Buscar:new idea society

Wasteland is a record that is unafraid to plunge into the darkness of the modern world and embrace the weirder, edgier and more unnerving moments that come from doing so. It is an album that captures all the enormity of life from the micro to the macro, zooming in on the personal as well reflecting on broader societal issues.

“Wasteland is about the idea of a place once known or familiar that is now broken down and unrecognisable,” says Ghedi. “It’s about exploring the process of watching someone’s surroundings and environment collapse.” And within that you have a lot going on. “It also explores death, personal loss, grief, mental health and how the natural world provides solace and meaning for that loss and how these worlds blur into one another.”
Ghedi has always been an artist that in many ways perfectly encompasses folk music in its purest form but he is also someone that frequently pushes the boundaries of that label and no more so is that apparent than on this record. As like previous albums, such as 2018’s A Hymn for Ancient Land and 2021’s In the Furrows of Common Place, Ghedi uses traditional folk songs as a means to explore contemporary issues via modern and experimentally-leaning music. “With the traditional material on this album I wanted to find songs with content that resonated with me,” says Ghedi. “But also that were based roughly around the north of England.” This is a central underlying theme to the album for Ghedi. The feelings of loss, erosion, and degradation are often most pronounced in working class communities and this was something he wanted to weave in. “It was important to voice and choose material that represented or expressed issues that correlated with things going on around me.”

However, as remarkable as some of the traditional material is, some of the most arresting work on the album is Ghedi’s entirely original compositions. Lead single ‘Wasteland’ is a stunning piece of work that while rooted in an environment being corrupted and broken – “there’s violence on these hills” Ghedi sorrowfully sings, before claiming this is no longer somewhere that can be called home – it is also a stirringly beautiful composition that soars and glides as it opens up, as sweeping strings swoop and in and out of Ghedi’s twangy electric guitar.

The decision to incorporate more fuller sounds, such as electric guitar and huge drums, results in a notable shift and evolution in tone for Ghedi. “The lyrical content needed something more band-driven and loud to deliver them,” he explains. “Incorporating the electric guitar in my songwriting was also a big part of opening the sound up, using drop tunings pushed me to use my voice in a wider range, which forced me to use falsetto a lot which I haven’t previously done before. That then opened the sound up and gave me creative ideas for bigger arrangements and to sonically really push things.”

What Ghedi has done in creating his masterpiece is construct a remarkable space where deeply intimate and personal feelings coexist with reflections on environment, place and society, while also interweaving historical context via traditional songs. Wasteland is as much of a world to explore and exist in as much as it is an album, with Ghedi carving out his distinctly unique sonic language and voice to explore that singular environment.

Wasteland is a record that is unafraid to plunge into the darkness of the modern world and embrace the weirder, edgier and more unnerving moments that come from doing so. It is an album that captures all the enormity of life from the micro to the macro, zooming in on the personal as well reflecting on broader societal issues.

“Wasteland is about the idea of a place once known or familiar that is now broken down and unrecognisable,” says Ghedi. “It’s about exploring the process of watching someone’s surroundings and environment collapse.” And within that you have a lot going on. “It also explores death, personal loss, grief, mental health and how the natural world provides solace and meaning for that loss and how these worlds blur into one another.”
Ghedi has always been an artist that in many ways perfectly encompasses folk music in its purest form but he is also someone that frequently pushes the boundaries of that label and no more so is that apparent than on this record. As like previous albums, such as 2018’s A Hymn for Ancient Land and 2021’s In the Furrows of Common Place, Ghedi uses traditional folk songs as a means to explore contemporary issues via modern and experimentally-leaning music. “With the traditional material on this album I wanted to find songs with content that resonated with me,” says Ghedi. “But also that were based roughly around the north of England.” This is a central underlying theme to the album for Ghedi. The feelings of loss, erosion, and degradation are often most pronounced in working class communities and this was something he wanted to weave in. “It was important to voice and choose material that represented or expressed issues that correlated with things going on around me.”

However, as remarkable as some of the traditional material is, some of the most arresting work on the album is Ghedi’s entirely original compositions. Lead single ‘Wasteland’ is a stunning piece of work that while rooted in an environment being corrupted and broken – “there’s violence on these hills” Ghedi sorrowfully sings, before claiming this is no longer somewhere that can be called home – it is also a stirringly beautiful composition that soars and glides as it opens up, as sweeping strings swoop and in and out of Ghedi’s twangy electric guitar.

The decision to incorporate more fuller sounds, such as electric guitar and huge drums, results in a notable shift and evolution in tone for Ghedi. “The lyrical content needed something more band-driven and loud to deliver them,” he explains. “Incorporating the electric guitar in my songwriting was also a big part of opening the sound up, using drop tunings pushed me to use my voice in a wider range, which forced me to use falsetto a lot which I haven’t previously done before. That then opened the sound up and gave me creative ideas for bigger arrangements and to sonically really push things.”

