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After dark country trio Lost Dog Street Band released its 2022 album Glory, bandleader Benjamin Tod decided it was time to retire the project. Tod, alongside his wife Ashley Mae (fiddle), had been working together as a band since 2011. “I came to terms with letting go of Lost Dog completely, which is how I evaluate a lot of things in general,” explains Tod. “Oftentimes when I'm trying to make a really hard decision, I go ahead and go through the process of mourning its death and accepting that I am going to lose it.” But just a month after recording a solo project in January of 2023, Tod felt an urge to revisit the project one more time. “I thought I was done with Lost Dog, but after recording my solo album, I looked over all the songs that I had ready for a new record. These were songs for my band. I had to admit to myself that I wasn't done with Lost Dog.” Though there was heartbreak at the prospect of the project coming to an end, its resurrection has meant all the more in this new context. “Benjamin and I, both individually and together, have been through some professionally grinding and demoralizing personal times over the past five years,” Ashley Mae explains. “To take a step back from that over the past year and realize, ‘Wow, we held it down and withstood that, and we survived that,’ was a really good, bright, shining moment. It was the high point during a demoralizing time.” As such, Survived is a saving grace, a phoenix rising from the ashes. “This record means everything,” adds Tod. “It just feels like salvation.”

Grounded in a season of life that has been earned rather than borrowed, Benjamin Tod speaks with the ease of someone no longer running from himself. There is joy now - a steadiness that comes from commitment. With the recent arrival of his son and a deep well of new music on the horizon, Tod is firmly rooted in both purpose and possibility. That clarity is evident in Vengeance and Grace, the Lost Dog Street Band frontman's forthcoming and most expansive solo album to date. Conceived as a "dual-version" release, the project presents two parallel worlds: (Alone) is a stripped solo-acoustic version, along with its full band counterpart.

Together, the two versions form the full range of what Tod is capable of: restraint on one side, force on the other. At the core of Tod's writing is a simple conviction: music should serve something larger than the moment. His writing speaks to mind, body, and soul, shaped by faith, discipline, and a hard-earned understanding of consequence. The darkness that once defined him is neither denied nor indulged. It is understood and no longer in control. Today, Tod moves with a sense of calm that wasn't always there. He is grateful, settled, and intentional, continuing to follow the compass that's guided him from the beginning. Rooted in traditional country and folk, his work stands firmly in the modern music landscape, shaped by experience, restraint, and the life he's built around it.

"The acclaimed 2007 album reissued on 1LP clear vinyl. Taken from the original 2007 masters when Pete Doherty was at the pinnacle of his creative powers, ‘Shotter’s Nation’ followed in the footsteps 'Down In Albion’, the band’s debut album, and Doherty’s first album outside of his first band - the era-defining Libertines. Both were met with commercial and critical acclaim, breaking into the top 10 of the album charts.

‘Shotter’s Nation’ is unmistakably Doherty. Melodic, stark, catchy, raw, brilliantly unique - his music has always created an unflappable loyalty from his many fans, remaining timeless, yet still sending a nostalgic excitement through its listeners. The album also features four songs co-written by Doherty’s then-girlfriend Kate Moss who also regularly performed live with them.

The approach to the recording and release of the album was an escape from Doherty’s previous methods. Stephen Street (The Smiths, Blur, Morrissey, The Cranberries) took over producer duties from The Clash's Mick Jones, and it was and his first album released by a major label, Parlophone."

"The acclaimed 2007 album reissued on 1LP clear vinyl. Taken from the original 2007 masters when Pete Doherty was at the pinnacle of his creative powers, ‘Shotter’s Nation’ followed in the footsteps 'Down In Albion’, the band’s debut album, and Doherty’s first album outside of his first band - the era-defining Libertines. Both were met with commercial and critical acclaim, breaking into the top 10 of the album charts.

‘Shotter’s Nation’ is unmistakably Doherty. Melodic, stark, catchy, raw, brilliantly unique - his music has always created an unflappable loyalty from his many fans, remaining timeless, yet still sending a nostalgic excitement through its listeners. The album also features four songs co-written by Doherty’s then-girlfriend Kate Moss who also regularly performed live with them.

The approach to the recording and release of the album was an escape from Doherty’s previous methods. Stephen Street (The Smiths, Blur, Morrissey, The Cranberries) took over producer duties from The Clash's Mick Jones, and it was and his first album released by a major label, Parlophone."

Das vierte Soloalbum von Lost Dog Street Band-Frontmann Benjamin Tod, Shooting Star, ist eine Hommage an mehrere Jahrzehnte Country-Musik
durch Tods hochgeschätztes und ehrliches Songwriting.

