lovely gatefold sleeve; full-size booklet, with full notes, and fabulous previously-unseen photographs, including a set from the family archive of Russ Henderson (who led the first, impromptu Notting Hill Carnival march, in 1966).

Hebi is tough, stomping, mesmerizing romany funk, riding Far East from the Baltic Sea on clopping hooves of uranium, with synths from spaceways further out still. Weakheart deejays will scatter, but Sotofett has road-tested this on dubplate for six months, tearing up parties and dancefloors.

Deeply meditative, desolately beautiful, Haru will stop you in your tracks. Osaruxo’s violin could be a rebab or a shamisen, a reed instrument or a voice.

Ravishing music.

Don't DJ
Laniakea

Alt. folker Will Oldham - better known as Bonnie 'Prince' Billy - is set to drop a joint record with gently psychedelic crew Trembling Bells

Just four years after their debut album Carbeth, Trembling Bells are amassing a formidable body of work at a startling velocity. Just twelve months after the release of their critically acclaimed third album The Constant Pageant, the Glasgow quartet return to share the billing with a similarly restless creative spirit. A few thousand miles separate Will Oldham and Trembling Bells' drummer and principal songwriter Alex Neilson, but their stories intersect as far back as 2005, when the young Leeds-raised Neilson found himself playing drums on Alasdair Roberts' No Earthly Man, with Oldham producing. In time, a friendship between mentor and student became one between two kindred musicians. Neilson augmented his work with free-psych-drone practitioners Directing Hand by playing with the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy band. The drummer's eagerness to experience new epiphanies yielded unforgettable memories. In Big Sur, he recalls, 'we took mushrooms at midnight, then visited a natural hot spring built into the dramatic cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The stars were as vivid as frozen fireworks.' All of which is worth dwelling on, because without that background of mutual openness and empathy, it's hard to imagine The Marble Downs existing.

Neilson recalls a conversation about a 'collaboration' in the summer of 2010, though stresses that it 'was nothing too formal at first'. By the end of that year, a limited-edition seven-inch New Year's Eve Is The Loneliest Night of the Year showed what an inspired match the vocals of Trembling Bells singer Lavinia Blackwall and Will Oldham made. The cut-glass precision of the classically-trained student of medieval music and the worldly, careworn tones of Oldham created an unlikely chemistry. It must have seemed that way to Neilson too. He set about assembling a cache of songs with the purpose of further harnessing that chemistry. The result is an album that has, once again, redrafted the boundaries of what Trembling Bells can achieve together. Indeed, genre-lines aren't terribly helpful this time around. Yes, Trembling Bells' love affair with traditional music remains a constant — most emphatically so on the unaccompanied Blackwall/Oldham two-hander, My Husband's Got No Courage In Him. Then there is Blackwall's musical setting of Dorothy Parker's poem Excursion Into Assonance — and the thorough-going new-found classicism of Neilson's increasingly assured songwriting. Albeit delivered with Trembling Bells' rain-lashed sense of abandon, Love Is A Velvet Noose sounds like a standard of sorts — a warped consequence of Neilson's increasing fascination with the songbooks of Cole Porter and Hoagy Carmichael. 'I'm not saying I stand any chance of emulating them,' he adds, 'but the appreciation is definitely there.'

The knowledge that Oldham and Blackwall would be sharing centre-stage on The Marble Downs gave Neilson extra impetus to flex his songwriting muscles. I Can Tell You're Leaving finds both vocalists on irresistible form, dissecting their dying relationship with no heed to the other's feelings. 'You treat me like a child,' sings Oldham. 'I need a man,' she responds, barely catching breath. 'Now like Merle Haggard, you'll see the fighting side of me,' he later promises. 'I guess that's one of the lighter moments on the album,' ponders Neilson, 'I was trying to get a Planet Waves-era Bob Dylan feel there, with the piano and walking bassline.'