What Ghedi has done in creating his masterpiece is construct a remarkable space where deeply intimate and personal feelings coexist with reflections on environment, place and society, while also interweaving historical context via traditional songs. Wasteland is as much of a world to explore and exist in as much as it is an album, with Ghedi carving out his distinctly unique sonic language and voice to explore that singular environment.

Contemplating the role of the album format in an attention-deficient society, Speedy J presents Walkman -- a constantly shifting, 90-minute soundtrack to a journey of your choice. Jochem Paap's first solo album in over 20 years is a freewheeling, 20-track testament to his decades-deep studio skill and sonic versatility, running from skewed rhythmic rabbit holes to exploratory tonal abandon. For Paap, the traditional idea of the album had become obscured by listening habits and the non-stop information barrage of our digital lives. Having moved on from his breakthrough years releasing LPs and touring off the back of them, he was more inspired to develop his many-sided STOOR project and feed into a bigger artistic body of work than the temporary shelf-life of a single release. As is natural for any artist, his perspective shifted over time and he found himself drawn back to the idea of an album, realising he connected best with longer releases while he was on a walk, out for a run or generally in transit one way or another. With an endearing call back to the humble Walkman, he selected an hour and a half of material created during studio sessions at the beginning of 2025, perfectly sized to fit on two 45-minute sides of a cassette tape. As has long been the case for his studio practice, there were no fixed intentions when sitting down in the STOOR lab to start making noise -- just a wealth of experience and an expansive set of tools to start exploring with. From hours of jams Paap pulled together standout moments and moulded them into a mixtape-like narrative ranging from two-minute beat nuggets to full-tilt techno workouts and immersive ambient drops. Every sound is intentional, but the overall delivery is instinctive and curious, showing multiple new dimensions to Paap's sound and offering unpredictability at every turn. 'Arp Amp Chasm' opens the album up in a thick blanket of humming, harmonic waves with an electric emotional charge, while 'Ctrssalms17 (Cold Render)' journeys through evocative blooms of melancholic, gritty pads and rugged, half-submerged tech funk. 'Modern Birds (Origin Edit)' reaches skywards with grand sweeps of dynamic, brilliantly rendered synthesis. From the dexterous drum science of 'Drift Vector' to 'Osc Hop (Slow Collapse)'s lurching, beatless swamp of synths, on Walkman even the briefest snapshots leave an impression that lasts beyond the quick-scan cycle of the modern music experience. With his return to the album format, Paap's message is clear --put your headphones on, get outside and lose yourself in the sound of an artist constantly committed to moving forwards.

Time To Get On Board A New Black Universal Express.

With each new recording Anthony Joseph presents an imaginative, personal vision of contemporary black culture, and The Ark is yet another compelling album by the award-winning Trinidadian poet and musician. This second part of a sequence of two albums launched with last year’s Rowing Up River To Get Our Names Back, finds Joseph giving full vent to his desire to explore many thought-provoking themes. However, there is a specific thread running through the glorious offering of sounds.

”I was especially interested in the idea of using Afrofuturism as a means of using the future in order to correct the wrongs of the past,” explains Joseph. “And so a lot of lyrics reimage or imagine an alternate black history. At the same time there are elements of autobiography.” The aforesaid cultural phenomenon, a view of the black experience through the prism of science fiction and ancient Egypt and Africa, as mapped out by visionaries from music and literature such as Sun Ra, Parliament-Funkadelic and Octavia E. Butler, has previously inspired Joseph. His 2006 novel The African Origins Of UFOs was a multi-hued work, and the new music shows how Joseph

has, much like all significant artists, gone on to broaden his conceptual palette, creating beguiling new stories and images set to startling rhythms and tones. Tracks such as ‘James’, with its taut, crisp bass and dubbed-up brass, and ‘Transposition Of Space (Glissant)’, a potent evocation of the influential Martiniquan theorist set in a haze of jazz guitar and ambient synthesizers, are marvels of text-sound painting.

As for ‘Baron Samedi’, shaped by a languid, almost wounded guitar line and slow rise of horns that frame Joseph’s journey to the ‘mountain of fire, almost touching the sky’ it is an epic blend of commanding vocal delivery and dramatic sonic tapestry.

Joseph led the Spasm band in the early 2000s and recorded well-received albums such as Bird Head Son and Time, in which songs were largely based on spirituals or chants enhanced by improvisation. But his musical curiosity has naturally led to collaborations, and the new work is produced by Dave Okumu, the prodigiously talented guitarist-vocalist-composer known as the leader of Mercury Music Prize-nominated The Invisible, and who was also a member of the seminal band Jade Fox.