Das vierte Soloalbum von Lost Dog Street Band-Frontmann Benjamin Tod, Shooting Star, ist eine Hommage an mehrere Jahrzehnte Country-Musik
durch Tods hochgeschätztes und ehrliches Songwriting.

Der gesellschaftliche Status Quo hält Abstand: Rules Of This Game starten mit ihrem "Electrative Rock" einen Genres- und Generationen-überspannenden Sound. Das Debutalbum kompiliert die digital veröffentlichten Singles! Das geniale Duo aus einem kleinen, rheinländischen Städtchen mit dem Kölner Dom in Sichtweite und bringen etwas Besonderes in die deutsche Musikszene ein: Was ist Electrative Rock? Eine ganz eigene Mischung aus alternativem Rock und EDM, gepaart mit ordentlich Punk-Appeal und einer Menge catchy Hooks. Dazu kommt eine Live-Performance, die hängen bleibt! Nach digitalen Veröffentlichungen mit über 500.000 Streams sowie rund 150 Konzerten in verschiedenen Ländern hat sich die Band eine eingeschworene Fanbase geschaffen. Egal ob auf diversen Festivals, bei Christopher Street Days oder als Club-Support für Dog Eat Dog, The Bollock Brothers oder Rantanplan, die Musik und die Botschaft von Rules Of This Game kommen bei einer Vielzahl von Menschen aus den unterschiedlichsten musikalischen "Revieren" an. So auch beim Essener Label Sunny Bastards, sonst eher auf Punk und Oi! spezialisiert. Aber es passiert schließlich nicht oft, dass eine Band schon beim Soundcheck einen Plattenvertrag angeboten bekommt, oder? Das Album enthält 12 Songs, die eine große Gesamtbotschaft ergeben: Hab niemals Angst davor, zu dir selbst zu stehen, dich auszudrücken und dich selbst zu verwirklichen! Herkunft, Geschlecht und sexuelle Orientierung spielen dabei keine Rolle, denn gegenseitiger Respekt vor der Individualität und den Bedürfnissen eines jeden Menschen gehören zu den Eckpfeilern einer offenen, demokratischen Gesellschaft. Die LP erscheint limitiert mit Poster und den Texten plus Download-Code mit zwei noch unveröffentlichten, brandneuen Bonus-Songs!

Der gesellschaftliche Status Quo hält Abstand: Rules Of This Game starten mit ihrem "Electrative Rock" einen Genres- und Generationen-überspannenden Sound. Das Debutalbum kompiliert die digital veröffentlichten Singles! Das geniale Duo aus einem kleinen, rheinländischen Städtchen mit dem Kölner Dom in Sichtweite und bringen etwas Besonderes in die deutsche Musikszene ein: Was ist Electrative Rock? Eine ganz eigene Mischung aus alternativem Rock und EDM, gepaart mit ordentlich Punk-Appeal und einer Menge catchy Hooks. Dazu kommt eine Live-Performance, die hängen bleibt! Nach digitalen Veröffentlichungen mit über 500.000 Streams sowie rund 150 Konzerten in verschiedenen Ländern hat sich die Band eine eingeschworene Fanbase geschaffen. Egal ob auf diversen Festivals, bei Christopher Street Days oder als Club-Support für Dog Eat Dog, The Bollock Brothers oder Rantanplan, die Musik und die Botschaft von Rules Of This Game kommen bei einer Vielzahl von Menschen aus den unterschiedlichsten musikalischen "Revieren" an. So auch beim Essener Label Sunny Bastards, sonst eher auf Punk und Oi! spezialisiert. Aber es passiert schließlich nicht oft, dass eine Band schon beim Soundcheck einen Plattenvertrag angeboten bekommt, oder? Das Album enthält 12 Songs, die eine große Gesamtbotschaft ergeben: Hab niemals Angst davor, zu dir selbst zu stehen, dich auszudrücken und dich selbst zu verwirklichen! Herkunft, Geschlecht und sexuelle Orientierung spielen dabei keine Rolle, denn gegenseitiger Respekt vor der Individualität und den Bedürfnissen eines jeden Menschen gehören zu den Eckpfeilern einer offenen, demokratischen Gesellschaft. Die LP erscheint limitiert mit Poster und den Texten plus Download-Code mit zwei noch unveröffentlichten, brandneuen Bonus-Songs!