Here and elsewhere, the band — Blackwall, Neilson, bassist Simon Shaw and guitarist Mike Hastings — has never sounded more psychically attuned to one-other. On the slow-reveal sonic establishing shot of I Made A Date (With An Open Vein), two minutes of manic modal chaos elapses before Oldham takes the narrative reins of a majestic call-and-response folk-rock epic. The electrifying free-folk portent of Riding — a revival of the Palace Brothers classic — is no less compelling, calling to mind the words of broadcaster Stuart Maconie when he praised Trembling Bells for their ability to invoke simultaneously 'the charm of folk music and the power of rock.' Ditto Ain't Nothing Wrong With A Little Longing, in which Neilson slams down a four-to-the-floor beat over a synergy of demonic krautrock keys and a dialogue between Oldham and Blackwall that scales Nancy & Lee levels of romantic intrigue.

With nine songs gone and one remaining, the album's sonic undulations find an arresting denouement in the form of an inspired cover. Adapted from Robin Gibb's 1970 solo masterpiece Robin's Reign, Lord Bless All sees Trembling Bells tease out the hymnal qualities of Gibb's original with a slow volcanic upswell which — on four minutes — explodes into heavy psychedelic technicolour. What pleases Alex Neilson when he listens back is 'a sense of a common vocabulary and identity being forged.' If, by that, he means that there isn't another band on the planet that quite sounds like Trembling Bells, it would be hard to disagree. The evidence is right here.

'I didn't know anything about Trembling Bells. I just heard them and was knocked out. I instantly became a fan.' Paul Weller

'Trembling Bells are my kind of band.' Joe Boyd

"Jesus fucking shit! These jamz claw so hard at the tatties below methinks the Lord misnamed them, having intended to say Trembling BALLS." Will Oldham

'A poetic incantation of British identity far brighter than Michael Gove's GCSE syllabus.' Stewart Lee

'This time, I'm attempting to reclaim the art of songwriting from the charity shop bargain bin.' Alex Neilson

Percussionist Jamie Muir was a member of King Crimson during the recording of Larks' Tongues In Aspic, in 1973. Staying less than a year with Robert Fripp, the Scot had already cut his teeth with another master guitarist, Derek Bailey, as part of the Music Improvisation Company, along with Evan Parker, Hugh Davies and Christine Jeffrey, whose eponymous 1970 album was one of the first releases on ECM. Muir and Bailey recorded Dart Drug eleven years later, in 1981.There's no shortage of great percussionists in the brief history of free improvised music but on the strength of Dart Drug alone Jamie Muir deserves a place at High Table. Unlike for example Han Bennink and John Stevens, though, you can't hear echoes of any particular jazz drummer in Muir's playing, even if he has expressed appreciation for Milford Graves (who himself sounded like nobody else who'd come before him).What on earth did Muir's kit consist of Some instruments are clearly identifiable (bells, gongs, chimes, woodblocks); others could be... well, anything. Old suitcases thwacked with rolled up newspapers Tin cans and hubcaps inside a washing machine Who cares It sounds terrific - but if you're the kind of person who faints at the sound of nails scraping a blackboard, you might want to nip out and put the kettle on towards the end of the title track.Dart Drug is consistently thrilling, and often very amusing - but it's certainly not easy listening. In music we talk about playing with other musicians, whereas in sport you play against another opponent (or with your team against another team). Why not play against in music, too That's precisely what happens very often in improvised music, and Bailey was particularly good at it. How can a humble acoustic guitar hope to compete with a Muir in full flight Sometimes Bailey's content to sit on those open strings, teasing out yet another exquisite Webernian constellation of ringing harmonics and wait for the dust to settle in Muir's junkyard, but elsewhere he sets off into uncharted territory himself.'The way to discover the undiscovered in performing terms is to immediately reject all situations as you identify them (the cloud of unknowing) - which is to give music a future.' Bailey evidently concurred with this spoken statement by Muir, including it in his book Improvisation.Derek Bailey is no longer with us, of course, and Muir gave up performing music back in 1989. All the more reason for seeking out this magnificent, wild album.

