Buscar:alive

Rhiannon Giddens reunites with her former Carolina Chocolate Drops bandmate Justin Robinson on What Did the Blackbird Say to the Crow, an album of North Carolina fiddle and banjo music. Produced by Giddens and Joseph "joebass" DeJarnette, the album features Giddens on banjo and Robinson on fiddle, with the duo playing eighteen of their favourite North Carolina tunes: a mix of instrumentals and tunes with words.

Many were learned from their late mentor, the legendary North Carolina Piedmont musician Joe Thompson; one is from another musical hero, the late Etta Baker, from whom they also learned by listening to recordings of her playing. Giddens and Robinson recorded the album outdoors and on location at Thompson’s and Baker’s North Carolina homes, as well as the former plantation Mill Prong House. They were accompanied by the sounds of nature, including two different broods of cicadas, which had not emerged simultaneously since 1803, creating a true once-in-a-lifetime soundscape. The duo, along with four other string musicians including the multi-instrumentalist Dirk Powell, will embark on the Rhiannon Giddens & The Old-Time Revue North America tour in April.

“With the assaults on reality going on in the world today, we wanted to offer another kind of record, like walking back onto a gravel or dirt road while a stampede goes the other way,” Giddens says. “With the cicada choir, this record could’ve only happened at a certain time in the last 120 years. We doubled down on place, time, realness, and old-fashioned front porch music. It’s a reminder that another way exists, with music made for your community’s enjoyment and for dancing–not solely for commercial purposes.

“What is the role of music in our society?” she wonders. “How do we de-couple it from unfettered capitalism, where music is a product and musicians are incidental? How do we use the tools and system that we have been bequeathed in a way that reminds us of other ways of being?” Robinson adds, "Recording this album felt like being back in the saddle. Just this time Joe is not here, and his fiddle is under my chin. The album is about home, the cicadas, the storms, the music, and the people who make it feel like home."

Thompson was one of the last musicians of his era and his community to carry on the southern Black string band tradition. He played a crucial role in the lives of Giddens and Robinson, who, along with their Carolina Chocolate Drops bandmate Dom Flemons, spent their formative years learning from Thompson in traditional apprentice/mentor relationships. His influence has guided all of their artistic journeys as well as their mission to keep the legacy of the Black string band tradition alive.

In further tribute to Giddens’ North Carolina roots, What Did the Blackbird Say to the Crow will arrive just a week before Biscuits & Banjos, the inaugural edition of her first festival, which highlights the deep roots and enduring legacy of Black music, art, and culture while fostering community and storytelling. The sold-out festival will feature a much-anticipated Carolina Chocolate Drops reunion, their first performance together in more than a decade.

Repressed in coloured vinyl ! prod.by Ill Bill, DJ Muggs, DJ Premier, Necro, DJ Lethal, T-Ray, Sicknature, Cynic & Hero / Raekwon the Chef, Immortal Technique, Tech N9ne, Vinnie Paz (Jedi Mind Tricks), La Coka Nostra, B-Real, Howard Jones (Killswitch Engage), Bad Brains, Max Cavalera (Sepultura/Soulfly), Necro and others.

Extirpated from the crepitating bowels of the surging Death / Grind scene of the early nineties and became cult with their frst platter of splatter released in 1991 by Wimp Records (LP) & Adipocere Records (CD), PUTRID OFFAL slowly dissolved in formaldehyde by the middle of the decade ..

But that is not dead what sleeps and the thing got alive again 25 years after its inception offering a brand new vision of its art with the release of the proper PUTRID OFFAL debut, Mature Necropsy in 2015 soon followed by countless Europe tours and festivals appearances like their 2017 gig at world famous HELLFEST captured alive for a DVD release as a bonus of second full-length, Sicknesses Obsessions in 2020 again followed by a slaughter campaign on all of Europe soiled grounds.

Now that their historical label KAOTOXIN / XENOKORP is left for dead, PUTRID OFFAL come back deadlier than ever and hungry for touring and gigging like a zombie for fesh ready to turn the crowd to pieces with their most brutal, to the point and mature album to date, Obliterated Life.

