SOUTH OF NORTH News

Indie Stock places itself in a context it adores and defies. Every wall is movable and no accident is an accident. Just as a song is made out to be one thing it reveals itself to have been the other all along. Make no mistake, there is something at the heart of it all, even though its pulse resonates from all directions at once. The listener becomes the toad, gladly boiled in a shimmering liquid until it is too late: The bass kicks in and cant be unheard.

From 2, Amsterdams self-proclaimed troupe of folk mutants, take stock of it all on this record: hushed affect in tumultuous settings, a mole insurrection of epic proportions, the secret workings of pornography platforms and memory. One song might invite to dance, stumble or float, while another is what a ghost should sing. Above all, it is real. Palpably real in a way only the fabrications of true devotees might ever be. What is a consoculator, again?

'Flowers', the new EP from Elizabeth Davis, finds itself at the cross-section of many factors. In part, it’s the result of Davis’ obsession with a seminal folk song. But it also coincides with her rediscovery of the voice and language as an instrument. It was recorded during an autumn residency at Sternhagen Gut, the cultural refuge run by Gudrun Gut and Thomas Fehlmann, located deep in the Uckermark countryside halfway between Berlin and the Baltic coast.

The six tracks on 'Flowers' all take Pete Seeger’s ‘60s protest-folk song 'Where Have All The Flowers Gone' as their starting point. However, they veer off in different directions, from vocal loops and deconstructed lyrics, to instrumental drones and glitchy, manipulated rhythm tracks. Like many musicians, Davis has learnt composition by a process of disassembly, analyzing musical works piece by piece, and 'Flowers' began as one such forensic exercise. “But sometimes,” says Davis, “a source is so loaded up on meaning that the studies and experiments can become worthwhile and meaningful works in their own right.” 'Flowers' began to take on a life of its own, raising renewed questions about age-old themes such as war, authorship, translation and historical structures.

Davis is no stranger to cover versions. From studying violin to playing in free jazz and punk bands, interpreting other artists’ works has long been a key part of her musical approach. And since her radio show 'Deep Puddle' recently drew to a close after seven years, her experiments with narration and sound collage have found their way into her musical work once again. For 'Flowers', she cut up the source material (with a nod to Gysin and Burroughs), and reassembled the lyrics, the musical notes, and recordings by different performers, to create uncanny new forms.

But perhaps the biggest influence on 'Flowers' was conversations about music, art and pop subcultures with Gut. These dialogues helped Davis find a balance between far-out sound design experiments and catchy melodies, combining a certain avant-garde element and modern day songcraft. And it’s this sense of conversation, this revisiting of topics and renewal of ideas, that will keep us coming back to 'Flowers' long into the future.

Holiday resort entertainer Tooper Keps takes a break from entertaining the professional leisure class, and reflects their own world back at them with an EP of otherworldly synths and eerie carnivalesque chansons.

Tooper Keps has fired up his trusty Yamaha PSR-11 and PSS-360 to write his first (and probably last) EP, condensing his favourite chord changes from years of distracting the retired and affluent. The result is a collection of floating song structures that revolve like fairground waltzes, punctuated by modulated effects, cowbells and Tooper’s own bitter tenor. Tapping into his inner goblin, he tackles themes such as property (as theft), Drexler’s gray goo problem, and the ‘merits’ of complaining about a system while also benefiting from it - a typical parasite’s paradox.

“1000 Guest Rooms” finds itself on location in luxury homes, cruise ships and holiday resorts, soaked in Tooper’s own self-loathing while casting a critical eye over the state of the world. While we hurtle towards a future that no one wants, “1000 Guest Rooms” is perhaps the best soundtrack we could hope for.

In 2023, k.d.b lived in a crumbling farmhouse on the edge of the River Maas. Each morning, he’d wake at 6:00 and walk along the river’s bank with his dogfriend Miemel, pausing at sunrise for a cup of coffee.

It’s 6:34, and a thick rug of mist rolls out across the river. It’s so dense that k.d.b can’t see the water beneath it. Then comes the sun: a single ray cutting through the mist like a tube of light, landing on Miemel’s face. In her mouth is a CD she’s picked up, and on the CD is the title Instrumental Romance.