Der gesellschaftliche Status Quo hält Abstand: Rules Of This Game starten mit ihrem "Electrative Rock" einen Genres- und Generationen-überspannenden Sound. Das Debutalbum kompiliert die digital veröffentlichten Singles! Das geniale Duo aus einem kleinen, rheinländischen Städtchen mit dem Kölner Dom in Sichtweite und bringen etwas Besonderes in die deutsche Musikszene ein: Was ist Electrative Rock? Eine ganz eigene Mischung aus alternativem Rock und EDM, gepaart mit ordentlich Punk-Appeal und einer Menge catchy Hooks. Dazu kommt eine Live-Performance, die hängen bleibt! Nach digitalen Veröffentlichungen mit über 500.000 Streams sowie rund 150 Konzerten in verschiedenen Ländern hat sich die Band eine eingeschworene Fanbase geschaffen. Egal ob auf diversen Festivals, bei Christopher Street Days oder als Club-Support für Dog Eat Dog, The Bollock Brothers oder Rantanplan, die Musik und die Botschaft von Rules Of This Game kommen bei einer Vielzahl von Menschen aus den unterschiedlichsten musikalischen "Revieren" an. So auch beim Essener Label Sunny Bastards, sonst eher auf Punk und Oi! spezialisiert. Aber es passiert schließlich nicht oft, dass eine Band schon beim Soundcheck einen Plattenvertrag angeboten bekommt, oder? Das Album enthält 12 Songs, die eine große Gesamtbotschaft ergeben: Hab niemals Angst davor, zu dir selbst zu stehen, dich auszudrücken und dich selbst zu verwirklichen! Herkunft, Geschlecht und sexuelle Orientierung spielen dabei keine Rolle, denn gegenseitiger Respekt vor der Individualität und den Bedürfnissen eines jeden Menschen gehören zu den Eckpfeilern einer offenen, demokratischen Gesellschaft. Die LP erscheint limitiert mit Poster und den Texten plus Download-Code mit zwei noch unveröffentlichten, brandneuen Bonus-Songs!

A resurgent Dog Meat Records is thrilled and proud to release a new album by a resurgent rock'n'roller and an old friend, PAT TODD and his band THE RANKOUTSIDERS. The seventh album by LA's finest rock'n'roll band comes some 36 years after the label's first dalliances with Pat, back when he fronted the legendary Lazy Cowgirls. The new album shows that Pat has lost none of his spark, that his voice and songwriting have only gotten stronger, and that he's got another killer band behind him, one that mixes classic '70s punk rock roots with country, blues and rock'n'roll in a manner that sits somewhere between Exile on Main Street and LAMF. The new album is highlighted as usual by Pat Todd's fantastic songs. A prolific writer with an eye on life in the margins - whether they be in small towns or the big sprawling city he has called home for 40 years - Todd routinely hits the mark where youth and the advancement of age find common ground in alienation and wilfulness. Pat knows that rock’n’roll is not necessarily a young person's game, and nor is it a glamourous one; the name he gave this band accurately points to where he and they are coming from. New originals like 'All We Have To Show', the horn-riffing rocker 'Living In A World of Hurt' and the raucous country-folk punker 'Goodbye to the World' are up there with anything he has ever written, and the Rankoutsiders play them even better than ever. Indeed, a couple of choice covers - a version of 'Hi Ho Silver Lining', sung by guitarist Nick Alexander and cut before Jeff Beck's unfortunate passing, and a version of David Johansen's old heartbreaker 'Donna' cut before word of Martin Scorsese’s Johansen documentary got out - shows by comparison to the original versions just how well these guys can crank it out. *** For over 20 years - from the early 80s to the early 00’s- Pat Todd fronted the undisputed Los Angeles roots-punk kings: THE LAZY COWGIRLS. Having landed in LA from the mid-west-meets-the south outpost of Vincennes, Indiana early in the decade, the Cowgirls sparked a new LA punk scene; their live album Radio Cowgirl was the first release on scene prime mover SFTRI -and ultimately inspired a resurgence of classic 1976 Ramones/Saints/ Heartbreakers-style punk that stretched across the US into Europe, Japan and elsewhere, inspiring bands like the New Bomb Turks, Oblivions, Teengenerate, Onyas and countless others. THE LAZY COWGIRLS were but a memory in 2006 when PAT TODD and the RANKOUTSIDERS’ 28 song double-disc debut, The Outskirts of Your Heart was released. Where most bands would have exhausted their creative gas to fumes with such an ambitious first release, this was only the beginning for the RANKOUTSIDERS. Prior to the new album Sons of the City Ditch, the RANKOUTSIDERS have released six full-length albums (yes, some are double discs) and over a dozen singles and EPs and have more releases queued up. Each and every one of them is a testament to Pat’s personal vision of raw, high energy rock’n’roll infused with elements of country and rhythm & blues, and documentary proof that the RANKOUTSIDERS are one of the hottest rock'n'roll bands on the planet. Indeed, it must be said the RANKOUTSIDERS truly are a band: energetically flanking Pat stage left is long-time guitarist and vocalist Kevin Keller; to the right is guitarist and founding member, Nick Alexander- the cool, calm and collected eye of the storm; bassist Steven Vigh holds the lower frequencies in check with steadfast authority, pushing the chorus to the next harmonic level, while drummer Walt Phelan drives the engine hard while keeping the band on the rails.