At last, the vinyl reissue of this masterwork, adding two hitherto unreleased gems recorded solo for Charles Fox's Radio 3 programme Jazz in Britain, in the same few months of 1980 as the stunning Aida performances.The phrase 'in the moment' is often bandied about with reference to free improvisation, and indeed there's no better way to describe Derek Bailey's playing. The acoustic guitar is notoriously lacking in natural reverberation — notes barely hang in the air for a couple of seconds before they disappear — which explains the almost non-stop flow of new material in these stellar performances. Bailey knew from one split-second to the next exactly where to find the same pitch on different strings, either as a stopped tone or a ringing harmonic, and there's never a note out of place. 'He who kisses the joy as it flies,' in the words of William Blake, 'Lives in eternity's sunrise' — and this music is forever in the moment, constantly active but never gabby, kissing the joy.One of the special pleasures of the BBC set is the guitarist's own laconic commentary, a deliciously deadpan description of what he's doing while he's doing it — 'I like to think of it... as a kind of music' — and the interaction between words and music is a particular delight. 'You may have noticed a certain lack of variety,' he quips, while unleashing a furiously complex volley. Is it a coincidence that the final seconds recall the famous cycling fifths of the coda to Thelonious Monk's Round Midnight Surely not — for Bailey, like Monk, was a note man par excellence. And they're both still alive and well in eternity's sunrise.

Born in Burlington, Vermont, and conservatory-trained in the US, the cellist Tristan Honsinger moved from Montreal to Amsterdam in 1974, quickly linking with Han Bennink and Misha Mengelberg, and opening a long and fruitful musical relationship with Derek Bailey. Recorded in 1976, Duo displays a performative musical approach already characterised by the lack of inhibition which would later endear him to The Pop Group: he is knockabout, exclamatory, explosively rhythmic; burping Bach and folk melodies with spasmodic lyricism, in amongst the garrulous textures and accents of his scraping, bowing and plucking, and gibbering like a monkey; throwing out his arms and stamping the floor, grappling with his instrument like an expert clown, always on the lookout for new ways to trip himself up. You can hear Bailey revelling in the company, as he ranges between scrabbling solidarity and an askance skewering of his partner's antics, on prepared (nineteen-string) and standard electric guitars — and a Waisvisz Crackle-box, for the garbled, quizzical, cross-species natter which closes The Shadow. Throughout, the spirited interplay between laconic, analytic wit and guttural, sometimes slapstick physicality is consistently droll, often laugh-out-loud funny; vigorously alert, alive and gripping.

This iconic LP was originally released by Incus in 1974. Recorded at a private house in West London, the side-long title track is a masterwork: a twenty-two-minute, starkly personal, freely expressive, itchily searching re-casting of orders of rhythm and sound into a new, quicksilver kind of affective and musical polyphony. Never mind the guitarist's championing of 'non-idiomatic improvisation', the poet Peter Riley gets the ball rolling in his identification of the various hauntings of Bailey's playing at this time: 'mandolins & balalaikas strumming in the distance, George Forby's banjo, Leadbelly's steel 12-string, koto, lute, classical guitar... and others quite outside the field of the plucked string.'The five pieces on side two were recorded back home in Hackney around the same time — with the exception of Improvisation 104(b), from the year before (and issued by Incus in its TAPS series of mini reel-to-reel tapes) — opening with ventriloquised guitar feedback, and taking in some cod banter about colleagues like Mervyn Parker, Siegfried Brotzmann and Harry Bentink. Crucial.

Darren Cunningham's eagerly~awaited new album is an adventurous, ultramodern, thoroughly British affair, rummaging about in the inner lives of house and techno, and brilliantly elaborating the accomplishments of his debut, Hazyville.
Determinedly off~the~map and resistant to pigeonholing, Cunningham is an enigmatic and playful figure, citing Francis Bacon and Monet as inspirations longside Theo Parrish, Anthony 'Shake' Shakir, Daft Punk, 'binary codes and numeral systems', and The Avengers. He's a hard man to pin down - somehow a key player in the post~dubstep diaspora and yet not there at all - but everything comes across in his shape~shifting, richly textured music.
The South Londoner's acclaimed debut lived up to its name: a series of dreamlike sketches and ideas. For Splazsh the fog has lifted, the sounds are less submerged than before, but still sticky and close - a signature combination of exuberance and introversion, luminescence and puzzlement. Unconstrained by the formal cliches of the dance music he loves, Actress' melodies and arrangements are enthralled by their own genies. Worlds of disturbance and melancholy revolve giddyingly inside the insidious funk of tracks like Get Ohn and Lost. A range of musical influences is redrawn, from speed garage (Always Human) to grime (Wrong Potion), with none crowned king. There is a reflectiveness - the ambient drift of Futureproofing, the radiophonic judder of
Supreme Cunnilingus - in amongst the industrial, synth~wave flavours of Casanova, and the stirring, stately Maze.
Actress has quickly and justly become one of the most respected names in the UK's new dance music underground. His own label, Werk Discs, has proven itself one of the most formidable and taste~making UK independents of recent times, bringing the world extraordinary albums from Zomby, Lukid, Lone and Actress himself. In love with the mysteries of groove and repetition, Splazsh is both a culmination and a new beginning for Actress, a substantial and eccentric work from a brave and coolly individual artist.
With international press interest gathering - photo features in Dazed And Confused, and Fader in the US, and a session with Wolfgang Tillmans for the cover of the German magazine Groove - the stage is set for Actress.