Having first performed together at a show curated by influential saxophonist-flautist Shabaka Hutchings at the storied Total Refreshment Centre In London during lockdown, Joseph and Okumu struck up a rapport that further developed when the former guested on he latter’s album. With the connection made Joseph knew Okumu was the ideal producer for this latest project, which has a freewheeling, almost black psychedelic thing. After sifting through demos and loops the guitarist made on pro-tools the poet started to live with the music. Many months later words began to take shape. Joseph then went into the studio with Okumu’s band and set about creating a magnum opus. Boasting a stellar cast such as vocalist Eska Mtungwazi, trumpeter Byron Wallen and keyboardist Nick Ramm, The Ark is a highly intricate musical mosaic framed by simmering funk grooves, wily jazz improvisation and haunting dub effects. Through the use of many genres the music has simply become its own genre.

The Ark can be perceived as a vessel or means of transport to new worlds, along the lines of Sun Ra’s Ark or Funkadelic’s Mothership, and the material it contains is a unique blend of who Anthony Joseph is and how he sees the world and society in these stimulating, challenging times. “It balances the personal with the universal in a much more vulnerable, accessible way than on previous albums,” Joseph explains.

“It has become less about a personal experience and more about a collective, communal experience in which the artist is conduit, messenger, urban griot.”

On his sixth studio release Roulette, the prolific producer, songwriter, pianist and MC Alfa Mist has created his own sci-fi universe - a vast dystopia where themes of revenge, forgiveness and redemption loom large.

Alfa Mist’s albums have always tackled big themes. This time, however, he explores an imagined near-future in which reincarnation is discovered to be a potent tool linking dreams and past lives. But with this discovery comes consequences: ethical, moral and philosophical. “If reincarnation is real, how does that shape society?” he explains. “If reincarnation means accumulation of knowledge, would you share it and enable everyone to understand more about the world? Or do you struggle for power? And do some people want to stop others from remembering who they were?”

Over 15 tracks, Alfa explores these ideas with heady potency. Each song is a spin of the wheel – a different song and character. The musician’s signature is still there – lambent keys, intuitive groove, free-flowing jazz improvisation – but Roulette is imbued with a smoky psychedelia. An immersive listen, this album is designed “to feel” on every level, says Alfa. It also contains some of his most impressive arrangements yet - see the eight-minute title track that effortlessly flips through time signatures – “because life’s like that,” says Mist; it’s not always linear.

Roulette underlines Alfa Mist as one of the most forward-thinking composers in UK music, with poignant, plaintive melodies that lodge deep in your psyche. “I’m exploring different parts of myself,” he says. “But obviously, as I grow, all of those parts change. Music is a constant; it’s my state of mind that I constantly chisel and work on and make sure that’s always growing and staying interested in new things. As long as I do that, it’ll come out in the music.”

On his sixth studio release Roulette, the prolific producer, songwriter, pianist and MC Alfa Mist has created his own sci-fi universe - a vast dystopia where themes of revenge, forgiveness and redemption loom large.

Alfa Mist’s albums have always tackled big themes. This time, however, he explores an imagined near-future in which reincarnation is discovered to be a potent tool linking dreams and past lives. But with this discovery comes consequences: ethical, moral and philosophical. “If reincarnation is real, how does that shape society?” he explains. “If reincarnation means accumulation of knowledge, would you share it and enable everyone to understand more about the world? Or do you struggle for power? And do some people want to stop others from remembering who they were?”

Over 15 tracks, Alfa explores these ideas with heady potency. Each song is a spin of the wheel – a different song and character. The musician’s signature is still there – lambent keys, intuitive groove, free-flowing jazz improvisation – but Roulette is imbued with a smoky psychedelia. An immersive listen, this album is designed “to feel” on every level, says Alfa. It also contains some of his most impressive arrangements yet - see the eight-minute title track that effortlessly flips through time signatures – “because life’s like that,” says Mist; it’s not always linear.

Roulette underlines Alfa Mist as one of the most forward-thinking composers in UK music, with poignant, plaintive melodies that lodge deep in your psyche. “I’m exploring different parts of myself,” he says. “But obviously, as I grow, all of those parts change. Music is a constant; it’s my state of mind that I constantly chisel and work on and make sure that’s always growing and staying interested in new things. As long as I do that, it’ll come out in the music.”

When you’re running a label, a demo occasionally comes across your desk that makes you reconsider everything you thought your label was all about. For Balmat, such was the case with this stunning album from Stephen Vitiello, Brendan Canty, and Hahn Rowe. It sounds like nothing we’ve released so far—and that very otherness opened up a whole new world of possibilities for us.

Fans of ambient, experimental electronic music, and sound art will be familiar with Vitiello, a New York native, long based in Virginia, who has collaborated with a cross-generational list of greats: Taylor Deupree, Steve Roden, Lawrence English, Tetsu Inoue, Nam June Paik, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Pauline Oliveros, and many more. On labels like 12k, Room40, and Sub Rosa, he has explored a wide range of minimalism, microsound, lowercase, ambient, improv, and other styles. But this album is something different. It may begin in ambient-adjacent territory, but it quickly veers off, and it just keeps zigzagging, taking on elements of krautrock, post-punk, dub, and the groove-heavy interplay of groups like Natural Information Society and 75 Dollar Bill.