A resurgent Dog Meat Records is thrilled and proud to release a new album by a resurgent rock'n'roller and an old friend, PAT TODD and his band THE RANKOUTSIDERS. The seventh album by LA's finest rock'n'roll band comes some 36 years after the label's first dalliances with Pat, back when he fronted the legendary Lazy Cowgirls. The new album shows that Pat has lost none of his spark, that his voice and songwriting have only gotten stronger, and that he's got another killer band behind him, one that mixes classic '70s punk rock roots with country, blues and rock'n'roll in a manner that sits somewhere between Exile on Main Street and LAMF. The new album is highlighted as usual by Pat Todd's fantastic songs. A prolific writer with an eye on life in the margins - whether they be in small towns or the big sprawling city he has called home for 40 years - Todd routinely hits the mark where youth and the advancement of age find common ground in alienation and wilfulness. Pat knows that rock’n’roll is not necessarily a young person's game, and nor is it a glamourous one; the name he gave this band accurately points to where he and they are coming from. New originals like 'All We Have To Show', the horn-riffing rocker 'Living In A World of Hurt' and the raucous country-folk punker 'Goodbye to the World' are up there with anything he has ever written, and the Rankoutsiders play them even better than ever. Indeed, a couple of choice covers - a version of 'Hi Ho Silver Lining', sung by guitarist Nick Alexander and cut before Jeff Beck's unfortunate passing, and a version of David Johansen's old heartbreaker 'Donna' cut before word of Martin Scorsese’s Johansen documentary got out - shows by comparison to the original versions just how well these guys can crank it out. *** For over 20 years - from the early 80s to the early 00’s- Pat Todd fronted the undisputed Los Angeles roots-punk kings: THE LAZY COWGIRLS. Having landed in LA from the mid-west-meets-the south outpost of Vincennes, Indiana early in the decade, the Cowgirls sparked a new LA punk scene; their live album Radio Cowgirl was the first release on scene prime mover SFTRI -and ultimately inspired a resurgence of classic 1976 Ramones/Saints/ Heartbreakers-style punk that stretched across the US into Europe, Japan and elsewhere, inspiring bands like the New Bomb Turks, Oblivions, Teengenerate, Onyas and countless others. THE LAZY COWGIRLS were but a memory in 2006 when PAT TODD and the RANKOUTSIDERS’ 28 song double-disc debut, The Outskirts of Your Heart was released. Where most bands would have exhausted their creative gas to fumes with such an ambitious first release, this was only the beginning for the RANKOUTSIDERS. Prior to the new album Sons of the City Ditch, the RANKOUTSIDERS have released six full-length albums (yes, some are double discs) and over a dozen singles and EPs and have more releases queued up. Each and every one of them is a testament to Pat’s personal vision of raw, high energy rock’n’roll infused with elements of country and rhythm & blues, and documentary proof that the RANKOUTSIDERS are one of the hottest rock'n'roll bands on the planet. Indeed, it must be said the RANKOUTSIDERS truly are a band: energetically flanking Pat stage left is long-time guitarist and vocalist Kevin Keller; to the right is guitarist and founding member, Nick Alexander- the cool, calm and collected eye of the storm; bassist Steven Vigh holds the lower frequencies in check with steadfast authority, pushing the chorus to the next harmonic level, while drummer Walt Phelan drives the engine hard while keeping the band on the rails.

Dogstar – guitarist/vocalist Bret Domrose, drummer Robert Mailhouse and bassist Keanu Reeves – epitomize the quintessential Southern California storytelling rock band they’ve always been in their hearts, making deeply resonant music that literally comes from Somewhere Between the Power Lines and Palm Trees. Nearly a quarter century after what seemed to be their final album, Happy Ending (released in 2000), Dogstar has reformed and taken a great creative leap forward, establishing an entirely new path. “Our earlier records were almost in the wrong decade,” says Robert Mailhouse. “Looking back, it’s almost like we started a Seventies band that somehow got lost in the Nineties. When everybody else was shouting, we were trying to tell stories because in Bret, we’ve always had a singer-songwriter in the Jackson Browne tradition. But people kept saying `grunge’ because of the times we were in – or maybe because of the clothes we were wearing.” “This music just sounds like us,” says Bret Domrose with a smile. “One of the things I love about this album is the variety of feel,” says Keanu Reeves. “Every song is not the same – you can hear our diverse influences and a lot of different tones here. And I feel like finally on this album, we’ve managed to take all those influences and our passion for playing together and once and for all turned it all
into Dogstar.”

