quête:wings of sunshine

This 8 track EP continues the trend of DONNELL offering up summer anthems with 3 new original tracks produced with his band WINGS OF SUNSHINE along- side STAR CREATURE's in-house producer E LIVE. Also included on the set are remixes from Brazil’s DONATINHO, collaborator and son of legendary bossa nova jazzman JOÃO DONATO and longtime STAR CREATURE contemporary keys wizard MILRLAQI. This is a true worldwide effort with production sessions taking place in Chicago, Edinburgh, Las Vegas, Geneva, Berkeley and Rio De Janeiro

The DAPHNI (AKA CARIBOU) remix of DONNELL PITMAN's "DO YOU WANNA"? first surfaced on CARIBOU's BBC Essential Mix in early 2020. After receiving tons of requests it was time to get it out officially. 2 summertime gems on the flipside: "SUMMERTIME GIRLS" & "NEED MY LOVE". Due end of OCT

Bell Gardens combines the musical visions of Kenneth James Gibson (formerly of Furry Things, now recording as
*Bell Gardens' origins began arguably as more of an experiment than the duo's current 'experimental' projects - McBride's drone- and string-laden ambient symphonies, and Gibson's ventures in dub and minimalist techno - as they sought to manifest their mutual reverence for folk, psychedelia and chamber pop in a traditional band structure without cannibalising any particular past genre. Bell Gardens' sound is less reliant on effects and studio trickery than the pairs' independent guises, laying bare as it does vocals and live instruments with emotional sincerity, and presenting songs imbued with an almost pastoral or gospel simplicity and timelessness.
Slow Dawns for Lost Conclusions was again recorded mostly at home studios, but additionally the band made use of a friend's desert cabin in Wonder Valley, California, and it seems this willingness to retreat from the city has lent an expansiveness to the tracks, in particular the spacious, ceremonial 'Silent Prayer' (written in a snowbound mountain cabin in Idyllwild, C.A.) and the crepuscular 'She's Stuck in an Endless Loop of Her Decline' (mapped out under the stars in the desert).
While the addition of strings (contributed by Lauren Chipman of The Rentals and The Section Quartet) and trumpet (Stewart Cole of Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros) provides a double rainbow of tonal textures throughout, the nine tracks of Slow Dawns for Lost Conclusions are united by an understated elegance belying the newly expanded, communal effort in the studio: each instrument earns its place, nothing is overwrought or conspicuous. Moreover, it is McBride and Gibson's artistry in building stirring soundscapes from the barest of materials in their other guises that lends such assurance and sophistication to these arrangements.
The band is a result of the complimentary cross-pollination of Gibson and McBride's musical tastes - borne from a late-night conversation between the two that grew wings - and it is the universality of the sentiments and their restrained, reflective approach to writing and recording that allows the music to simultaneously straddle the past and the present. The music avoids pastiche, its pedal steel, sleigh bells and harmonies giving a nod to the ghosts of musical genres past, but never overriding or distracting from the emotional content of the sum of its parts.
The album ends with the glorious 'Take Us Away' - one of the first demos Gibson gave McBride when he was on tour with Stars of the Lid - neatly bringing their work to date full circle and exemplifying the band's mindfulness of their own serendipitous beginnings: the dawning of an auspicious, unique musical force.

Bell Gardens - Take Us Away -
Harmonies alert!! Actually, this is rather lovely. Slow-tempo, just the right side of 'twee' and packed full of strings, as if Air and Midlake had been taking balloon trips over the mid-West and sprinkling good-vibes dust across the land. From L.A. and subconsciously plugged into the '60s dream-pop scene, taking in a little bit of Mercury Rev and Brendan Perry en route, stopping off at Pearls Before Swine and Big Star's house for inspiration, before getting stoned with '70s era Brian Eno and Harold Budd.

Two mavericks, out on the weekend, trying to make it pay...

