Cerca:men of north country

Men of North Country from Tel Aviv follow up their late 2023 digital single and Keith Richards cover "Hate It When You Leave" with a rousing vinyl version of Carl Carlton's Northern Soul floorfiller "I Can Feel It". This 7inch release is backed by a special, as yet unreleased version of the MONC classic "Ravens".

The new 7'' on Delights is a vinyl debut for two groove-heavy, retro-futuristic remixes from Markey Funk's vaults: "Magic" by Men of North Country - on the A-side, and "Sparks" by 3421 - on the flip. Both cuts, previously available only on streaming platforms, are a kaleidoscopic homage to the 1960's space age romance, sci-fi psychedelia and cinematic funk.

Limited to 300 copies worldwide.

The begena is a large ten-stringed lyre which is part of the traditional Amharic heritage of Ethiopia. The Amharas, who have long formed the politically and culturally dominant people of Ethiopia, mainly inhabit the central and northern part of the country. In the majority, they follow the monophysite Orthodox Tewahido Church established in the early fourth century AD.

Music plays a very important part in the life of the church. Most of the liturgy is sung and, contrary to secular music, it is accompanied by percussion instruments only. The begena occupies a special place because it is the one melodic instrument exclusively dedicated to the spiritual repertory. Because of its mythical origin, it is highly respected. Tradition holds that the begena was given to king David by God, and brought to Ethiopia by Menelik I, together with the Ark of the Covenant. It has always been the instrument of kings and nobles. Played by pious men and women of letters, it never became widespread. But it never disappeared either, not even under the Derg regime (1974-1991) which had banned the instrument.

Among Amhara string instruments, the begena is the most carefully crafted, especially with regard to the ornately sculpted crossbar. Its ten gut strings are cleaned and twisted several times. The characteristic buzzing timbre equalled by no other Amhara instrument is due to the enzirotch, that is, small bits of leather placed between each string and the bridge. This plays an important part in the sound production by creating a brief contact between the string and the upper rim of the bridge, thus modifying the vibrating properties of the string. In this manner, the spectrum of the sound is considerably enhanced (up to over 10 kHz).

The begena is a very powerful instrument, it keeps the devil thirty steps away, and its presence in the home wards off malicious spirits. Priests and preachers recommend its presence, especially during Lent (Fassika Tsom) when the Orthodox Amharas ponder their sins and repent. Because of its spiritual import, the begena generates intense emotion. According to some musicians, playing the begena brings them into direct contact with God or the Virgin Mary. The religious role of the begena is underscored by the shape of the instrument, each part symbolises an important element of the faith. The crossbar for instance, which reaches across the entire width of the instrument, represents God who is above all things. The belly which "gives birth" to the sound represents the Virgin Mary, and the ten strings recall the Ten Commandments.

Recorded by Stéphanie Weisser in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, March 2002-December 2005.

Mastered by Renaud Millet-Lacombe.

Issued under license from VDE-Gallo, Switzerland.

The begena is a large ten-stringed lyre which is part of the traditional Amharic heritage of Ethiopia. The Amharas, who have long formed the politically and culturally dominant people of Ethiopia, mainly inhabit the central and northern part of the country. In the majority, they follow the monophysite Orthodox Tewahido Church established in the early fourth century AD.

Music plays a very important part in the life of the church. Most of the liturgy is sung and, contrary to secular music, it is accompanied by percussion instruments only. The begena occupies a special place because it is the one melodic instrument exclusively dedicated to the spiritual repertory. Because of its mythical origin, it is highly respected. Tradition holds that the begena was given to king David by God, and brought to Ethiopia by Menelik I, together with the Ark of the Covenant. It has always been the instrument of kings and nobles. Played by pious men and women of letters, it never became widespread. But it never disappeared either, not even under the Derg regime (1974-1991) which had banned the instrument.

Among Amhara string instruments, the begena is the most carefully crafted, especially with regard to the ornately sculpted crossbar. Its ten gut strings are cleaned and twisted several times. The characteristic buzzing timbre equalled by no other Amhara instrument is due to the enzirotch, that is, small bits of leather placed between each string and the bridge. This plays an important part in the sound production by creating a brief contact between the string and the upper rim of the bridge, thus modifying the vibrating properties of the string. In this manner, the spectrum of the sound is considerably enhanced (up to over 10 kHz).

The begena is a very powerful instrument, it keeps the devil thirty steps away, and its presence in the home wards off malicious spirits. Priests and preachers recommend its presence, especially during Lent (Fassika Tsom) when the Orthodox Amharas ponder their sins and repent. Because of its spiritual import, the begena generates intense emotion. According to some musicians, playing the begena brings them into direct contact with God or the Virgin Mary. The religious role of the begena is underscored by the shape of the instrument, each part symbolises an important element of the faith. The crossbar for instance, which reaches across the entire width of the instrument, represents God who is above all things. The belly which "gives birth" to the sound represents the Virgin Mary, and the ten strings recall the Ten Commandments.

Recorded by Stéphanie Weisser in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, March 2002-December 2005.

Mastered by Renaud Millet-Lacombe.

Issued under license from VDE-Gallo, Switzerland.

Swan Song

The vinyl LP at the heart of this éthiopiques 31 tracks 2 to 11 was one of the very last vinyl records ever released in Ethiopia. But above all it represents, we felt, the absolute masterpiece of the Ethiopian Groove – the Swan Song of Swinging Addis. The album leaves a clear idea for posterity of the level of sophistication and mastery that modern Ethiopian music had achieved, before being crushed under the Stalino-military heel of the Derg – as the bloody revolution that was unfolding came to be called.

Ethiopia1976.

The Revolution that broke out in February 1974 rolled on in a ruthless march. The whole of Ethiopian society was utterly stunned. The bouquets of flowers handed joyfully to the first tanks of the coup d'état were to wilt very rapidly. From September 1976 to February 1978, 18 months of Red Terror (the name given by the junta itself) spilled blood throughout the country. This fratricidal conflict took its heaviest toll among students and youth. The shift from feudalism to a cruel and primitive Stalinism left the country's citizens deeply traumatised, and snuffed out any pretence of activism, whatever the sector of society. This ice age was to last for seventeen long years.

ሙሉቀን፡መለሰ Mulukèn Mellèssè Muluqän Mälläsä

It was three tracks by Muluken that served as the opener for éthiopiques-1 more than 25 years ago. Seven more tracks appeared on éthiopiques-3 and 13, all accompanied by The Equators, which was soon to become the Dahlak Band.

The first track, Hédètch alu, also the very first piece that Muluken ever recorded, left audiences both unsettled and amazed. Reflecting the singer's extremely young age (he was just 17 at the time), this angelic voice mystified many, who thought they were in fact listening to a feminine voice. He was not yet 22 when he released his last vinyl record in 1976 with Kaifa Records (KF 39LP), one of the very last to be issued in Ethiopia, before the cassette tape became the dominant medium for music distribution – and before the new revolutionary regime put a stop to all independent musical life, via an unspeakable barrage of prohibitions and other persecutions.

Mulu qèn, literally, “A well filled day”. This tender maternal intention wasn't enough to ward off the cruelty of fate. His mother's premature death drove Muluken to leave his native Godjam, in northeast Ethiopia, to live with an uncle in Addis Ababa. Born Muluken Tamer, he took his uncle's last name – Mèllèssè.

The spelling Muluken appeared in his administrative records. Transcription of Amharic to the Latin alphabet, both in Ethiopia and for scholars, gives rise to controversies and quibbles that can never be neatly settled. French allows for a closer approximation of the original pronunciation, thanks to its battery of accent marks, confusing as they may be to anglophones.

Between rather accommodating administrative record-keepers and the various versions that pop up in interviews given by the artist, Muluken's year of birth oscillates between 1953 and 1955…

1954? One thing is certain: the artist's talent made itself known very early indeed, because he got his start in 1966-67, at the age of 13 or 14. Photos from the period attest to his extreme youth. It's a strange sort of initiation for a very young teenager to become a sensation in the heart of Addis's nightlife at the time, Woubé Bèrèha – the Wilds of Woubé. And what's more, in the club of the Queen of the Night, the Godjamé Assègèdètch Alamrèw herself, the very same that was portrayed by Sebhat Guèbrè-Egziabhér in his novel-memoir Les Nuits d’Addis Abeba2… The legendary female club owner who is remembered to this day by the capital's ageing boomers.

Muluken first tried his hand at the drums, before he grabbed the microphone. He emigrated briefly to the Zula Club, across the street from the old Addis Post Office, one of the ground-breaking bars of the burgeoning musical scene, before joining the Second Police Band in 1968, for around three years. He spent a few months with the short-lived Blue Nile Band founded by saxophonist Besrat Tammènè. As the musical scene grew increasingly successful, and pulled slowly but decisively away from its institutional ties, Muluken released his first 45rpm single in February 1972 (Amha Records AE 440). It was included in two LP Ethiopian Hit Parade compilation albums in September of the same year. All in all, Muluken released eight two-track 45s and the same number of original cassette tapes between February 1972 and 1984, the year that he departed for permanent exile in the USA. After converting to Pentecostalism in 1980, Muluken gradually abandoned all secular musical activity. In 1985, at the end of a concert in Philadelphia, he decided to quit concerts and recording for good. Mèlakè Gèbré, the historic bass player from the Walias band who was playing with him that night, recalls that everything appeared so irredeemably diabolical in Muluken's eyes, that it was to be the end of his contribution to Ethiopian Groove.

