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Sasu Ripatti presents the third volume in his "Dancefloor Classics" series with five 10" releases coming throughout 2023. Music for imaginary dancefloors, released on Ripatti's own label "Rajaton".

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”Look up, into the light” she said, while the camera shutter clicked. ”Like this? Does it look holy?” His neck felt stiff. Her reply: ”Yes, just like that. What do you mean holy? Like religious? ”No, more like trying to look very far, somewhere beyond what we can see.” ”Okay, stand still, I’m going to come close to you now. The light hits your face great.” click, click, click.

He noticed her fingernails. They were not polished. Natural. Even somewhat rugged, as if something wore out the fingers slightly. What had these hands held besides the camera? What made the edges of her fingernails drift off?

He thought it’s weird to look straight into the camera. The photographer had closed her left eye, the one not looking into the lens. Then it opened, she looked up, perusing the surroundings, then she closed her eye again, then looked up, closed, looking up, very quickly. It all seemed very professional. Maybe she calculated the light, making sure it’s close to perfect. ”What will these photos look like?” – the thought popped into his head briefly. It was liberating to think it wouldn’t matter.

”What’s that song playing?” he asked. ”Wait a sec, Ol’ Dirty Bastard?” she replied. ”Oh yeah, right. But the sample?” ”Hey, could you look up again, like that. No, lower.”

New directions: ”Look out from the window, turn left.” ”My left or yours?” ”Yours, I always try to think from the direction of my model.” How professional! This is a good shoot, so natural. Should I worry about how the photos look like? No, I don’t want to. His thoughts bounced around. What would the story be like? It’s a big newspaper, everyone will read it. Maybe someone drinks coffee and eats a stroopwafel while they do it. Will they place the waffle on top of the mug for a brief while, so that it gets hot and the syrup melts a little? Then it feels wet, and you can bend the cookie.

She broke his train of thought off midway through: ”Now turn right, but look left, and slightly up, but don’t turn your face right.” ”Umm, like this? Sounds like a set of pilates instructions.” she laughed ”You do pilates?” ”Yeah, it’s hard sometimes. Have you tried?” ”No”, she said. ”I’m not good for sports that are done in groups.” ”Yeah, but in pilates you can just be inside your mind, drowning in your private thoughts.”

”What are you thinking in pilates?” she asked, taking more photos. ”Well, mostly just which way is right. And which left.” click, click.

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* 300 COPIES FOR UK/EU* With a friendship stretching back nearly 20 years, it strangely ended up being a couple of childhood photographs that finally brought Ben Chasny and Rick Tomlinson together as collaborators. Both have rich musical backgrounds: Chasny being a member of the psych-rock outfit Comets on Fire but probably best known for his solo project, Six Organs of Admittance, while Tomlinson has released numerous records as Voice of the Seven Woods/Thunders and under his own name. “A mutual acquaintance, Jamie Tugwell, took me to go see Rick play live around 2005,” remembers Chasny. “Jamie kept saying how Rick was sort of an ornery fellow and that I would like him a lot. He was right. I loved his guitar playing right away, which seemed so far from what a lot of players were doing. We had drinks and hit it off. We remained friends over the years.” Chasny became a regular visitor to Tomlinson when on tour in the UK and one particular stay unearthed something serendipitous that would kickstart the making of a joint album. “I was staying at Rick’s house after a show and I looked over and saw a photo of him in a Halloween costume as a box of matches,” Chasny recalls. “It cracked me up because I have a similar photo of me as a robot and I tried to explain to him how it matched his photo.” About 6 months later Chasny found it and sent it to Tomlinson to show him the uncanny likeness of their childhood outfits. “Pretty soon after that we realized we needed to do a duo record and have those photos be on the cover,” says Chasny. “The entire record comes from the photos on the cover.” Tomlinson adds: “It was a pretty odd coincidence. Even down to us both standing on flags with a conifer behind us. We obviously had no option but to use these for the sleeve.” Recorded at Tomlinson’s house in Todmorden over three days one June, initially the pair didn’t quite know where they wanted to go with their musical direction. Tomlinson kept pulling out super rare records from his vast collection for inspiration and they sat and listened to the solo piano recordings of Popol Vuh’s Florian Fricke but they knew they needed to land on something that was intrinsically them. “We knew we wanted to do a record together but we weren’t sure what direction to take,” says Chasny. “When we first sat down to work out some ideas it was pretty much just us getting down to finally having a guitar showdown where each of us tried to outdo each other with flashy moves and ridiculous riffs and playing. After we got that out of our system, we were able to settle down and concentrate on a mood for the record to focus on.” The result is 6 instrumental tracks that capture beautifully fluid and interlocking guitars played with deft grace and skill but also a subtle looseness. On the 9 minute-plus ‘Wait For Low Tide’, the sparse and spacious back and forth playing becomes utterly hypnotic, neatly capturing the kind of natural and intuitive playing that can only come from music made between friends who understand the crucialness of leaving space for one another. While acoustic guitars are the primary means of expression on the record - from the soothing and gentle ‘i’ to the intricate playing of ‘Waking of Insects’ - the pair delve into ambient drone tape loop territory on the humming 16 minute ‘Paths of Ocean Currents and Wind Belts’, which further adds to the deeply textural, spacious and immersive feel of the album. All the tracks were recorded in one take, with the titles all stemming from translations from the Chinese book, The Dream Pool Essays, and then mixed in London at Jimmy Robertson's SNAFU studio, with additional mixing and mastering from Andrew Liles. The laid back, breezy and spontaneous approach to making this record is one that was reflective of the pair’s friendship and camaraderie, with their relationship ultimately driving the tone and feel of the finished album. “We hiked around the countryside, climbed into church bell towers, drank delicious beer in the middle of sunny afternoons, and had fantastic dinners,” says Chasny of the three-day recording period. “I think all of that wound up in the music. I really had the best time in the world.

