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Dennis White, Charlie May, and Dave Gardner return with their second outing as Quiet Places on A Strangely Isolated Place, expanding upon their deep and suitably hypnotic long-form compositions across four continuous sides of wax.

Minimal in context and retaining the untitled track approach, the trio of producers, well versed in a variety of music styles between them, leave the music and the subliminal messages contained within as the descriptor.

Finding moments of melody amongst the wide landscape of abstract sounds and samples, is the only glimpse of reality you’ll find down here.

Belgian artist Jennifur announces MAZDA, an album inspired by long car rides, emotional transitions, and the strange beauty of existing between places, people, and versions of yourself.

Musically, MAZDA moves fluidly between genres and emotional textures, blending electronic love songs, indie rock structures, UK bass influences, cinematic electronica, and flashes of classical composition.

The project began when Jennifur's brother sent him a playlist called MAZDA, filled with songs their father used to play in the car. What started as a nostalgia gesture quickly became the emotional blueprint for the album.

While writing MAZDA, Jennifur realized he was unknowingly creating the soundtrack to a fictional romcom film that existed only in his imagination. Rather than avoiding clichés like love, heartbreak, growing older, or transition, he chose to embrace them wholeheartedly.

"In a car, you exist in a kind of in-between space," Jennifur explains. "You've left something behind, but you haven't arrived yet. That feeling became the entire record."

The album opener, From A to B, sets the emotional framework for the entire project. Its extended introduction mirrors the exact moment you pull out of your street and realisethat something new has begun.

Highlights include "I Need You To Hold On", written for Jennifur's brother as a message of encouragement. The song "I Once Had a Dream Where I Could Fly" originated from a conversation with his father about recurring dreams of flying. Meanwhile, "From The Sideline" confronts a quieter existential fear, becoming a coming-of-age anthem for anyone who suddenly realizes they have become more of a spectator than an active participant in their own life.

Tracks like "In The Sun" bring a softer, almost cinematic intimacy to the album. Written around the image of spending one final Sunday at the seaside with someone who is seriously ill, the song captures the beauty and fragility of fleeting moments. The closing track "The Dialogue Before We Left" serves as the emotional final scene of the album.

"For me, it's the moment after a long drive when you turn off the engine but stay seated for a minute," Jennifur explains. "You realise something happened. You listened to my story, and we travelled from A to B together."

A quick scan of the world’s favourite crowdsourced discography reveals that Sonic Youth co-founder Lee Ranaldo was not a total stranger to crackling electric experimentation in the years following his songwriting turns of the 20-teens. Yet »The System«, ingeniously culled and sequenced from Ranaldo’s soundtrack work for Dutch filmmaker Joris Postema’s ›eco-doc‹ of the same name, nonetheless feels like a reawakening. Quietly released in a vastly different (and much more ›filmic‹) form by Doxy Music/Riva Media Records in 2025, this LP reimagines and reconfigures the initial release, including unreleased material written and recorded for the film, to lend it new stature as both a return to drone-improv form and a reunion with introspective Downtown angst.

Given the state of the world, it’s not surprising that the film Ranaldo scores – a documentary on three climate activists bruising their fists on the black iron prison of techno-fascist deathkultur – is a study in despair and futility. But rather than wallowing in navel-gazing doom and gloom, the film documents the unstoppable spirit that has animated human resistance since the time of the Pharaohs.

As it turns out, the gorgeous scope of Lee Ranaldo’s guitar palette is a perfect manifestation of the hope and despair that animates the film. But like other high-water marks in the guitar-centric soundtrack canon – the high plains raga of Bruce Langhorne’s »Hired Hand«, Neil Young’s sparse and ghostly solo transmissions on »Dead Man«, or the monolithic mantras of Popol Vuh’s »Nosferatu« – its devotion to spectral gestures and meditative song forms launches it firmly outside of the OST orbit into a universe fully its own.

It might seem like a long journey from the Lower Manhattan rhythmic grime of the album’s opener »Tajikistan (Nice to Meet You)« (reminiscent of guitar opuses like Robert Quine and Jody Harris’s »Escape«) to the ringing cowboy chords of the final track, but the narrative logic of the LP pulls the listener along as solidly as a pack horse. As the LP unwinds, and collaborators like Jim Jarmusch, cellist Leila Boudreil, Yeah Yeah Yeahs snare shaman Brian Chase, and guitarist Yonatan Gat take their places, new vistas unfurl: the ritualistic thrum of »Berlin Blockade«, the haunted overtone palaces of »Bergelmir«, and the cavernous acoustic strumming of »Instruments of Violence«. It all winds up with the high lonesome standard »Cool Water«, each unhurried note trailing off into long-tail reverb, layers of shifting vocal harmonies pulling everything skyward – a hopeful note in an album where existential dread never lurks too deeply below the surface.

In the end, »The System« functions both as a film score and a hallucinatory (mostly) instrumental guitar record, revealing a sensibility not too often spotted in the 21st century – a liminal space where the song, the jam, and the meditation merge into a blurred whole. »The System«’s expansive fabric, emerging from a collective sound circling around Ranaldo’s signature tones, envelops and ampl amplifies the contributions of its community of creators – the perfect antidote to narcissistic despair. Much like the subjects of the film light the way towards intra-generational resistance, the music of »The System« reveals a path through gathering darkness. The world could be yours if you follow.

– Tom Carter

A quick scan of the world’s favourite crowdsourced discography reveals that Sonic Youth co-founder Lee Ranaldo was not a total stranger to crackling electric experimentation in the years following his songwriting turns of the 20-teens. Yet »The System«, ingeniously culled and sequenced from Ranaldo’s soundtrack work for Dutch filmmaker Joris Postema’s ›eco-doc‹ of the same name, nonetheless feels like a reawakening. Quietly released in a vastly different (and much more ›filmic‹) form by Doxy Music/Riva Media Records in 2025, this LP reimagines and reconfigures the initial release, including unreleased material written and recorded for the film, to lend it new stature as both a return to drone-improv form and a reunion with introspective Downtown angst.

Given the state of the world, it’s not surprising that the film Ranaldo scores – a documentary on three climate activists bruising their fists on the black iron prison of techno-fascist deathkultur – is a study in despair and futility. But rather than wallowing in navel-gazing doom and gloom, the film documents the unstoppable spirit that has animated human resistance since the time of the Pharaohs.

As it turns out, the gorgeous scope of Lee Ranaldo’s guitar palette is a perfect manifestation of the hope and despair that animates the film. But like other high-water marks in the guitar-centric soundtrack canon – the high plains raga of Bruce Langhorne’s »Hired Hand«, Neil Young’s sparse and ghostly solo transmissions on »Dead Man«, or the monolithic mantras of Popol Vuh’s »Nosferatu« – its devotion to spectral gestures and meditative song forms launches it firmly outside of the OST orbit into a universe fully its own.

It might seem like a long journey from the Lower Manhattan rhythmic grime of the album’s opener »Tajikistan (Nice to Meet You)« (reminiscent of guitar opuses like Robert Quine and Jody Harris’s »Escape«) to the ringing cowboy chords of the final track, but the narrative logic of the LP pulls the listener along as solidly as a pack horse. As the LP unwinds, and collaborators like Jim Jarmusch, cellist Leila Boudreil, Yeah Yeah Yeahs snare shaman Brian Chase, and guitarist Yonatan Gat take their places, new vistas unfurl: the ritualistic thrum of »Berlin Blockade«, the haunted overtone palaces of »Bergelmir«, and the cavernous acoustic strumming of »Instruments of Violence«. It all winds up with the high lonesome standard »Cool Water«, each unhurried note trailing off into long-tail reverb, layers of shifting vocal harmonies pulling everything skyward – a hopeful note in an album where existential dread never lurks too deeply below the surface.

In the end, »The System« functions both as a film score and a hallucinatory (mostly) instrumental guitar record, revealing a sensibility not too often spotted in the 21st century – a liminal space where the song, the jam, and the meditation merge into a blurred whole. »The System«’s expansive fabric, emerging from a collective sound circling around Ranaldo’s signature tones, envelops and ampl amplifies the contributions of its community of creators – the perfect antidote to narcissistic despair. Much like the subjects of the film light the way towards intra-generational resistance, the music of »The System« reveals a path through gathering darkness. The world could be yours if you follow.

– Tom Carter

Norman Gervais and Charles Bals return after last year’s Transcoastal compilation with their first project for the Italian label Periodica Records and its newly founded imprint, Periodica International.
The concept behind SiRENE 89 is quite particular and took six years to develop. It is presented as the live recording of one long evening, with different bands taking the stage one after another on the terrace of a Mediterranean holiday resort in 1989, inspired by the places Charles and Norm remember from their summer holidays around that time.
The songs were recorded between 1982 and 1993 and gathered from small-time artists, beach-club vagabonds, local micro-labels, library records and privately released tapes. The music moves lightly between mystical ballads, digital samba and loose, sunburnt dance songs, carried by drum machines, not-quite-tuned guitars and college-band voices.
The audience on the terrace remains quietly present throughout, joining the tracks into one continuous, partly improvised set. By the end, it feels less like a compilation and more like a place where you have spent the night, proving that charm can carry further than perfection.