"Maverick was the word that came to mind when I listened to this music. A slightly wayward independence of spirit and outlook. The word originally referred to an unbranded male calf that had become separated from the herd (because Texan rancher Sam Maverick was so negligent in his branding - ‘if it ain’t branded, it’s a Maverick’). But Sam’s grandson Maury Maverick gave it a different twist in his short but stormy Congressional career as the only liberal member of the Southern Democratic caucus. Maury was so out of step with his own folks that he not only voted in 1937 to make lynching a federal crime, he even addressed the House to condemn the practice as barbaric. His attempt to ban racist mob murder sadly failed, but it’s that refusal to march in step which distinguishes the two ‘mavericks’ who made this record.

Who would attempt to combine cunning ethnological forgery, Scottish folk songs, claw-hammer guitar, untutored horn-tootling, elastically relaxed drumming and garage electronic fuckery? Only Greg and Stefan, high on sea, sunshine and mis-judged micro-dosing – that’s who. ‘Don’t drown’ was offered as practical advice during the self-described ‘Yellow Submarine’ phase of making this record. And while they managed to avoid literally doing so (phew), they sound here like they got pretty ‘deep in’ to an Octopus’s sound world all their own. This surprisingly clear analogue recording has just enough Bikini Bottom grit to ensure traction. The tunes are inviting, and the sonic disruptions are too good-natured and goofy to upset even the most delicate digestion.

The sessions have had a couple of years to marinate, courtesy of some pandemic, and are here offered in that most Archducal of vinyl formats, the double ten inch. What are you waiting for, a side of Crabby Patties? Get your water-wings and dive in (unless you’re tripping)!" - Bruce Russell (The Dead C)


Pumice is the long-running, endlessly inventive project of New Zealand native Stefan Neville (1974), whose shambolic music is equally reminiscent of Kiwi pop groups such as The Clean and Tall Dwarfs as well as the country's experimental noise-rock bands like the Dead C. Largely recorded solo by himself on junky equipment, his songs typically feature blown-out guitars, wheezing chord organs, and vocals disguised by tape hiss and static.

Greg Malcolm (1965) is a guitarist from New Zealand who has played everywhere on the globe and with all most everyone, including Rosy Parlane, Toshimaru Nakamura, Tetuzi Akiyama and Bruce Russell, as well as solo releases on his own label, Corpus Hermeticum, Kraak and Celebrate Psi Phenomenon.