Hania Rani announces "On Giacometti" a tender meditation on the life and art of Alberto Giacometti and family. "On Giacometti" is a collection of beautiful recordings inspired by the renowned artist and family and features some of Rani's most profoundly delicate compositions to date. Invited by film director Susanna Fanzun, to score her forthcoming documentary on the legendary artist Alberto Giacometti, Hania Rani took herself to the Swiss mountains to compose in blissful isolation. As Rani explains eloquently below the compositions are based on improvised melodies, simple harmonies and structures and inspired by the silence of the mountains as Rani returns to her main instrument, the piano. The results are beguilingly reminiscent of her beloved debut album Esja, but with subtle extra layers of synthesiser, and on two tracks cello from friend and long-running collaborator Dobrawa Czocher.

'On Giacometti' is presented as a limited edition LP with bespoke packaging featuring Les Naturals - Chocolat (Gmund) sustainable recycled paperboard made from 100 % recovered paper with Foil Artwork by Łukasz Pałczyński. Plus Double sided printed insert and download code inside.

Hania Rani "On Giacometti":
‘When I was asked to compose a soundtrack for a movie about the family of Giacometti I didn't think twice.

Alberto Giacometti, a Swiss artist, who worked mainly as painter and sculptor has been one of my favourite artists for a long time. His individual style, aesthetics and the character of his creative process is still fascinating to me on many levels, so being able to dive even deeper into his universe, getting to know not only him but also his family was an opportunity that I couldn't miss. Little did I know how far this "yes" will take me - not only mentally and on a creative level but also physically. Thanks to the director of the documentary - Susanna Fanzun and by a stroke of luck and a couple of extra questions I decided to move for a couple of months to the Swiss mountains, not far away from the place where Giacometti was born and where the place he called home was, although he didn't live there. Susanna showed me a place close to her hometown where I could rent a studio and work on the soundtrack but also for my other projects. It was the middle of a winter, the area was full of ice and snow, just like only it can happen still in the mountains. The residency house was located in a valley surrounded by high mountains and the sun in the winter season was not coming up for too long during the day. I remember she told me about it and added "that not everyone is feeling well there, but I hope you will". I did.

Being almost separated from reality, the city and its entertainments, people rushing and everything that usually takes my attention I could fully concentrate on the music and soundtrack, spending most of the day with my own thoughts and having enough space to experiment and be free in a creative process. This soundtrack would probably be a very different thing if composed in a place that I am usually living in. I took this a chance to explore something new about myself as a composer and human being, taking the opposite direction that I would usually choose for myself.