Die in Naarm/Melbourne ansässige Rockband Floodlights kündigt ihr drittes Album 'Underneath' an, das am 21. März 2025 über PIAS Australia veröffentlicht wird.

'Underneath' entstand inmitten ausgedehnter Tourneen durch Großbritannien und Europa, Australien und den USA, und wurde von einer surrealen Phase im Leben der Bandmitglieder geprägt - voller Premieren, der Erkundung neuer Orte und den bisher größten Gigs und Festivals.

Trotz der Vergänglichkeit ihres neuen Lebens auf der Straße erwies sich der Schreibprozess als eine äußerst intime Zeit, die von ruhigen, gemeinsamen Momenten der Kontemplation geprägt war. Die Songs, die dabei entstanden sind, repräsentieren einen Prozess der Abrechnung, der Katharsis und des Wachstums innerhalb der Gruppe. Sie verschmelzen die prägnanten gesellschaftlichen Reflexionen, für die sie bekannt sind, mit persönlicheren Meditationen über Trauer, Erinnerungen und Orte und geben schließlich den unzähligen Emotionen und Erfahrungen, die unter der Oberfläche schlummern, Gestalt. Mit ihren einhüllenden Alt-Rock-Klanglandschaften malen Floodlights auf 'Underneath' eine Metamorphose in Bewegung, während sie im Kern erforschen, was es bedeutet, ein Mensch zu sein.

SCI+TEC celebrates a pivotal moment in its history with the release of I Feel Speed (2025 Remixes), a special project revisiting one of Dubfire’s earliest solo works and one of the label’s foundational releases. Originally released in 2007, Dubfire’s cover of Love and Rockets’ “I Feel Speed” marked a bold venture into uncharted territory, with the Grammy-winning artist taking on vocal duties himself to reimagine the iconic ballad.

In Dubfire’s own words, “Throughout my career, I’ve made no secret of my love—bordering on worship—for Love and Rockets (and, of course, Bauhaus). Tackling their soft ballad ‘I Feel Speed’ in 2007 was a daunting but transformative experience. Over the years, fans and colleagues have kept their love for that cover alive, which makes this new remix package even more meaningful.”

This release brings together a stellar list of artists, each offering a distinctive interpretation of the classic. Stephan Bodzin adds his signature emotive touch, while Yulia Niko dives deep into hypnotic textures. SNYL, whose admiration for the original track sparked the project, delivers a rework that strikes a balance between reverence and reinvention. Rafael Cerato and Laherte craft a dynamic reinterpretation, and indie dance pioneer Erol Alkan offers a genre-blurring remix full of energy and innovation.

I Feel Speed (2025 Remixes) is a testament to Dubfire’s enduring legacy, the timeless influence of Love and Rockets, and SCI+TEC’s continued role as a beacon of innovation in electronic music.

This record marks not only the first-ever release of the This War of Mine original game soundtrack but also a milestone 10th anniversary of the game. With its bestselling status, cult following among players, educational usefulness and recognition as a poignant symbol of war's threat to human lives-underscored by honours such as the recent Special Award from Amnesty International-it has been a decade of remarkable success. Yet, we cannot truly celebrate while wars continue to claim lives, stripping away humanity with relentless and senseless cruelty. To mourn in silence, however, would be equally futile. Instead, we're once again using This War of Mine as a platform for change through the Forget Celebrations charity DLC, now available for the PC (Steam) version of the game. Composer Piotr Musia? is looking back at the creation process for the music of This War of Mine and points out the significance the soundtrack still has for him: "This War of Mine was one of those projects, where picking up an electric guitar and playing on it felt like a good idea, although I'd never done it before. It gave the music this unpolished character - it's rough around the edges to match the grim atmosphere of the game. Just like its characters, I felt lost at first and it took me a while to figure it all out. For this and many reasons, it was an emotional ride and the music still feels special to me."