After decades contributing to records where a single riff could transform a dancefloor, Charlie May turns that instinct inward on Trusted Farms.
For over thirty years, Charlie has occupied a position that seems increasingly rare in electronic music: the musician’s musician, the person behind the machines, the extra pair of hands in the studio, and quite often, the person responsible for the melody you end up carrying around in your head for weeks on end. 
Alongside Duncan Forbes as Spooky, Charlie helped shape some of the most important electronic music to emerge from the UK in the early ’90s. That partnership would also sow the seeds for one of Sasha’s defining records: the central riff behind Xpander began life in Spooky’s live material, before Charlie brought the idea into the studio with Sasha and helped transform it into one of electronic music’s most enduring anthems.
Listen closely to Charlie’s work and there’s a particular instinct that keeps returning: knowing when a simple synth line is enough. Knowing which note needs to change. Knowing when repetition stops being repetition and starts becoming the entire reason a track works. More recently, as one-third of Quiet Places on ASIP, he’s taken those same instincts somewhere looser — beatless, gridless and led by improvisation.
Trusted Farms puts those instincts front and centre.
Tiny melodic phrases appear and refuse to leave. Synth lines repeat just long enough to become lodged in your head. Parts rub against each other without being tidied into submission. There’s a sharpness and directness to it all amongst the purposeful analogue warmth.
Some of these tracks feel almost ridiculously simple at first. But simplicity is difficult when you’ve spent decades learning every possible way to complicate something. Many of the parts on Trusted Farms were performed live with minimal editing. A synth line might be doubled, distorted, re-recorded and pushed back through another piece of equipment, but it remains the same idea. Instead of filling the gaps, Charlie works on the weight and character of what is already there. The melodies become physical; slightly worn around the edges.
For someone whose fingerprints can be found across some genuinely monumental moments in electronic music, Charlie has spent decades knowing what to add. 
Trusted Farms is about knowing exactly what to leave alone.
Available on black 12”, mastered by Andreas Lupo LOOP-O Lubich and featuring artwork by Peter Skwiot Smith,

‘Finally’, the forthcoming new record from Catz ’n Dogz, belongs to the latter.

There are albums you listen to, and there are albums you live with. ‘Finally’, the forthcoming new record from Catz ’n Dogz, belongs to the latter.

Across sixteen tracks, Voitek and Greg have created their most creatively ambitious and emotionally open work to date. An album about relationships, friendship and the people and places that shape us. At its heart is a simple idea: music should make you feel something, and sometimes the most meaningful moments are the quiet ones when you finally have time to yourself.

Finally is rooted in the emotional contradictions that make memories so powerful. Inspired by classic American Folk and Soul, its songs are happy and nostalgic; hopeful without pretending that the past doesn’t exist. There is melancholy inside the euphoria and warmth inside the sadness, a constant interplay between looking back and moving forward.

The album begins with the soulful breakbeat glow of 'We’re Gonna Be Alright' featuring Ajii, before moving through the smoky jazz and piano-led intimacy of 'Dance For You' with Miller Blue and the bass-driven energy of 'Sun Goes Down' featuring Charlotte Haining. Closing with the reflective 'Miss You' featuring Mateusz Krautwurst, the record takes in a rich cast of vocalists, musicians and producers, alongside a series of deeply personal Catz ’n Dogz solo productions.

Those collaborations are central to Finally. The album is, in many ways, a celebration of the creative friendships Voitek and Greg have built throughout their journey. Relationships that have allowed them to step outside their comfort zone and rethink what their music can be.

Written and recorded between Madrid, New York, Warsaw and the road, the album finds the duo placing renewed emphasis on songwriting, chord progressions and musical craft. Rather than simply chasing the next track, they took the time to learn, experiment and create something with a sense of permanence.

This is an album for driving without a destination. For watching the sun go down. For remembering somebody you haven’t thought about in years. For those rare stretches of time when there is nowhere else you need to be.

The final chapter of The Third Room's curator-led series is shaped by GiGi FM, an artist whose work moves fluidly between club functionality, emotional storytelling and immersive sound design. Through her productions and performances, she has developed a distinct language where rhythm, atmosphere and movement exist in constant dialogue. For the closing chapter, the focus lies on cohesion. Bringing together artists connected through a shared sensitivity for groove, detail and space, the release unfolds through percussive structures and atmospheric elements that move with clarity, depth and intention. The Half Bearded Man by Fergus Sweetland opens the record. A rough yet detailed rhythmic framework, syncopated percussion and a rolling bassline create forward motion, while softer elements and a subtle vocal layer introduce a contrasting sense of lightness, drawing the listener into the track. On Shark Attak, D-Leria places percussion at the centre, but with a more restrained approach. Polyrhythmic bleeps and high-frequency sweeps weave around the groove, maintaining depth and tension without becoming intrusive, giving the track a quiet but persistent drive. The B-side opens with one of its defining moments: Anukari, a collaboration between Efdemin and GiGi FM. Bringing together two distinct approaches, the track unfolds as a layered and atmospheric piece: detailed percussion, connecting textures and subtle melodic fragments create a sense of depth that feels both modern and slightly otherworldly, while remaining inviting and grounded. Closing the record, Even by Fireground reduces the elements further. Warm chords and a restrained rhythmic core create an open, enveloping space, balancing softness with tension and allowing the track to unfold with a quiet sense of momentum. Across all four tracks, the release remains tightly cohesive: built on groove, space and carefully placed detail. As the final entry in the series, it shifts the focus from structure to flow, offering a closing chapter that feels immersive, connected and complete. A1 Written and Produced by Fergus Sweetland | A2 Written and Produced by Giuseppe Scaccia | B1 Written and Produced by Giulia Fournier & Philip Sollmann | B2 Written and Produced by Angela Dragonetto & Danielle Paduano Mastered by Ahmet Sisman (The Third Room Studios) Artwork by Charlotte Ernst Design by Daniel Bornmann (STUEDIO.XYZ) Distribution by Clone Pressing by Matter Of Fact

DJ Support: Chris Coco, DJ Morpheus, Alexis Le-Tan, DVS1, Afterlife, Ally Tropical, Alex Ruder (KEXP), Andy Wilson, Bill Brewster, Makossa

Dawn Again continues his masterful run on Hell Yeah with a third new album in consecutive years. The Aussie "pubwave" architect this time serves up Pints Of Ambient Nectar, an eight-track collection of new ambient works and remixes of album tracks from 2024's Every Dog's Hotel and 2025's Lost In The Front Bar.

Melbourne producer Nick Verwey has spent the last decade quietly refining a sound that's loose, lived-in, and made for real moments rather than peak-time theatrics. With releases on Houseworx, Enjoyment Division and Hell Yeah, his sun-faded, lo-fi grooves drift between breaks, downtempo and hazy house. His “pubwave” sound is music born from lockdown nostalgia, communal pints and the romance of places where time slows, conversations linger, but the jukebox keeps things moving.

The scene is set with bird calls and saw synth awakenings on 'Backyard Paradiso', 'A Day in the Life of Pond Algae' is a quiet ode to hope and revival, while 'Slow Motion Goal Celebration' smudges chords like rays of sun cooled by a breeze. 'Kneverending Knockoffs' teases acid murmurs amongst floating melodic clouds, and new cut ' A Pub With No Beer' has sugary lines piercing sustained ambient drones. 'Hard Earned Thirst' is mellow magic for horizontal afternoons, 'Hair Of The Dawg' shimmers like heat waves on the horizon and 'Vanilla Sky' is a cathartic drift bathed in soft light, unfolding in slow, weightless waves.

This sun-dazed ambient sidestep from Dawn Again stretches pubwave nostalgia into hazy, unhurried pieces made for slow afternoons where your woes dissolve and your soul warms.

This November, Brownswood Recordings will release Mek Do & Mend, the debut album from self-taught producer, multi-instrumentalist, composer and artist Wonky Logic. Although his name may not yet be familiar to everyone, Wonky Logic (AKA Dwayne Kilvington) has spent the past two decades quietly becoming one of the UK's most respected musical collaborators. His career has moved comfortably between London's jazz, electronic and contemporary music scenes, performing and recording with artists including Nala Sinephro, Yussef Dayes, Nightmares On Wax, Shabaka Hutchings and Emma-Jean Thackray. Alongside his work as a producer and composer, he's been musical director for projects with Eddie Chacon, John Carroll Kirby and I.G Culture's LCSM, scored the feature documentary Zandra With A Zed, contributed music to A24's The Smashing Machine, and continues to lead music workshops with young people, refugees and people experiencing incarceration.

Far more than a collection of compositions, Mek Do & Mend is a deeply personal reflection on the people, places and experiences that have shaped Kilvington throughout his life. It's the story of growing up on a Leeds council estate, where music became both a creative outlet and a way of understanding the world. Making music often meant working with whatever was available: a second-hand keyboard, a makeshift studio desk or ageing equipment that simply had to last a little longer. The title itself came from a conversation with his mother, capturing the resourcefulness that defined his upbringing and continued into the making of the album itself, which was written and produced to a tight deadline around touring, family life and Kilvington's work as a musician and educator.

Built from material spanning more than fifteen years, Mek Do & Mend brings together some of Wonky Logic's earliest compositions alongside brand new pieces written during the making of the record itself. Childhood ideas sit alongside music conceived only months before recording, creating an album that draws together a lifetime of writing rather than documenting a single moment. Running throughout are voice notes from family members, teachers, friends, mentors and collaborators—not simply as interludes, but as a reminder that no creative life is ever self-made. Rather than telling his own story outright, Kilvington invites listeners to discover him through the people who've shaped him: an aunt remembering him playing in church as a child, lifelong friends recalling early experiments making beats together, fellow musicians from different stages of his career and his mother describing him in her own words. Together they reveal the invisible network of relationships, philosophies, communities and experiences behind the music. "The album exists somewhere between being a biography and an autobiography," says Dwayne. "The biography is in the voice notes and how other people see me. The autobiography is in the music."