This stylistic turn is thanks in large part to Vitiello’s choice of collaborators. “We’re coming from three different schools,” Vitiello says: “sound art, art rock, and punk rock.”

Active since the early 1980s, Rowe—a violinist, guitarist, and producer/engineer—has played with, or manned the boards for, a frankly jaw-dropping list of musicians: Herbie Hancock, Gil Scott-Heron, the Last Poets, Roy Ayers, John Zorn, Glenn Branca, Swans, Live Skull, Brian Eno, David Byrne, Anohni, R.E.M., Yoko Ono, and many more. But he might be most closely associated with Hugo Largo, a one-of-a-kind New York quartet—two basses, vocals, and Rowe’s violin—that in the late 1980s helped lay the groundwork for what would eventually become known as post-rock.

Canty, of course, is the legendary drummer of Fugazi, the visionary DC post-hardcore group, as well as Rites of Spring before them, and, currently, the Messthetics, a Dischord-signed instrumental trio with guitarist Anthony Pirog and Fugazi bassist Joe Lally.

Vitiello’s trio first collaborated on First, a 17-minute piece released on the Longform Editions label in 2023. Second picks up where the freeform drift of First left off, channeling the trio’s exploratory energies into more intentionally structured tracks and—in a real first for Balmat—some almost shockingly muscular grooves. “Sometimes my projects are more conceptually driven,” Vitiello says, “but I think this was more musically geared. I just wanted to open up the references and bring in an incredible drummer, bring in some melodies, and I’m sort of the center.” But his collaborators, he stresses, are “vastly creative in making anything I might suggest better.”

Like its predecessor, Second took shape in phases, shifting between improvisation and collage. Vitiello laid down the skeleton of the music at home, sketching out initial ideas on Rhodes keyboard and acoustic and electric guitar; he then fed the parts through samplers and his modular system, recording 10- or 20-minute jams. Once he had edited them into more structured forms, he hit the studio with Canty, who added not just drums but also bass and piano; finally, Vitiello took the results of those sessions to Rowe, who played violin, viola, electric bass, and 12-string acoustic and bowed electric guitar, and assisted in some of the final structuring and mixdown.

A few more surprises along the way: Reanimator’s Don Godwin, the studio engineer where Vitiello recorded with Canty, contributed what he calls “resonant dustpan”; and none other than Animal Collective’s Geologist, who just happened to be in the studio that day, sits in on hurdy gurdy on “Mrphgtrs1,” the album’s gorgeous, stunningly atmospheric drone closer. “I love these chance encounters,” Vitiello says. “Somebody I admire, a group I admire—that was an unexpected gift.”

An unexpected gift is a great way of describing Second as a whole: three veteran musicians venturing outside their usual zones and finding a new collaborative language together. The results can’t be neatly slotted into any given genre; they belong not to any given category, but to the spirit of conversation itself.

New Jon Savage Compilation release alert! Jon Savage's SF Sike 1966-72 (Double Vinyl) Limited Edition. Heavyweight Luxury Gauge Sleeve-Stock & Inners.

The real sound of San Francisco 1966-72." It was the new gold rush, but with drugs, music and freedom the goal. " (Jon Savage -The Guardian August 2012)

A limited edition double vinyl 18 track album celebrating the great pop music and idealism of that time & featuring Moby Grape, Skip Spence, Ron Nagle, Country Joe & The Fish & much more

Full contextual & track-by-track sleeve notes by Jon Savage. Ephemera & archive material from the period.

Death Is Not The End present a further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919).

"Ivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka's kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category.

Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis.

Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way.

During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18).

Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll' tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it.

The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived.

The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release."

— Arja Kastinen

Death Is Not The End present a further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919).

"Ivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka's kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category.

Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis.

Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way.

During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18).

Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll' tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it.

The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived.

The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release."

— Arja Kastinen

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!

Repress!

In the mid-1970s, a force of nature swept across the continental United States, cutting across all strata of race and class, rooting in our minds, our homes, our culture. It wasn’t The Exorcist, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, or even bell-bottoms, but instead a book called The Secret Life of Plants. The work of occultist/former OSS agent Peter Tompkins and former CIA agent/dowsing enthusiast Christopher Bird, the books shot up the bestseller charts and spread like kudzu across the landscape, becoming a phenomenon. Seemingly overnight, the indoor plant business was in full bloom and photosynthetic eukaryotes of every genus were hanging off walls, lording over bookshelves, and basking on sunny window ledges. The science behind Secret Life was specious: plants can hear our prayers, they’re lie detectors, they’re telepathic, able to predict natural disasters and receive signals from distant galaxies. But that didn’t stop millions from buying and nurturing their new plants.