Audio alchemist Damian Lazarus continues to redefine the boundaries of electronic music with his fifth studio album, ‘Magickal’.

Renowned for his unparalleled ability to craft transformative sonic journeys, Damian Lazarus is a master of rhythm, melody, and vibration—a true pioneer among his generation’s visionary artists. Damian’s broad depth of experience encompasses a variety of disciplines: tastemaker, selector, label owner, A&R and a Grammy-nominated artist in his own right - each informed by his unique ear for sound. He is chief wizard of the hugely influential and culture-defining Crosstown Rebels label, a globally renowned DJ with a penchant for exotic outdoor locations and a highly regarded recording artist with four albums and a plethora of solo cuts, collaborations and remixes in his sprawling discography.

With his fifth album, ‘Magickal’, Damian steps into his next evolutionary phase, combining his newly found sobriety with a more mature outlook while still pushing boundaries and creating unforgettable moments. At the root of it all is the magical power of togetherness and human connection that only music can facilitate. Driven by this core ethos, Damian continues on his mission to share his heartfelt music, taking the dance floor into unexplored realms of experience, facilitating moments of transcendence, bliss and pure, unadulterated magic.

Damian Lazarus, the avant-garde architect of spiritually nourishing sounds, is joined by a stellar lineup of collaborators on his latest excursion. It’s imaginative and mystical, rhythmically captivating and daring in its own way, as is typical of Damian’s approach. Taking consideration of his past, the album references his previous work to create a tapestry of compositions that tap into the energy of key moments from his discography. Drawing on his existing catalogue creates cohesive through lines and thematically serves as a continuation of previous stories. November’s single, ‘Sunrise Generation’, for instance, works as a companion to ‘Vermillion’, which was recorded by Damian with his band The Ancient Moons and vocalist Moses Sumney back in 2015. ‘Sunrise Generation’, featuring the beautiful vocals of Fink, was Damian’s first major release since his Grammy-nominated 2021 collaboration ‘Don’t Be Afraid’ with Diplo and Jungle, and continues to take inspiration from global gatherings at solstice and those moments of collective awe at sunrise.

Indeed, the album’s themes of mental elevation and psychedelic sonic journeys are evident throughout. Damian channels this energy through tracks like the soulful ‘So Low’, featuring the incredible Zoe Kypri, and the luminous ‘Searchin’, with Jem Cooke, whose collaboration with Damian dates back to ‘Flourish’ (2020) and lead single ‘Into The Sun’. Uplifting is the operative word here, as Damian aims straight for our hearts and inner selves, stripping away the layers to take us on a trip inwards, and out into the ether all at once. There’s a clear nod to Damian’s appreciation of amapiano when he teams up with Ghanaian interdisciplinary healer Jojo Abot on ‘Warrior Dance’. Old friend and inspirer Mathew Jonson brings his virtuoso touch to ‘Are You Dreaming?’, while TEED and A-Trak form an awesome alliance for ‘Falling Down’ with its heartrending vocals. ‘Alive’ features the Bloom Twins, and also additional production from acclaimed producer Mark Ralph, who incidentally worked on Damian’s debut album ‘Smoke The Monster Out’ in 2009 and forms another throughline to the past. ‘Alive’ blends pop sensibilities and song structure with Damian’s inimitable sound - and could become one of Damian’s biggest moments to date. ‘La Hija De Juan Simon’ delves into the Latin energy synonymous with vibrancy and self-expression as Damian teams up with acclaimed Spanish flamenco-influenced duo Mëstiza. On a solo tip, he rolls out with the eight-minute-plus soulful funk flex ‘Why Don’t U’.

In a suitably aligned instance of serendipity, the arrival of ‘Magickal’ comes at a pivotal period in Damian’s life, just as it has been with previous album concepts. Albums made and released during big shifts in his life speak to the correlation between growth, personal evolution, creativity, catharsis and sharing that process musically. The last album ‘Flourish’, for instance, was recorded and released in the space of a few months during the first summer of the global pandemic. As a result, there’s a kind of vulnerability in the music, a subtle story that’s being told with emotional touchpoints that will be relevant to anyone listening. The universal human experience and spectrum of emotions are things almost everyone can relate to. With the enhanced clarity of his sobriety, Damian’s compositions embody the uplifting nature of simply being alive, connected and unified in our love for music and one another.