The end of the story, the beginning of a legend.

Dahlak Band, forgotten by History

Aside from his personal history and vocal talents, it must be remembered that Muluken Mèllèssè was one of the biggest names in the musical innovations that marked the end of the imperial period. These éthiopiques aim to convince those who are just discovering this hidden gem... As for Ethiopians themselves, they are to this day captivated by this singular and atypical figure in the Abyssinian pop landscape – even though he withdrew from public life some 40 years ago. Incorrigible devotees of poetic twists, of more or less hidden meanings, Ethiopians appreciate above all the care Muluken took in choosing his lyrics and the writers who penned them, such as Feqerte Haylou, Alemtsehay Wodajo and, here, Shewalul Mengistu (1944-1977). Love songs, written by women, a far cry from the conventional drivel that pleases sappy sentimentalists.

Muluken is equally acclaimed for his perfectionism when it came to music, the opposite of the overly casual approach that is all too common. He remained a faithful partner of musicians who came from a lineage that borrowed from several inventive and pioneering bands (Venus, Equators, Dahlak). Amongst them were certain artists who began their musical lives with Nersès Nalbandian at the Haile Sellassie Theatre and who come of age in around 1973 – at just the wrong time, you might say. Among them were the pillars Shimèlis Bèyènè (trumpet), Dawit Yifru (keyboards) and Tilayé Gèbrè (sax & flute). Most notably Tilayé Gèbrè, certainly one of the most important musicians, composers and arrangers of his generation, of the end of the imperial era, and of the early years of the Derg.

It was only in 1981 that a miraculous opportunity arose for Tilayé to escape the Stalinist paradise of the dictator Menguistou Haylè-Maryam. Once again it was Amha Eshèté (1946-2021) who provided a solution. The spirited and courageous producer, who had been in exile in Washington since 1975, succeeded, thanks to his incredible perseverence, in bringing the Walias Band to the USA. It was, in fact an extended Walias Band comprising ten musicians3, six of whom chose to slip away after a few concerts and the recording of an LP (The Best of Walias, WRS 100). Tilayé Gèbrè was one of these. He has been living in the USA ever since. There he joined the then-nascent Ethiopian diaspora, which lived largely unto itself, and was making only very modest headway in the American musical market. It seems unfair that Tilayé Gèbrè and the Dahlak Band were not able to benefit earlier from the public recognition that they do deserve.

A similar draining away of the top-rate talents would lead to the reorganization of the major groups of the “Derg Time”. The remaining artists spread themselves around between Ibex Band (renamed Roha Band), Ethio Star Band and a remodeled Walias Band. That spelled the end of the Dahlak Band.

With this record, produced by the essential Ali Abdella Kaifa a.k.a. Ali Tango, we can appreciate everything that the Derg not only destroyed, but also prevented from flourishing. This gem of Ethiopian-style afrobeat came out in 1976 (and, by way of a parenthesis, before the FESTAC 1977 in Lagos, which was attended by an impressive delegation of Ethiopian musicians — although Fela was already personna non grata in his own country). Despite everything that might distinguish this ethio-groove from Fela’s music – no colonial axe to grind, no question of political confrontation with the authorities, no claims to negritude or Africanism for the Ethiopian musicians, and less extrovertion! –, this LP fits beautifully into the saga of intense and electrified soul of the new “African” groove that Fela and Manu Dibango embodied so well from that point onwards.

In restoring this record to its place in the afrobeat epic, it can be seen that, if nothing else, the timeline bestows a legitimate pedigree and a historical primacy to works that had no international impact when they were originally released.

Warning! Masterpiece!

2025 Repress!

Recorded in a remote cabin on the Devon coast, STILL OUT is an album-length collaboration between musician-filmmakers – and childhood friends – Will Cookson and Tom Haverly. A reflection on friendship, landscape and the passing of time, it inspired a road trip from North Yorkshire to North Devon they took together in the summer of 2024, and forms the soundtrack to a film of the same name which had its premiere screening as part of Stroud Film Festival in March 2025.

Like the film, STILL OUT is also an oblique homage to The KLF’s iconic 1990 album Chill Out, which the Gloucestershire-based pair revisited after it turned up unexpectedly a few years back in Tom’s dad’s record collection. Inspired to create their own recording using a similarly free-spirited process, Will and Tom relocated to the Devon coast in late summer 2023, splicing together a 40-minute mix from their personal archive of recordings and found sounds in a remote cabin with no electricity or mobile reception.

"It came together using cut-and-paste techniques, with ongoing shifts and tweaks,” says Will. “The final result was an audio collage that felt like something legendary hip hop producers The Bomb Squad might make - if ambient music was the only material in their sample library."

Using ‘ambient’ as a starting-point rather than an end in itself, they took inspiration from across the musical spectrum – classic-period Brian Eno, Philip Glass, Bill Evans, plus outliers such as 80s singer-songwriter Virginia Astley and the late DJ-producer Andrew Weatherall. The connections, though, are anything but obvious as the audio shifts seamlessly from field recordings and spoken-word interludes to mood pieces and snatches of vintage pop.

Edited and assembled using freely available open source programs, the source material was often radically altered using tools such as “PaulStretch”, a digital sound-morphing algorithm that allows users to stretch audio files to extreme lengths.

"When we found ourselves in a creative slump or unsure how to navigate a tricky part, we'd say, ‘Let's put some syrup on it and slow it down,’” says Tom. “That always helped us get back on track during late-night recording sessions at the cabin."

Part-soundtrack, part-meditative experiment, STILL OUT is intended as a reflection on the mental and emotional shift that occurs when stepping away from the routine of daily life – an album that forms a celebration of our ever-changing relationship to the world around us and the mystery of what it means to pass through time and space.

“The true follow up, 35 years later, to The KLF’s ‘Chill Out’”.
JD Twitch (Optimo).

An ambient journey reflecting on friendship, the British landscape - and The KLF’s landmark album Chill Out

"This record and film are just lovely. You need this in your life. Moo-Moo!” Balearic Mike (Down To The Sea & Back)

"The album is a perfect companion to the KLF classic, utilising the British countryside as the setting, occasionally reminding you that Mother Nature is not to be messed with.” Strictly Kev (DJ Food)

"A beautiful ambient journey into the landscape, taking the listener from reality to dream state and back again. A mystical realm full of mysterious chanting, rattling trains and sounds from the very depths of the earth."
Lally MacBeth & Matthew Shaw (Stone Club)

END[GER] Die Band Wednesday aus Asheville, North Carolina errichtet im Laufe der zehn Songs von "Rat Saw God" einen Schrein voller aufregender Details: Halb lustige, halb tragische Botschaften aus den Südstaaten, die sich klanglich irgendwo zwischen dem wimmernden Skuzz von Neunzigerjahre-Shoegaze und klassischem Country-Twang entfalten - mit verzerrter Pedal Steel und Frontfrau Karly Hartzman, die mit ihrer Stimme, den Lärm durchschneidet. Ein Song von Wednesday ist wie ein Quilt. Eine Kurzgeschichtensammlung, eine verschwommene Erinnerung, ein Flickenteppich aus Porträts des amerikanischen Südens, der disparate Momente einfängt und als Ganzes doch irgendwie einen Sinn ergibt. Karly Hartzman, die Songschreiberin, Sängerin, Gitarristin und Leiterin der Band, ist eine Geschichtensammlerin als auch eine Geschichtenerzählerin: Eine aufmerksame Beobachterin von Menschen und witzigen Bemerkungen. "Rat Saw God", das neue und beste Album des Quintetts aus Asheville, ist ekphrastisch, aber ebenso autobiografisch und vor allem sehr einfühlsam. Es wurde in den Monaten unmittelbar nach der Fertigstellung von dem zweiten Album der Band, "Twin Plagues", geschrieben und innerhalb einer Woche im Drop Of Sun Studio in Asheville aufgenommen. Die Songs auf "Rat Saw God" erzählen keine Epen, sondern das Alltägliche. Sie sind lebensnah, erzählen vom wahren Leben, sie sind verschwommen und chaotisch und seltsam zugleich - was Hartzmans eigenem Ethos entspricht: "Everyone's story is worthy. Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Musique Pour La Danse is proud to present the definitive edition of the highly acclaimed and globally beloved Donkey Kong Country soundtracks, meticulously recreated by composer and producer Jammin' Sam Miller. Released in 1994 for the Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES), Donkey Kong Country was celebrated not only for its groundbreaking quasi-3D graphics but also for its exceptional soundtrack.
The soundtrack featured a variety of compositions, and has been highly praised for its diverse and high-quality music, with tracks like "Aquatic Ambiance" and "Fear Factory" standing out as fan favorites. The influence of the Donkey Kong Country soundtrack extends beyond the gaming world, having inspired modern artists and changed the way video game music was perceived.