Dogstar – guitarist/vocalist Bret Domrose, drummer Robert Mailhouse and bassist Keanu Reeves – epitomize the quintessential Southern California storytelling rock band they’ve always been in their hearts, making deeply resonant music that literally comes from Somewhere Between the Power Lines and Palm Trees. Nearly a quarter century after what seemed to be their final album, Happy Ending (released in 2000), Dogstar has reformed and taken a great creative leap forward, establishing an entirely new path. “Our earlier records were almost in the wrong decade,” says Robert Mailhouse. “Looking back, it’s almost like we started a Seventies band that somehow got lost in the Nineties. When everybody else was shouting, we were trying to tell stories because in Bret, we’ve always had a singer-songwriter in the Jackson Browne tradition. But people kept saying `grunge’ because of the times we were in – or maybe because of the clothes we were wearing.” “This music just sounds like us,” says Bret Domrose with a smile. “One of the things I love about this album is the variety of feel,” says Keanu Reeves. “Every song is not the same – you can hear our diverse influences and a lot of different tones here. And I feel like finally on this album, we’ve managed to take all those influences and our passion for playing together and once and for all turned it all
into Dogstar.”

CHRISTIAN DEATH was formed by Rozz Williams in Los Angeles, California in 1979. Williams was eventually joined by guitarist/songwriter Rikk Agnew of ADOLESCENTS, James McGearty on bass and George Belanger on drums. This CHRISTIAN DEATH line-up was responsible for recording the band's iconic 1982 debut, ONLY THEATRE OF PAIN, widely regarded as the #1 American goth album of all-time. This exclusive double-LP version of OTOP commemorates its 40th anniversary- the first disc is the digitally remastered, original version of the album while the second disc is comprised of "Dogs" from HELL COMES TO YOUR HOUSE, four pre-Frontier demos, two studio demos made for a second Frontier Records' LP that never happened and two alternate studio mixes from OTOP. The gatefold LP jacket is printed in its original its black and metallic gold, includes a Colver collage poster and a hardcover copy of the photo book, ONLY THEATRE OF PAIN and all come in a hard slipcase. The oversized 12" x 12" book features rare and never-before-seen photos of CHRISTIAN DEATH as well as new interviews with photographer Edward C. Colver, the surviving band members, Frontier's Lisa Fancher and others. Colver befriended the band and followed them around in late 1981 and early 1982 at more than a dozen concerts as well as photo shoots in Rozz Williams' family home (used on the back cover and insert of ONLY THEATRE OF PAIN) and a session of now famous images at a Pomona CA cemetery. Info: Just as the theatrically-minded LA punk scene was beginning to give rise to such morbidly themed outfits as 45 Grave and the Flesh Eaters, an androgynous teenaged street performer named Rozz Williams (né Roger Painter) founded CHRISTIAN DEATH, one of the most prolific, enduring, and beloved gothic acts of all time. Williams' otherworldly groan can make "Only Theatre of Pain" difficult going for those that aren't the gothic faithful, but the loud/not-too-fast music (courtesy of ex-ADOLESCENTS guitarist Rikk Agnew and the walking-dead rhythm section of bassist James McGearty and drummer George Belanger) is appropriately doom 'n' gloomy, with inventive arrangements and clear sound - thanks to Frontier Records' go-to punk production legend, Thom Wilson- capturing the mood in full B-movie fidelity. The lyrics sacriligiously address horror topics and religion: they're overwrought (the backwards masking of 'Mysterium Iniquitatis' being one clever exception) but easy to overlook in the wash of inspired rock noise. The original lineup's recorded debut is a gem. Artists inspired by CHRISTIAN DEATH include Danzig, Craddle of Filth, Paradise Lost, Korn, Type O Negative, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson and Jane's Addiction. Press: "A depraved masterpiece, this was punk rock made poetic, subversive, and gracefully savage."- AV Club "The Gothic album to out-gothic all others" - Melody Maker "Only Theatre of Pain's influence should not be underestimated" - Record Collector Limited availability!

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."

=

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.

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."

=

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.