Day Zero, Damian’s iconic annual festival, is intrinsically linked to ‘Magickal’. It’s the setting for his imagination when producing the music, it’s the launchpad for each year’s kaleidoscopic adventures around the world, and this year’s edition will be the backdrop to the release of ‘Magickal’. As the pinnacle of Damian’s annual experiences, Day Zero marks a vital milestone for his artistry, an extension of his inner realm, carefully curated and created for his global family of lovers and dancers to revel in the awe-inspiring beauty of Mother Nature. Central to the ethos of Day Zero is its sustainability practices and deep consideration for the locality within which it is held. Connections with local elders embolden its depth, cultivating a strongly aligned purpose with the ritual, customs and energy of the land and its people.

‘Magickal’ will be released in the same week as Day Zero, tying the two projects together in a neat dovetail. 12 years since it started, Day Zero continues to play a significant role in the music Damian makes, curates and plays. For him, it’s the epitome of his vision: a stunning natural setting, the very best party people from around the world, an unparalleled lineup of friends and family, high production values, eco-centric policies and music from another dimension. With these interdimensional transmissions, Damian channels his inner alchemist, which, in turn, permeates into the vibrational framework of ‘Magickal’.

Never one to adhere to convention, Damian has opted for a disruptive album release. ‘Magickal’ is to be kept under wraps and then announced and released on Crosstown Rebels on 8th January 2025, bypassing the modern trend of prolonged single drops and ‘tombstone’ album releases. ‘Magickal’ is the embodiment of Damian and his intentional, against-the-grain approach and reinforces the album as a complete artistic statement, offering listeners the full cohesive experience from the very beginning. This is a return to the album as the pinnacle moment and not the afterthought. Singles, edits and remixes will follow the ‘Magickal album’ release, and, of course, there will be a world tour to promote the album (including Glastonbury and Coachella) and a chance to present the album in exciting, innovative and unique ways.

Forever dreaming, a sincere student of magic, new and old, social sorcerer, lover of nature and master of musical wizardry, Damian Lazarus is a potent force. With ‘Magickal’, he reaffirms his place as one of electronic music’s most influential figures, taking listeners on a profound journey into sound, spirit, and connection.

15 Iconic David Meiser's tracks boosted & remastered celebrating 15
years of career (2010 - 2025).
3 x 12" Special Edition Vinyl Box Set. (Only 100 copies).

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Madronas’ debut LP Erogenous Biome is an amorphous, murky, cathartic offering. A duet of modular synthesizer and winds that’s equal parts doom and ecstasy, it’s the sound of a majestic butterfly emerging from it’s slimy chrysalis just in time to catch the sun setting on the end of days, a bewitching, heavy ceremony, a power-wash of both mind and spirit.

Tracked in one continuous take at Brooklyn’s Heavy Meadow studio, individual tracks were gleaned from the purge and eschew predictable structures, making for a dense, fluid suite of improvisation, like dancing smoke ribbons in the dark. The duo's chosen sound sources are seemingly opposite - Ry Fyan’s modular’s coming from electronic oscillators, Isaiah Barr’s saxophone and various flutes originating with the breath - but the visceral, imprecise, alive quality to the sound of both lends the record a thrilling combination of rapturous harmony and gritty, intense friction.