This limited edition boxset, limited to 500 copies, comes as a triple DLP set, containing Volumes 1, 2, and 3. Pressed on red, green, and blue marbled vinyl, it is housed in a hardboard slipcase featuring new and original artwork by Andrew Beltran.

Don't sleep on this ultimate release-the previous boxset edition has been sold out for a long time, and if you can find it, it's being sold for crazy money.

Using hex SPC data converted to MIDI, Jammin' Sam Miller painstakingly recreated the DKC soundtrack note by note, sourcing the original equipment used to create it. He then translated the MIDI into a modern studio context, incorporating keyboard samples, remixing the sounds with added effects, and mastering the tracks. To learn more about his process, watch the explanatory video here: cutt.ly/ulUHE6J.

Rhiannon Giddens reunites with her former Carolina Chocolate Drops bandmate Justin Robinson on What Did the Blackbird Say to the Crow, an album of North Carolina fiddle and banjo music. Produced by Giddens and Joseph "joebass" DeJarnette, the album features Giddens on banjo and Robinson on fiddle, with the duo playing eighteen of their favourite North Carolina tunes: a mix of instrumentals and tunes with words.

Many were learned from their late mentor, the legendary North Carolina Piedmont musician Joe Thompson; one is from another musical hero, the late Etta Baker, from whom they also learned by listening to recordings of her playing. Giddens and Robinson recorded the album outdoors and on location at Thompson’s and Baker’s North Carolina homes, as well as the former plantation Mill Prong House. They were accompanied by the sounds of nature, including two different broods of cicadas, which had not emerged simultaneously since 1803, creating a true once-in-a-lifetime soundscape. The duo, along with four other string musicians including the multi-instrumentalist Dirk Powell, will embark on the Rhiannon Giddens & The Old-Time Revue North America tour in April.

“With the assaults on reality going on in the world today, we wanted to offer another kind of record, like walking back onto a gravel or dirt road while a stampede goes the other way,” Giddens says. “With the cicada choir, this record could’ve only happened at a certain time in the last 120 years. We doubled down on place, time, realness, and old-fashioned front porch music. It’s a reminder that another way exists, with music made for your community’s enjoyment and for dancing–not solely for commercial purposes.

“What is the role of music in our society?” she wonders. “How do we de-couple it from unfettered capitalism, where music is a product and musicians are incidental? How do we use the tools and system that we have been bequeathed in a way that reminds us of other ways of being?” Robinson adds, "Recording this album felt like being back in the saddle. Just this time Joe is not here, and his fiddle is under my chin. The album is about home, the cicadas, the storms, the music, and the people who make it feel like home."

Thompson was one of the last musicians of his era and his community to carry on the southern Black string band tradition. He played a crucial role in the lives of Giddens and Robinson, who, along with their Carolina Chocolate Drops bandmate Dom Flemons, spent their formative years learning from Thompson in traditional apprentice/mentor relationships. His influence has guided all of their artistic journeys as well as their mission to keep the legacy of the Black string band tradition alive.

In further tribute to Giddens’ North Carolina roots, What Did the Blackbird Say to the Crow will arrive just a week before Biscuits & Banjos, the inaugural edition of her first festival, which highlights the deep roots and enduring legacy of Black music, art, and culture while fostering community and storytelling. The sold-out festival will feature a much-anticipated Carolina Chocolate Drops reunion, their first performance together in more than a decade.

Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water, the self-titled debut from the duo of trumpeter Will Evans and guitarist, synthesist, producer and multi-instrumentalist Theo Trump, arrives like a vault revelation. It feels like a decades-old yet newly unearthed masterwork of gorgeous ambient improvisation, the sort of thing scholars live to research and shepherd into deluxe reissue.

The patient, crystalline chords that swell and resonate like a series of confessions; the textured brass murmurs that suggest a ’60s or ’70s Fire Music master at their most poignant. Provocative found-sound experiments threading arcane religious recordings through dystopian soundscapes. Ear-shattering free-noise tumult. Where and when did this music come from? Who are these voices?

As it turns out, Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water springs from an engrossing human story, though it isn’t necessarily the one you’d expect. This work of stunning maturity is in fact an entrance by two little-known explorers in their early 20s, who grew up together in Virginia, in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It documents one of those perfect, sparkling moments in post-adolescence when big decisions and responsibilities are right around the corner, but for a spell, two young artists are able to create among the comforts and nostalgia of their shared past.

It also represents a reunion of sorts, as Evans and Trump connected as toddlers, became inseparable as boys, then pursued independent lives and creative paths as young adults. “Theo is my oldest friend,” Evans says, “and I feel like that’s what this band is — us meeting right in the middle of our interests.”

Now, having conjured this magic, they’ve detached once again: Evans, whose other works include the indie/avant-jazz unit Angelica X, is currently based in New York City. Trump recently moved to England, where he’d participated in his family’s theatre company, to go to school and further his solo ambient project. “This album didn’t start out as something super ambitious,” Evans explains. “It was more just an excuse to spend time together again and make music.”

***

In conversation, Evans and Trump are a delight, especially for cynics who might think that Gen-Z is only capable of doomscrolling. They come across as kindly young intellectuals who grew up using the internet as it was intended, for exposure to ideas and art across genres and generations. Trump points to indie-folk and the oracular post-rock of late Talk Talk, Bark Psychosis and Gastr del Sol. Pressed for his guitar heroes, he cites Bill Orcutt, Mary Halvorson and Marc Ribot, and mentions his devotion to alt-country. Heyday electro-industrial stuff like Skinny Puppy and Nine Inch Nails also meant a lot to him.

Evans is equally intrepid, though his background has a greater jazz focus. Ambrose Akinmusire, among today’s most thoughtfully commanding trumpeters, is a favorite. As for the soulful murmur he offers throughout Forgetting You, Pharoah Sanders’ wistful and lyrical contributions to Floating Points’ work is a touchstone.

The two grew up down the street from each other in the northern Piedmont town of Batesville, Virginia. Their families were friends, holidays were celebrated together and they became the most loyal of pals. As children they had a pretend band.

Then life unfolded, they attended different schools and their paths diverged. Evans discovered John Coltrane and became a jazz obsessive, as Trump found punk and hardcore and later began making ambient music. As a dedicated jazz trumpeter, Evans studied formally and widely; Trump was an autodidact, teaching himself guitar and absorbing synthesis and production techniques. The late teens and very early 20s brought moves away from home and back to home, as well as plenty of listening and learning. The Covid pandemic meant an opportunity to reconnect on long walks. Through it all, together and apart, they remained reverent of each other.

By early 2023, they found themselves living again among the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the evening, after giving trumpet lessons in Charlottesville, Evans would make the eerily beautiful trek “over the mountain” to Trump’s home in Staunton, Virginia. They’d talk and eat and begin to improvise, deep into the night. Evans played trumpet and sometimes drums. (Given the wee-hours recording schedule, the neighbors didn’t appreciate the latter.) Trump plugged a rickety, junk-store Telecaster-style guitar into a cheap solid-state amp and explored open tunings; he also layered on lap steel, electric bass, synths and electronics.

They locked in and relished each other’s gifts. In Trump, those include patience and intentionality and sonic decision-making; for Evans, a distinctive trumpet sound that both musicians think of as a singer’s voice. “Will’s playing is so thoughtful and well placed,” Trump says. “My goal from a producer’s mindset is that the trumpet will occupy the space that vocals would take.”

Often, they got lost in the best way. “The thing I look for most when I’m playing is that feeling of disappearing into what you’re doing,” Evans says. “Usually when that happens, the music is good.”

By the same token, they didn’t pursue free improvisation as an ethic, or as a pure process. Their goal was something closer to spontaneous composition. “We were trying to make good songs,” Evans says simply. Later, Trump did brilliant post-production work, expanding a modest setup into an enthralling soundworld. Under his judicious editorship, music that was wholly improvised sounds at times like a carefully composed new-music commission.

The results speak for themselves. “A Happy Death” summons up a swath of American desolation through the viewfinder of Wim Wenders. “Flesh of Lost Summers” and “Partings” are highlights from an essential ECM LP that never was. “A Collapse of Horses” infuses those seminal post-rock influences with the plod of doom metal or slowcore. The album’s final track, “The Mountains Are a Dream That Calls to Me,” was in fact the first thing the duo recorded, as an evocation of those twilit drives across the Blue Ridge Mountains. “Looking back at what we chose to name the songs,” Evans says, “and some of the sounds and how they make me feel, there is an air of impermanence and loss to this album.”

“I’m excited for everything that’s to come,” he adds, “but I recently thought, ‘Damn — that’s not going to happen again.’ It was a privilege for us to have that time together.”

