Buscar:rhythm of paradise in my face

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

Without the West German-born Väth, techno would look, sound and feel very different. Since falling in love with electronic music and DJing in 1981, his dedication to the art has never faltered. He plays every party as if it were his last. His broad smile has connected with millions of people around the world. His colourful and curious character has imbued techno with a personality it was often lacking. His selections remain hugely unpredictable, despite the fact that he has been playing around the world for more than 40 years. To remain not only relevant but innovative after so long is a testament to Sven's ability to connect through music on a deeper level.

Technically, of course, he is a DJ who can play for thirty hours and not miss a beat. His track selections seem almost divine, and his aura is certainly otherworldly. But more than that, he is a ringleader who is able to mix the artful side of techno with the playful side of partying. Most famously he has done this for more than 20 years at his iconic Cocoon parties in Ibiza. They single-handedly introduced techno to the White Isle and have been its beating heart ever since. Under his charge, strict style guidelines and exaggerated pigeonholing no longer apply. Instead, he has perfected the art of playing far and wide while always remaining true to his own musical identity.

In the studio, Sven has always been just as unique. He has worked under several aliases but always brought a fresh perspective. Whether securing chart hits as part of OFF in the eighties, serving up brutalist techno and trance-tinged sounds in the nineties or crafting major label albums in the 2000s, his music has remained utterly forward-looking. That legacy continues with Catharsis as Sven teams up with highly respected producer Gregor Tresher for his latest long-form offering. Tresher has long been part of the Cocoon family and is a revered artist in his own right, when the two got together in the studio it was clear they had an instant connection and there would only be one person fit to co-author this LP.

It is a record inspired by Sven's interest in the physical and spiritual processes that take place when we dance. "They are realms into which we immerse ourselves to experience our own mysticism and ecstasy," he muses. "Dancing is a conversation between body and soul and it spiritually connects us with each other." Because of the pandemic, that is of course a feeling that we all missed out on for so long. "No dancing, no paradise!" says Sven. "My imagination for this record was fueled by the many cultural experiences and encounters I have had in my life. They gave me the strength to find a way, the way to myself." And that way to himself is through music, through purifying dancing rituals and the exchange of spiritual energies that are generated in the club.

The thirteen-track album explores all facets of Sven's sound. It opens with the stomping drums but sleek synths of 'What I Used To Play' and unfolds through deep and dirty rhythms like 'The Worm', subtly euphoric highs on 'The Inner Voice' and the bubbly tribalism of the title track. There is the impassioned call-to-arms that is 'Feiern', peak-time melodic workout 'Mystic Voices' and soothing electronic lullabies like 'Being In Love'. The second half of the album takes in many more twists and turns such as the exotic strings and driving drums of 'Butoh', the paranoid techno minimalism of 'NYX' and expansive synthscapes of ambient gem 'The Cranes Of Gangtey Valley' before things play out though rugged beats and emotive chords on 'We Are', which is named after the idea that we are what we think. "With our thoughts, we make the world.? says Sven.

Then comes the moody reflection of 'Silvi's Dream', which was written in French for Sven's girlfriend. Last but not least we have the immersive dream that is 'Panta Rhei', which completes a trio of electronica tunes on the album. Ambient music has been an integral part on almost every album Sven has written because it can bring a certain emotional deepness, a quality that Sven always has been looking for.

'Catharsis' is an adventurous album that captures the good times, the sad times and, most importantly, the times of hope.

Ethno-alternative lo-fi absurdism from the mind of London based multi-instrumentalist & Primordial Soup member, Samuel Huxley. Expect everything from Hindu ceremonial music to dark lounge, post-punk & avant-garde, to Kabuki theatre score & world electronica, any number of which can be found within a single track.

The Romance of Baba Loco is the union of wisdom & madness, eastern mysticism & western folly, absurdism to catch you with yer pantaloons down… Bang bang smash to perennial illumination. Cling clang for funk monkeys. The bejewelled vistas beyond, nihilism be gone… The donkey was not ill-tempered after many blows, on the ass, from the stick. He smiled like a gentleman, and kept on clip cloppin’ towards the promised land…

The Romance of Baba Loco is the latest iteration of a recording project by Samuel Huxley that originally made ambient soundscapes for psychotropics (Paradise Dose). In 2017 Samuel was curating infamous venue and scene of a multitude of glories & horrors, The Five Bells in New Cross, SE London. One of his first acts to play was Primordial Soup, at that time a 3 piece absurdist art rock band. They quickly became friends & began performing semi-improv shows as a 5 piece, and later went on to form Primordial Soup Collective who’s main focus was esoteric experimental theatre & film, and rare multidisciplinary exhibitions.

This changing focus of Soup away from sound provoked Samuel to channel his musical compulsions in to his solo project which had by then ventured far away from ambient soundscapes to shrieking Indian and Moroccan oboes over African & Indian tribal rhythms, with the desire to create the raw lo-fi atmospheres of street music. Gradually guitar styles of South East Asia & Latin America were introduced, leading to backing track solo performances & outrageous live improv freakouts with Craig Deporto (ex-Flamingods) & Luke Bell (Ex-Wild Birds of Britain).