That same philosophy extends to the musicians who appear on the record. Every contributor has played a meaningful role in Wonky Logic's life beyond the studio. Long-time collaborator Luke Wynter, Steam Down drummer Benji Appiah, partner Vanessa Rani, Jonathan Enser, Joe Bristow, Brother Portrait and Nubiya Imani all feature not simply because of their musicianship, but because they form part of the album's story.

Across its fourteen tracks, Mek Do & Mend moves effortlessly between dynamic jazz arrangements, pulsating broken rhythms, delicate, twinkling piano passages, interstellar synth textures and elegant brass lines. Album opener and first single 'Strange Attractor' begins with a shimmering introduction before unfolding into an exhilarating surge of rhythm and momentum. Named after the mathematical concept of the same name, it serves as the conceptual point of origin for the album. Written when Kilvington was just seventeen, the composition reflects the idea that even the most unpredictable lives are guided by hidden patterns that often only become visible with time. Second single 'A Thousand Hands' features the unmistakable vocal tones of Brother Portrait, whose cerebral lyricism drifts over a low-slung, constantly shifting groove as woozy synth lines ebb and flow overhead. At its heart, the track celebrates the family, friends, mentors and collaborators whose often unseen influence shapes who we become, echoing the album's belief that every achievement is, in some way, a collective one. LP focus track 'BAME (Beyond All Marginalised Expectations)' is a lush, spiralling composition, brimming with both emotion and resolve. Reclaiming an acronym long imposed on racialised communities in the UK, the piece transforms it into a statement of possibility rather than limitation: a defiant rejection of stereotypes and a refusal to let identity be defined by other people's expectations.

The album itself only exists because other people believed in it. Isabel Gracefield made the RAK sessions possible, Rick David brought the record together with his characteristically thoughtful mix, and Gilles Peterson committed to releasing it on Brownswood before hearing any of the music. Away from the stage, Kilvington works with the charity Finding Rhythms, writing and producing original records with people experiencing incarceration, while also leading workshops with Arts Train and Dovetail Orchestra.

Recorded live in a single day in Studio One at RAK, Mek Do & Mend was mixed by Rick David through an analogue Cadac console before being mastered by Stuart Hawkes at Metropolis. The aim wasn't nostalgia or audiophile perfection, but to create a record people could return to throughout their lives, discovering something new with each listen.

As Dwayne puts it: "I don't want this body of work to be reduced to a jazz record. It's more like a novel about life told through music."

Berlin-based Dutch-Italian composer and musician Aimée Portioli aka Grand River presents the new album Temporary, returning to the renowned Editions Mego label with her most expansive and focused LP yet.

Rooted in existential ideas of impermanence and flux, Temporary is a deeply emotive work centred on the rich interplay between resonant guitar work and innovative electronics. Written in the wake of profound personal grief and loss, the album sees Portioli infuse her music with a raw, expressive intensity anchored in this experience. Across eight strikingly melodic and affecting soundscapes, Portioli powerfully embodies a dramatic encounter with mortality.

Temporary reprises Portioli’s exceptional streak of material across acclaimed labels including Donato Dozzy and Neel’s Spazio Disponibile, Caterina Barbieri's light-years, Ghostly International, Tresor and Umor Rex. The LP represents the latest tour de force in her distinctive electronic practice. Alongside a raft of lauded releases, Portioli has devised visionary multichannel installations which dissolve the boundary between the art gallery and the performance space.

Her new album signifies a culmination of her work, imbued with the depth of Portioli’s artistry. Shaped by a paradigm shift rising from loss, the record reflects a contemplation of the human condition and the ephemeral nature of existence. Ruminating on the thoughts and experiences that have fed into the record, Portioli reveals a consequential recognition underpinning the record:

"Sometimes, when travelling in places far from home that I know I will most likely never return to, or while accompanying someone I loved towards the end of their life, I become intensely aware of the singularity of the moment, and of how precious and sad this feels at the same time. It carries a particular weight because it will never happen again in quite the same way. Through experiences like these, I have gradually come to understand the temporary nature of all things. They taught me that to live is to experience the present while already feeling the trace of its disappearance, something both painful and blissful." - Aimée Portioli, Grand River

The album is invested with a potent mood and momentum from the outset. Establishing an evocative tone with the subtle, pulsating synthesis, rustling undertow, and oceanic low end of 18 circles to heaven, Portioli gradually ascends through the incandescent modular majesty of Come to stay, and the turbulent, brooding guitar figures of The crossing of the body, the crossing of the mind. The album progresses through the rapturous electronic phasing of The little we last into the coruscating synth grandeur of Let me know when you’re pure, before a thrilling endgame.

Closing with the wavering harp runs, heavy percussive thud, and cataclysmic guitar discordance of Maybe I am dead and this is paradise, and the evanescent atmospherics and beautiful acoustic refrains of Work of ending, Portioli takes the listener through vast landscapes of sound and mercurial emotional states. Intimate and immersive in equal measure, the record traces a compelling sensory journey.

Each part of the album is part of a larger poetic sentence, with track titles forming fragments that together articulate a meditation on transience. From 18 circles to heaven and Come to stay through From the other side and Work of ending, they read like quiet statements about being human, about loving, losing, remembering and eventually fading. The record moves through these states as a continuous passage, depicting a poignant soundworld guided by temporality.

The awareness that our time is limited sharpens the value of what remains. Each encounter, each gesture, each fleeting moment becomes more vivid. Temporary lingers in the space where presence and disappearance coexist, where everything is already passing away and therefore becomes infinitely precious. Things matter because they do not last. Mortality does not diminish life; it intensifies it. In confronting these ideas, Temporary feels irrepressibly alive.

Composed, produced and mixed by Aimée Portioli
Production and mixing assistance by Luca Sammartin
Acoustic piano on Maybe I am dead and this is paradise by Andert Tysma
Mastered by Rashad Becker
Cut by Marta De Pascalis at Schnittstelle, Berlin
Artwork by Nicola Tirabasso
Layout by Riccardo Piovesan

Curió Curió came to flight by chance. Two artists, Rio-born, Austria-based singer and actress Luiza Monteiro and German producer Dustin Braun, had separately reached a fork in their journeys. An opportune encounter soon blossomed into an uplifting, heartfelt Brazilian MPB-groove project shaped by psychedelic disco and studio experimentation. In their own words Curió Curió’s sonic vision “is not straight disco, not straight samba, not strictly old-school but inspired by all of them, creating something contemporary but still nostalgic”.

A modern fusion influenced as much by Gal Costa and Jorge Ben Jor as Say She She and Bala Desejo, their sound deftly plots a course all of its own. A celebration of freedom, movement, love and life, intertwined with introspective moments of reflection. Treating tradition as something alive, migratory and unresolved, the album is not simply bound by a shared love of Brazilian music, but by a deeper question that runs through every track; where does one belong when home becomes plural? As a Brazilian living in Europe, Luiza's lyrics explore themes of identity, culture, and existence. The tracks move between cities and emotional registers without settling, tracing a sense of identity that shifts rather than resolves. Songs like ‘Amor Doente’ and ‘Mar sem Dar Pé’ circle around relationships that resist clarity, while ‘Menina Passarinho’ captures the fear and necessity of committing to music as a path. For Luiza, deepening her commitment to music alongside years in theatre was both inevitable and difficult. Braun’s production follows a similar logic. Initial ideas were often built without obvious reference points, only later incorporating rhythmic and vocal elements that hint at Brazil without reproducing it. Analogue techniques, tape, ribbon microphones and live ensemble recording bring a tactile quality that reflects the duo’s interest in process as much as outcome. Highlights include ‘Bem Querer’, built on an authentic samba street vibe with a super-catchy sing-along chorus, and ‘Vem pra Casa’ with its cosmic-tinged Brazilian boogie flavour. The album closes with ‘A Cor do Meu Sonho’, a quiet act of insistence. A refusal to shrink in unfamiliar environments, and a belief in the strength of difference. It is less a conclusion than a continuation, leaving the central question open. “I started to understand that I can belong to many places at once”, Luiza reflects. “And that can be something to embrace”. Lyrics from the song ‘Raiz’ translate in English to “I value a burning sun and the cold in the air. Constant change is my companion”. With Curió Curió, that idea is lived through sound, story and collaboration. A debut that feels both searching and assured, grounded in heritage yet shaped by distance.

Consummate selector DJ Sundae returns to Efficient Space with Nothing Ever Was, an immaculate compendium of phantom independent melancholia spanning '60s/'70s village green folk, outsider shoegaze and new millennium domestic pop. Each recording an emotional exorcism, Sundae breathes oxygen into music that was barely there in its own time, made in quiet places and crawl spaces, shared only with a precious few via private presses, hobby labels and now-decaying CD-Rs.

Free of any prescribed epoch, continent, scene or rarity, Noughties homemade indie pop opens both sides with the 4-track wonders of The Motifs and Betelmire, unlinked contemporaries finding their place alongside Andrew Jay's Crazy Horse rust, the regional-garage adolescence of Pauline Scribner and the anaesthetised Mancunian guitar-poetry of the late Quigley.