The Yummy Fur’s first album of new material in over 25 years is seductive and ambiguous; a fast-paced flip through scenes from art, myth, life and fantasy; a witty whole made from glittering scraps. The band’s original incarnation – fronted by singer, songwriter and guitarist John McKeown from 1992 to 1999 – morphed from making quick-hit cartoon-art songs to Eno and Cale-influenced creepers, populated by characters from McKeown’s life in Glasgow and the films, books and poetry that he lived a parallel life through. Everybody Talks About The Weather delights in using every past iteration of the band as potent collage material: a melee of sounds and ideas existing at once, revealing themselves then dipping back into hiding.
Recorded by the original core trio of McKeown, Brian MacDougall (guitar) and Paul Thomson (drums), Everybody Talks About The Weather comes 17 years after the band reformed for sporadic live shows, and seven years after the release of their sorta-greatest hits compilation Piggy Wings (Rock Action). Ten tracks long with nothing to spare, it is as condensed and vital as their best songs, with a new clarity of sound that allows their ambiguities to come into the light.
The album begins with “Cogs”, a taunting inquisition from within. As McKeown stages a fight between his id and ego, the tension heats up between conversational guitar lines and minimalist repetition; threatening sing-song melody and real, palpable menace. The band members are forced in tandem only to break apart, sustaining a genuine sense of just-hidden danger throughout the whole record – except, arguably, “Headphones”, a looser moment which sees McKeown make an existential something out of nothing while waiting for someone in the car (“I should have brought a book.../My ears are bleeding from the compression on your album”)
The songs are riots of reference: “Unity Over Europe” is a slyly complex two act play about the Mitford sisters – Diana, Unity, and Nancy, in a wink to the YF canon – smashing tragic biographical detail together with allusions to Thomas Pynchon and Francis Bacon. Pynchon is also lifted to serve “Blue Sunshine”, a collision of school shooters, serial killers and fictional fuck-ups (“Fast forward to Compton/Fast forward to Pynchon/Fast forward to Columbine'”) whose buzzy guitar lines are taunting and confrontational like a smarmy teenager. The innocuous title of “My Lasagne” belies a song that exists in several time periods at once: a visit to see Guernica, 50 people with their backs to the portrait of Dora Maar; the time that Picasso painted from; the Reina Sofia and the dirty streets of the Malasaña; myth-making musicians and the myths they’re riffing off overlapping and leering at each other.
All this could be laboured in lesser hands, but cultural verbosity is second nature to The Yummy Fur, who transform all this source material into songs that are weird, sexy, funny and absurd. Meaning is not happily understood or flattened. Susan Sontag's essay Against Interpretation accompanied McKeown as he wrote this album, and she’s paraphrased in “Semolina Ballerina”, the album’s justification of artistic ambiguity. Thomson’s motorik beat leads a gathering of back-and-forth instrumental phrases – including a wiry contribution on saxophone – embodying the futility of trying to parse something definitive from repeated action. “Listen to the very first thing that’s in your head,” Sontag-via-McKeown commands directly, then slinks sideways: “Interpretation is a conversation in an unmade bed”
The album features two more focused portraits, or at least The Yummy Fur’s version of such a thing. “Wanda” merges the life of filmmaker Barbara Loden and the title character of her semi-autobiographical 1970 feature film, with Loden’s then-husband Elia Kazan joining the fray of no-good men in her film. It’s a mix of adaptation and avant-criticism, with McKeown’s wordplay and mannered pronunciation mirroring the way that non-fiction and fiction twist around each other in the song. The title track is a series of vignettes and impressions from the lives of the band’s ‘90s inner circle, positing painter Mac McNaughton as a kind of Falstaffian ringleader. As with Piggy Wings and the recent single “New T-Shirt”, McNaughton painted the cover of Everybody Talks About The Weather – like the album’s music, the image of a coy girl in a white dress is an uncanny amalgamation of styles, suggestions and references just out of reach, as though seen in an art museum in a dream.
The album ends with two reads of the same frustration. “King of Nothing” is the closest The Yummy Fur will ever get to sludge-rock: the band melts together into a dusty, dreary haze as McKeown drowns in a drudgery of personal struggle (“Two jumpers on in Babylon/And only cats to talk to”) and the rhythmic toppling of heroes (Rowlands, Duvall, Munro). The majority of visible dirt is cleaned off for “Say Hello”, an uncharacteristic depiction of throwing the windows open after a dark night of the soul. Here, the situation is still cold and hard (“When the sun burns gold, but the heat never reaches your fingertips”) but it feels surmountable. Everybody Talks About The Weather is an unpredictable album from an unpredictable group, but ending on a moment of almost uncomplicated light is maybe its biggest surprise. - Claire Biddles (2026)