The album "On Giacometti" includes the excerpts from the soundtrack, the most representative tracks and those which became a strong voice itself. Based a lot on improvised melodies, simple harmonies, structures and silence it reminds me of my debut album "Esja" which was partly composed and recorded in another chilly place - Iceland. All these components, both mental and physical, guided me back to my main instrument - piano, which I tried to redefine again with a language of the space that I was working in. The space is usually the key element that gives me the answer about the arrangement or character of the project. Space seems to be the first to appear and music is the invisible power which is changing its angels.’ Living surrounded by mountains makes you change the perspective and understanding of scale as Alberto Giacometti once famously wrote in a letter: It gives an impression that things that are actually far away, like mountains, are close and the other ones that are not so far away, like people, seem small, watched from a distance. You feel like touching the mountain top with your finger could be as easy as touching the tip of your nose. The snow additionally protects the whole area from the noise, each sound lands softly on the ground accompanied by echoes of immeasurable space. Each scratch or whisper is becoming an autonomic entity, opening the gate to the world of ghosts and lost spirits. It's easy to think that time stands still there, while nothing is moving and changing at the first sight. But the ubiquitous ice and snow reveal the passage of time, transforming frozen paysage into the wild stream of water - each day, hour and second. Melting and vanishing, clearing the space from white powder and noise consuming surface. Invisible process for a one night traveller, becomes painfully real for longer time settlers. Time flows with each new wave of sound coming through the river, reminding us that we are part of the cycle, which endlessly repeats itself.

Manchester's Avant-Jazzy-Funk outfit Swamp Children were enviably eclectic and Taste What's Rhythm is their mini masterpiece. Flitting gracefully through a feast of genres with consummate ease, the band were almost indefinable and, accordingly, nigh-on impossible to market. So whilst this cult EP, originally out in 1982 on Factory Benelux, remains in demand for those in the know, it has also glided under the radar of many otherwise clued-up heads for over 40 years. If you don't know, get to know...

The Taste Whats Rhythm EP was originally released in 1982 on Factory Benelux (an informal partnership between the legendary Manchester-based Factory Records and Belgium-based Les Disques du Crépuscule). With it's kaleidoscopic brightness, silky panache and superb execution, it remains one of the most startling documents of a remarkable time and place.

The EP opens with the oh-so-Balearic title track. "Taste Whats Rhythm" gently unfolds with a Spanish guitar, hazy, drifting vocals and sun-bleached Latin percussion. After this most sumptuous of intros, the tempo is raised, the rhythms grow in complexity as horns jostle amidst the restrained chaos quite wonderfully. And then it winds down again. Proper fluctuating rhythms and tempos throughout. I guess that was the point - taste the variety!

“You’ve Got Me Beat” is a *perfect* piece of post-punk pop-jazz. A mysterious, after dark jazz-dancer, the aching vocals serve as a touching, tender resignation to love. A guitar hook which seems to elegantly reference The Blackbyrds' "Rock Creek Park" and a flowing pulse from New York's No Wave scene. It still sounds so fresh all the years later.

Closing out this most perfect of EPs, the twisted synths and nimble rhythms of bass-heavy roller "Softly Saying Goodbye" combine to create a super-slinky gem; Brit-Funk of the highest order.

Swamp Children formed in Manchester in 1980, around core members Ann Quigley (vocals), Tony Quigley (bass, metalaphone, percussion), John Kirkham (electric & acoustic guitars, metalaphone, percussion), Ceri Evans (keyboards, bass, percussion, background vocals), Cliff Saffer (saxaphone, clarine) and Martin Moscrop (drums, percussion, trumpet). They initially practised at a rehearsal space shared with fellow post-punk funkers A Certain Ratio and Joy Division/New Order. Young and relatively inexperienced upon getting together, the ages of Swamp Children's members ranged from just 16 to 19. Talk about the brilliance of youth.

From the outset, Swamp Children shared DNA with A Certain Ratio. Martin Moscrop was a founder member of Ratio, while Ann provided artwork for them. Although the close association with ACR led some to assume that Swamp Children were simply a splinter group, the new band pursued a more overt latin and jazz tinged direction, at the same time adopting a post-punk attitude towards making music, influenced by the records they were listening to at the time: Miles Davis, Brazilian jazz fusion and heavy funk dancefloor sides.

The band made their live debut at Manchester's infamous Beach Club in May 1980. Thanks to a double-booking blunder another support band turned up and were turned away, having travelled all the way from Dublin for a string of British dates. The name of the unlucky band was U2...