The remaining coordinates zigzag between the UK and US. Folk wayfarers John Strang & Valentine Lewis Lloyd, Virgin Insanity, Kusudo & Worth and Penny Wager's spartan Garden of Eden acoustica find their mirror in Empress and Slumber's close-quarters indie pangs. Chicago power pop fixture Phil Angotti is caught at his most tender, while Teri Rini takes the final bow with her universe-stopping hotel lounge torch song.

A deeper, more personal exploration of Sky Girl's sentimental songwriting, Sundae found himself amassing a cache of tracks too undeniable to remain confined to his anonymous mixtapes for TTT, P.A.M. and Good Morning Tapes, or bi-monthly hour on NTS Radio. Again his emotional sorcery draws together an unlikely cast, their unwritten narrative assembled from fragmented memories of past lives left behind by future horse trainers, ketamine therapists and Fab Four cover band careerists.

With not a second squandered across 1LP, it took a village to bring this new companion into being, with David Bergot's forensic audio restoration, dreamlike imagery from Matthieu Crozier, Ivan Liechti's elegant design and a perceptive foreword by kindred spirit Jessica Pratt.

Curió Curió came to flight by chance. Two artists, Rio-born, Austria-based singer and actress Luiza Monteiro and German producer Dustin Braun, had separately reached a fork in their journeys. An opportune encounter soon blossomed into an uplifting, heartfelt Brazilian MPB-groove project shaped by psychedelic disco and studio experimentation. In their own words Curió Curió’s sonic vision “is not straight disco, not straight samba, not strictly old-school but inspired by all of them, creating something contemporary but still nostalgic”.

A modern fusion influenced as much by Gal Costa and Jorge Ben Jor as Say She She and Bala Desejo, their sound deftly plots a course all of its own. A celebration of freedom, movement, love and life, intertwined with introspective moments of reflection. Treating tradition as something alive, migratory and unresolved, the album is not simply bound by a shared love of Brazilian music, but by a deeper question that runs through every track; where does one belong when home becomes plural? As a Brazilian living in Europe, Luiza's lyrics explore themes of identity, culture, and existence. The tracks move between cities and emotional registers without settling, tracing a sense of identity that shifts rather than resolves. Songs like ‘Amor Doente’ and ‘Mar sem Dar Pé’ circle around relationships that resist clarity, while ‘Menina Passarinho’ captures the fear and necessity of committing to music as a path. For Luiza, deepening her commitment to music alongside years in theatre was both inevitable and difficult. Braun’s production follows a similar logic. Initial ideas were often built without obvious reference points, only later incorporating rhythmic and vocal elements that hint at Brazil without reproducing it. Analogue techniques, tape, ribbon microphones and live ensemble recording bring a tactile quality that reflects the duo’s interest in process as much as outcome. Highlights include ‘Bem Querer’, built on an authentic samba street vibe with a super-catchy sing-along chorus, and ‘Vem pra Casa’ with its cosmic-tinged Brazilian boogie flavour. The album closes with ‘A Cor do Meu Sonho’, a quiet act of insistence. A refusal to shrink in unfamiliar environments, and a belief in the strength of difference. It is less a conclusion than a continuation, leaving the central question open. “I started to understand that I can belong to many places at once”, Luiza reflects. “And that can be something to embrace”. Lyrics from the song ‘Raiz’ translate in English to “I value a burning sun and the cold in the air. Constant change is my companion”. With Curió Curió, that idea is lived through sound, story and collaboration. A debut that feels both searching and assured, grounded in heritage yet shaped by distance.

Curió Curió came to flight by chance. Two artists, Rio-born, Austria-based singer and actress Luiza Monteiro and German producer Dustin Braun, had separately reached a fork in their journeys. An opportune encounter soon blossomed into an uplifting, heartfelt Brazilian MPB-groove project shaped by psychedelic disco and studio experimentation. In their own words Curió Curió’s sonic vision “is not straight disco, not straight samba, not strictly old-school but inspired by all of them, creating something contemporary but still nostalgic”.

A modern fusion influenced as much by Gal Costa and Jorge Ben Jor as Say She She and Bala Desejo, their sound deftly plots a course all of its own. A celebration of freedom, movement, love and life, intertwined with introspective moments of reflection. Treating tradition as something alive, migratory and unresolved, the album is not simply bound by a shared love of Brazilian music, but by a deeper question that runs through every track; where does one belong when home becomes plural? As a Brazilian living in Europe, Luiza's lyrics explore themes of identity, culture, and existence. The tracks move between cities and emotional registers without settling, tracing a sense of identity that shifts rather than resolves. Songs like ‘Amor Doente’ and ‘Mar sem Dar Pé’ circle around relationships that resist clarity, while ‘Menina Passarinho’ captures the fear and necessity of committing to music as a path. For Luiza, deepening her commitment to music alongside years in theatre was both inevitable and difficult. Braun’s production follows a similar logic. Initial ideas were often built without obvious reference points, only later incorporating rhythmic and vocal elements that hint at Brazil without reproducing it. Analogue techniques, tape, ribbon microphones and live ensemble recording bring a tactile quality that reflects the duo’s interest in process as much as outcome. Highlights include ‘Bem Querer’, built on an authentic samba street vibe with a super-catchy sing-along chorus, and ‘Vem pra Casa’ with its cosmic-tinged Brazilian boogie flavour. The album closes with ‘A Cor do Meu Sonho’, a quiet act of insistence. A refusal to shrink in unfamiliar environments, and a belief in the strength of difference. It is less a conclusion than a continuation, leaving the central question open. “I started to understand that I can belong to many places at once”, Luiza reflects. “And that can be something to embrace”. Lyrics from the song ‘Raiz’ translate in English to “I value a burning sun and the cold in the air. Constant change is my companion”. With Curió Curió, that idea is lived through sound, story and collaboration. A debut that feels both searching and assured, grounded in heritage yet shaped by distance.

Be The Mountain (2026) is the latest release from Detroit-based musician STS. The record explores a serene and introspective world shaped by organically morphed textures and slowly evolving soundscapes.

While largely drumless, the album maintains a subtle rhythmic backbone - not through traditional percussion, but through modulated pads, shifting synths, and carefully sculpted ambience. The music moves and breathes without overt propulsion, finding tension and momentum through tone, density, and motion rather than beats.

Much of the record was written during a period of sustained physical and mental strain. A time when daily effort fought against perceived limits. Instead of responding with heavier or more aggressive material, the music became a quiet counterweight to the intensity. These tracks function as an escape from chaos. They are built from patience, repetition, and a gradual transformation.

The title reflects a central idea behind the record: confronting something that initially feels insurmountable, only to realize that the enduring force is the one within us all.

Be The Mountain is about endurance, not as struggle, but as presence.

Selekt Wax returns with its second vinyl offering, shifting the lens from introspection toward motion. Where its predecessor explored stillness and space, Varginha 96 leans into rhythm with a more fluid, tactile energy.

Loopedeville works within a minimal framework but pushes it toward something more animated. Groove takes the lead, while detail reveals itself gradually. The result is playful but controlled, built for movement while still carrying depth beneath the surface.

Inspired by the 1996 Varginha incident in Brazil, the record carries a subtle sense of the otherworldly. Not in a literal sense, but in texture. Unfamiliar tones, slightly off center moments, and elements that feel just outside of reach.

Etched on the sleeve, a poem sets the tone:

the analog moment is now
but, how? release
free form feelings finding
new places in yourself
a sort of synthesis
of interpretations
crash & collide
into the infinite groove of reality
but, is anything really real?

A1 – Varginha 96
A breakbeat driven opener centered on a looping vocal from the Varginha ‘96 incident. Off kilter synth textures circle the groove, giving it a subtle, otherworldly feel. Simple on the surface, with depth that reveals itself over time.

A2 – Varginha 96 (Ohm Hourani Remix)
Ohm takes it into a more stripped back, hypnotic space. Centered around the same vocal, the track locks into repetition and feel. Hazy, controlled, and built for late hours.

B1 – Thunders in Paradise
A driving groove built on dusty drums and a tightly controlled rhythm. It holds a steady pulse, with understated details and shifting textures giving it quiet depth.

B2 – Never Enough
A fluid, late night groove shaped by Loopedeville’s signature swing. Less driving than the previous cut, but still locked in, with warm tones and an easy bounce that carries through.

For two decades, Gun Outfit has been a band defined less by genre than by continuity, patience, and a commitment to making music that reflects their lived experience.
Formed in Olympia, Washington in 2006 but long since rooted in Los Angeles, the group has evolved from a raw duo into a quietly formidable five-piece, their sound growing from scrappy post-punk beginnings into something spacious yet intimate, and always underpinned by an experimental edge.
On Process & Reality, Gun Outfit return with their most ambitious and immersive work to-date, a sprawling 80-minute double album shaped by time, environment, and philosophy. Recorded over the course of a single month in the late summer of 2020, on an 80-acre ranch in Pine Flat, California, while a massive forest fire burned less than ten miles away, the seeds of these songs were stark and strange.
Its title, Process & Reality, draws from the central work of philosopher Alfred North Whitehead, whose philosophy places intuition, experience, creativity, and relationality at the center of existence.
The band’s current lineup reflects both longevity and openness. Sharp and Keith remain the band’s primary architects, joined by longtime drummer Daniel Swire, multi-instrumentalist Henry Barnes, and bassist Kayla Cohen. Additional collaborators include Chris Cohen, Warren Lee, and Danny Sasaki all of whom add further depth, leaving subtle fingerprints across the album.
Musically, the album expands the band’s palette without abandoning its core sensibility. Dulcimer, autoharp, sitar, melodica, keyboards, homemade electronics, and a wide range of acoustic and electric textures appear throughout. The sound is mellow yet expansive, songs move between fragility and hefty atmospheric passages.
Influences surface obliquely rather than overtly. Elements of reggae and dub inform the production’s spatial sensibility. Echoes of long-form European jam bands coexist with sharp post-punk. British folk traditions, American country, and classic West Coast songwriting drift in and out of focus; the band is never afraid to lead or follow.