The Yummy Fur’s first album of new material in over 25 years is seductive and ambiguous; a fast-paced flip through scenes from art, myth, life and fantasy; a witty whole made from glittering scraps. The band’s original incarnation – fronted by singer, songwriter and guitarist John McKeown from 1992 to 1999 – morphed from making quick-hit cartoon-art songs to Eno and Cale-influenced creepers, populated by characters from McKeown’s life in Glasgow and the films, books and poetry that he lived a parallel life through. Everybody Talks About The Weather delights in using every past iteration of the band as potent collage material: a melee of sounds and ideas existing at once, revealing themselves then dipping back into hiding.
Recorded by the original core trio of McKeown, Brian MacDougall (guitar) and Paul Thomson (drums), Everybody Talks About The Weather comes 17 years after the band reformed for sporadic live shows, and seven years after the release of their sorta-greatest hits compilation Piggy Wings (Rock Action). Ten tracks long with nothing to spare, it is as condensed and vital as their best songs, with a new clarity of sound that allows their ambiguities to come into the light.
The album begins with “Cogs”, a taunting inquisition from within. As McKeown stages a fight between his id and ego, the tension heats up between conversational guitar lines and minimalist repetition; threatening sing-song melody and real, palpable menace. The band members are forced in tandem only to break apart, sustaining a genuine sense of just-hidden danger throughout the whole record – except, arguably, “Headphones”, a looser moment which sees McKeown make an existential something out of nothing while waiting for someone in the car (“I should have brought a book.../My ears are bleeding from the compression on your album”)
The songs are riots of reference: “Unity Over Europe” is a slyly complex two act play about the Mitford sisters – Diana, Unity, and Nancy, in a wink to the YF canon – smashing tragic biographical detail together with allusions to Thomas Pynchon and Francis Bacon. Pynchon is also lifted to serve “Blue Sunshine”, a collision of school shooters, serial killers and fictional fuck-ups (“Fast forward to Compton/Fast forward to Pynchon/Fast forward to Columbine'”) whose buzzy guitar lines are taunting and confrontational like a smarmy teenager. The innocuous title of “My Lasagne” belies a song that exists in several time periods at once: a visit to see Guernica, 50 people with their backs to the portrait of Dora Maar; the time that Picasso painted from; the Reina Sofia and the dirty streets of the Malasaña; myth-making musicians and the myths they’re riffing off overlapping and leering at each other.
All this could be laboured in lesser hands, but cultural verbosity is second nature to The Yummy Fur, who transform all this source material into songs that are weird, sexy, funny and absurd. Meaning is not happily understood or flattened. Susan Sontag's essay Against Interpretation accompanied McKeown as he wrote this album, and she’s paraphrased in “Semolina Ballerina”, the album’s justification of artistic ambiguity. Thomson’s motorik beat leads a gathering of back-and-forth instrumental phrases – including a wiry contribution on saxophone – embodying the futility of trying to parse something definitive from repeated action. “Listen to the very first thing that’s in your head,” Sontag-via-McKeown commands directly, then slinks sideways: “Interpretation is a conversation in an unmade bed”
The album features two more focused portraits, or at least The Yummy Fur’s version of such a thing. “Wanda” merges the life of filmmaker Barbara Loden and the title character of her semi-autobiographical 1970 feature film, with Loden’s then-husband Elia Kazan joining the fray of no-good men in her film. It’s a mix of adaptation and avant-criticism, with McKeown’s wordplay and mannered pronunciation mirroring the way that non-fiction and fiction twist around each other in the song. The title track is a series of vignettes and impressions from the lives of the band’s ‘90s inner circle, positing painter Mac McNaughton as a kind of Falstaffian ringleader. As with Piggy Wings and the recent single “New T-Shirt”, McNaughton painted the cover of Everybody Talks About The Weather – like the album’s music, the image of a coy girl in a white dress is an uncanny amalgamation of styles, suggestions and references just out of reach, as though seen in an art museum in a dream.
The album ends with two reads of the same frustration. “King of Nothing” is the closest The Yummy Fur will ever get to sludge-rock: the band melts together into a dusty, dreary haze as McKeown drowns in a drudgery of personal struggle (“Two jumpers on in Babylon/And only cats to talk to”) and the rhythmic toppling of heroes (Rowlands, Duvall, Munro). The majority of visible dirt is cleaned off for “Say Hello”, an uncharacteristic depiction of throwing the windows open after a dark night of the soul. Here, the situation is still cold and hard (“When the sun burns gold, but the heat never reaches your fingertips”) but it feels surmountable. Everybody Talks About The Weather is an unpredictable album from an unpredictable group, but ending on a moment of almost uncomplicated light is maybe its biggest surprise. - Claire Biddles (2026)

Motown’s L.A.-based Mowest label lasted less than two years, but managed in that short time to release some of the most adventurous music the company ever put out. And probably the most intrepid—and nowadays, adored—Mowest release of them all was the 1992 self-titled release from Odyssey. This one-off brought elite West Coast sessionmen like Wrecking Crew mainstay Don Peake, one-time Chicago member Donnie Dacus, and arranger/orchestrator extraordinaire Gene Page together with a bunch of West Coast hippie rockers (as Peake says, “We were invited to lunch, introduced to some nice people and told we were going to form a band”).