Sleap-e is reclaiming herself. The Italian singer-songwriter’s second album, 8106, captures the spirit of play; the child-like instinct to pursue what you love without compromise - and here it is, that particular magic that rarely survives adulthood, remarkably intact. Each of its eleven songs are vibrant shards which build a mosaic of Asia Martina Morabito’s world: the growing pains of your early twenties, remaining faithful to your dreams despite the hostility of adulthood, places of escape both real and imagined - and the pulse of Bologna, her home and north star. As a student of old-school iconoclasts like The Fall and inspired by the outsider streak of Jimmy Whispers and Daniel Johnston, it was not any particular musical quality of theirs which Asia wanted to channel in Sleap-e, but their confidence to “explode in a raw, free and authentic way.” Though her sound has shifted from the tender bedroom pop of her 2020 EP Mellow and her 2022 debut album Pouty Lips which was bedecked with jubilant brass and Mediterranean rhythms, it’s her self-belief which endures. 8106 is Sleap-e’s most raucous, unpolished and playful offering to date, steeped in the influence of “egg-punk”, an internet-grown genre which seeks to satirise the tropes of punk with its danceable irreverence. There is joy to be found, Asia feels, in refusing to conform, and it has brought her closer to herself than ever before. But to gain her sense of self, first, she had to lose sight of it. Summer of 2023, when the outlines of the record were made, was a difficult time for her. 8106 was the number of the hotel room she felt confined to, alone and adrift from comfort when she was working away from home. Writing this album was her getaway car. “It represents an important choice I made,” she explains. “I chose happiness. I chose myself.” The title represents a kind of mental post-it note reminding herself to stay focused on what she loves; it’s a talisman to protect her from hard times. She returned home, and there she began recording the album in residency at the Bronson Club, a hive of like-minded creatives and mentors who helped it take its final form. At home, her own music was played freely and instinctively. The artwork for 8106 is by Noemi Vola, a prolific Bolognian illustrator and author who specialises in designs for children, which reflects the “funky, fairytale mood” of the record itself.

"Dance My Hurt Away" is the first single from the debut album by The Faithful Brothers from Tel Aviv/Israel.

Is there a Northern Soul scene in Tel Aviv? The surprising answer is – yes, there is. If you're a soulie and in town, look for the Tel Aviv Soul Club, and you might find yourself swaying across a talcum-powder covered floor to Tel Aviv's own unique blend of classic Northern Soul 45s and early 1960s R&B sounds.

Chances are that those 45s will come out of the record boxes of one of the brothers Neeman, Johnnie and Bin. Tel Aviv Soul Club, aka TASC, is the brainchild of Yashiv Cohen, a DJ who, in 2006, lured the brothers Neeman, whose massive soul collections been hitherto confined to their respective living rooms, into playing their records to the Tel Aviv public. Yashiv is also the lead singer of Men of North Country (MONC), a Tel Aviv band with a distinct sound, blending rock, British pop and soul. Since Neeman means Faithful in Hebrew, Yashiv woke up one morning with the crystallization that MONC must create a spin-off, a more puristic soul band, called the Faithful Brothers. It took a few more years, but gradually the brothers succumbed to their fate, to continue their musical progression, from collectors to DJs to musicians. Johnnie took his guitar, Bin took to the piano, and the brothers began pouring out some of their influences, creating new songs. It is finally all coming together now.

"Dance My Hurt Away" is the first single from the upcoming debut album by The Faithful Brothers from Tel Aviv/Israel. Is there a Northern Soul scene in Tel Aviv? The surprising answer is - yes, there is. If you're a soulie and in town, look for the Tel Aviv Soul Club, and you might find yourself swaying across a talcum-powder covered floor to Tel Aviv's own unique blend of classic Northern Soul 45s and early 1960s R&B sounds. Chances are that those 45s will come out of the record boxes of one of the brothers Neeman, Johnnie and Bin. Tel Aviv Soul Club, aka TASC, is the brainchild of Yashiv Cohen, a DJ who, in 2006, lured the brothers Neeman, whose massive soul collections been hitherto confined to their respective living rooms, into playing their records to the Tel Aviv public. Yashiv is also the lead singer of Men of North Country (MONC), a Tel Aviv band with a distinct sound, blending rock, British pop and soul. Since Neeman means Faithful in Hebrew, Yashiv woke up one morning with the crystallization that MONC must create a spin-off, a more puristic soul band, called the Faithful Brothers. It took a few more years, but gradually the brothers succumbed to their fate, to continue their musical progression, from collectors to DJs to musicians. Johnnie took his guitar, Bin took to the piano, and the brothers began pouring out some of their influences, creating new songs. It is finally all coming together now.

The Faithful Brothers

Soul and R&B from Tel Aviv

"It's so difficult to produce the feel and the excitement of the classic northern sound, but The Faithful Brothers were born to do it and they do it so well." Craig Charles, The Craig Charles Funk & Soul Show, BBC Radio 6 Music.

Is there a Northern Soul scene in Tel Aviv? The surprising answer is – yes, there is. If you're a soulie and in town, look for the Tel Aviv Soul Club, and you might find yourself swaying across a talcum-powder covered floor to Tel Aviv's own unique blend of classic Northern Soul 45s and early 1960s R&B sounds.

Chances are that those 45s will come out of the record boxes of one of the brothers Neeman, Johnnie and Bin. Sons of an Israeli diplomat, they travelled abroad extensively as children, in the 1960s and 1970s, discovering the wonderful world of rare soul music on the way. Tel Aviv Soul Club, aka TASC, is the brainchild of Yashiv Cohen, a DJ who, in 2006, lured the brothers Neeman, whose massive soul collections been hitherto confined to their respective living rooms, into playing their records to the Tel Aviv public. Yashiv is also the lead singer of Men of North Country (MONC), a Tel Aviv band with a distinct sound, blending rock, British pop and soul, that has recorded two albums for the London based label Acid Jazz Records, and toured Europe numerous times.

Since Neeman means Faithful in Hebrew, Yashiv woke up one morning with the crystallization that MONC must create a spin-off, a more puristic soul band, called the Faithful Brothers. There the biological Neeman/Faithful brothers would be joined by some of the members of MONC and a few more musical brothers from Tel Aviv to create new, original soul and R&B music. With a nod to the Northern Soul slogan "Keep The Faith", the name seemed too perfect to waste. The fact that the Neeman brothers were collectors, and not musicians, did not bother a man of vision like Yashiv. One day, he sent Johnnie some lyrics he wrote, asking him to compose music for it. Well, Johnnie called Bin, and they met in Johnnie's record room. With Johnnie playing some of the few chords he knew on his dusty old acoustic guitar, out came Teenage Frost, the first-ever musical composition of the Neeman brothers, recorded by MONC.

It took a few more years, but gradually the brothers succumbed to their fate, to continue their musical progression, from collectors to DJs to musicians. Johnnie took his guitar, Bin took to the piano, and the brothers began pouring out some of their influences, creating new songs. It is finally all coming together. The Faithful Brothers – now an eight-piece band, complete with a mighty brass section – release their first album "The Faithful Brothers".

"If you can imagine a love child between MAC DEMARCO and SPAR-KLEHORSE, then this would be what you're left with." - SO YOUNG MAGA-ZINE
Raised in North Queensland, Australia, Jarrod Mahon is not one to shy away from bold new endeavors. Once parting ways with his previous record label in 2019, Mahon chose to go fully independent, relocating to Berlin in 2019 (where he still resides), despite having no contacts at all in the country. What’s more, having recorded/performed under the pseudonym Emerson Snowe for over a decade - during which time he home-recorded five albums and 13 EP’s, toured with the likes of King Krule or Ariel Pink, played showcases SXSW and the Great Escape, the works - Mahon took that brave, most uncommercial decision to release under his own name and start almost totally anew.
“There was never really a concept to that name Emerson Snowe other than having some kind of separation from who I was as a person,” Mahon explains, “using a moniker gave me that confidence to push myself further mentally and to give myself some kind of a freedom”. And through the process of creating what would become his debut album, Mahon saw that he had outgrown the need for this protective persona. ‘Everything Has A Life’ was meant to be the debut Snowe album”, he admits, “but after I finished mixing it with Syd Kemp, co-producer I realized that I had actually grown a lot and was much more comfort-able with who I am and what my personal beliefs are.”
The choice of ‘Everything Has A Life’ as the album title, pulled from beauteous opening track ‘All I Know’, neatly summarizes this new outlook: moving on from ‘self-pity’ of the past-self by becoming present for the loved ones around you, improving understanding of one’s own self, via the wider world at large.
That track marks the first written during a lockdown stint in LA where Mahon wrote and recorded every day for 2 months, produced nigh on 250 demos and birthed the bulk of the record. It also brought Mahon back to his all-time favorite, Sufjan Stevens’ Ilinois and its blend of widescreen orchestral landscapes and more candid, naked acoustic-leaning variations - an important influence for the album's stylistic contrasts. Another key inspiration for the record too brought Mahon back to his roots - those full-bloom strains of his Mum’s Beloved Neil Diamond, an annual Christmas irritant to Mahon as a child, yet an artist he’s come to respect in adulthood. “Whatever the reason, with age I came to love the big show band sounds,” he says, “the idea of a performer on stage with a mas-sive orchestra with strings was amazing to me.”
With the help of producer Syd Kemp (Ulrika Spacek, Vanishing Twin), such grand designs could be met. - “When we first met, he asked me if I would like real strings on it. I said of course.” Enter Magda Mclean on violin (Caroline/the Umlauts), and Gamaliel Rendle Traynor on Cello (Sweat, Fat White Family), whose strings helped lift the record to romantic new heights.
He continues: “I said to Syd that the only thing I wanted to achieve with this rec-ord was that I wanted it to make me cry at one point. And we got there eventual-ly.” The final culmination of all these strands, ’Everything Has A Life’ is indeed a treasure trove of emotive riches. Locking into that bittersweet, quintessentially ‘pop’ combination of triumphant rhythms and confessional, stream-of-consciousness lyrics plucked straight from the heart, Mahon faces up to years of substance abuse with a series of gorgeous, blushing melodies: “I was using, I was drinking, I was lying to my friends, I was messing up again, I was hiding from myself”, he joyously chants on ‘The Growing’.
A banquet fit for an indie king, Everything Has A Life is loaded with psych-pop lusciousness (‘All I Know’) and anthemic glam fuzz (‘Death Of The Ladies Man’, ‘Deadstar’, or ‘Sonny is my Best Friend’); recalling that foundational Sufjan Ste-vens influence too with shambling flecks of country (‘Charly (Romantic Heart)’). There’s also those lo-fi crepitations of ‘My Man’ and ‘I can’t’ harking back home-recorded demos that lie at the core of Mahon’s creative process.