A kind of intimate scrapbook of the startling collaboration between the techno maestro and this long-standing musical collective based in Bishkek, devoted to the roots music of Kyrgyzstan. Loose-leaved but balanced, lucid and intimate, it sets out from stunning a cappella and virtuosic komuz and kylak, mouth harp and traditional percussion: not field, but expert studio recordings, using marvellous vintage microphones, made over several days in Berlin. Further, a few of these are deftly treated by Moritz, using Reichian de-synced double-tracking, and discreet effects. Also two ten-minute dubs: a deadly, signature Berlin steppers, plus its version; and an echoing, mystical drum session, recorded live on stage in Bishkek. And a side-long, dream-like summation: the locomotive, oceanic, clangorous, dread Facets. Ravishing, rooted, searching music; beautifully presented.

We started with the principle - the cosmic idea that we were taught by our father from a very young age - that the stars and planets make a sound, that deep in outer space there is audible harmony.'With its cathedral-like, richly resonant acoustics, the new HBE album is a brilliant expression of this interplanetary principle. The album is by turns urgent and contemplative, funky and reflective, varied in its textures, but entirely of one piece. Underpinned by concepts of our earth's place in the cosmos, held in place by meditation, swirling with notions of history, science, theology, ancestry, there is a rich conceptual brew here. But always, what talks loudest is the music. The album rings with what back in the 1950s the jazz critic Whitney Balliet called the sound of surprise'. At a time when the phrase Spiritual Jazz threatens in some quarters to become a tired cliche, this is a record that makes you believe again in the genre's validity.

Talking to Cid, one of the Ensemble's two trombonists, one phrase recurs: back to the beginning'. We wanted to go back to the beginning, when we were kids, real young, and our father would wake us up at 5 AM to practice for two hours before breakfast.' One outcome - initially unplanned but subsequently embraced - is that unlike their two previous albums on Honest Jon's, this is an album without a drummer. When we started, as Wolf Pack, just brothers on the street with our horns, there wasn't a kit in sight.' Book Of Sound retains plenty of rhythmic heft, but the absence of a drummer opens up space for a notably varied instrumental palette. Acoustic guitar, piccolo, synthesiser, alto sax - none of them typical HBE Instruments - all have their place on the album. Most striking perhaps are the vocal lines that thread through the album and give it a palpable warmth. In Wolf Pack, we rapped and played, this time we took it a step further.'

Sessions were recorded in Brooklyn and Chicago, and brilliantly mixed at Abel Garibaldi's studio in the Loop ( Abel was like a musician on this record'), and it's the Hypnotic's hometown that permeates. For Cid this is a deeply Chicago record: it's got the vibe of the lake, the vibe of the prairies opening up to the west'. It also has the vibe of those Sun Ra Arkestra albums recorded in Chicago in the 1950s, and - of course - the Phil Cohran albums from the 1960s.

It's Phil Cohran (the father of all seven members of the Ensemble and their first teacher, and not just in music) who is the album's guiding spirit. For Cid it's a major regret that, in the months before their father's death early in 2017, Phil was not well enough to play on the album. He loved the whole idea, and we had the perfect place for his zither'. But Book Of Sound is a magnificent testament to their Cohran legacy. You know, it's tough trying to satisfy everybody with our music. It's hard enough satisfying ourselves, let alone the jazz scene, the hip hop guys, what have you. With this album we just dropped all that as a consideration, and tuned into deeper principles.'