Perhaps the craziest claim of the book was that plants also dug music. And whether you purchased a snake plant, asparagus fern, peace lily, or what have you from Mother Earth on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles (or bought a Simmons mattress from Sears), you also took home Plantasia, an album recorded especially for them. Subtitled “warm earth music for plants…and the people that love them,” it was full of bucolic, charming, stoner-friendly, decidedly unscientific tunes enacted on the new-fangled device called the Moog. Plants date back from the dawn of time, but apparently they loved the Moog, never mind that the synthesizer had been on the market for just a few years. Most of all, the plants loved the ditties made by composer Mort Garson.



Few characters in early electronic music can be both fearless pioneers and cheesy trend-chasers, but Garson embraced both extremes, and has been unheralded as a result. When one writer rhetorically asked: “How was Garson’s music so ubiquitous while the man remained so under the radar?” the answer was simple. Well before Brian Eno did it, Garson was making discreet music, both the man and his music as inconspicuous as a Chlorophytumcomosum. Julliard-educated and active as a session player in the post-war era, Garson wrote lounge hits, scored plush arrangements for Doris Day, and garlanded weeping countrypolitan strings around Glen Campbell’s “By the Time I Get to Phoenix.” He could render the Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel alike into easy listening and also dreamed up his own ditties. “An idear” as Garson himself would drawl it out. “I live with it, I walk it, I sing it.”



But as his daughter Day Darmet recalls: “When my dad found the synthesizer, he realized he didn’t want to do pop music anymore.” Garson encountered Robert Moog and his new device at the Audio Engineering Society’s West Coast convention in 1967 and immediately began tinkering with the device. With the Moog, those idears could be transformed. “He constantly had a song he was humming,” Darmet says. “At the table he was constantly tapping.” Which is to say that Mort pulled his melodies out of thin air, just like any household plant would.



The Plantae kingdom grew to its height by 1976, from DC Comics’ mossy superhero Swamp Thing to Stevie Wonder’s own herbal meditation, Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants. Nefarious manifestations of human-plant interaction also abounded, be it the grotesque pods in Invasion of the Body Snatchers or the pothead paranoia of the US Government spraying Mexican marijuana fields with the herbicide paraquat (which led to the rise in homegrown pot by the 1980s). And then there’s the warm, leafy embrace of Plantasia itself.



“My mom had a lot of plants,” Darmet says. “She didn’t believe in organized religion, she believed the earth was the best thing in the whole world. Whatever created us was incredible.” And she also knew when her husband had a good song, shouting from another room when she heard him humming a good idear. Novel as it might seem, Plantasia is simply full of good tunes.



Garson may have given the album away to new plant and bed owners, but a decade later a new generation could hear his music in another surreptitious way. Millions of kids bought The Legend of Zelda for their Nintendo Entertainment System back in 1986 and one distinct 8-bit tune bears more than a passing resemblance to album highlight “Concerto for Philodendron and Pothos.” Garson was never properly credited for it, but he nevertheless subliminally slipped into a new generations’ head, helping kids and plants alike grow.



Hearing Plantasia in the 21st century, it seems less an ode to our photosynthesizing friends by Garson and more an homage to his wife, the one with the green thumb that made everything flower around him. “My dad would be totally pleased to know that people are really interested in this music that had no popularity at the time,” Darmet says of Plantasia’snew renaissance. “He would be fascinated by the fact that people are finally understanding and appreciating this part of his musical career that he got no admiration for back then.” Garson seems to be everywhere again, even if he’s not really noticed, just like a houseplant.

astia's NECHTO presents a new six-track release from DJ Dextro, including one collaboration with Portuguese producer Cardao. The project marks Dextro’s first appearance on the label, following years of his tracks being played by Nastia and a shared event in Lisbon in 2023. That connection gradually turned into a conversation about releasing something together. “It was a matter of time until I got to her ear,” Dextro says. “And from there, we talked about NECHTO — and here we are.”
The tracks on the EP are shaped by a mix of spontaneous ideas and observations on daily life, society, and broader themes like science and the unknown. Dextro explains that the track titles often reflect his current state of mind or something happening around him --- sometimes personal, other times completely random. Each one sits within his established sound: energetic, structured, and focused on rhythm.
One of the six tracks features Cardao, with whom Dextro shares what he describes as “a good harmony and easy understanding” in the studio. Known for his groove-led, percussive style, Cardao’s contribution adds another layer to the release while fitting seamlessly into its overall tone.
Shaped by both artists’ individual perspectives, this EP stays close to the club — direct, driving techno rooted in shared sensibilities and straightforward execution.