Indonesian City Sound: Panbers’ Psychedelic Rock and Funk 1971-1974

The Pandjaitan Brothers or Panbers came from the North Sumatra minority Christian group, the Bataks, whose ancestry traces back to an island at the center of Lake Toba. As a minority group within Indonesia's Muslim-dominated society, this ethnic minority has produced top military generals, celebrity lawyers, and a legion of pop and rock superstars.

Suffice to say, some of the biggest names in the country's pop history were Bataks. Panbers fit the bill perfectly.

The band's strong Christianity belief looms heavily in the music they produce. The prominent use of the Hammond organ in their early materials is evocative of church music the band members have been around in their whole life. Bandleader Benny Pandjaitan's fills his characteristic wail with existential dread, with many utterances of the word "mengapa" (why).

Guilt is another central theme Pandjaitan repeatedly comes back to in his lyrics. But they balance it with joy, on songs such as "Come on You Dance" "Let's Dance Together" or "Haai" (a play on the word high), where references to recreational substances are plentiful.

Although they modeled themselves after the era's rock bands Beatles and fellow countrymen Koes Plus, Panbers had a unique aversion to the electric guitar. In "Jakarta City Sound," a fiery three-note guitar solo is laid so far down in the mix that they are barely audible. In "Haai" they modify the guitar to sound like a jungle instrument playing traditional North Sumatran music. In "Rock and the Sea," arguably their most well-known song globally, they decided to ditch electric guitar altogether and replace it with a sitar.

In the absence of an electric guitar, Panbers had to rely on Doan's inventive bass playing and Asido's drum works to do the heavy lifting - and boy, do they deliver (Their 1971 debut "Volume 1" saw plenty of drum breaks). In this compilation, listeners will hear recordings from Panbers' fertile four-year period - a time that produced in some of the grooviest and hardest-sounding psychedelic music in Indonesia's rock history.

For those uninitiated on the glory Panbers, consider this compilation an introduction to some of earliest and heaviest rock sound to come out of Indonesia.

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."

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"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.

For an artist whose career is flush with enigma, myth, and disguise, Nashville Skyline still surprises more than almost any other Bob Dylan move more than four decades after its original release. Distinguished from every other Dylan album by virtue of the smooth vocal performances and simple ease, the 1969 record witnesses the icon's full-on foray into country and trailblazing of the country-rock movement that followed. Cozy, charming, and warm, the rustic set remains for many hardcore fans the Bard's most enjoyable effort. And most inimitable. The result of quitting smoking, Dylan's voice is in pristine shape, nearly unidentifiable from the nasal wheeze and folk accents displayed on prior records.

Mastered on our world-renowned mastering system and pressed at RTI, this restored 45RPM analog version zeroes in on the shocking purity and never-again-replicated croon of Dylan's vocals. Enhanced, too, are the images associated with the calmly strummed and picked acoustic guitars and decay connected to the fading notes. The dimensions and ambience of the Columbia studio translate via subtle echoes and natural blend of instruments melding with one another, akin to honey integrating with tea. Providing comparably soothing effects, relaxing vibes pour forth from this reissue, which affords this masterpiece the fidelity it's always deserved. Wider grooves mean more information reaches your ears.

"Is it rolling, Bob?," Dylan famously queries producer Bob Johnston at the beginning of "To Be Alone With You," indicating the laissez-faire feelings that surrounded the sessions and helped yield the laidback, convivial music defining the album – arguably the most unique in the artist's vast catalog. While he dipped his toes into country waters on the preceding John Wesley Harding, Nashville Skyline throws its collective arms around the style in bear-hug fashion and drops any obvious folk references. Everything from the songs' moods to the amicable arrangements reacts against the era's turmoil and popular sounds.

This beautiful and beautifully executed effort might stand as Dylan's most effective protest ever, even if many missed the point upon original release. Advocating peace, love, and old-world allure without calling attention to any characteristic in an overly forward manner, Dylan frames the songs as ballads, rags, lullabies, and gentle honky-tonk dances. He adheres to expeditious brevity, keeping the arrangements tight and free of any filler, thus allowing the melodies to immediately work their magic and place hummable memories inside listeners' heads.

Indeed, if any Dylan masterpiece is overlooked, it's Nashville Skyline. In addition to his superb singing and infallible songs, Dylan enjoys backing from a crackerjack assembly of Nashville session musicians including Charlie Daniels, Marshall Grant, W.S. Holland, Charlie McCoy, Ken Buttrey, and Norman Blake. Country pros, and their respective performances, don't come any better.

As much as on any of his records, Dylan resides in a good place, mentally and emotionally. The idyllic, warmhearted environs of Nashville Skyline stand apart now just as they did in the late 1960s. The sincerity conveyed on the inviting "Lay Lady Lay," relief sighed on the romantic "Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You," and unlimited promise expressed on the jittery "To Be Alone With You" parallel the lessons-learned yearning and genuine desire found on "One More Night," bracing "I Threw It All Away," and eternal "Girl From the North Country," performed to perfection with Johnny Cash.

Mental health, unconventional relationship models, jealousy, failed dating
experiences and the banality and transience of life - these are the central
themes of 'The Absurdity Of Being', a coming-of-age album as if quoted
from a diary, recorded by a street artist in a construction trailer in the
north German countryside
Wydra herself describes her music as 'melancholic stray cat pop', and it sits
somewhere between indie and bedroom pop, comparable to the likes of Courtney
Barnett, Phoebe Bridgers and Chloe Moriondo. The Hamburg- based artist
surprises with '90s sounds, stomping club beats emerging from nowhere and
instruments such as melodica and violin. The opener 'Quality Time' deals with the
dark side of an open relationship and the title track with the banality of human
existence

Analog Africa delves deep into the scene of the Mexican's sonideros (sound-system operators) to present the "Rebajada" movement they've created using locally made pitch controls, speakers and sound effects.

"In 2010, I had asked Eamon Ore-Giron - aka DJ Lengua - if he would be interested in compiling a Latin project for Analog Africa, and if so, if he had a theme in mind. He replied, “Have you ever heard of rebajada?“ The question mark above my head, together with the wall of China, must have been the only other object visible from out of space because Eamon, probably noticing I got paralysed, continued, “Rebajada in Spanish means “to reduce, to lower”. It’s basically Mexican sonideros (soundsystem operators) slowing down the beat of a Cumbia to create a much more tangible music to dance to. I’ll send you a mix I made last year and let me know what you think.“ And so he did.

That mix was called Rebajada Mota Mix and I began listening to it on a loop. Although I was not immediately hooked it was intriguing from the get-go, and so I kept listening until magic began unfolding. Slowed down music allows you enough time to hear right through it, revealing itself in ways I had rarely experienced before. Everything became more transparent and I was noticing sounds normally only perceptible by bats. A near psychedelic experience. That mysterious mix included a few Ecuadorian songs by Junior y su Equipo - aka Polibio Mayorga (a cult figure in the sonidero scene), a couple of Mexican tunes, one Colombian, and various Peruvian songs, undoubtedly the driving force behind this project.

The sonidero who brought Peruvian and Ecuadorian music to Mexico was the legendary Pablo Perea from Sonido Arco-Iris, and although his fingerprints are all over the compilation Saturno 2000, this selection of songs in rebajada is exclusive to DJ Lengua. With the exception of a few classics from Polibio Mayorga and La Sampuesana – the queen of all rebajadas – most of these songs were probably never performed as such before, let alone released.

So how did rebajada come to be? In a nutshell; Rebajada started with two families of brothers – the Pereas and the Ortegas – who travelled all over Latin America and returned to Mexico with heavy loads of records which they would sell to the various sonideros always on the lookout for new tunes. Colombian beats especially seemed to fit almost perfectly with the Mexican dance steps – but they were just a bit too fast. As a result some sonideros began experimenting with equipment, and Marco Antonio Cedillo of Sonido Imperial created a revolutionary pitching system that could slow records down to an extent other players could only dream about. And so rebajada was born . . . or so we thought.