For more than two decades, Eamon Harkin has helped shape New York’s communal pulse. As a founder of Mister Saturday Night, Mister Sunday, Planetarium, and Nowadays, he’s created and DJed in spaces where dance, listening, and connection blur into something deeper — places where people come together to make sense of the world through sound.

On his new album, The Place Where We Live, Harkin turns that lens inward. Drawing on 25 years as a DJ and curator, he moves between house, techno, and ambient currents with a sense of stillness and searching. The result is a record that feels both physical and introspective — the sound of the dance floor seen through memory.

The title comes from psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott’s idea of “the place where we live,” the psychic space between the inner and outer world — where play, art, and culture help us build meaning. For Harkin, an Irish immigrant long settled in another land, that idea resonates both philosophically and personally. The Place Where We Live captures the tension and beauty of the pulse of the club and the quiet of reflection — an album about belonging, transition, and the quiet resonance of finding home somewhere in between.

Various Small Whistles and a Song, the new album by Chicago-based artist Lia Kohl, incorporates notions of space, social relations, and humor. As the title suggests, the album responds to Ed Ruscha’s 1964 photographic artist book Various Small Fires and Milk, which Kohl sees as a wondrous celebration of ordinariness, one that reveals Ruscha’s trademark deadpan humor and depth. In the spirit of that publication, Kohl created her own series of sonic vignettes, with guest appearances from her close community of collaborators including claire rousay, Macie Stewart, Patrick Shiroishi, and others, reflecting the same sense of humor and mundanity.

The structure of the album—16 one-minute tracks—directly mirrors Ruscha’s book, which comprises 15 photographs of fire and one of a glass of milk. Ruscha’s “small fires” are represented here by recordings of whistles—mostly human whistling, with occasional appearances by train whistles, emergency whistles, and a woman selling penny whistles on the street in Guangzhou, China. About this choice of material, Kohl writes: “I’ve always been captivated by whistling—it’s musical but often a bit unconscious; usually solo but often done in public places. There’s something tender and human about hearing someone whistle, a socially acceptable version of hearing their mind wander.” As with Ruscha’s photographs, the whistles are not random snapshots but windows into social situations, narratives, or spaces.

The “milk” of the title — the 16th photograph in Ruscha’s book — is interpreted here as a single recording: a group of people singing together in Barcelona around 6 a.m. on New Year’s morning, captured through the floor of an Airbnb. Kohl describes this as a social, collective sound that contrasts with the solitary nature of whistling. The song functions as a counterbalance—a quiet celebration of shared experience.

Lia Kohl is a composer and sound artist based in Chicago. Her wide-ranging practice includes composition and performance, installation, improvisation, and collaboration. She tours nationally and internationally, working in theater, jazz, rock, and experimental contexts. Her work centers curiosity and patience, an exploration of the mundane and profound possibilities of sound.

When billy woods released Today, I Wrote Nothing ten years ago, it was an unexpected departure from a rapper who was just starting to make waves in the indie rap scene. After spending the earlier part of his career in the wilderness, woods had managed to crawl out of obscurity with the minor success of 2012’s History Will Absolve Me. Dour Candy, 2013’s collaboration with underground legend Blockhead drew accolades, which only increased with Armand Hammer’s debut Race Music.

Then, woods dropped out of sight for two years before returning with Today, I Wrote Nothing, a record that deviated significantly from what had come before. Where Dour Candy had been concise and focused, TIWN was a sprawling 24 tracks. Where History Will Absolve Me was anchored by hard-hitting beats, anthemic songs, and a couple high powered features, TIWN was comprised of short vignettes, quietly eclectic production, and the only guests were his Backwoodz label-mates. Only one video was released; the claustrophobic “Flatlands”, shot on a shoestring budget in a Brooklyn housing project. Reviewers didn’t know quite what to make of the record, and in many cases, neither did fans.

As is often the case for woods’ albums, many perspectives shifted as the years passed. Listeners came to see the sad, quiet beauty of Today, I Wrote Nothing; a road trip album that doubles as a meditation on life’s journeys and death’s hiding places. The album’s power is in it’s intimacy, it’s insistence on holding your hand through the darkness. Now, TIWN is considered one of the more unique and vital records in woods catalogue. The dynamic woods created with TIWN vis-a-vis History Will Absolve Me and Dour Candy is one that would come to define his ouerve; constant experimentation, a refusal to be pigeonholed, and an unwavering search for the emotional heart of his subject. For us at Backwoodz, being able to repress this album on it’s ten year anniversary is especially sweet, because we remember how long it took us to sell that original run of 500. To everyone who copped one of those and helped us keep the lights on, this is for you too, we couldn’t have gotten here otherwise.

Balmat 17 marks both a return and a new frontier. It is the second album on the label from Patricia Wolf, whose 2022 album See-Through is one of the most beloved in Balmat’s catalog; it also marks the first time that Wolf has turned her hand to a film soundtrack. The results are every bit as magical as fans of the Portland, Oregon, composer’s music might expect.

Hrafnamynd—Icelandic for “raven film”—is a new feature-length documentary by experimental filmmaker Edward Pack Davee. Shot on a mix of film and digital formats, and incorporating his father’s Ektachrome slides from the 1970s, the autobiographical film works on multiple levels at once: a reminiscence of his childhood in Iceland, an exploration of landscape and folklore, and a documentary study of the island nation’s ravens—including a talking raven named Krummi.

Wolf is the perfect artist to score such an unusual film. Mixing ambient music and field recording—including extensive experience documenting bird song—Wolf brings an unusually empathic perspective to her music. In the context of Hrafnamynd, her airy melodies, pensive atmospheres, and vivid textures intuitively complement the film’s grainy film stock and blown-out colors. Friends for years, the two artists further bonded when Wolf asked Pack to film music videos for her songs “Woodland Encounter” (from See-Through) and “The Culmination Of” (from I'll Look For You In Others). Pack used Wolf’s previously recorded music as placeholders as he began assembling a rough cut of the film, which made her a natural choice to help him complete his idiosyncratic vision with an all-new, bespoke score.

But Wolf’s soundtrack also indisputably stands alone as a full-length album. Largely created using the UDO Super 6 synthesizer, it features a carefully distilled palette of warm, string-like pads and darkly glistening mallets, rounded out with the very occasional introduction of nylon string guitar. Musically and stylistically, the album’s 11 tracks represent both a continuation of the ruminative sound of See-Through and also an extension into new expressive modes. Few musicians, ambient or otherwise, are as skilled at balancing melody with atmosphere, or at finding ways to eke fresh at finding ways to eke fresh, surprising sounds out of an intentionally reduced toolkit. Meditative, immersive, and emotionally generous Wolf’s Hrafnamynd soundtrack evokes a range of ambient classics from decades past while confidently marking out its own verdant patch of ground.


Artist’s Statement:
Edward and I have been friends for years, but we really started to get to know one another better after I hired him to make music videos for my songs “Woodland Encounter” and “The Culmination Of.” For those projects we got to spend a lot of time hiking in various locations around the Pacific Northwest with his camera, very nice lenses, and tripod. Keeping quiet, hidden, and vigilant we searched for wildlife, good light on the trees, meadows, lakes, rivers, and skies. Edward was already an appreciator of my music and I was already in awe of his filmmaking talents so it felt like a great fit. Although we work in different areas of art our styles compliment one another. We both tend toward slow and careful pacing, with a focus on emotion and introspective reflections on life and the landscapes around us. For this reason, Iknew that I could trust Edward to create videos for my music. We saw so many beautiful and unexpected things on our filming days, but I was moved to tears once I saw how magnificent and poetic it all was. His video work from the cinematography, to the editing, and color correction helped bring my inner vision to life.

A few months after that, Edward surprised me with an invitation to work on the soundtrack for his new film, Hrafnamynd. I enthusiastically said yes. I had always wanted to work on a film, and I knew that his filmmaking style would be inspiring to write music for. I had recently acquired an UDO Super 6 synthesizer but hadn't used it much. I decided that this would be the synth that I'd use for the film. It has the ability to sound very modern, but can also sound so warm and fuzzy, like a synth from the 1970s. It turned out to be the perfect instrument for this project as the film itself straddles time from the ’70s to today.

When Edward sent me the rough cut of the film, he used placeholder music to help give me an idea of the emotion and energy that he was hoping to achieve for each scene. For many of the scenes, Edward used music from my albums as temporary tracks. This told me that he trusted my work and style and therefore I should just trust my intuition with how to proceed. I wanted to make sure that everything that I made was a direct reflection of what was happening on screen, a mirror of its emotion and energy so people could really lock into the film psychologically. This process took my composing to unexpected places—like being led by a strange cat or a raven that seemed to have something to show me. I found that the approach made the music so much more dynamic than my usual style. I really enjoyed being influenced by the action and dialog on the screen. Thankfully, Edward was very happy with the work. I made sure to handle this project with the utmost care because this is about his life and his family, and an exploration of the experiences that made him an artist and filmmaker. While watching the film many times over, I found myself thinking about my own family and my early memories with them and how the place where I grew up has influenced who I have become. I found that his film invites the viewer to reflect on their own lives in a similar way. I hope that this music and film can guide others to contemplate on the history of their beingness and the people and places that shaped them.