Opening the session in ritualistic, foreboding fashion, Voluntary lurches to life with rattles and wandering, bassy arpeggios before a suona’s cry signals the seance has officially begun. Ostraca Loam spits explosive modular rhythms and eerie shrieks for the flute to float above, while Detritus Harp smudges mechanical whirring, pensive horn and wind chimes for an untethered drift. Petrified Microdot swells with menacing sci-fi sequences and breathtaking sax runs until they both run out of breath, and Negative Lingam starts out in a panic of breathy riffing before exhaling into one of the most sublime passages on the record. Rhythmic pounding and undulating flutes punctuate Lenticular Shroud, before The Preparation Of The Novel sets the winds aside for a synthesized dual fit for electric dreams. The title track dominates the B-side, it's shimmering levity slowly unfurling to reveal itself as a kind of post-apocalyptic devotional music, deep space drifting grounded by earthly flutes, and Vale Of Cashmere offers an ascetic, contemplative closure, sparse flute and chiming rhythms organic or electronic - by this time it’s hard to know, it doesn’t matter either way.

Erogenous Biome is a world of it’s own, and one Impatience is honored to offer a window into.

RIYL - Senyawa, witchcraft, Colin Stetson , Civilistjavel, Mars (the planet), Finis Africae, raga, Stephen O’Malley, modular synthesizer, Anthony Braxton, Shabaka.

Madronas is Ry Fyan and Isaiah Barr. Fyan is a painter and tattoo artist, this is his first release. Barr is a prolific instigator of the downtown New York scene, producing and playing saxophone in jazz circles with his group Onyx Collective, as a player and/or producer on records by Nick Hakim, David Byrne and Wiki, performing live with William Parker and as part of his projects Universal Space Jam and Cafe Dewanee.

Erogenous Biome was recorded and mastered by Griffin Jennings at Heavy Meadow, Brooklyn.

Vinyl was cut by Beau Thomas at Ten Eight Seven Mastering, Berlin.

Artwork is by Ry Fyan, typography and layout by Nicolas Turek.

Auf dem vierten Album von Chrystia Cabral als SPELLLING verwandelt die Künstlerin aus der Bay Area ihr gefeiertes Avant-Pop-Projekt in einen Spiegel. Cabrals Texte auf „Portrait of My Heart“ befassen sich mit Liebe, Intimität, Angst und Entfremdung und tauschen den allegorischen Ansatz vieler ihrer früheren Werke gegen einen Blick in ihr menschliches Herz. Die thematische Unverblümtheit des Albums spiegelt sich in den Arrangements wider und macht es zum bisher schärfsten und direktesten SPELLLING-Album. Vom düsteren Minimalismus ihrer frühesten Musik über den üppig orchestrierten Prog-Pop von „The Turning Wheel“ aus dem Jahr 2021 bis hin zu diesem neuen energiegeladenen Ausdruck ihres kreativen Geistes hat Cabral immer wieder bewiesen, dass SPELLLING alles sein kann, was sie braucht. Der Titeltrack mit seinem treibenden Drum-Groove und dem hymnischen Refrain von „I don't belong here“ ist die stärkste Verkörperung der Hinwendung des Albums zu emotionaler Direktheit. Sobald sich die Hauptmelodie herauskristallisiert hatte, nutzte Cabral den Song als Werkzeug, um ihre Ängste als Performerin zu verarbeiten, und entschied sich für eine straffere, rockigere Komposition. Diese Transformation spiegelt die allgemeine Verlagerung des Albums in Richtung Energie und Unmittelbarkeit wider, die von der Kernband Wyatt Overson (Gitarre), Patrick Shelley (Schlagzeug) und Giulio Xavier Cetto (Bass) vorangetrieben wird, deren Zusammenarbeit neue Konturen des SPELLLING-Sounds offenbart. Cabral schreibt und demontiert immer noch alleine, aber die Präsentation der Songs für „Portrait of My Heart“ vor ihren Bandkollegen hat ihr geholfen, die späteren lebendigen, organischen Formen zu entdecken. Das gilt auch für die Zusammenarbeit mit einem Produzententrio: Drew Vandenberg, der Tontechniker von „The Turning Wheel“, Rob Bisel, der mit SZA zusammenarbeitet, und Psymun, der Produzent von Yves Tumor. Wichtige Gastbeiträge prägen das Album zusätzlich. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) liefert SPELLLINGs erstes Duett auf „Mount Analogue“, Turnstile-Gitarrist Pat McCrory verwandelt Cabrals ursprüngliches Piano-Demo für „Alibi“ in die knackige, rifflastige Version, die auf dem Album zu hören ist, während Braxton Marcellous von Zulu „Drain“ seine schlammige Wucht verleiht. Diese Teile fügen sich nicht nur nahtlos in das Album ein, sie fühlen sich wie ein integraler Bestandteil seines Universums an. Letztendlich ist Portrait of My Heart jedoch niemandes Platte, sondern die von Cabral. Sie zieht furchtlos den Vorhang über Teile ihrer selbst zurück, die sie in SPELLLING noch nie gezeigt hat - ihre Gefühle als Außenseiterin, ihre übermäßig vorsichtige Art, die Art und Weise, wie sie sich rücksichtslos in intime Beziehungen stürzen kann, um sie dann genauso schnell wieder abzubrechen. „Es ist wie ein offenes Tagebuch all dieser Empfindungen“, sagt sie.