At the same time in north of the country, in Monterrey, sonidero Gabriel Dueñez almost got electrocuted by a short circuit that nearly set his record player on fire. As a result the platter started spinning in slow motion for the rest of the party, turning Cumbia into a different affair altogether. The youngsters went crazy for it and started harassing the sonidero with requests to record cassettes for them. Reluctant at first, Dueñez finally began recording a series of pirated cassettes called “Rebajada” which included mainly Colombian cumbia and porro in slow-mo exclusively. Those tapes took the city by storm and turned rebajada into a celebrated and defiant movement of the youth.

Of course it would not be a Mexican urban legend if it didn’t include dramaturgical elements, and so for nearly 30 years, until this day and probably for ever, both cities have been arguing and claiming ownership the creation of rebajada for themselves. But sonidera Joyce Musicolor, who never has time for such trivial arguments, got straight to the point: “Rebajada, and the equipment to perform it, is from here Mexico City but it was Monterrey that popularised it.“

Here we are! Back for the second volume of Back from the Canigó ! In the same spirit as Back from the Grave, our goal is to look back at what happened in the South of France near Perpignan at the beginning of the 21st century. As you can hear it in the first volume, the city of Perpignan (and its region, Northern Catalonia) has been a strong place for underground rock'n'roll for many years. In the 90's, there were a lot of garage bands and an important mods community. These guys created a spirit in the city that's still present today. This volume showcases the new bands created by Perpignan's city rockers and the country punks from the nearby villages. Bands like Les Gardiens du Canigou, The Ugly Things, The Likyds, The Toxic Farmers, The Vox Men, The Feedback, heard on the first compilation, spawned plenty of new formations. This time the scene has its own labels - Nasty Products and Profet Record are two of them. It has never been easier to record music and put it on vinyl. There are live venues all over the city. The beginning of the internet also makes life easier, even when you're in a town in the South of France near the Spanish border and the Mediterranean. Myspace is growing fast and local bands make contact with the other side of the Atlantic. The Sonic Chicken 4 are signed by In the Red and Trouble in Mind. Parisian labels are also interested in the work of bands from Perpignan. The Hushpuppies, ex-Likyds, go to the capital and are signed by Diamondtraxx. They're certainly the best known band of that era with their hit "You're Gonna Say Yeah", featured on Guitar Hero and in several commercial ads. Boosted by international touring, Catalan bands make their way into the world. The Fatals go on tour in Italy and Canada. The Sonic Chicken 4 are booked for a US tour while Jack of Heart, signed on Born Bad, play all over Europe. The whole world listens. This is the story told by our compilation. Just put the needle on the record and let the music do the talking...

Kapingbdi came together in Liberia, West Africa, during the late 1970’s and had their own unique style. This six to seven-piece band played original compositions in a vibrant mix of African Rhythms, Soul, Spiritual Jazz, Funk and Rock. Led by Kojo Samuels on sax, flute and vocals “Born in The Night” presents the essential tracks from their rare studio LPs produced between 1978-1981. The work has been carefully edited and remastered in 2019 for vinyl LP and a 6-Page Digipack CD, which includes two additional recordings. Kapingbdi toured through Europe and the U.S. and were the only Afro funk band to ever come out of Liberia.

Kapingbdi hail from Liberia, West Africa and have their own imitable style. They effortlessly combine traditional African music in a modern mix of Jazz, Funk, Soul and Rock. The band is a fusion of the old and the new.

The word "Kapingbdi" is taken from the Sierra Leone language Mende and means "born in the night". Kojo Samuels was given the name by his Latin teacher whilst attending high school in Freetown, They often meet and debate at night in the city and soon after Kojo is called Kapingbdi. The name serves as a description of his origin. Born In Lagos, Nigeria in 1943. The son of slave children. His mother from Nigeria and father from Sierra Leone who moved the family to Liberia, during the 1950’s.

Kojo has played music for as long as he can remember. He starts with the harmonica and later becomes a drummer and percussionist in his first band at school. During his art studies 1965-1972, he tours Germany and works as an art teacher in the USA. His band Kapingbdi is reorganized five times and consists of up to seven musicians. In a VW-Bulli he drives the group from concert to concert and if the drummer fails, he jumps in himself. Between 1978 and 1981 three Kapingbdi LPs are produced for the independent label Trikont, recorded in Hamburg and Munich. During this creative period, the band plays at festivals in Africa and Europe. In 1984, the band tours the United States and shortly after, they came to an end.

At their best, Kapingbdi would rouse the audience with original compositions like "Human Rights", justice for all, especially for South Africans, and "You Go Go You Go Come". The officials and employees in the government departments have no time for the common man, for any questions such as job search, scholarship or similar, he receives the answer "go, come back tomorrow" and the same thing the following day. Or "Now Is The Time For Cry For Love." Now it is time to scream for love and finally, time for humanity and justice. Despite immense difficulties, the musicians consciously live and work in Africa and are at home in Liberia.

On April 12, 1980, ordinary soldiers and non-commissioned officers organize a coup against the government. This is an attempt to put an end to a policy of exploitation of the Liberian people. Whilst efforts to eradicate poverty, lawlessness and illiteracy are obvious throughout the country, Liberia is still Americanized to a high degree. This is evident, as the radio programs of that time almost exclusively played American disco music. Under these conditions, the people seek a reconnection to their folk music, and Kapingbdi were aware of this. Kojo tried many times to come together with traditional Liberian musicians. This passion takes him north of the country. Meeting and playing with the old hornblowers and playing music on traditional instruments, such as the elephant tusk.

Kapingbdi make high quality tape copies of their own vinyl LPs and patiently try to displace all unauthorized tapes from the domestic "market". Nevertheless, it is hard to make a living through music in Liberia. Kapingbdi, is now celebrated. The radio plays are in abundance, but royalties are not forthcoming. Their musical link is the feeling of Afrobeat and Highlife, which is found in each of the many Kapingbdi pieces. They embody Jazz, which is understood to be the most refined example of black music outside of Africa. In Liberia, Jazz is virtually impossible to hear. Bright shining names such as John Coltrane, Charlie Parker or Miles Davis were widely unknown. Thus, the Black Jazz, including its Back-To-Africa movement of the 60’s and 70‘s, passes by without leaving a trace in Africa itself.

Kojo's claim at the time, was to make African music with the depth, sensitivity and the freedom of the technical level of Jazz. This makes Kapingbdi the torchbeares. The underpaid prophets in small Liberia. It is the passion with which the founder of the band continues to work on their music for years. Tirelessly, stimulating and encouraging his fellow musicians. This is ultimately responsible for the success of Kapingbdi in Liberia itself. The local audience seems to listen to the band in fascinated astonishment. One wonders about the ability to develop as demonstrated by Kapingbdi on the basis of their music. It is African and unusually jazzy, danceable and better than the American disco music heard on the radio.

Rather than chase the money and the job opportunities in Europe, Kapingbdi are firmly rooted in Africa. The musicians live in Monrovia, the capital of Liberia, at the Kabingbdi workshop, located in the Congotown area on the eastern edge of the sprawling city. Kojo works here as a sculptor, painter, batik artist and musician. The sales revenue that his activities generate, gives him the opportunity to support the development of African Jazz music. The highest percentage of funds are from Germany and Kojo’s work ethic is “to work on your own thing“. The stance taken aims to support the welfare of Liberians and Africans. The other musicians of the group live in a second house that is nearby.

For the sake of consistency, Kapingbdi is a full-time band. However, the revenue, from all of the sources, could not keep them afloat. Equally, as important to the group are Kojos's knowledge of traditional African music and his sculpting skills. His knowledge is shared with others at the afternoon workshops. It is here that they discuss new lyrics, engage in political debate and the self-imposed task of improving conditions in Africa. At times the debate became heated, especially during rehearsals. This was regarded as good and integrative, sowing the seeds of innitiative to keep the band together.

From 1980 to 1985 Kojo also opened and ran the club "Panjebota", located on the grounds of the U.S. Consulate in Monrovia. Almost every evening Kapingbdi perform the song "Wrong Curfew Walk", whose lyrics lament the killing of citizens during the curfew imposed by the Liberian government. When the head of state Samuel Doe hears the song, he behaves agressively and forces Kojo to close the "Panjebota". Kojo had already moved on. Soonafter he meets Fela Kuti at the Africa-Festival and plays concerts in Germany with Cecil Taylor's workshop band.

Kapingbdi is for thinking, dreaming, dancing. What they sing about is what they have experienced. Kojo Samuels is 76 years old today and still follows his vocation as a critical musician, artist and activist.