José James just can’t leave the ’70s alone. Or maybe it’s the other way around. The singer, songwriter, bandleader, and producer was born in 1978, after all, but over his past 17 years of fundamentally forward-looking, blessedly mercurial music, he keeps getting pulled back in. His 2013 Blue Note breakthrough No Beginning No End revisited the hooky, funky, jazz-streaked songcraft of the time through a modern crate-digger’s ears. On 2020’s No Beginning No End 2 — James’ debut on his own Rainbow Blonde Records — he went back through the portal with a small army of fellow celebrated eclecticists. Just last year, there was the album 1978, a richly layered love letter to said year that felt deep, luxe, and cool. It’s as if — vested with the restless fluidity of jazz, the tuned-in sensitivity of soul, and the revisionist grit of hip-hop — he is trying to play his way into the exact moment when, culturally speaking, everything was about to change.

“I'm still so fascinated by the tension in that era of all these seemingly clashing things happening at once,” says James. “The loft scene, the jazz scene, Elton and Billy, Bob Marley, the Isleys, Funkadelic, disco being this behemoth in a way I don't think we even understand today… And then there’s where everybody went from there — into hip-hop, into punk rock, exploding jazz. It's like a summation of the ’70s, and it's about to transform. It's the peak of the rollercoaster.”

Literally breaking into history is impossible, of course, but James’ new LP, 1978: Revenge of the Dragon, does feel like breaking through or bursting out. In loving contrast to its predecessor, the fresh set plays hot, like a Friday night out at the Mudd Club in its prime. Though he’s dreamt up albums with collaborator counts approaching the dozens, James gathered a tight crew for this one. Himself and Taali on vocals. BIGYUKI on keys and analog synth. Jharis Yokley on drums. Bass split between David Ginyard (Blood Orange, Terence Blanchard) and Kyle Miles (Michelle Ndgeocello, Nick Hakim). And an all-star brass lineup: Takuya Kuroda on trumpet, young lion Ebban Dorsey on alto sax, and genre-spanning ronin Ben Wendel on tenor sax. They set up in Dreamland Studios near Woodstock, a restored 19th century church, and recorded live to tape, two tracks, drums pushed to the max — “a small homage to the rise of punk,” says James.

In that place out of time, the band laid down a handful of choice covers and some wild originals, like the single “They Sleep, We Grind (for Badu),” a decades-collapsing cut powered by an ugly groove. Steeped in dub, funk, and sampledelia, James chants an artists’ mantra (“They sleep, we grind / Man, f--- your nine to five”), makes lyrical callouts to Marley and Nas, and channels everything from George Clinton to J Dilla, not to mention the earthy mysticism of Erykah Badu. In 2023, James released and toured his Badu covers LP, On & On. “Living in her musical house for a year was transformative,” he says. “This is my summary of everything I learned through her, tying it to this idea that artists move differently. We are in society but we are outside, too, looking out and in at the same time. Our hours are different, our schedules are different.”

To that point, James and co. actually began each day in the woods, filming the album’s visual companion piece, Revenge of the Dragon, an honest-to-God kung-fu short complete with bad overdubs, training montages, camera tricks, and plot twists. The film pays tribute not only to the genre’s greatest year (1978, of course), but also its cinematic exchange with Blaxploitation, plus James’ own recent Shaolin training and admiration for Bruce Lee as a culture-bridging force (the LP’s cover recreates an iconic shot of Lee). On top of that, says James, “We had this immediacy in the studio. Live, one take, no overdubbing. I feel like that's where the martial arts piece comes in, where it's about being relaxed but also aware, and there's immediacy in your movements.”

Across the project, tribute takes that refracted, multifaceted form. From his personal late-’70s playlist, James chose four covers reflecting the era’s disco-fied churn: the MJ-meets-Quincy dancefloor masterpiece “Rock With You”; Herbie Hancock’s prescient vocoder fever dream, “I Thought It Was You”; and a pair of Black-radio hits from two bands whose fans typically wouldn’t have been caught dead in the same stadium: “Miss You” by the Rolling Stones and the Bee Gees’ “Inside and Out.” All of it gets filtered through a contemporary Black (and beyond) lens, coming out loud, free, funky, and buzzing — dynamic, yes, but also of a joyous piece.

1978: Revenge of the Dragon transports you to a crowded room where all this is playing out in real time. That feeling is helped out by opener “Tokyo Daydream,” a bass-driven swan dive into a neverending night of boutique bar-hopping and neon revelry. Later, “Rise of the Tiger” finds James bringing rare braggadocio to a propulsive track with growling synth lines and a hunger for whatever comes next. And then there’s the closer, “Last Call at the Mudd Club,” which with its upbeat energy and string of Stevie-inspired pickup lines, evokes the sort of unabashedly elated track the DJ throws on at 3:56 a.m. before everyone is kicked out. “I wanted to leave the album on that note,” says James. “If this was a night out in New York, this would be the last thing you hear before you get in that taxi and go back to your apartment.” Or, perhaps, back to 2025.