Another aspect to this project is the splendor and wonder of Iceland itself. I had the opportunity to visit Iceland for the first time in 2023. I got to play a show there for the Extreme Chill Festival and met many friendly and brilliant Icelanders. I also got to collect field recordings that I used in the film. It's a fascinating place and culture that easily captures the hearts and imaginations of anyone who visits. Whether you spend your time in the city immersed in its impressive arts scene, or venture out into the wilderness to behold its wondrous landscape, it will leave a lasting impression. The soundtrack is also a love letter to Iceland itself.

The soundtrack of Imaginária Records continues through the natural elements of our planet. Split into the three moments of a single cycle, after the journey (The Trip) and then the places (The Place), to arrive at a conclusive return. The label traces the steps of a metaphysical journey that becomes a metaphor for life, the essence of research and the richness of encounters. And it is in this record: Home. The environment contains many sets of rhythms: those dividing day from night, sun from moon, summer from winter. To all things there is a season. There is a time for light and a time for darkness, a time for activity and a time for rest, a time for sound and a time for not-sound. It is here that the natural soundscape provides a clue, for if we could register all the periods of rest and activity among natural sounds, we would observe an infinitely complex series of oscillations as each activity rises and falls from exertion to slumber, from life to death.

A collection of obscure and unheard metaphysical sounds, 1980-1992

Lost Coast: Some Visionary Music from California assembles little unknown sounds from California’s metaphysical underground. Each recording is stylistically different—dream pop, guitar soli, fourth world, avant-electronic—but they are held together by a regional ethos of the “visionary.” This is music that envisions, seeing through the mind’s eye and conjuring new worlds.

Some people say that California is where “the nuts stop rolling”—where those too eccentric to fit in elsewhere ended up. What was meant pejoratively is easily reclaimed as a celebration of the free-thinking and the freely-freaking. Until the turn of the millennium, all manner of seekers rolled westward until they hit the pacific. Stationed along this edge, music was a way to roll still further: to imagine territories unencountered and wavelengths as yet unheard.

Lost Coast is a commemoration of the people who made these journeys and a resurrection of recordings they made little effort to broadcast. While some of the tracks were originally released on cassettes with modest distribution, others were only shared among friends or never shared at all. Assembled from the personal collection of House Rules operator Zully Adler, these recordings were all found on cassettes in flea markets, barn sales, rural thrift stores, and even stranger places—outside a gem and mineral shop, for example, and on the ranch of a retired mescalin dealer.

Nonetheless, these recordings are eminently listenable. California is a place where the strange and the pleasurable are frequent bedfellows.

The method is instability.

— Violeta Garcia & Hora Lunga

Violeta García & Hora Lunga return with 4ever, their second album and the follow-up to I’ll Wait For You In The Car Park. Released in 2025 on -ous, their debut received airplay on BBC and NTS and was selected for Bandcamp’s Best Experimental Music year-end list. 4ever picks up where that record left off: in ordinary moments, small scenes and the strange emotional weight of being somewhere between places. But here, these moments are stretched across a much larger, darker screen. A night flight, a terminal, a bad connection. When too many feelings are carried from one place to another, everyday situations begin to feel epic, empty, or apocalyptic.

Built from García’s cello and Hora Lunga’s synths, samples and field recordings, the album pushes further into emotion, letting fragile melodies, orchestral cello gestures, heavy low-end and compressed noise melt into something both dystopian and strangely familiar. Its warmth is not meant to be an escape from this world, but something that appears within it. Acoustically, the album lives through the closeness of the materials, the way sounds stay with each other, and in the feeling that even the most unstable moments are being carried together. The album presents itself in scenes that fade into each other: quiet melodic fragments that are interrupted and restarted, unpredictable changes of direction, held together by an inevitable melody, a bright synth harmony unfolding into an almost orchestral cello arrangement. Later, a broken organ-like sample turning in circles, cello melodies appearing as if they were trying to remember a song that never belonged to one voice alone. An endless loop that is placed under changing lights, briefly opening into emotional chords, then slipping back into emptiness.

It is this instability that Violeta García and Hora Lunga place at the center of their collaboration. They do not decorate the cello with production, or place electronics around an acoustic centre. They explain: “On 4ever, we become part of the same unstable surface. What holds the record together is not resolution, but the trust in staying together as things distort, overload, disappear and return.”

Violeta García, an Argentinian cellist known for her solo work and for her role in the punk band Blanco Teta, brings the instrument close to the body, as melody, pressure, texture, noise and sudden emotional weight. García has brought her distinct musical voice to KEXP, Rewire, Le Guess Who?, Bad Bonn Kilbi, Silent Green, TransMusicales, Roskilde and more.

Hora Lunga, a Zurich-based producer and composer working across unstable song forms, treats electronics less as a frame than as a weather system: something that can hold a scene together, distort it or make it disappear. In recent years, his compositions have ranged from experimental song forms, sound performances, ensemble compositions and film music. His ensemble WIRREN consists of up to fifteen performers.

For the past decade, Personal Trainer has served as the ever-evolving creative outlet for frontman and songwriter Willem Smit, growing from Amsterdam's underground scene into an internationally successful touring band An electrifying force in modern indie rock, Personal Trainer blend sharp wit, chaotic energy, and irresistible hooks. Their upcoming third album Human Assholes balances playful absurdity with a quiet undercurrent of doubt, Smit has been ever reluctant as the quote unquote frontman of a band.

New Japanese Ambient Electronica from Tokyo

Composing primarily with the piano, Kotaro Maruyama creates music for a variety of visual media, including commercials and short films. Influenced by the composer Toru Takemitsu, he places importance on the “silence” and "ambience" of sound, aiming to create works where the music quietly depicts a scene.

Kotaro Maruyama's first solo album, "Vapor Curve," is constructed entirely from the sound source of the OP-Z digital synthesizer. Notably, he avoids the concept of harmony for a single tone, instead pursuing a unique "woven harmony" created by intricately layering multiple independent melodies. Using only the OP-Z, and recording everything in a single take without using a computer, Kotaro Maruyama's "Vapor Curve" is distinguished by its uncompromising production style. The minimalist melodies that are layered to create an ambient soundscape, along with the incidental noise that gives an organic texture to the inorganic electronic sound, showcase the raw appeal of sound that is imperfect."

Originally scheduled for release September 2025, this album faced delays due to a series of errors involving the distributor, pressing plant, and cutting engineer. However, earlier this year, Personal Affair teamed up with a new distributor, Rubadub, who introduced them new pressing plant, allowing them to restart the entire pressing process from scratch. Emerging from Tokyo via Glasgow, this release is now ready to deliver a fresh sound to the world."

When the first lockdown hit, Ben Westbeech ended up stranded in Walthamstow after months spent drifting through India and Thailand, unable to make it back to Ibiza. Armed with little more than an SM58, a Korg Minilogue and a soundcard, he pieced together a temporary setup in a friend’s flat and got back into the habit of writing music in splendid isolation.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, Deetron sent over a sketch that instantly hit a nerve. Ben wrote and recorded the vocal for Deep In Your Soul in one sitting, then the track quietly sat and evolved over the next couple of years until Sam resurfaced with the finished version. A final vocal session in Ibiza sealed it properly.
What emerged is one of those records that feels lived-in rather than laboured over: warm, soulful and naturally unfolding across different places, phases and points in time. Another chapter in the long-running musical conversation between Deetron and Ben Westbeech.

On her new album, Neon Summer Skin, Bedouine, the project of Azniv Korkejian, explores this feeling of safety long before one can fully understand the concept. Written with vivid, honest and intimate imagery after visiting her family in Saudi Arabia, it tells the story of family and upbringing, and mourns the end of her childhood. There is a singular resonance and newfound heft in this music previously unheard in Bedouine’s discography. Bedouine is known for making gentle, lilting folk songs that build fingerpicked guitar melodies into tsunamis of emotion. Her masterful songwriting and timeless melodies have earned her praise from publications like Pitchfork, who said her music “boasts a surreal calm and lived in glow,” and Rolling Stone, who lauded her “humble folk-pop brilliance,” plus an NPR Tiny Desk Concert, and tours with the likes of Fleet Foxes and Father John Misty. While working on the record, Bedouine realized the pain of displacement, of searching for home, has been a throughline in her family history. Other relatives have also experienced this sense of loss as they’ve migrated between Armenia, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. “I felt so frustrated about the places that I'm from becoming war torn or difficult to return to,” she says. “My family has been split apart time and time again.” This realization prompted her to document and honor her parents’ lives and stories. On a family trip to Houston, Bedouine recorded a conversation with her mother and sampled the introduction to “Canopies.” The song tells the story of her mother’s time in an orphanage. She was put there by her own mother as a way of escaping her abusive father. Nearby, her mother would sing about feeling her daughter’s essence in the air: "The waves of Beirut's beaches flutter, and how sweetly they blow my darling's air." It’s a story of profound yearning told with the quiet profundity of a flower blossoming.