Ekkehart Fleischhammer / Sonorama 2019 (with the help of original press sheets and the memories of Kojo Samuels)

Legally blind from birth, Brazilian keyboard player, composer and bandleader Manfredo Fest learnt to read music in braille and began studying classical music at a young age. By 17 he had fallen in love with jazz (particularly the music of fellow blind pianist George Shearing) before becoming swept up in Rio's emergent bossa nova movement in the sixties. Moving to the States in 1967 where he would go on to work with fellow countryman Sergio Mendes, Fest recorded and self-released Brazilian Dorian Dream in 1976, enlisting Thomas Kini (bass), Alejo Poveda (drums, percussion) and Roberta Davis (vocals).

Like a turbo-powered, intergalactic elevator ride, Brazilian Dorian Dream builds on the principle of the modal diatonic scales of the Dorian mode, with influences of Brazilian rhythms, North American jazz and funk, and music of the European baroque and romantic era. The coming together of these intergenerational and intercontinental styles coupled with Fest's visionary use of the Fender Rhodes, Clavinet, Arp and Moog synthesizers (plus a whole load of effects units), makes for an album light years ahead of its time.

The miraculous wordless vocals of American jazz singer Roberta Davis are nailed so tightly alongside Manfredo's keys and mind-bending synths that it sounds almost alien. On the album's liner notes, Fest preaches Davis' ability highlighting how hard it is to sing such precise intervals so accurately. One of the tracks on which the vocals shine brightest is space funk stepper "Jungle Cat", which features hard funky drums, freaky synth lines and expert Rhodes comping. The track builds up and up before releasing into the unmistakable scat melody in the chorus.

A few years after releasing Brazilian Dorian Dream, Fest recorded and released his Manifestations album in 1979, featuring 'Jungle Kitten'': a new dancefloor focused variation on "Jungle Cat". At around 140 BPM 'Jungle Kitten' was possibly deemed too fast for statside dance floors, which explains why it never got a US 12" release. But the track became something of an underground hit at jazz dance clubs and all-dayers across the UK in the 80s and as a result it has probably become Fest's most well known track since.

Events currently taking place throughout the world only serve to stoke a fire under the likes of Pillow Queens, who find themselves continually inspired by a Dublin that is no stranger to fighting social injustice. Street artists, fashion designers, musicians, film makers and more comprise a scene which routinely champions queerness and marginalized groups, and engages with and activates young people in response to the likes of the city’s ongoing housing and mental health crises. Pillow Queens’ songs of togetherness and unity ring out louder than ever before.

In their short lifespan as a band they've released two demo EPs, performed on a successful string of UK & Irish dates & festival appearances, had playlisting from BBC 6 Music, and found themselves opening for the likes of American Football and Pussy Riot, as well as stadium performances opening for IDLES and Future Islands.

With all this under their belt, the band began working with Mercury Prize nominated producer Tommy McLaughlin for their single 'Gay Girls' – which received a nomination for the RTE Choice Music Prize song of the year, as well as International pickup from NPR’s World Cafe and KEXP. The song also found its way into the heart of actor Cillian Murphy and his BBC6 mixtape show.

2019 saw Pillow Queens venture into mainland Europe, as they lit up the Eurosonic festival and completed a string of tour dates opening for Soak. The tour was a messy and joyous affair captured beautifully in the DIY video for the bands summer single 'HowDoILook'.

In Waiting is Pillow Queens’ debut album, the result of four years of brotherly love in a sisterly unit from Ireland’s most urgent, yearning, rock band. Crafted from our lives, and honed in a studio in rural Donegal in the northwest of Ireland, this is a record by queens in waiting and kings in the making. It’s an album about love; self-love, queer love, the anxiety-inducing fault lines of romantic love, and the love for a city and a country that simultaneously has your back and is on your back.

The Men’s hugely influential album Leave Home came out during an exciting time in New York City. DIY lofts and shitty bars littered downtown Manhattan and North Brooklyn. The Acheron had just opened its doors. Kill Your Idols had broken up. Toxic State Records was just getting started with Crazy Spirit, Dawn of Humans, Hank Wood and Perdition EP’s. The city was alive with punk and noise and filth. And right at that time, The Men were the show to be at.

Every gig was dripping with sweat. Hallways and sidewalks were packed between sets. Chaos reigned in the pit. The Men hit like a bag of hard cement, a hardcore band with a familiar sound but with an aura of absolute chaos and intensity, like everything was on the brink of going off the rails at every moment of their set, a downhill freight train with no brakes. During these shows one’s focus could shoot back and forth between the intimidatingly angry-eyed, bald-headed Chris Hansell (who went on to front Warthog) and the long haired hippie punks Mark Perro, Nick Chiericozzi and Rich Samis, that made up the surrounding band.

Just one of the many juxtapositions the band embraced. If The Men were a chapter in Michael Azzerad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life, the early EP’s and cassettes would obviously be Minor Threat and Black Flag, while Leave Home would likely be… Sonic Youth. It was just before they made the full jump into each record being a smorgasbord of underground genres, from dream pop to folk;

before they had tracks called “Country Song,” for example. But it was a preview of what was to come. Leave Home was a pivot from pure hardcore punk (some might even call it mysterious guy hardcore), as the band got lost in the groove in a way one couldn’t on a straight up punk record. That groove was so strong on “If You Leave…,” “(),” and “Bataille,” while they spaced out on “Shitting With The Shaw,” and stayed as aggro as ever on “LADOCH.” But of course, Leave Home had a re-recording of their hardest track to date, “Think,” making it clear that they were still the moshers we all had come to know and love. If The Men raised their flag as an important New York punk band with Immaculada, they started waving it in the freakiest way with Leave Home.There is no doubt that Leave Home was one of the most influential records of the last decade.

You can hear their mark everywhere from Ty Segal and The Oh Sees to Milk Music and Hank Wood. Few bands have traversed as many genres as The Men and even fewer have done it so well. It is a testament to the band’s undying authenticity and adventurism that the record sounds as timeless and urgent now as it did when it blew the doors of New York punk off its hinges ten years ago, leaving a giant hole for bands of all kinds to come racing through.

Clear Vinyl

Post-minimalist American composer Rafael Anton Irisarri makes his Umor Rex debut with his new album, The Shameless Years. Inspired by a troubled socio-political climate, buried melodies punch their way through a bleak cover of noisy drones, periodically veering into some of Irisarri's most eerily pertinent music to date.

One of Rafael Anton Irisarri's most thematically and sonically cohesive records to date The Shameless Years came together in a relatively short burst of creativity starting at the end of 2016. Rediscovering some relatively older tools - namely Native Instruments' Reaktor, Absynth, and Kontakt software - Irisarri combined them with his collection of guitars, pedals, amps, and analogue processing gear, turning his Black Knoll Studio north of NYC into a powerful writing tool. Completed quickly by Irisarri's standards, let alone during a period of social upheaval in American society, the record faces down several key personal themes. The title, suggests Irisarri, could in fact be seen as a reflection of the era of shamelessness we're currently living in, a time of fake news and alternative facts.

Two tracks were completely remotely between Irisarri in New York and Umor Rex veteran Siavash Amini from his home in Tehran, Iran. This music came together at the peak of all the anti-Muslim and anti-immigrant rhetoric happening in the USA, not to mention the banning of Iranians from entering the country, explains Irisarri. The diptych with Amini, 'Karma Krama' and 'The Faithless', seems bathed in additional waves of sorrow and dread. The wash of symphonic stormclouds of synth drones and processed notes on the latter gradually appears and disappears over the course of thirteen mournful minutes.

'Rh Negative' marches gigantic guitars through towering valleys of scarred ambient noise dealing with Irisarri's own heritage, many of his ancestors having come to America to escape poverty and oppression. The refusal of modern America to extend similar sanctuary to refugees escaping turmoil weighs heavily on the composer. Elsewhere an emotional onslaught of notes buried in mounds of greyscale noise on 'Sky Burial' aims to deal with Irisarri's very own mortality - something he was recently confronted with following health scares, an accident, and a near-death experience in 2016. Pushing 40 as this album was being made, the composer is constantly aware that he's already outlived his own father, who died at the age of 32. Facing down both intolerance and the void, the epic soundscapes of The Shameless Years are a vast cry of emotion from Irisarri. The clock is ticking - gotta make the most out of it while you still can.

All songs written and performed by Rafael Anton Irisarri, except #5 & #6 written and performed with Siavash Amini. Design by Daniel Castrejón, photos by Camilo Christen. Mastered by James Plotkin.

This first ever re-release of William Stuckey's extremely rare southern soul LP. When Brian Sears told me William was still with us and living locally I was shocked that nobody had spoken to him up till now. Not only that but he still had the multitrack tapes at his house.

Unfortunately the tapes were in a bad way and needed some serious work. Our good friend Dan at Audio Archiving Services in Holywood went above and beyond to restore the tape in small sections (despite baking it was still oozing gunk onto the tape transport and heads) then joining the audio back together perfectly. I know not many people would have gone to this trouble and I'm grateful as this music had one last chance.

The mix down at AOTN studio is brighter and clearer than the o.g whilst being true to the original mix, William was over the moon with the result when he heard it and we are excited to bring it to Vinyl, CD and Digital

Special thanks to Brian, Dan and Linkwood for the work on this project. Securing special music for the future is what we do and we just caught this one in time.