“On course towards future raucous, beer-soaked headline festival
sets.” - NME
“Screw-you power, relentless motorik rhythms and impressively large
choruses.” - The Guardian
“Unrelenting, gritty energy” - Daily Star
Sprints unearth their frenzied new EP, ‘Manifesto’, out via Nice Swan
Records.
Produced by Daniel Fox of Girl Band - Dublin’s answer to Steve Albini
- the four tracks make for a hard-hitting gloom-punk journey you
can’t miss. Like the Irish guitar acts who have paved the way for
them - Fontaines D.C., Silverbacks and Girl Band - Sprints sound
urgent and vital at every turn.
‘Swimming’ is a confluence of rabble-rousing stadium rock, sleazy
garage rock and Sonic Youth experimentation. Lyrically, there’s a lot
to hang on to too, which is unsurprising given how topical the band
are: ‘Drones’ took on imposter syndrome; ‘Manifesto’ tackled
homophobia.
‘Swimming’ scorns on the increasing lack of opportunity after
following prescribed paths to become society’s idea of a ‘success’.
Sprints singer Karla Chubb explains: “While the homeless crisis
worsens, the city is sinking in debt and everyone can barely keep
their heads above water, you see an article stating that a new €25
million white water rafting centre is being developed after approval
by Dublin City Council. Sometimes you’d just rather drown.”
Sprints have hit a nerve. The velocity of this argument comes from
personal anguish but will chime with a generation. And with such
honesty running through their core it’s no wonder The Guardian,
NME and BBC Radio 1 and 6Music have tipped them for big things.
Tourdates - October 7 Roisin Dubh Galway, 8 Kasbah Limerick, 9 The
Grand Social Dublin, 21 The Waiting Room London, 23 Heartbreakers
Southampton, 26 Sneaky Pete’s Edinburgh, 27 The Attic Glasgow, 28 The
Castle Manchester, 30 The Sunflower Lounge Birmingham, 31 Bootleg Social
Blackpool, November 2 Surf Cafe Newcastle, 3 Sidney & Matilda Sheffield, 6
Mutations Festival Brighton, 7 Festival of Voice Cardiff, 9 The Shipping
Forecast Liverpool, 10 Oporto Leeds.

Formed in Oakland just before the pandemic's onset in late 2019, SPY has built on the foundation of bands like Bad Brains and Poison Idea rather than following the current wave of metallic hardcore. They’re set to unleash their latest EP, Seen Enough, on Closed Casket Activities, out February 21. No song on Seen Enough ever overstays its welcome, instead embodying what makes hardcore frenetic. Burning through six songs in under ten minutes, every track is a testament to the energy the band has built up through relentless touring. SPY worked with Jack Shirley at Oakland's Atomic Garden to record the EP. Shirley captured their essence by recording live to tape, eschewing the modern practice of individual tracking in favor of a more immediate, visceral approach that better represents their explosive live show. That in-room chemistry is immediately apparent – songs like "Stay In Your Lane" maintain the texture and grit you'd get at a show in between every huge riff. Seen Enough doesn't hide what it's about: society's continued descent with diminishing hope for course correction. From the jump, SPY has followed in the lineage of Bay Area punks like Dead Kennedys and Ceremony in both attitude and awareness. Their latest offering maintains the critical edge of their earlier material while expanding their lyrical scope, delivering a streamlined punch that hits hard through its runtime. By staying true to themselves, SPY has carved out their own niche in the modern hardcore landscape. After touring with legends and contemporaries alike including Gel, Full of Hell, Ceremony, Municipal Waste, Sunami and playing basically every fest worth caring about including Sound and Fury, Outbreak, Sick New World and LDB, 2025 is set to be a monstrous year for SPY.

Powerful works of art have traditionally sprung from some source deep within an artist and, if they strike the right tone, resonate with an audience to leave a lasting mark. But what if that equation were reversed: what if an artist were to draw their inspiration from deep within their audience, and use that to reflect those ideas, emotions, hopes, fears, pains and aspirations back to us?

Over a two year journey, audio-visual artist and electronic innovator Max Cooper has inverted the creative process by collecting hundreds of anonymous quotes, posing deep but open questions such as "What would you like to express which you cannot in everyday life?" and "What is it like to exist inside your head?"

The goal: to understand what it is truly like to be human right now. The result: his new album On Being, to be released in February 2025 with the first single "Sun In A Box" coming this September 4th.

With On Being, Cooper aimed to probe under the synthetic surface of social media to "create a snapshot of our minds these days," as he puts it by asking people to share anonymously what they dare not ever say publicly. The result is an emotionally raw and shockingly honest kaleidoscope of confessions, ranging from suicide contemplations to miserable marriages to simple pure loneliness, contrasting with hundreds of anonymous confessions of love and longing.

"I was interested in the way I interact with people for my writing process, which usually involves a one-way communication of feelings and ideas that I later find out whether they resonate with others or not," says Cooper.

"With this I could start instead with people's thoughts and feelings, what resonates for them, and make my own interpretations of those musically and visually, and then send those back out to everyone. It's more of a collaborative approach to making an album, and more intense."