The Stooges are widely considered one of the greatest rock bands of all time and this comes across loud and clear on director Jim Jarmusch’s critically acclaimed documentary film ‘Gimme Danger’. GIMME DANGER: MUSIC FROM THE MOTION PICTURE is a 14-track collection curated by Jarmusch and Stooges frontman Iggy Pop, with a focus on the group’s first three albums. It includes The Stooges’ classics ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog,’ ‘1969,’ and ‘Loose,’ along with rarities ‘I Got A Right,’ ‘I’m Sick of You’ and ‘Asthma Attack,’ and songs by MC5, Iggy Pop’s pre-Stooges combo The Iguanas, & more. It’s one of those rare soundtracks that appeals both to the most discerning fan and also as an introductory to those less familiar.

Over nearly 20 years, Howlin Rain may have become the quintessential independent American rock ’n roll band: a steam-spitting Hydra of cranked guitars, kicking asphalt dust through a kaleidoscoping travelogue of desert motels and dives, volleying forth transmissions of sci-fi poetry from the blacktop veins of this cracked and aching country.

Now, in America 2021, capping these strangest and sorest of times, the band returns with The Dharma Wheel, a six-track, 52-minute dive into a joyous fantasy realm of exaggerated present.

“I wanted The Dharma Wheel to be a portal from our everyday world, the one from which you stand on hard ground and hold the album in your hands and peer into the artwork, and into another universe,” says songwriter, guitarist and vocalist, Ethan Miller. “You enter into that universe with your eyes and ears and mind and take a ride through free-form meditation on these ideas — from big, fundamental concepts about our existence right down to the grease that rolls down the arm of a pulp novel killer as he eats a gas station hot dog in an old Dodge in an alleyway.”

Lyrically, Miller has completed his evolution into a mushroom-plucking Whitman of the West, singing outlandish tales in a topographic blend of Humbead’s Revised Map of the World and an inverted U.S. where downtrodden bodhisattvas roam the back streets and moonless country roads.

“Down in Florida swamps, run by nature’s law, standing in the water, Eden gone. Two men loading rifles, beasts making time, they shot a boy from an orange tree and watched the colored birds take flight, watch the colors as they soar and dive.” — ‘Under the Wheels.’

The band, Jeff McElroy (bass, backing vocals), Justin Smith (drums/percussion, backing vocals) and Dan Cervantes (guitar, backing vocals), again sounds hardwired into Miller’s vision, building tracks that swagger and sway in response to his verse. Lending a hand this time around is the legendary Scarlet Rivera (Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue) on violin, and the endlessly inventive Adam MacDougall (Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Circles Around the Sun) on keys.

Songs were shaped via the blast furnace of endless gigs, then recorded often mere hours after the band slipped the stage.

“The captured sonic fact about this record is that it’s the sound of a band that rehearsed this material a lot and put a ton of work into its construction and was on the road a lot and recorded on days off in the tour schedule,” Miller says. “In some cases we were on stage on Saturday night playing these songs at quarter-to-2 in the morning and by Noon the next day we were sipping coffee in the studio playing them for the machine.”

Rivera’s violin is the first sound heard as the album dawns on the instrumental “Prelude.” Soon, the band joins, twirling the theme into a psychedelicized awakening. “Don’t Let the Tears” brings the boogie, with MacDougall’s madcap synth work and wah-wah guitars showering 70’s glitter upon a parquet dance floor of the mind. “Under the Wheels” and “Rotoscope” center the album with taut, compositional epics populated by murdering drifters and fuzz pedal explosions. The blue hour comedown of “Annabelle” meditates upon the weariness of lost love, with Rivera again amping the heartache via her violin strings.

“In the evening the trains go by, and shake the dust from dirty walls, sometimes I feel like a spider in an old mason jar, who threatens only convex light from down the hall. I’ve been lost to the world since the photos of the black hole, landed on my desktop screaming, perhaps the all and nothing all-in-one is just too much to take, for particles and matter that never found their way.” — ‘Annabelle’

The record closes with the 16-minute title track, a multi-movement suite which cycles from Crazy Horse-meets-Traffic jams through colossal, mass-moving funk stomp, eventually cresting and washing into a sing-along gospel lament.

The Dharma Wheel is an album of great depth, and one steeped in good vibes: a rich, glistening world of the ultra-vivid. As illustrated in Arik Roper’s cover art, the grand dharmachakra has been set in motion, churning off the California coast.

“We were trying to build a world big enough that the imagination won’t go soft on you after just a few listens and where our love for this music, and music in general — along with a good dose of audacity — create a magic carpet ride through the world of The Dharma Wheel,” Miller continues. “In pursuing that I think we also managed to make a record that has a lot of joy in it: the joy of playing music, the joy of experiencing music, the joy of storytelling and poetry, the kind of singular joy and extended ecstatic moment that only a real ‘band’ can express in just that way.”

