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One of the biggest “re-discoveries” of obscure eighties US Metal/Hard Rock are Ashbury from Tuscon in Arizona. The band, led by brothers Randy and Rob Davis, did originally record two very hard to find albums: »Endless Skies« in 1983 and the (belated) follow-up »Something Funny Going On« (issued in 2010). However, the roots of the band go way back to the late 1970s, when multi-instrumentalist Randy Davis formed his very first band (called Ashbury South) in Southern Oklahoma in late 1977. The original vinyl edition of »Endless Skies« came out in 1983 (with a circulation of 1,000 copies). ”It was a complete indie project all the way,” states Rob Davis. “We worked mostly on a budget of $ 5,000 for the entire project. Our distribution was through Tower Records in the western United States.” Ashbury's sound has sometimes been compared to Jethro Tull and the Davis brothers are indeed not too unhappy about this comparison: ”We both have a big smile on our face with that question,” they explain. “Yes, we are proud to be compared with Jethro Tull.” Ashbury's first album does feature an iconic artwork. Who was responsible for it and what does the cover signify? ”The cover signifies Creation, and the choices we all make,” elaborate Rob and Randy. “The cover obviously coincides with the opening song 'The Warning', about the Prophet who warns against bad choices, evil and greed. The final touch was a 'fantasy' setting, a look just off from any real world appearance.” Randy and Rob Davis are playing as brothers in Ashbury, they have always been the core of the band: ”We would not continue performing as Ashbury without both being involved. We write independently, and also together, therefore the very creation of the music would be different if one of us left the band. We also both sing lead vocals, so the sound of the band would be altered. I might refer to a recent tour concerning Styx - touring without Dennis DeYoung - therefore it's NOT Styx.”

it’s a pleasure to bring together, on this album, musicians with whom we feel a very special connection, namely Felicia Atkinson, Büþra Kayýkçý, Carmen Villain, Kuniyuki Takahashi, Pavel Milyakov,
KMRU, Ana Quiroga, Abul Mogard and Pedro Vian. All of them have been very generous in their willingness to participate in an artistic experiment: to build bridges between architecture and music.
Each of these artists chose a space and translated it into a piece of music, and the result is a sonic kaleidoscope through which specific territories can be gazed upon from unexplored points of view. The
compositions that make up this compilation are synaesthetic windows through which we can observe with our ears. To look through them, all we have to do is listen and we’ll be able to contemplate, in a unique
way, spaces located in such different places as Vilches (Chile), Istanbul (Turkey), Oslo (Norway), Sapporo (Japan), Nairobi (Kenya), London (England), Rome (Italy), Berlin (Germany), or even in imaginary universes.

In the late 90’s, east-side LA was in the throws of a post-indie explosion; a network of stoned bands ranging from neo-psychedelia to pseudo-country overran Spaceland (our generation’s Troubadour) and the local Silverlake Lounge. I was playing freakbeat records twice a week in dive bars, half of Spacemen 3 was crashing at my house (my drop-out roomate was Sonic Boom’s tour drummer) and it was during this blur that I met Raymond Richards, a clean-cut all-American pedal steel guitarist playing in Mojave 3 (the country-tinged side project of 4AD shoegaze royalty, Slowdive). I was instantly swept off my feet, head over heals in love with Raymond's weeping tone—the most chill-inducing, emotionally responsive dialog I’d had with music since discovering Satie as a child—it was then and it is now, truly haunting. After a year of personnel trials, my roomate and I stole Raymond for our own band, and not only did he smother our songs with his enchanting steel, he was virtuosic with a variety of atypical instruments such as baritone guitar and theremin, he utilized them all. The band was short-lived—I joined Ariel Pink, Raymond fled to Portland and me subsequently to New York City—but in founding the ESP Institute years later, there was always a recurring mental note; we must make Raymond’s pedal steel album. I had managed to wrangle his blessed performance on a remix for Project Club’s El Mar Y La Luna, but it took almost a decade until I once again wore the producer hat and we began working on The Lost Art Of Wandering, a title borrowed from Sam Shepard’s Stories. Spiritually candid, expansive yet enveloping, this is the strung-out, visceral country music that simply radiates from Raymond. Each song is his set of coordinates in a vast open terrain, holding a sentimental familiarity, a truthful longing for the simple comforts that diffuse life’s complications, a place to get lost. –Lovefingers