'What is Instrumental Romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'Romantic instrumentals? Or a romance used instrumentally? As in, a romance used to get something—like love?'

Miemel drops the CD and turns her attention to a stray purple grape on the path. Grapes are poisonous to dogs, and as she bends toward it, k.d.b. shouts, “NO!” At that precise moment, a large fish rises from the mist. It launches into the air, mouth wide open, and hangs there above the clouds. His shout, having traveled across the river, bounces back towards k.d.b with a “NO,” and in perfect synchrony, it appears the fish is also shouting at Miemel. The timing is so perfect, they can’t be sure it isn’t.

The fish falls back down, entering its watery world with an eerie, splashless silence, leaving k.d.b and Miemel standing open-mouthed on the bank. Before they can register the perfection of this duet, another fish (or maybe the same one again) rises from the mist in the exact same spot and launches into the air. Without thinking, k.d.b shouts again. The word “ROMANCE” comes out. This time, however, he is slightly too late, and the word is too long, so “ROMANCE” lingers on after the fish has already fallen back down.

'What even is romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'The construction of mystery or excitement with dead red flowers and timing?'

A foghorn sounds behind him, and k.d.b turns 180 degrees to see a boat moving freight, right to left, along the River Maas. 'That’s strange', he thinks. 'If the river is there, then what’s that behind me, below the mist?'

Staring at the boat and its shipping containers as they float out of sight, k.d.b imagines a man. The man is standing at the bottom of a small valley, holding a fish. 'Who is this man, and what does he want?'

- Jacob Dwyer

The Madrid duo of Pablo Mirón and Juan Vacas return for their second album 'En Perpetua' as they dive further into their decayed collage and psycho-acoustic-geography. While they remain in similar sonic territory to 'En Perpetua’s' predecessor, 'Of No Fixed Abode', the pair lean into newfound confidence in their process, and the endless possibilities from a new Madrid studio. They employ a selection of instruments including violin, harmonica, voices, guitars, a looper, an FM radio and field recordings from a variety of sources, from the Spanish countryside to exhibition sounds. The result is eight compositions of re-pitched meditations, exploring broken music and rhythmic patterns via their uniquely open-ended, zoned-out tonal journeys.

LIMITED EDITION - Riso Print Cover (each individual cover may vary)
4 chop-outs from the Japan (tour) Tape. Edited and turned into full tracks.

'Den Helder is the northernmost city of the province of Holland in the Netherlands. It is largely surrounded by water and seems to edge into the North Sea. It has had a military function since the 16th century, but few know that it is the most heavily bombed city in the Netherlands. Seventy years ago it was almost completely wiped off the map. The following is a story imagined in Den Helder...'

'the third of may' was written and recorded in 2020 over the course of six days spent in an old pumping station in the dunes of Huisduinen near Den Helder.

It got away! The hounds are back on the leash for another session, as Montel makes a bid for better days with this all-out charm offensive of serenades, blissed up patter and emotional blackmail, Palmer-style.

The result is 12 tracks steeped in mind games, romance power plays and neurotoxin rollercoasters, with additional bonus strategies to dissociate with minimum dignity.
Big up Kiwi’s Kiosk..

Home brewed avand garde-ism from Amsterdam

Maria is a trio from Holland and the Czech Republic, who have been producing their own unique post-religious cabaret since 2016. Lyckle, Katerina and Bjorn have amassed seven albums of outsider pop and improvised mayhem over the years. This collection of tracks were mostly made on a farm over a two year period and you can tell the fresh air had a conducive effect on their collective songwriting. A classic sound of drum machines, synth bass, and keyboards holds up Katerina and Lyckle’s vocal interplay alongside Bjorn’s guitars. When the three find their sweet spot, they can conjure up fine slices of whimsical, bleary-eyed pop music that isn’t afraid to smile once in a while and dream big.

2023 Repress!

A stunning follow-up to his late 2018 release. Mostly recorded live at the Apollo Hotel Amsterdam in 1991. This is a compilation of the ''Apollo Hotel CD box'', that Ronald made himself, for family and friends.. BIG tip!