Cathartic avant-rock, literate DIY folk & experimental composition exploring displacement, love, climate change, belonging & the places we call home - RIYL Jim O’Rourke, Richard Youngs, This Heat, Richard Dawson, Flying Nun. ‘Real Home’ is the new album by the Manchester-born, London-based artist Kiran Leonard. His sixth album proper (not including innumerable tour-only CD-Rs and short-run cassettes), since his precocious debut in 2013, ‘Real Home’ finds Leonard invigorated by inspiration and experience, making passionate, literate, and mercurial music that explores displacement, love, memory, climate change, connections to home and more. Encompassing songs recorded after moving to South London, ‘Real Home’ reflects on ideas of belonging and domesticity through folkloric, stream-of-consciousness songwriting. Across nine tracks, Leonard traces lived impressions of the household and the city, expressing sentiments of dislocation, alienation and stasis, but contentment too. Infusing the avant-rock effervescence, terraced dynamics and visionary lyricism of his music with what he defines as a greater sense of openness, Leonard is as versatile, fervent and imaginative as ever on ‘Real Home’, yet his music is somehow more intimate, affecting, and acutely expressive. Shaped by dual considerations of simplicity and formalism, ‘Real Home’ is by turns beautiful, allusive, and ruminative, an album on which Leonard considers what his songs have resembled in the past and what they mean now. In recent years, Leonard has crafted eloquent chamber music inspired by the likes of James Joyce and Clarice Lispector (‘Derevaun Seraun’), responded to contemporary politics and communication breakdown in the digital age (‘Western Culture’), and compiled solo works and ensemble recordings for a longform ode to Jonas Mekas and to one of Leonard’s enduring themes; home (‘Trespass On Foot’). On ‘Real Home’, Leonard reiterates this abiding thematic focus yet ascends to new, different heights, in music of cathartic delicacy and dissonance where all the myriad dimensions of his work to date seem to crystallize. There are sinuous songs about struggle and defying the pace of city life through drift and diversion (‘Pass Between Houses’), stirring songs of intense feeling and crescendo, described as a form of speculative detective fiction (‘Theatre for Change’). There are touching solo piano ballads (the title track), symbolic contentions with carbon capture and climate change (‘Utopia of Bog’), modes of experimental minimalism (‘Void Attentive’), and other profuse feats of compositional range, embroidered with wild tendrils of narrative and lyrical depth. A record to pore over, and get lost in. Exemplifying the vast aesthetic scope of Leonard’s music, lead single ‘My Love, Let’s Take The Stage Tonight’ is inspired by country lodestar Hank Williams, Russian poetry and a late period love poem by William Carlos Williams. Yet for Leonard, the song signals a sense of accessible materiality, and is the product of a more linear approach to writing songs: “My imitation of the great Hank Williams, in spirit if not in substance…This is one of the best efforts on Real Home at a song-as-object. Looking at it now I realise I was trying to write a song that made itself known as a song to the listener, and I wonder whether that’s crucial if you want a song to transcend its context. And that this is either accomplished through a total openness – by being inviting, by laying the tricks of the song out plain to see, as Williams and his many ghostwriters did so well – or by adopting a knowing aloofness, positioning oneself against the listener but letting it be known that that’s what it’s doing. In this song I try both, but mostly the former: as in, I wanted to write a song where every line follows on from the next.” Imbuing the endlessly elaborate and inventive qualities of his music with a newfound streak of candid, clear-cut melodicism, Leonard has reached a special place in his artistry, on a record that feels familial, and expresses closeness. Assembled with affiliates including Lauren Auder, Otto Willberg, Jasper Llewellyn (caroline), Tom Hardwick-Allan (Shovel Dance Collective), Magda McLean (caroline, The Umlauts), Alex Mckenzie (caroline, Shovel Dance Collective), Isabelle Thorn (Dear Laika) & more, the recording process had a significant influence on the subject matter of ‘Real Home’, in sessions defined by close-knit camaraderie and artistic eccentricity: “The theme of the home obviously recurs throughout the record; the album was mostly recorded in domestic spaces with friends, and the name of the album is Real Home. I like the qualifier ‘real’, like you’re getting past the cloak of the word and towards the thing-itself…also nearly all the percussion in this record was recorded on items from my dad’s shed (jam jars, sandpaper, blocks of wood, etc). Real home record!” ‘Real Home’, like anything by Kiran Leonard, is a record of dazzling multiplicity. Yet it’s a companionable prospect with a central premise; a collection of songs where listeners old and new can find a home. An album led by a scene; of Leonard standing at the threshold, ready to welcome you inside. “Exceptional songs that linger” - The Guardian // “An autodidact of amazing talent & energy” – Pitchfork // “A ridiculous amount of talent…confrontational, celebratory, provocative or perverse – he manages all of these emotions & more” - The Quietus /

Recorded on a packed night at Portland’s beloved haunt The Showdown, this live album captures Jeffrey Martin at his most raw and spellbinding. Although technically a live recording, the album possesses the same fidelity as his studio work, utilising the same stripped-back techniques that allow him to captivate any audience. This performance captures the full power of Jeffrey’s live presence - complete with his remarkable storytelling, both in and between songs - and firmly places him among the most compelling American singer-songwriters of today.

“There's a clarity here that feels hard-won. Honing ideas first explored with his Organic Music series, Tiago Sousa unlocks the final puzzle pieces on Sustained Tones Vol 1. This music is enchanted, the way each layer moves in conjunction with the others: complex structures that feel less constructed than discovered, like stumbling upon ancient mechanisms still whirring beneath the earth. "Readily Reliance" opens as an effervescent sea, waves gilded in neon creating an enveloping sense of eternal motion. Bright organ timbres throw silhouettes and cast Sousa as the deft puppeteer keeping everything moving with an effortless precision. These evolving shapes suspend listeners somewhere between the physical and the cosmic, held in place by nothing but intention and sound.

Drones build rippling foundations in other places, using slower tempos to construct immersive, off-kilter sound worlds where minimalism becomes emotive, almost poignant. The fluctuating tones have a gossamer sheen, creating this interesting sonic dichotomy: a solid surface with fragile rotations beneath. It's music that commands attention; it is so much more than simply aural furniture. Sousa writes these beautiful sequences that are all interconnected, intricate sonic architecture that pulls us further into some kind of unknowable ether.

On the piano pieces, "Smooth Flow Into It" and "Swirling Mist and Thin Dust," Sousa shines sunlight through all the cracks. Washes of melody are effervescent, clouds clearing to reveal the day has not gone. Not yet. Positioned in the middle of Sustained Tones Vol 1, these pieces ground the album in something transcendent yet still earthen: moments of breath inside all that cosmic drift. Darkness finds its way through on "Restlessness," where Sousa smears sinuous electronics into a ghostly sonic mesh that seeps through the skin. It feels like a slow inhale, time suspended long enough to take note of where we are and how we feel before moving forward. Expressive, almost sparkling synth arrangements return to send us back into reality on closer "Becoming a Landscape." Its title hints at larger concepts at play throughout this album, where lines between our physical beings and the wider environment are blurred. The tones that echo throughout these six pieces mirror the echoes inside our bodies, from heartbeats and voices to something quieter, something much smaller and more elemental. By immersing us inside these mesmerising, beautiful soundscapes, Sousa immerses us within ourselves.’’

Brad Rose, 2025

“So, how did this band even happen?” That’s the question most often asked of Winged Wheel, a creatively and geographically scattered collective who have somehow congregated to make a noise that’s unexpected but undeniable. The band includes Whitney Johnson (Matchess, Circuit des Yeux), Cory Plump (Spray Paint, co-owner of the dream venue Tubby’s), Matthew J. Rolin (solo guitar wizard and half of the Powers/Rolin Duo), Steve Shelley (Sonic Youth), Lonnie Slack, and Fred Thomas (Idle Ray, Tyvek), each player living in a different city and bringing their own unique element to the group’s chain reactions. Early long distance file-trading between a few members yielded 2022’s No Island, a debut album that was accidentally really good. Good enough for the band to expand their membership and meet in person for the sessions that became 2024’s Big Hotel, a surgically-assembled murk of high energy kosmische rock with jammed-out tendencies.

Fast forward just a little and all of a sudden the band that started out as a passing idea has completed multiple tours, become a taper’s dream with sets that drift through structure and improvisation, and ridden the momentum to places unforeseen on their third album, Desert So Green. After a run of shows across the Midwest in the spring of 2025, the group settled into a studio on the outskirts of Chicago to track their next record. Though the full lineup had only been solidified for a little over a year at this point, time together on stage led to a quickly-expanding sound and a unified vision of always going somewhere new. To this end, Winged Wheel abandoned the play-now-sort-it-out-later approach of Big Hotel and instead spent hours refining flashes of inspiration into coherent songs.

Jiyu wird als moderner Late-Night-Nu-Cosmic-Space-Jazz beschrieben. Mit ihrem hochgelobten zweiten Album "Totem Of Quiet Mystic" erhielt die dänische Formation internationale Anerkennung von Medien wie Jazzwise und einer Vielzahl legendärer DJs wie Patrick Forge und Chris Coco. Die tiefgründigen, instrumentalen Arrangements, vollgepackt mit analogen Synthesizern, E-Piano, Bläserthemen, Chorarrangements und einzigartigen Bass-Drum-Percussion-Grooves, verschieben mutig die Grenzen zwischen den Genres und reichen von Contemporary über Jazz-Funk und World-Crossover bis zu Spiritual und Cosmic Ambient Jazz.

Straight out of the local mud of the city of Antwerp comes dancing this next Souvenirs from Imaginary Cities slab of free-flowing bits of electronic wonder : Schönen Abend by Simon B. Just in time to ease you out of this endless winter and right into springtime. Like the previous hit by Purple Uncle, this flower takes some time to bloom and fill up your head and body with it's ear wormy fragrance.