Auf dem vierten Album von Chrystia Cabral als SPELLLING verwandelt die Künstlerin aus der Bay Area ihr gefeiertes Avant-Pop-Projekt in einen Spiegel. Cabrals Texte auf „Portrait of My Heart“ befassen sich mit Liebe, Intimität, Angst und Entfremdung und tauschen den allegorischen Ansatz vieler ihrer früheren Werke gegen einen Blick in ihr menschliches Herz. Die thematische Unverblümtheit des Albums spiegelt sich in den Arrangements wider und macht es zum bisher schärfsten und direktesten SPELLLING-Album. Vom düsteren Minimalismus ihrer frühesten Musik über den üppig orchestrierten Prog-Pop von „The Turning Wheel“ aus dem Jahr 2021 bis hin zu diesem neuen energiegeladenen Ausdruck ihres kreativen Geistes hat Cabral immer wieder bewiesen, dass SPELLLING alles sein kann, was sie braucht. Der Titeltrack mit seinem treibenden Drum-Groove und dem hymnischen Refrain von „I don't belong here“ ist die stärkste Verkörperung der Hinwendung des Albums zu emotionaler Direktheit. Sobald sich die Hauptmelodie herauskristallisiert hatte, nutzte Cabral den Song als Werkzeug, um ihre Ängste als Performerin zu verarbeiten, und entschied sich für eine straffere, rockigere Komposition. Diese Transformation spiegelt die allgemeine Verlagerung des Albums in Richtung Energie und Unmittelbarkeit wider, die von der Kernband Wyatt Overson (Gitarre), Patrick Shelley (Schlagzeug) und Giulio Xavier Cetto (Bass) vorangetrieben wird, deren Zusammenarbeit neue Konturen des SPELLLING-Sounds offenbart. Cabral schreibt und demontiert immer noch alleine, aber die Präsentation der Songs für „Portrait of My Heart“ vor ihren Bandkollegen hat ihr geholfen, die späteren lebendigen, organischen Formen zu entdecken. Das gilt auch für die Zusammenarbeit mit einem Produzententrio: Drew Vandenberg, der Tontechniker von „The Turning Wheel“, Rob Bisel, der mit SZA zusammenarbeitet, und Psymun, der Produzent von Yves Tumor. Wichtige Gastbeiträge prägen das Album zusätzlich. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) liefert SPELLLINGs erstes Duett auf „Mount Analogue“, Turnstile-Gitarrist Pat McCrory verwandelt Cabrals ursprüngliches Piano-Demo für „Alibi“ in die knackige, rifflastige Version, die auf dem Album zu hören ist, während Braxton Marcellous von Zulu „Drain“ seine schlammige Wucht verleiht. Diese Teile fügen sich nicht nur nahtlos in das Album ein, sie fühlen sich wie ein integraler Bestandteil seines Universums an. Letztendlich ist Portrait of My Heart jedoch niemandes Platte, sondern die von Cabral. Sie zieht furchtlos den Vorhang über Teile ihrer selbst zurück, die sie in SPELLLING noch nie gezeigt hat - ihre Gefühle als Außenseiterin, ihre übermäßig vorsichtige Art, die Art und Weise, wie sie sich rücksichtslos in intime Beziehungen stürzen kann, um sie dann genauso schnell wieder abzubrechen. „Es ist wie ein offenes Tagebuch all dieser Empfindungen“, sagt sie.