And it’s this joy, this exuberance and dedication to the lines of cosmic expression — all centered in the exalted art of the everyday — that constructs the heart of the record. At its core, The Dharma Wheel is the triumph of a working band, a transmission from a never-paused before arriving for our strange, bruised, spectacular now.”

Over nearly 20 years, Howlin Rain may have become the quintessential independent American rock ’n roll band: a steam-spitting Hydra of cranked guitars, kicking asphalt dust through a kaleidoscoping travelogue of desert motels and dives, volleying forth transmissions of sci-fi poetry from the blacktop veins of this cracked and aching country.

Now, in America 2021, capping these strangest and sorest of times, the band returns with The Dharma Wheel, a six-track, 52-minute dive into a joyous fantasy realm of exaggerated present.

“I wanted The Dharma Wheel to be a portal from our everyday world, the one from which you stand on hard ground and hold the album in your hands and peer into the artwork, and into another universe,” says songwriter, guitarist and vocalist, Ethan Miller. “You enter into that universe with your eyes and ears and mind and take a ride through free-form meditation on these ideas — from big, fundamental concepts about our existence right down to the grease that rolls down the arm of a pulp novel killer as he eats a gas station hot dog in an old Dodge in an alleyway.”

Lyrically, Miller has completed his evolution into a mushroom-plucking Whitman of the West, singing outlandish tales in a topographic blend of Humbead’s Revised Map of the World and an inverted U.S. where downtrodden bodhisattvas roam the back streets and moonless country roads.

“Down in Florida swamps, run by nature’s law, standing in the water, Eden gone. Two men loading rifles, beasts making time, they shot a boy from an orange tree and watched the colored birds take flight, watch the colors as they soar and dive.” — ‘Under the Wheels.’

The band, Jeff McElroy (bass, backing vocals), Justin Smith (drums/percussion, backing vocals) and Dan Cervantes (guitar, backing vocals), again sounds hardwired into Miller’s vision, building tracks that swagger and sway in response to his verse. Lending a hand this time around is the legendary Scarlet Rivera (Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue) on violin, and the endlessly inventive Adam MacDougall (Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Circles Around the Sun) on keys.

Songs were shaped via the blast furnace of endless gigs, then recorded often mere hours after the band slipped the stage.

“The captured sonic fact about this record is that it’s the sound of a band that rehearsed this material a lot and put a ton of work into its construction and was on the road a lot and recorded on days off in the tour schedule,” Miller says. “In some cases we were on stage on Saturday night playing these songs at quarter-to-2 in the morning and by Noon the next day we were sipping coffee in the studio playing them for the machine.”

Rivera’s violin is the first sound heard as the album dawns on the instrumental “Prelude.” Soon, the band joins, twirling the theme into a psychedelicized awakening. “Don’t Let the Tears” brings the boogie, with MacDougall’s madcap synth work and wah-wah guitars showering 70’s glitter upon a parquet dance floor of the mind. “Under the Wheels” and “Rotoscope” center the album with taut, compositional epics populated by murdering drifters and fuzz pedal explosions. The blue hour comedown of “Annabelle” meditates upon the weariness of lost love, with Rivera again amping the heartache via her violin strings.

“In the evening the trains go by, and shake the dust from dirty walls, sometimes I feel like a spider in an old mason jar, who threatens only convex light from down the hall. I’ve been lost to the world since the photos of the black hole, landed on my desktop screaming, perhaps the all and nothing all-in-one is just too much to take, for particles and matter that never found their way.” — ‘Annabelle’

The record closes with the 16-minute title track, a multi-movement suite which cycles from Crazy Horse-meets-Traffic jams through colossal, mass-moving funk stomp, eventually cresting and washing into a sing-along gospel lament.

The Dharma Wheel is an album of great depth, and one steeped in good vibes: a rich, glistening world of the ultra-vivid. As illustrated in Arik Roper’s cover art, the grand dharmachakra has been set in motion, churning off the California coast.

“We were trying to build a world big enough that the imagination won’t go soft on you after just a few listens and where our love for this music, and music in general — along with a good dose of audacity — create a magic carpet ride through the world of The Dharma Wheel,” Miller continues. “In pursuing that I think we also managed to make a record that has a lot of joy in it: the joy of playing music, the joy of experiencing music, the joy of storytelling and poetry, the kind of singular joy and extended ecstatic moment that only a real ‘band’ can express in just that way.”

And it’s this joy, this exuberance and dedication to the lines of cosmic expression — all centered in the exalted art of the everyday — that constructs the heart of the record. At its core, The Dharma Wheel is the triumph of a working band, a transmission from a never-paused before arriving for our strange, bruised, spectacular now.”