It's hazy and cinematic, makes you think of Italian electronic pioneers and their library magic, Patrick Cowley's School Daze and Haruomi Hosono in some kind of gothic manner. It's quite stripped and lush at the same time, rhythms like minimal mechanics make you fly above the river and land just outside reality. It's a nice place where soft jazz tingles right around the dark corner, and that particular mix of exotica and melancholia — the trademark of this port city's best electronic auteurs is definitely in the air. The river still shines, but she’s deeply poisoned. The old town has lost every bit of fresh air but keeps on digging for old gold. This bitter pill is served with delicacy and lightness, the wound is dressed up seductively — feet in the mud, head in the air. Stuff is sensuous, with quiet places reminding of the good side of those times when the big wheel stopped turning ever so madly. A strange quietness whistles through the leaves. Some things take time to unfold. In or out of C.

Four years in the making, this is the solo debut LP of Simon B, a longtime contributor to Antwerp's improvised music scene (Groovecats Deluxe, Wij Blij Trio ). Primarily a double bass player, he also has a deep-felt passion for offbeat electronica and the rainbowy side of American minimalism, which takes front here. The smoky voice on the last track belongs to Nina-Joy Thielemans, Nina-Joy is part of Particals, a trio working with live electronics and field recordings, releasing an lp on Ultra Eczema later this year. Furthermore, you can hear the tenor and soprano saxophone of Adia Van Heerentals on 4 tracks, deepening out Simon's naturally flowing compositions and playing around with his melodies. You may know her from Bodem and her strong presence in the Belgian jazz scene lately.

Simon's electroacoustic experiments — using a clarinet and some outboard effects — were important tools in finding the very specific colour of this record. There's this airy character, like wind blowing through old layers of bricks and over the river, anchored with a deep sense of bass, gathering ages of dust and memories in these eight elegantly wobbling tracks, forming a perfect whole that’s really coming together in one deep listening from A to Z.

The centrepiece is perhaps Come to Me, instrumental and reprise with vocals, but no fillers on this one. Every part of the mystery is needed to come to its end and back again. It's a record that works in the morning, to open up a day and in the quiet corners of the night, with it's sleazy quirkiness, smiling towards you from the right corner of the eye. A perfect compagnon for your long-form wandering habits, light reflections on a wet surface obsessions, coffee slurping in the morning and the forgotten art of beachcombing. Quite essential these days, witnessing a world going apeshit.

Los Angeles artist and musician Shlohmo returns with a vinyl repress of two of his defining albums: "Bad Vibes" and "The End". From the first sounds of Henry Laufer"s early work, it was clear he was forging a new path in electronic music - melding hazy textures, emotive melodies, and fractured beats into a sound both intimate and expansive. Bad Vibes introduced Shlohmo"s lo-fi, slowmotion approach, crafting emotive atmospheres that would influence a generation of West Coast producers. The End, a cinematic journey of chaos and calm, cemented his status as a visionary, blending apocalyptic tension with moments of quiet reflection, made with drum machines, vintage synths, and improvised recording techniques.

A Place In My Memory Is All I Have To Claim is the new album by Australian atmospheric pop trio Hydroplane, the storied 'offshoot' formed by three quarters of independent pop group, The Cat's Miaow. On this, their first music after two decades plus of radio silence, Andrew Withycombe, Kerrie Bolton and Bart Cummings return to the gentle, close-quarters musical world they shared around the turn of the century.

Recorded during 2024 in Melbourne and Ballarat, A Place In My Memory… picks up the thread Hydroplane set down with its precursor, 2001's The Sound Of Changing Places, though you can hear echoes of their other releases, too, with Withycombe noting a through-line from the group's 1998 "Failed Adventure" single. There's little quite like A Place In My Memory…, then or now, though. Maybe you can draw some connections between Hydroplane and their sister group, The Cat's Miaow, while fellow travellers might include Empress, The Ah Club, and further back, Young Marble Giants, Veronique Vincent (the muffled, ticking drum machine also makes me think of Robin Gibb's Robin's Reign).

There's also an umbilical to the bedroom-crafted electronica doing the rounds in the late nineties and early noughties. Hydroplane hint at this through their approach to songwriting, which often builds creatively around loops as structural devices. Through all this, the trio achieve an effortless, organic weightlessness across these nine lovely songs. Many feature Bolton's clear singing voice, drifting along, while guitars, keyboards, drum machines and loops tickertape away. The constituent parts fit together, but they also have a curiously detached quality - think of abstract cloud formations sharing the same sky.

Hydroplane and The Cat's Miaow often dealt in emotional ambiguity and uncertainty, and the uncertainty of the nostalgic. This was always one of the most appealing facets of their music, and A Place In My Memory… is thus named perfectly. I couldn't dream up a better title for the album and its reflections on history, lived experience, and the inevitable tangle between these two phenomena. These reflections variously address such concerns as human cruelty, flight, space travel, adventurism and spiritualism. There's also "To the Lighthouse", not a direct reference to the Virginia Woolf book, but a great title, nonetheless. (They've always had excellent titles, often borrowed, for songs and albums.)

A beautiful collection of drowsy, sleepy pop, humble and quiet, but resolute in its craft, A Place In My Memory Is All I Have To Claim is dream work in practice; a lovely reintroduction. Welcome back, then.

Ostinato as resistance: Rafael Anton Irisarri’s landmark work reimagined. Marking the tenth anniversary of the American composer’s critically acclaimed album 'A Fragile Geography', this new edition arrives renewed, both sonically and visually.

First released in 2015 (Room40) during a period of personal upheaval and creative reinvention, it endures as a testament to resilience, transformation, and the connection we hold with the places that shape us.

Written in the aftermath of a devastating theft, A Fragile Geography was born out of loss. Just days before a cross-country move to New York, Irisarri’s entire Seattle-based studio was wiped out. Instruments. Recordings. Archives. Gone without a trace. He arrived on the East Coast to an empty room and the daunting task of starting over.

“This album wasn’t just a record; it was a lifeline,” Irisarri reflects. “It became a way to process the emotional chaos that followed: uprooting, instability, and ultimately, the slow, intuitive rebuilding of a life.”

Composed and recorded in the rural woods of the Hudson Valley, the album took shape in seclusion, surrounded by nature, and through a process guided by improvisation. Embracing limitations, Irisarri wove textural layers of field recordings with half-remembered melodies from his Seattle years, piecing them together like fragments of memory. Tracks like “Displacement,” “Hiatus,” and “Persistence” juxtaposed haunting stillness with restless momentum, mapping an inner terrain of grief, catharsis, and rebirth.

Among its defining sounds is “Empire Systems,” a monumental centerpiece built around a simple four-chord progression, organ textures, and guitar drones. Gradually, the track expands into layers of immersive loops and thick, enveloping distortion that wash over the listener like a rolling wave. Often cited as the album’s most majestic passage, it captures Irisarri at his most sonically ambitious. With a harmonically saturated structure crafted from restraint and repetition, it remains one of his most recognizable compositions: an exercise in the art of maximal minimalism.

From the outset, “Reprisal” received praise from BBC’s Mary Anne Hobbs, who championed the track on her radio show. Her support played a key role in introducing Irisarri’s work to wider audiences and solidifying his place within the lineage of electronic, drone, and experimental sound artists. A slow-burning elegy, the piece emerges from a haze of distortion and sub-bass, with dense, unrelenting drones carrying a sense of mounting tension. Just as it seems to collapse under its own weight, flickers of guitar emerge like distant light through fog. It’s a meditation on dissonance, resolve, and the elusive possibility of release.

The closing track, “Secretly Wishing for Rain,” is steeped in saudade: a longing for Seattle’s dour grey skies, lush green landscapes, and desaturated sunsets. Through it, Irisarri mourns a vanished chapter of life bound to the city, a time documented in scattered mementos and cherished collections, now permanently gone. A reflection on what could never be recovered: an era lost to time. Julia Kent’s looped cello motifs added a melancholic warmth to the track, marking the first collaboration between the two artists and sparking a musical dialogue that would keep growing in the years that followed.

More than a career highlight, A Fragile Geography has laid the foundation for Black Knoll studio, which Irisarri rebuilt from the ground up. The studio has since grown into a creative hub for countless projects, with Irisarri engineering records for iconic music figures like Terry Riley, Ryuichi Sakamoto, William Basinski, MONO, Devendra Banhart, Grouper, Emeralds, Steve Hauschildt, Julianna Barwick, and many others. Carried by its lasting influence, the album has quietly captured the ear of a younger generation, its sound and emotional arc finding new listeners in unexpected corners.

The album’s new visual language was reimagined in collaboration with Mexico City–based designer Daniel Castrejón. Irisarri captured ghostly images at Gaztelugatxeko Doniene, a historic coastal site in Bermeo, Euskal Herria. Castrejón then treated the photographs with distressed textures and spectral overlays. The final artwork channels the rugged, elemental forces that shaped both the music and Irisarri’s aesthetic, renewing his ties to ancestral ground inspired by the Basque homeland of his bloodline.

Mastered by Stephan Mathieu with exceptional attention to detail, this anniversary edition uncovers every nuance in the sound design, enhancing clarity and presence. With each listen, new elements emerge, inviting discovery and reconnection.

“I don’t experience this album as a document of grief anymore,” says Irisarri. “I hear adaptation and I'm reminded that when everything falls apart, something meaningful, maybe even beautiful, can emerge.”