Some words from the label:

From 1986 until 1992, Ronald had a residency in the lounge of Amsterdam’s Apollo Hotel. He would play there 5 days a week, for 5 hours a day. In 1991, throughout several sessions, he recorded himself on a cassette recorder. The recordings were ranging from re-interpreted cover versions to multiple own compositions.

The Apollo was particularly known for its sophisticated and elegant crowd. Guests would come to meet in the lounge to talk business, or end the day with a drink at the bar - dancing was never an option.

Listening to the album, one must wonder how some of this music would go hand in hand with a place like that. It seems Ronald gets lost in music and returns in unequally balanced patterns. Lounge sounds meet drum computer rhythms, punchy baselines, distorted space noises, reoccurring clarinet interludes and improvised piano solos.

Back then, just as now, Ronald never liked to be the center of attention. He simply tried to interact with the surrounding as a provider of the mood - as he explains himself.

Instruments
Live: Grand Piano, Yamaha QX1 Sequencer, 2x Yamaha TX7 Tone Generator, Drumtraks Sequential Circuits, Clarinet, Voice
Added at home: Yamaha DX7 Sounds, Roland R-8
Space Train: Kurzweil Piano, Yamaha DX7, Roland R-8, Soprano Sax, Voice

Recorded live at the Apollo Hotel Amsterdam in 1991, except 'Space train', which was recorded in Ronald’s living room.

All instruments played and arranged by Ronald Langestraat.
All tracks written an composed by Ronald Langestraat, except 'Lowdown' which was written by David Paich & Boz Scaggs, 'Give and take' which was written by Michael Shrieve, Tom Coster & Carlos Santana and 'Orpheus' which was written by David Sylvian.

Between 2009 and 2013 Kim recorded a bunch of music; in the old tramtransfer at the Kinkerstraat in Amsterdam (now de Foodhallen), in Berlin living in a biodynamic living community in Lichtenberg & in an apartment on the Hoofdweg in Amsterdam, that doubled as a grow-house.

The title ‘Oostwestkruisbest’ is a combination of the sayings ‘oost west thuis best’ and ‘ieder huisje heeft zijn kruistje’. The first translates as ‘home sweet home’, where the second means every home has its own troubles.

‘Infinity hours remaining’ was made during a prolonged period of sleepless nights. ‘Kopievankopie’ features, amongst other things, a guitar Kim borrowed from his sister. It directly translates as ‘copy of copy’. ‘Die Trommel, der Trum’ was made using a Casiotone 701 with a drummer boy in mind. The title is German for ‘the drum, the dream’. ‘Ongecontroleerde Dagrestanten’ was made with an elastic band (a broad one, that in the Netherlands were used by mailmen) and a clarinet without a mouthpiece. ‘Oostwestkruisbest’ features pots and pans from Kim’s kitchen.

Montel Palmer jump out of the plane with only a HVW8 parachute for company and land squarely on Chlodwig roundabout. Nod to Roy Ayers, nod to secret ingredients, nod to all the auntys and uncles who know where to go when the sun goes down...and then comes back up again…

Sometimes it only takes a short getaway to the beach at the beginning of a new romance to open your heart to the wonders of the universe. On this record CV Vision taps into the ebb and flow of the sea, the cycle of coastal processes, and repositions the library sounds he’s mastered so well somewhere on the other side of the bay.

White noise washes like gentle waves up against analog synths and acoustic guitars, while the full spectrum of holiday possibilities are reflected: Surf’s Up (Let’s Trip) captures that roadtrip excitement, albeit with some psychedelic twist. But it’s not all sunshine - CV Vision makes sure to show the grey clouds too, with the sweet melancholy of Rainy Days.

Somewhere between dune rides and underwater dives, camp fires and sunsets, CV Vision captures a weekend at the beach in song. After a short moment of reflection (and some hallucinatory assistance), he wrote the lyrics and pieced the record together in the following weeks, to create what you see and hear now.

Instrumental interludes brush up against ballads and field recordings, to paint a wonderfully rich audio postcard from deep within CV Vision’s heart.

