Buscar:street stains

Mark Ambor veröffentlicht sein Debütalbum Rockwood: eine Ode an die Heimat und die Freude am Leben trotz seiner Herausforderungen. Rockwood, ein Park in der Nähe von Marks Heimatstadt, war ein Zufluchtsort, als er aufwuchs. Ein Ort, an dem man einen Sonnenuntergang, ein Picknick oder ein erstes Date genießen und sich für einen Moment schwerelos fühlen konnte.

Die beschwingten Gitarren, das Schlagzeug und der Bass sorgen für eine Road-Trip- Stimmung, während der Text eine tiefere Verbindung zum Zuhörer aufbaut. Rockwood verbindet Optimismus zum Mitsingen mit Marks verletzlichen Unsicherheiten und schafft so einen perfekten Zufluchtsort.

Mark Ambor ist einer der am schnellsten wachsenden Künstler der Welt mit mehr als 500 Millionen weltweiten Streams, einer ausverkauften Welttournee (10.000 verkaufte Tickets) und mehr als 3 Millionen Followern in den sozialen Medien

Limited to 300 Hand-Numbered Copies Pressed on White, Black and Red Splatter Vinyl OT The Real & araabMUZIKís new collaborative album Zombie is now available as a limited edition vinyl release. The 12-track project, released through Black Soprano Family records, was executive produced by Benny The Butcher and features appearances by several Black Soprano Family members. The BSF boss has been a fan of the Philadelphia based rapper since they met while recording “Coke & Guns” (off the album Broken Glass) and when he had the chance to put together a full project with OT and the MVP of the MPC, Benny seized the opportunity, bringing both OT and araabMIUZIK out to the BSF studio in Buffalo to record what would ultimately become “The Crown,” the first single off of Zombie featuring Benny The Butcher & ElCamino. The guest appearances on Zombie were carefully curated, purposefully tapping artists that hadn’t yet collaborated with OT (outside of Benny) and araabMUZIK in order to deliver something new to fans, including 38 Spesh, Conway The Machine, ElCamino, Rome Streetz, LIHTZ and Amir Ali.

Originally from Philadelphia, invited to New York by Miles Davis, playing at Antibes in 1960 with Charles Mingus and Eric Dolphy, here is trumpeter Ted Curson in 1971... in Paris. With him, a legendary trio: Georges Arvanitas (piano), Jacky Samson (double bass) and Charles Saudrais (drums). A new transatlantic alliance in the service of jazz of all kinds: classic, modal, fusion and even free... Pop Wine is – between Coltrane and Miles with a nod to roots in the club the Caveau de la Huchette – an explosive cocktail but which leaves no stains!

In 1960, trumpeter Ted Curson played with Charles Mingus and Eric Dolphy on stage at the Antibes jazz festival. Eleven years later he was in Paris to record one of the gems of his discography, with a hard-hitting French trio: Georges Arvanitas (piano), Jacky Samson (double bass) and Charles Saudrais (drums).

Arvanitas was also someone who had travelled widely. Originally from Marseille, he had accompanied visiting American musicians in Paris before moving to the States. It was when he came back that the charismatic trio was created with Samson and Saudrais and who recorded, in 1970 on Futura, the unforgettable In Concert and then, the following year, Pop Wine with Ted Curson.

Pop Wine: don’t be fooled into thinking you are going to hear jazz musicians trying to play pop after uncorking too many bottles. For, although the album occasionally tends toward fusion, it is first and foremost a wonderful jazz recording; and a recording with enough fizz to make your head spin!

There are five tracks in total: Quartier Latin reminds us a little of Olé Coltrane (Curson, like the saxophonist, is originally from Philadelphia), Flip Top where the trumpet and piano play out a chase scene through the streets of Paris, Pop Wine where funk and cool jazz meet on the barricades of black and white, L.S.D. Takes A Holiday which breaks out in a style close to free jazz, and finally Lonely One, with the impression that ends this unclassifiable album. Unclassifiable, unless we decide to elevate Pop Wine to the rank of a great vintage.

Hunt & Gather’s debut vinyl release comes by way of Pezzner’s cryptic moniker “The Native Language”. Written as a quasi-homeless man living off the rich in the San Juan Islands who writes music once per year to suffice his own delusions.

Walking the streets in these damp, anxious days that all run together lately, I was approached by a man who would blend right into the neighborhood, layered in flannel and sweatshirts for sleeping.

Rough, but for his shoes. (Never cheap out on anything that separates you from the ground.) “Pezzner,” he called out, from a safe distance. “What did the mangrove say to the marauding hordes.” My soul left my body for a moment and my voice responded on its own. “Petrichor.”

He caught my eye, nodded, left a padded envelope on the ground and vanished. The envelope had passed through many hands, slipped into the bed of a ferry-bound truck, passed from one fellow traveler to another, stashed under the counters of anarchist bookstores, left tucked between books at Little Free Libraries. The greenish stains suggested that at one point it had been swum across a lake. Another DAT, contents encoded here unabridged, and a letter from someone who called himself The Sentinel.

The Vessel lived out his days on Shaw Island, under a canopy of trees that gets smaller and smaller every season. His condition the same, any electricity lit his brain on fire, could only bring himself to compose one day a year, only at night, out of sight. Until he met The Angel, an eccentric with means, who built for him a device.

A Faraday Cage to block all electromagnetic emissions. Burlap walls, for atmosphere. A system of pulleys and levers, wood and rope, all running into a box that sat outside. An entirely mechanical control surface. No electrons in here. The Vessel lit fires, watched the shadows dance, closed his eyes and disappeared into the motion for hours at a time. The Sentinel came every morning to change the tapes. The Angel watched and pondered, his plans unknown.

The box sat sealed, bare except for another set of ideograms, scratched in day by day over time. Inside, the usual bedroom-producer shit. Outside, the ideograms told a story, passed from the Vessel to the Sentinel and drawn by the Angel, of a man who became another creature. Alert to the lowest frequencies, feeling music deep in the soil below their feet. Music that brings messages, from distant friends, warning of new creatures and the danger they brought. Skin alive to the world, so sensitive it can detect the landing of a single fly. A mind capable of keeping a map of the world inside. A mind that can look in a mirror and see a soul it knows well. A mind that can grieve.

After processing its contents, I filled the envelope with granola bars and walked it down to the market. The clerk gave me a knowing look as I placed it on the counter behind a stack of pork rinds from the previous century. As I walked out, a young man carrying a plastic bag and wearing impeccable shoes walked in.