On Chrystia Cabral's fourth album as SPELLLING, the Bay Area artist transforms her acclaimed avant-pop project into a mirror. Cabral's lyrics for Portrait of My Heart tackle love, intimacy, anxiety, and alienation, trading the allegorical approach of much of her previous work for something pointed into her human heart. The album's thematic forthrightness is echoed in its arrangements, making it the sharpest, most direct SPELLLING album to date. From the dark minimalism of her earliest music to the lavishly orchestrated prog-pop of 2021's The Turning Wheel to this newly energetic expression of her creative spirit, Cabral has proved again and again that SPELLLING can be whatever she needs it to be. The title track, with its propulsive drum groove and anthemic chorus of "I don't belong here," is the most potent embodiment of the album's turn toward emotional directness. Once the main melody emerged, Cabral used the song as a tool to process her anxiety as a performer and opted for a tighter, more rock-oriented composition. This transformation mirrors the album's broader shift toward energy and immediacy, driven by the core band of Wyatt Overson (guitar), Patrick Shelley (drums), and Giulio Xavier Cetto (bass), whose collaboration uncovers new contours of the SPELLLING sound. Cabral still writes and demos in isolation, but presenting the songs for Portrait of My Heart to her bandmates helped her discover their eventual lively, organic forms. So did working with a trio of producers_The Turning Wheel mixing engineer Drew Vandenberg, SZA collaborator Rob Bisel, and Yves Tumor producer Psymun. Key guest contributions further shape the album. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) delivers SPELLLING's first duet on "Mount Analogue," Turnstile guitarist Pat McCrory turns Cabral's original piano demo for "Alibi" into the crunchy, riff-y version that appears on the record, while Zulu's Braxton Marcellous gives "Drain" its sludgy heft. These parts aren't just incorporated seamlessly into the album; they feel like an integral part of its universe. Ultimately, though, Portrait of My Heart is nobody's record but Cabral's. She fearlessly draws the curtain back on parts of herself that she's never included in SPELLLING before_her feelings of being an outsider, her overly guarded nature, the way she can throw herself recklessly into intimate relationships and then cool on them just as quickly. "It's very much an open diary of all those sensations," she says.

‘LIVE. SHIFT. DREAM.’ : three words for a first EP that invites you to embrace existence, shift gears when opportunities arise and keep your hopes and ambitions alive. That's what PAMELA is all about: electric energy, raw momentum, urgency. There's no time to get bogged down, it's all there in front of us, so let's make the most of it.



In this EP, each track is a facet of themselves, a distillation of their influences and raw energy. ‘Focused’ opens like an adrenalin rush, oscillating between desire and loss of control. ‘G.R.E.A.T.’ ? An explosive Britpop anthem, celebrating individuality with saturated synths and a heady riff. ‘IDNTKNWYT’ invites you to let go and dance without restraint. Then there's ‘Lover's Potion’, which reveals a softer, more intimate side, with a retro, hushed voice that's transporting.



And that's not all: ‘Full Sentimental’ is a powerful confession, where nostalgia becomes an outlet, while ‘Put out the Fire’ burns with urgency and sounds the alarm about the current climate situation.



Co-produced with Pierre Cheguillaume (who also produced Zaho de Sagazan), their tracks oscillate between LCD Soundsystem, The Cure, and Soulwax, blending into dance music tinged with indie rock and britpop. Showcasing their full power live, PAMELA will perform at La Maroquinerie (Paris) in March, after supporting Zaho de Sagazan on her Arena tour.