With arrangements that emphasised Tony Quigley’s darkly-coloured basslines (and Ann Quigley’s impressionistic vocals as another instrument in the mix) Swamp Children possessed an easygoing grace and a bubbling energy which indicated that the band's true strength was as an ensemble. The band’s musical sophistication (a fusion of funk, jazz, and bossa nova) would prove to be a strong influence on later UK acts like Sade. Indeed, Swamp Children themselves later mutated into the more known and acclaimed latin jazz outfit Kalima.

Working directly with James Nice, custodian of Factory Benelux, means that the audio for this re-issue of the classic EP comes from the original tapes. Cut at 45 RPM and released in the house Be With disco sleeve, we’ve made sure this record is well up to the job of having a permanent place in every DJ’s bag. As far as we’re concerned, this is essential stuff.

Murmer is the long-standing project for Estonian field recordist and composer Patrick McGinley, and in Tether, The Helen Scarsdale Agency welcomes Murmer back to our roster, over a decade since he graced us with his last production for the Agency. His field recordings often center upon the amplification and activation of resonance from a particular space, landscape, or object. Such sounds emerge from a condition as begin fleeting, inconsequential, or ephemeral and explode into that which alien, sublime, and profound. Here lies the tremendous prowess of the contact microphone, as wielded by an accomplished musician! The source material cited by McGinley includes cables, fences, wires, and vents.

There is a heft to many of these sounds as heard throughout all of "Taevast" with deep throbbing pulsations from arctic wind generating subharmonic patterns upon thick high-tension wires. Elsewhere the subtle dissonance from a rasping cooling fan blooms into a brooding ambience that is sublimely rich in its metallic timbres and complex reverberations. McGingley has long been an exemplary artist in the field of phonography even as he is less prolific than others. On Tether, he has produced a majestic if occasionally foreboding work on par with the mythic wire recordings of Alan Lamb, Jacob Kirkegaard's haunted resonance from Chernobyl, and much of the Touch catalogue for that matter!

Patrick McGingley on Tether:

In 2006, I made a collection of recordings at a mobile phone mast in Mooste, southeast Estonia. It is a guyed tower, 80 meters tall, affixed to 3 support points with heavy cables. I attached my self-made contact microphones to these cables with poster tack, and spent many hours over several weeks recording the various wind and weather variances (it was summer), and the birds that passed or settled on the tower or cables. This was one of my first visits to estonia, where i now live, and one of the things that marked me about that experience was the access: the tower had no fences or protections around it (I have not been back there recently to answer my own question of whether or not this is still the case); it stands in the middle of a field of tall grass along a dirt road in the countryside, just out of view of the few nearby houses, and during all the hours I spent there I was never disturbed or shooed away.

For more than 16 years, I have been thinking about this location and these recordings, and have made several attempts to work with them. I have used the sounds in installations a handful of times, and uploaded one short edit to the Aporee soundmaps, but have never managed to use them in any composed work. They always seemed too big for any structure I could provide them, whether I left them on their own, or partnered them with other sounds. Finally, in 2019, after putting them down and picking them up again repeatedly over so many years, they seemed to allow me in, although it took me another few years before they were happy with what I could offer. They stand now not quite alone - the majority of the layered sounds in the piece come from various edits of those cable recordings, but I added two other contrasting sounds, related to one another: one is snowflakes landing delicately on a plastic cakebox with microphones inside it, and the other is a frosted field of grass thawing on a lightly warming autumn morning (both these recordings can also be heard on their own on the Aporee maps).

Coming back to those cables brought to mind so many other wind-driven sounds that I had spent time with and recorded, but never returned to, that I began digging through my archives looking for them. I ended up with a pool of sounds from resonant wires, cables, fences, poles, fans, and vents, which became the basis for the 2nd work on this release. One of these sounds is among the first sounds I ever recorded, possibly within a month or so of buying my first microphone and minidisc recorder: the rhythmic fan of a beer cooler in a pub where I worked in North London in 1999. Other sounds in the piece include another phone tower, recorded on the northern coast of France in 2008, a telephone pole recorded in the Beaujolais region in 2010, the drone of ventilator fans at a factory in Tezno, Slovenia in 2012, an electric sheep fence in the Scottish borders in 2013, a hanging wire in a storage space in Rovaniemi, Finland in 2016, and, with no relation to cables or wind at all, calcium deposits being cleaned from the inside of an electric kettle here in Estonia in 2019.