Picture the scene if you can. It’s Sunday evening at the Meakusma Festival, 2019. A small audience (in varying states of inebriation and recovery) sit patiently on the floor, drenched in soft sunlight. Fizzy Veins is set up to play - his guitar resting on his knees while he stares into his laptop with an expression displaying amusement and fear in equal measure. He tentatively speaks into the microphone. There’s a lot of reverb. I don’t think anybody has the slightest idea what he’s saying. I assume he’s delivering a joke, but it’s very hard to tell. People laugh. After yet more tweaks to his gear he starts to play some loose, bendy phrases on the guitar, and we are all gently vaporised up Mount Effervescent. Our benevolent guru sits at the peak, speaking in tongues to the freshly formed congregation. The beats start to roll out and the sun begins to set in the evening sky. Fizzy transitions and he continues his long distance narration from deep inside his own reverb. It sounds like he’s in another room. On another planet, more like.

Witnessing the show, as I did, left me wondering how he even manages to boot-up his computer.. let alone produce an album as brilliantly formed and coherent as this!

Yours sincerely,
A. Fizzyfan

Nicolini is back! Delivering two slices of finest DIY post-punk digi (styles), woven together with bouncy basslines, punchy drum machines, and Casio melodies, as Nic’s voice beams in from beyond the ether.

"Oscillation associations

This album is titled Os. When I look at the shape of these two letters, O and S, I realize that they are a rotation and an oscillation.

Os is Dutch for Ox. An ox is a castrated male bull. The primary benefit of castrating bull calves is to temper their tempers, making it easier and cheaper for people to handle them. Os is also an abbreviation of oscillation, -cillation being castrated off. Oscillation means a movement back and forth in a regular rhythm, like breathing, push-ups, tides, swinging or sound. For this album Lyckle was not dealing with oxes or bulls, but with oscillations, guiding them through synths, handling their tempers. If I look at the etymology of oscillation, I learn that it stems from the term Oscilla, which were ancient disks depicting a face or animal on each side. Oscilla is a diminutive of os and means ‘little face’. They were hung in trees during religious feasts honoring various deities, as well as being thought of as purifying the air as they swung in the wind.

The wind chime with its little sunny face, smiling on the cover of this record was hanging in the windowsill of Lyckle’s studio, behind his back, where the wind would make it jingle, averting the Evil Eye according to apotropaic magic. In ancient Rome, wind chimes named Tintinnabulum were decorated with a phallus, which was also seen as a good luck charm. Phallic charm also appeared as objects of jewelry such as pendants and finger rings. It has been suggested that some types of phallic pendants were designed to point outwards in the direction of travel in order to face any potential danger or bad luck, nullifying it before it could affect the wearer.

When I take the record itself out of the sleeve, I see that there are two phalluses carved into the surface of the vinyl, like little ornaments. When you start playing the record, they start chasing each other, going round and round. They point in all directions of the room, but are never able to point at each other. Finally, I am told that it is recommended to listen to this record with the window open, allowing sounds from outside to blend in with the music. "

- Bernice Nauta

With relationships, as with music, timing is everything. When the elements sit together in the pocket, it just feels right - and that groove can’t be forced. Lovers and players can fall in and out of time, depending on the rhythms of their lives, and how they react in the moment. In the end, we’re simply either in sync or not - because Time plays its beat on all our hearts without exception.

You could think of the collection of tracks here as a library record of sorts, and each track inhabits its own universe. Tropical fits various moods and situations, and it could soundtrack any number of activities at home or on a dancefloor - whether real, imaginary, or hallucinated. Strangely enough, it sounds like it could have been constructed from obscure Italian library breaks, when instead every instrument has been played and panned, several times over, across magnetic tape.

The genesis of many of these tracks began when CV Vision moved to Berlin in 2014. His flat had a small chamber where he could fit a drum set, so he treated the walls with foam, and in true DIY style, dived headfirst into recording these tracks. It was the natural next step on an audio adventure that first began when CV Vision picked up the guitar in his teens, and a couple years later started recording with friends in his home town of Bayreuth. Fast forward ten years and here is his debut - a culmination of practising chops and learning instruments, mastering recording techniques and fine-tuning the CV Vision sound.