In the past years, the multi-instrumentalist, composer, producer and music enthusiast Jeff Özdemir had been focusing on organising the Live-Mixtape series in Berlin, inviting numerous artists to join him on stage for every single event. However, the year 2020 put an end to this for all the painfully obvious and obviously painful reasons. Undeterred, he instead put together the third instalment of the »Jeff Özdemir & Friends« series, working with singers, musicians and groups such as Knarf Rellöm & DJ Patex, F.S. Blumm, Joanna Gemma Auguri, Elke Brauweiler and Elmer Kussiac for an 18-track … Now, is this a compilation or an artist album? Well, why just either this or that when it can just be both at once? This is »Jeff Özdemir & Friends Vol. 3« after all, emphasis on »&«.

Released on Karaoke Kalk like its two predecessors from the years 2015 and 2017, respectively, »Jeff Özdemir & Friends Vol. 3« sees the man behind Kreuzberg’s 33rpm record store and the 33rpm Records label showcase his qualities as a people remixer, songwriter and versatile musician. He put together a collection of groovy tunes picking up on funk and afrobeat rhythms, introspective ballads, a musically channeled punk attitude, shoegaze sentiments, spoken word passages, drones, glockenspiel sounds, seriously fun experimentation and much more. Just like on the cover artwork - courtesy of Marion Eichmann, Özdemir’s favourite visual artist - everything here seems to discreetly exist for itself while being tightly connected to everything else at same time.

While artists like Ertan Doğancı, Désolé Léo, eng°n, F.S. Blumm and Zap have been long-term collaborators of Özdemir and were featured on previous instalments of the »Jeff Özdemir & Friends« series, new faces and forces also enter the mix. The melancholic »Love Letters« for example marks the first (though hopefully not last) collaboration with singer Joanna Gemm Auguri, while Knarf Rellöm & DJ Patex’s appearance has been dreamt of collectively but hasn’t been fully realised until now.

Whether it’s Désolé Léo’s French crooner soul, the lo-fi synth pop song »Bored« featuring former Commercial Breakup singer Elke Brauweiler or the many different sounds and styles presented under the name Jeff Özdemir: no decision is ever made between either that or this musical direction, but all are being joyfully enjoyed together. Thus, throughout its 70 minutes, the stylistic diversity of »Jeff Özdemir & Friends Vol. 3« does not once border on randomness. Instead, these sometimes very different songs are marked by a shared atmosphere - a direct result of these very different musicians approaching their studio time together less as a chance to make music but more of a chance to carefully listen to and interact with each other.

Just like you’d expect it from someone deeply connected with the local music community who also happens to run a record store, Özdemir is also the kind of person who’ll hand you the worn copy of a record he has just fished out from the bargain bin because he knows about its potential to change your life. The contributions by Vackrow (»Kleistpark«), Gebrüder Teichmann’s old band BeigeGT (»Disco«), and Otto von Bismarck (»Zu viele Erinnerungen«, produced by The Whitest Boy Alive’s Daniel Nentwig) do not even feature Özdemir, but are simply musical pearls that were (almost) lost in the shuffle of music history and unearthed for this very special occasion. That’s just what friends do, don’t they?

At a time when on every street corner, adolescent wannabe gangstas believed they had to tell everyone and their dog about their greatness and the inferiority of all others, there was a cadre of Munich-based Hip-Hop artists producing incredibly fresh and imaginative music, inspired, of course, by the golden era of the 90s. They played gigs in small clubs in front of some dozens of people, spread mixtapes and Eps and were celebrated by their friends and the rest of the scene. The world took no notice - until now ! Tramp Records, specializing in unearthing forgotten pearls of musical art, documents with "Golden Hits", an era of Munich underground Hip Hop which flew completely under the radar, spanning ten years from 2005 to 2015. The musical bandwidth and quality of the tracks is astonishing, but so much more could have been possible. Much of this music remained fragmented or unreleased for a host of reasons, families, stressful jobs, musical reorientation, and even lost hard disks... but one story has a happy ending! When Masta Ace had a live show at the legendary Atomic Cafe, Primatune's Fid Rizz was able to hand over a CD with demo beats. Unfortunately the CD was blank by mistake! But the curiosity of Masta Ace had been piqued, and he got back to him, the rest is history. Features of other stateside rap heroes like Wordsworth or Declaime followed.

The very best of this era, including tracks never before heard and ideas remaining fragmented, has now been compiled by Tramp Records to take you for a fascinating listening journey.

Hip Hop, as it was since it's inception in the Bronx, fresh and real, and made with passion by neighborhood kids spitting truth about life and the struggle!

Key selling points:

- including many unreleased songs
- the vinyl LP comes with a full album download code