Finally two days before the glorious pandemic lock down, Samuel signed to Faith & Industry, which birthed new moniker “The Romance of Baba Loco” and 3 months worth of ceaseless creation. From the Hindu Ceremonial music of the Shehnai & Nadaswaram to post-punk, absurdism & experimental art, The Romance of Baba Loco finally united two seemingly dissonant sides of his personality in a manner he had not previously achieved. The old material was cast off, and these peculiar fruits of imprisonment, can be found on his first release, “Cling Clang For Funk Monkeys”.

Birds are singing, a soft female voice embraces the stars, then the funk hits the fan: the second album of mysterious Japanese singer Nadja haunts immediately and marks one of the most exquisite reissues in the ever-growing catalogue of Studio Mule. Originally released in 1989 as promo only CD on the Japanese label Polystar, the album features some of the finest eighties pop funk fusion arrangements of the era. A deeply enchanting lost gem, that gets listeners instantly into heavy repeat addiction.

All ten songs are arranged by a group of grandmasters of their art. Japanese saxophonist, composer and music producer Yasuaki Shimizu, man behind the electronic ambient fusion classic “Kakashi”, was in charge for tunes like “Wac-Wack”, a neon light funk pop song, full of soft big city eroticism, ultra-slick synth lines and real funkateer explosions. It’s followed by “夢のとりこ”, the most stirring pop tune on the album, that originally was written by French composer, multi-instrumentalist, actor and singer Areski Belkacem, known for his and long-time collaborations with French avantgarde singer Brigitte Fontaine. Shimizu transformed the song into a low hanging funk jewel, with a cool rolling bassline, dub depth and synths that cry for cosmic help. Above all Nadja signs with a sexy chill, that somehow could only emerge in the 1980ees, when the cold war even made pop music real cool. The follow up is named “真珠のように”, features again music by Belkacem, this time transformed by Shimizu into electronic erotic pop - dreamy, witchy and precisely musical composed.

The B-Side opens with “Velvet Rain”, a funky urban boogie composition by Japanese keyboard player, composer and producer Akira Inoue, enlarged with glimmer camp kitsch, that immediately puts a smile on the listeners faces. It gets followed by “Paradise Catcher”, a soft pop tune with longing string and horn sections, arranged by legendary Jamaican rhythm and production duo Sly & Robbie. It somehow marks one of the strangest songs in their longstanding career, as it is largely minimal orchestral but yet super tight when it comes down to the rhythmic magnitudes. The next tune, “Private Tripper”, also stays soulful, funky and horn driven. Always pleasing the super tight, yet feathery voice of Nadja, that is dancing about boogie grooves and illuminating melodies with a seducing tragical coolness. Finally the album ends with a stylistic break in the overall musical atmosphere. It comes from Japanese musician Hiroaki Goto, it’s called “地図をずっと南へ”and features Afro-Brasilian voodoo rhythms, pan flutes, cosmic piano notes and Nadja, singing like a rain forest sorceress from outer space.

Ten arrangements by a bunch of high-grade arrangers, that all left Nadja’s voice enough space to widespread her talent as a supremely seducing singer, who wrote all lyrics, vocals and chorus by herself in order to present her touching vocal class in a vivid, bewitching timeless style. Come in and get ensnared!

DJ, producer, singer-songwriter, one-half of world-touring soul duo Myron & E (Stones Throw), founder of boogie outfit The Pendletons (Bastard Jazz), part of electro-funk duo Lucid Paradise, and an endless string of collabos. Over 2 decades in the game means multi-faceted artist Eric Boss knows his way around music. Having been there, done that, gotten the t-shirt and watched the fat lady sing, it's finally time for E to take center stage and deliver his finest effort yet with solo record "A Modern Love", an effervescent collection of raw funk, sweet soul, west coast vibes and classic hip hop, produced by Björn Wagner and Steffen Wagner (The Mighty Mocambos / Bacao Rhythm & Steel Band).

"A Modern Love" has all the ingredients of a future classic. High-profile guests Check: with Gift Of Gab (Blackalicious) rapping on "I Wanna Ride", a track with more bounce than a lowrider chevy on Santa Monica boulevard, and soul siren Gizelle Smith featuring on "Spiders", a spooky number that will get you jumping out of your seat like you've been attacked by giant 8-legged arachnids. Need some dancefloor action "Get Next To You" gets down to serious bizniz with crisp drums and a catchy hook guaranteed to get the party started. Something for lovers We've got it covered with "Is It Love", where Eric waxes lyrical about his sweetheart over a honey-drenched soul beat.

From reggae-flavored vibes being served in inspirational number "Your Life Is Up to You" to the slow-burning grooves of "Merry Jane" which features singer Ishtar, the 10 tunes on "A Modern Love" all attest to Eric Boss' talent and versatility. Judging by how quickly the limited edition 45 of album opener "Closer To The Spirit" sold out when it was released, it seems safe to say Eric Boss is a king Midas with the golden touch when it comes to providing fresh grooves for contemporary ears, and "A Modern Love" is set to prove so once again.