It’s a sound that condenses elements of acid rock, psych soul, library funk and new wave oddities into a movie soundtrack for your mind. It’s a journey from ‘60s west coast LSD-drenched excursions to ‘80s synth and post-punk mutations. Tropical is a plunge into another time, another music you can simply swim around in and explore.

Side A opens up with Tropical Tune In, which rides in on a clave and a warm wind, blowing a distinctly herbal aroma and recalling exotica dons like Les Baxter and Martin Denny. Following on with the aural equivalent of a sea breeze through your mind, Spaziergang am Meer blows away the cobwebs and conjures some nice library moments like Stringtronics or F eelings . Next, Ba_c_k(Lava) bounces out of a cold wave post-punk melting pot and crashes through the speakers like a blazed Zebedee, with some sweet eastern synths for added flavour, before the rolling bass licks of Der Böse Schamane take us into another dimension, landing somewhere between a psych rock freak out and a Black Ark dub session. Mr Maze channels the arpeggiators of synth outsiders like Mort Garson and Bruce Haack, creating a glorious interlock of robotic electronics and freakbeat vocals. The side comes to a close with the guitars of Der Strand (außer Rand und Band) letting loose like syrupy springs, and setting a languid mood like the bedroom scene in Bedazzled (1967 version). Side B kicks off with Parallel Universum, which comes through like a woozy krautrock workout, all ducking synths with big chord shifts to create an epic deranged beehive of a soundtrack. Im Land der Ameisen evokes the spirit if not the sound of White Rabbit, when logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, before waking up and wandering through the side alleys of Marrakech with the West Coast Pop Art Ensemble and the Electric Prunes, as Ritual (No. 4) blares out the speakers of passing tuk tuks. Ein Wasserfall plumbs the deep synth depths, like Raymond Scott in scuba gear, modular rack strapped to his back delivering oxygen as he swims between connector cables and seaweed forests through a watery underworld. Banana King sounds like a lost soundtrack to Donkey Kong or Mario Cart, if the cart radio was tuned into a synth

documentary hosted by James Pants, while Das Kloster am Berg takes the baton from Brenda Ray and her Naffi cohorts, all dubbed-out niceness and post punk swagger. The LP closes out with Tropical Drop Out, a dreamscape rather than a wake up call, coaxing you deeper into the trek across the desert of your mind.

And that’s Tropical in its essence: capsules from another time, snapshots of another sound, messages from another mind - all in the service of inducing the visions in your head.

written by Max Cole

Welcome to the curious world of Peter Graf York: a world full of city centre safaris and epic train journeys, Soviet cosmonauts and Oakland rappers, filtered synths and plucked mbiras. It's a wild ride inspired as much by Jamaican dub sorcery as by playful minimalism outta the Pacific Northwest.

Many of these tracks were composed on the hoof - literally en route across sections of the ever-reliable Deutsche Bahn network. As such, there’s a certain travellin-without-moving dynamic across this collection, capturing that cinematic feel of window frames flickering past graffiti'd signal exchanges, morphing into rolling hills and green forests. Expedition Bahn is the sound of ideas being set in motion, each track heralding the arrival of an uncanny destination. Blazed beats give way to acid-fuelled electro, and dub rhythms step aside for 4th world meditations as readily as sleepers on a train track.

We can leave the last word to heroic USSR cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov, who spent the final moments of his fateful re-entry giving the administration an earful of righteous proportions (regarding the technical failures of the spacecraft). Taking his place as the first martyr of space travel, Komarov accepted the Soyuz mission despite safety concerns, in order to protect the other cosmonauts. It's an attitude that echoes throughout PGY’s sonic universe - make the most of the trip you're on... ‘cause you never know just which way it will go.

Gear used: Tascam MIDISTUDIO 644, MPC1000, Roland JX-3P, MODE MACHINES DT200, Electro-Harmonix MEMORY BOY analog delay, Nord Drum 3P, MacBook Pro, Logic Pro 9