The happy result was a record that has appeared on more deejay turntables than you can count, a one-of-a-kind blend of funky Motown bottom with a spacy sensibility and sound that fits right in next to, say, the latest Khruangbin album on your psychedelic chill playlist even as it activates your 5th Dimension sunshine pop endorphins. The single “Our Lives Are Shaped by What We Love” is probably the pick to click, but the whole album is a total vibe. We’re reissuing Odyssey for the first time ever in the U.S. (the Japanese have long been all over this album) in blue-green “ocean spray” vinyl, complete with original album art including the lyric insert. Remastered for the format by Mike Milchner at Sonic Vision, and pressed at Gotta Groove Records for superior sound. A must!

NOW That's What I Call Music Vol. 420, a split release between Mom Jeans, Prince Daddy & The Hyena, and Pictures of Vernon, captures each band at a moment in time where they, along with Counter Intuitive Records itself, were in the midst of creating a new wave of emo infused pop punk. Originally released in 2017, the EP sees each band growing in new directions following now-classic releases and hinting at the great heights each would go on to reach in the following years.

Ravanelli Disco Club is a disco house label based in Marseille that was established 2019. Over its three short years they have worked with key artists including Ron Basejam, Jimpster, JKriv, Cody Currie, Retromigration, Joe Corti, and Scruscru, with releases in the wings by Prins Thomas and Pete Herbert.

Next up on Ravanelli Disco Club comes slick French duo Palavas who hail from the sun-drenched coast of the South of France, somewhere between Montpellier and Marseille. Named after the Pavalas resort - that was once the splendid queen of Mediterranean sandy beaches - the AZZUR Records founders are the epitome of the French dolce vita! With previous releases on Toucan Sound and Future Disco, their music is an intoxicating blend of nostalgia and cosmic futurism that dazzles discerning dancefloors every weekend with their shimmering solar odyssey.

On ‘Déesse D’été’ – which poetically translates to Summer Goddess - Palavas pay homage to the vibrant and infectious sound of the 80s, blending disco, funk, and new wave with a contemporary twist. This full-length journey provides us with a perfect summer soundtrack for the sunshine season, with upbeat rhythms and warm catchy melodies designed to get sun drenched bodies moving and grooving. Composed and sung in both French and English, the duo show case their tasteful aesthetic, versatility, and artistic flair effortlessly blending their musical influences resulting in a sound that is totally unique.

From the infectious beats of ‘We Are Strong Enough’ to the soulful ballad ‘One Night is Not Enough featuring Ryan Konline' or the new wave tribute ‘You Can't Get Away’, each cut is a beauty in its own right. Guaranteed to make you feel the warmth of the sun on your face and to lift your winter spirits.

Thirty-five years since the release of their landmark debut album This Is The Story, and 34 since the release of Sunshine On Leith, the second album that made them international stars, The Proclaimers are back with their 12th studio album. And, at the ripe young age of 60, the fire and ire of Craig and Charlie Reid remain righteously undimmed. Dentures Out is a record of the times, for the times, the twins at their political, observational, satirical and fist-punchingly tuneful best.
Dentures Out is 13 songs clocking in at a lean, tight, focused 34 minutes. Only one number, the closing What The Audience Knew, busts the 180-second mark. The rest are sub-three-minute miniatures of polemical pop perfection, recorded at Rockfield in Wales in three quick weeks in spring 2022, lent six-string wings by guest guitarist James Dean Bradfield and produced by Dave Eringa (Manic Street Preachers), his third consecutive album with the Scotsmen.