‘LIVE. SHIFT. DREAM.’ is more than just a start for PAMELA: it's an invitation to feel, to vibrate, and never stop.

Six years removed from their last release, Seattle’s Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam - an ambitious and deeply moving new album that almost didn’t happen. A decade of making music together was put on pause while each of the band’s were called indifferent directions. But as with any good relationship built on mutual love, trust, and a mountain of shared history, the quintet reunited, scrapped most ideas of songs they had put together, and started fresh to work on what would become their best album to date, due out in March on Run For Cover Records. Whereas 2019’s Four of Arrows mostly came together in the pressure cooker atmosphere of the studio with the help of an outside producer, Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous demoing process. With fewer constraints and more control, the band had the opportunity to experiment and take their time, leading to a collection that feels and sounds more fully, confidently, themselves. Built on an “open door policy” for writing and recording, Patience, Moonbeam is the result of how seamlessly all five members contributed to the creation of the album. The result is a record that swings like a pendulum from heavy to tender, playful to weighty, painting a sonic illustration of the pains and pleasures of being alive across eleven songs. What could suffer from a kitchen-sink approach instead comes together brilliantly, a testament to the band’s musical and spiritual connection. With Patience, Moonbeam, Great Grandpa has crafted a triumphant document of what happens when your collaborators become your chosen family.

Six years removed from their last release, Seattle’s Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam - an ambitious and deeply moving new album that almost didn’t happen. A decade of making music together was put on pause while each of the band’s were called indifferent directions. But as with any good relationship built on mutual love, trust, and a mountain of shared history, the quintet reunited, scrapped most ideas of songs they had put together, and started fresh to work on what would become their best album to date, due out in March on Run For Cover Records. Whereas 2019’s Four of Arrows mostly came together in the pressure cooker atmosphere of the studio with the help of an outside producer, Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous demoing process. With fewer constraints and more control, the band had the opportunity to experiment and take their time, leading to a collection that feels and sounds more fully, confidently, themselves. Built on an “open door policy” for writing and recording, Patience, Moonbeam is the result of how seamlessly all five members contributed to the creation of the album. The result is a record that swings like a pendulum from heavy to tender, playful to weighty, painting a sonic illustration of the pains and pleasures of being alive across eleven songs. What could suffer from a kitchen-sink approach instead comes together brilliantly, a testament to the band’s musical and spiritual connection. With Patience, Moonbeam, Great Grandpa has crafted a triumphant document of what happens when your collaborators become your chosen family.

Five Green Moons is the brand new project from the legendary Justin Robertson and here he drops the first fruits of that project with the incredible Moon 1.

This isn't Justin at his house controls. This is Justin delving into his roots and digging around through the likes of P.I.L, Gang Of Four, On-U-Sound, Current 93, Coil, Sabres Of Paradise and all manner of post punk echoes and basement electronics. As the man himself puts it - Moon 1 is a haunted ballroom full of memories. The sound of a dystopian disco. An object on a wonky orbit. A spectral visitation. And it is alive.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

"If you remember Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown masterpiece you will sure be aware of Sean Penn's character stage freight when confronted with the reputation of a certain ""Belgian gypsy guitarist"". Well, that guitarist is Django Reinhardt, probably the first jazz legend to emerge from the European scene, one of the most accomplished guitarists ever, and the undisputed king of manouche guitar.
Born Jean Reinhardt in 1910 and better known by his romani name, Django's legend started as early as 1928 with his first recordings at the age of 17. Right after that a brutal fire burnt his caravan - his wife and him escaped alive but he suffered extensive burns over half of his body, losing two of his right hand fingers. Far from stopping him from playing guitar he developed his own style in order to be capable to keep his passion. And his style became the fundation of manouche guitar sounds to come.
In the carly thirties Reihardt teamed up with French violinist Stéphane Grappelli (1908-1997) and they formed the Quintette du Hot Club de France, in Paris which became the most accomplished and innovative European jazz group of the era, and which you
can enjoy now through the legendary recordings collected in the present Shellac LP."