Like a homage to smoke-filled vaults, aging billiard rooms and crumby packets of pork scratchings in the Working Men's Clubs of days gone by, Todmorden-by-way of-Europe trio Syd, Jake and Giulia are about to fling open the doors of their own millennial social hub with the fresh post-punk of infectious debut single, 'Bad Blood' / 'Suburban Heights.'

'We grew up in northern towns trying to get in to pubs in social clubs because that's all we had. The name is an ode to that,' explains Working Men's Club's 17-year-old singer and guitarist, Sydney Minsky-Sargeant. 'Our surroundings and their differences has influenced us a lot on these tracks.'

Joined by guitarist-vocalist Giulia Bonometti, 23 and drummer Jake Bogacki, 18, the trio have always had a clear sense of their whereabouts; quite simply, they wouldn't even exist without multi-nationalism. Meeting at college in Manchester, Syd and Jake are from Todmorden and Hebden Bridge, but their families hail from Poland whilst Giulia moved to the UK from Lake Garda, Italy. 'The songs are based on the culture of walking round Manchester every day then going back to the countryside each night and how the contrast of going back into the hills made us sane,' Syd tells.

Working Men's Club are wise beyond their years as they seemingly offer words of wisdom, to be repeated like some kind of break-up mantra, until everything's ok; 'Be happy when the sun shines / Be happy when the sun rains / You know you should do the same.'

If 'Bad Blood' is the day, 'Suburban Heights' is the night. Recorded with Alex Greave at The Nave in Leeds, steady riffs from Syd's fingers tap-dance on the strings alongside Jake's skill in working a jagged snare. Meanwhile Giulia's heavenly disco 'ooohs' recall Donna Summer feeling the love whilst cutting right to the contentious subject of gentrification. 'Suburban Heights refers to how apparent it is that cities are expanding to hold more people and buildings are rising, they're morphing into these dystopian party towns,' tells Syd.

Already with shows supporting The Wedding Present and Brian Jonestown Massacre behind them, Syd says it's only the beginning; 'Those shows were great experiences and ones we'll have for life. We love making music and we're so grateful for what we've achieved so far; hopefully there'll be plenty more to come.'

All of the music featured here on this new Soul Jazz Records collection was created by Brazilian
artists in the USA in the 1970s.
In the early 1970s North American jazz musicians were eager to work with upcoming Brazilian
musicians. Miles Davis invited Airto Moreira to join his new ‘electric’ band, Dom Um Romao (part of
Sérgio Mendes’ legen
dary Brazil ‘66 in the 1960s) joined the fusion group Weather Report, Flora
Purim and Airto both became a part of Chick Corea’s new project Light As A Feather, Wayne Shorter
collaborated with Milton Nascimento, George Duke recorded Brazilian Love Affair, and so on.
With all the attention placed on them from these important jazz artists, North America became the
new musical playground for a large number of these Brazilian artists – Airto Moreira, Flora Purim,
Sérgio Mendes, Luiz Bonfá, Eumir Deodato, João Donato and many others.
Most of these musicians had already experienced success through the earlier popularity of bossa
nova in the 1960s, either at home in Brazil or in the USA. But by the end of the 1960s many
Brazilian artists had left their own country, as the military dictatorship became progressively more
authoritarian and repressive. In the USA, through their critically acclaimed work for Miles Davis,
Weather Report, Lightj As A Feather etc., all of these artists were now given reign to explore new
musical terrains away from the restrictions of both a musical genre and a state censor back in Brazil.
This collection brings together some of these finest works and comes complete with extensive notes
that explains the path these musicians took from Brazil to the USA and shows the political and
musical links between Brazil and the USA that created the conditions for this unique fusion of these
two distinct cultures, North American Jazz and Brazilian music, that occurred in the 1970s.
The album comes as a deluxe gatefold double vinyl LP, complete with download code, full sleeve
notes, exclusive photography, double inner sleeves.

LP in printed innersleeve + download code. STUFF.'s highly anticipated new album is a cross genre groove, spanning broken hip-hop, electronica and jazz-influenced future funk, bringing forth a completely different and exciting sound.

STUFF.'s highly anticipated new album is a cross genre groove, spanning broken hip-hop, electronica and jazz-influenced future funk, bringing forth a completely different and exciting sound.


With fans that include Plaid, Kev Beadle, Kutmah, Lefto and Gilles Peterson, STUFF. began life in 2012 when drummer Lander Gyselinck was asked to play live music in-between DJ sets. Collecting together like-minded musician friends, they would keep the vibe of the room bubbling, with spaced-out jams and improvisation, taking elements of funk, RNB, electronica, jazz and hip-hop, forming their own compositions as a result.


Hotly tipped in Belgium as one of the country's brightest new hopes, they released their first EP the same year, which included the track D.O.G.G. and it caught the attention of bloggers, 22tracks and DJs across Paris and Brussels. Supports slots with D'Angelo and Robert Glasper soon followed and the band would go on to share the stage at the Dour Festival with Hiatus Koyote, Flying Lotus and Lefto.


In 2014, STUFF. were invited to perform a Boiler Room session for the prestigious global, online music broadcasting platform, the first European live band to do so.
The band's self-titled debut album, released in 2015, received critical acclaim, with the Belgian press citing the release as the "record of the year" and "the best thing that happened musically in Belgium since the last 25 years". Mastered by Daddy Kev (Flying Lotus, Thundercat, Jon Wayne), several tracks from the album received airplay on leading dance and electronica radio stations across Europe, and included support from Gilles Peterson on BBC Radio 6 Music and Phil Taggart on BBC Radio 1.


STUFF. have performed sold out shows across Europe and have gained a growing reputation for their explosive eclectic live sets, playing over 150 shows on such diverse stages as the North Sea Jazz Festival (Netherlands), Pukkelpop (Belgium), Secret Garden Party (UK), Shambala festival (UK), Dimensions (Croatia) and Fusion (Germany). The band were also personally invited by Gilles Peterson to perform at On Blackheath, London.


Accolades in Belgium include two MIA's (Belgian Music Industry Awards) for 'Best Musician' (Lander Gyselinck) and 'Best Artwork' (Rinus Van de Velde).
STUFF. are Andrew Claes (ewi/sax), Lander Gyselinck (drums), Joris Caluwaerts (keyboards), Dries Laheye (bas), Mixmonster Menno (turntables)

Record Kicks Celebrates 15 Years In The Business With A Collection Full Of Exclusive New Singles. Available In Ltd Edition Double Clear Vinyl Lp, Cd And Digital Download. Side By Side With Similar Outfits Like Daptone, Truth And Soul, Freestyle Or Timmion, Under Its Motto "the Explosive Sound From Today's Scene" Milan-based Independent Label Record Kicks Has Been Pitching The Contemporary Funk & Soul Scene Since Day One.

With Over 200 Releases Under The Belt, Rk Has Released Bands From All Over The Globe And Earnedthe Support Of Vip Fans Such As Kenny Dope, Jamie Cullum, Craig Charles And Not Least Jay-z, Thanks To Which The Label Has Recently Received A Grammy Nomination For Hov's Use Of Hannah Williams' "late Nights And Heartbreak" As Backdrop For His "4:44". The New Instalment "record Kicks 15th" Coming Out Next May 18th On Double Clear Lp, Cd And Digital Download, Celebrates 15 Years In The Business With A Collection Full Of Exclusive New Tracks And The Very Best Of It's Roster.

The Album Kicks Off With Rk's Latest And Youngest Signing:
From Chicago, Heavily Inspired By The Impressions And Leroy Hutson, We Are Proud To Present You "the Devonns" With Their Super Soulful Debut Single "come Back", An Appetizer Of Their Debut Full Length Expected To Land On Rk Next Autumn. Another New Signing To The Label Is Men Of North Country's (acid Jazz Records) Side Project "the Faithful Brothers", Here With Their New Single "one More Time".

Other Exclusive Tracks Of The Comp Are "this Strange Effect", A Coverup Of The Hooverphonic's Single From 1998 Brought To You By Dutch Northern Soul Disciples The Tibbs, "love You Back" From Detroit Deep Funk Outfit Third Coast Kings, "the Sort" By The Buenos Aires Mod Reggae Kings The Crabs Corporation, "top Dog" By British Funk Combo The Hook & Slingers And Straight From Down Under "you Don't Know Me" By The Always Great Dojo Cuts.

Along With These New Exclusive Cuts, Dig On Some Label's News Singles And Heavyweight Classics Such As Dj Shadow's "this Time" Taken From Baby Charles Debut Lp, "don't Throw Your Love In The Garbage Can" By James Brown's Original Funk Diva Martha High Feat Japanese Funk Ambassadors Osaka Monaurail, "psycheground" The Brand New Afro-funk Single By Calibro 35 And Then Portuguese Tnt Dynamite Marta Ren & The Groovelvets, Toronto Soul Queen Tanika Charles, Uk Funk Ambassadors The New Mastersounds, The Diplomats Of Solid Sound And The Already Mentioned "late Nights & Heartbreak" By Hannah Williams & The Affirmations.