Grief, hope, regret, joy, hurt and love form the basis for each track, taking Cooper's ever-evolving creative process in a completely new direction - with profoundly intense results.

"Rendering the experience of being is at the core of what I do musically - but I hadn't realised the impact that other people's words on being would have on me until I started reading the database of thoughts," he says.

"It was like finding a secret window into everyone's minds, and discovering amongst the chaos, pleasure and pain, the experiences that we all share at different times of our lives, and overwhelming emotions and connections that call out to be explored."

Despite what we see in the maelstrom of rage in the echo chambers of society ‘On Being’ reveals that humans still have an innate need to trust one another and express communal generosity - more easily done from the safety of an anonymous portal.

"The quotes carried so much weight for me - I interpreted them with my usual musical tools, but as you can hear in the music, everything got more extreme as I dove into the depths of what everyone had to say later in the record," says Cooper.

The result is a unique work of art that demonstrates unequivocally not only the power of using music without words to express emotions, but the power of words to express what seemed to be inexpressible.

On Being will continue to evolve as Cooper gathers more confessions to feed into this ecosystem of emotions and to create a new range of art projects and other accompanying works which hopefully will speak truthfully to humanity today - and of who we are and who we can become.

Maud the moth, the solo project of Spanish-born and Scotland-based pianist, singer and songwriter Amaya Lopez-Carromero announces her new album, The Distaff, to be released via The Larvarium (digital +CD) and La Rubia Producciones (vinyl) Amaya has long used the mantle of Maud the moth as an alter-ego, a séance-like conduit to explore themes of rootlessness, identity and trauma. The Distaff in particular refers to the stick or spindle onto which wool or flax is wound for spinning, and an object which has historically been used across multiple cultures as a symbol wielded by the “virtuous woman”, an authoritarian ideal around which much of the trauma surrounding the feminine coalesces. The album takes the form of a sort of self reflective and surreal autobiography. It was in part inspired by the poem of the same name written by the Greek poet Erinna, as she mourns her friend's loss of individuality and agency in exchange for marriage - and therefore safety and acceptance in the eyes of society. The album exists in an ethereal but violent world of aesthetic overlaps where time stands still and fictional and reimagined folk sits at the table with Maud the moth’s usual sonic menagerie. It is the result of a lifetime of obsession with sound and music, where glimpses of musical genre offer insight into Amaya’s artistic interests and her participation in the underground European scene for many years, in bands such as healthyliving. Heavier, darker, and more exposed than any of her previous works it features some highly accomplished artists, such as Seb Rochford (Patti Smith, Polar Bear, Sons of Kemet, Pulled by magnets, etc.) on drums, Alison Chesley (Helen Money) on cello, Fay Guiffo on violin and Scott McLean (Ashenspire, healthyliving, Falloch) on guitar, saxophone and synthesiser. Maud the moth shares the video for "Siphonophores". About the track, Maud the moth says; I wrote "Siphonophores" on guitar, during the first lockdown, a period where I was kind of trapped between an almost empty flat in Edinburgh and Dresden. It was an incredibly harrowing time, but also one of hope and where important new things were being birthed. I felt incredibly sensitive to everything, almost like life was happening in slow motion. I´m not a confident guitarist since I am completely self-taught, but, probably because of this, I feel that this instrument allows me to focus on aspects of the songwriting that I normally overlook when writing on piano, and I think it was a necessary step for this song to exist. Something else which I've been really exploiting lately and features strongly in the album is the percussive capabilities of the piano, and in particular, of the sustain pedal when mic'd up. This can be heard very clearly at the beginning of "Siphonophores". Written and arranged by Amaya, with some contributions in the later role from the aforementioned collaborators, the album presents nine tracks originally written entirely on acoustic piano as accompanied voice pieces, in pure singer-songwriter fashion. The album was co-produced and recorded by Scott and Amaya in different studios across the UK between January and July of 2024, in a process that started shortly after the 2020 pandemic and finished alongside the album recordings in a detailed, organic and at times obsessive process aimed primarily at capturing the natural dynamics and expression of free performance. The Distaff was mixed in its entirety by Scott and mastered at Abbey Road by Alex Wharton (Radiohead, My Bloody Valentine, Aurora, Kathryn Joseph etc.) Despite being born of a very personal point of view, the album lacks a specific narrator and was conceived almost as a sonic trousseau, where the needle point, silks and other family heirlooms have been swapped for out-of-the-corner-of-the-eye memories of rural Spain by the vineyards, family disputes, old tales of wartime pains, generational breaches and finally the conflict of migration and estrangement. The songs paint dystopian pastoral scenes which evolve throughout the span of one fictional day outside of time and coherent locations and where imagination (often the only account surviving from traumatic events and gaslighting) has become indistinguishable from fact. The Distaff attempts to acknowledge past trauma, comprehend and process some of the more difficult aspects which have contributed to our darker self and offer closure and solace through creative catharsis.