I offer these two new pieces as my first solo publication since 2018, the first release on a physical medium since 2016. No one has ever accused me of working too fast, or being too prolific. I have a need, it seems, to leave a physical space of time around my work, before I can consider it 'finished'. Perhaps it is a simple need to forget how I did something, or that I did something; perhaps I have a need to be able to hear a work as a first-time listener would, before I can consider it ready for such an encounter. In some part of my mind I have to forget it before I can let it go. Well, I've just about forgotten that London beer cooler now, and that walk in the Beaujolais (with my father, who has since passed away), and that sheep fence next to our campsite in the borders, and that kettle that is now leaky. So I guess it's time.

Sometimes, things "just happen". For months, we’d been working away on various projects and then, without really thinking about it, The Black EP just happened. It seemingly appeared from nowhere.

We’d been talking about the old days; making music with friends and dodgy kit, renting small practice rooms and using makeshift recording studios. It was such a common thing back then, you could pick a dusty space in a half-derelict building for as little as £25 a month. In those days, the Cabs and Human League had studios with posh-sounding names, but in reality, they were the same old workspaces long abandoned by the industries they were built for. Nevertheless, the grand names made them sound magical.

Sheffield had thousands of these spaces, and some still exist today, but their abundance and low-cost made Sheffield a very active place. Someone was always doing something. They’d exploded onto the scene in a flurry of excitement before disappearing just as quickly.

There’s something about these little mesters (workshops) that we believe lives in the very consciousness of Sheffield. It’s one of the reasons we never really had big scenes like Manchester or Leeds. The Hacienda would've never been built here.

We don’t really do big gangs or have that kind of mentality. We tend to exist in little pockets, often leaving each other alone. It would be 30 years before any member of The Black Dog talked to Cabaret Voltaire. Sure, we’d stood outside their practice room as kids, trying to listen in, but never felt any reason to approach. Sheffield is like that.

Once we had the first two tracks of the Black EP, we set off to see Jon at Do It Theesen, where he manually cut the tracks to an extremely limited set of 7" singles using a vinyl lathe. It just felt right to go back to the old ways; a small gang creating something special in workshops and sheds. There’s something very satisfying about it, a perfect circle, if you will.

We pushed further by adopting old practices, working with one synth per person and limiting the use of our computers. We only stopped short of putting everything on beer crates. It seems like madness these days, but there is raw creativity within these confines. Pretty much every band started this way. Depeche Mode travelled to the studio on the London Underground for their first appearance on Top Of The Pops, all lugging a synth each. That's how we approached the creation of this album; stripped back, raw and minimal - it just felt so right.

And then there’s the competitive element that was influenced when the original Human League split and became Human League MK II and Heaven 17. Both continued to use the same studio to write what became the albums "Dare" and "Penthouse and Pavement". There is something about that drive that is very Sheffield, just making stuff and hoping everything falls into place.

In Sheffield, we do things differently, because that’s how we are built. away on various projects and then, without really thinking about it, The Black EP just happened. It seemingly appeared from nowhere.

Coherence is overrated. Especially if keeping things hazy, and not smoothing away all the rough edges, and allowing all the seeming contradictions to find their own unique harmony with each other in their own time can result in the heady magic of Lock Eyes & Collide, the second EP from South London-based quintet Moreish Idols. Across these four tracks, Moreish Idols deal in tangles of hyper-melodic guitar, sleepy-eyed murmurs glowing with unassuming poetry, blossoms of wise saxophone, rhythms that pulse and purr to their own inarguable logic. You could spend days trying to define what exactly it is they are doing over these fifteen or so minutes, but you’d be wiser to just lose yourself within Lock Eyes & Collide’s laser-guided twists and turns.

Pulling into focus. They passed tracks from initial collaborative song-writing sessions along to Dan Carey, who signed Moreish Idols to his Speedy Wunderground label and produced their first release on the label, the Float EP, in the summer of 2022 (they’d released a pair of self-released 7”s before lockdown). Restless, jerky, jagged and rhythmically centred, many of Float’s energetic pleasures bore the influence of their earlier flirtation of post-punk, but the ruminative When The River Runs Dry spelled deeper treasures lay within, while the erratic, wonderful Speedboat spoke to Moreish Idols’ essential gift for mystery. Lock Eyes & Collide is something else altogether, though – a looser constellation of ideas, a clearer hint of the group’s future.

The elements that compose the EP – swooning tremolo guitars, prickly melodic riddles, erudite saxophone improvs, loose and flexible rhythms – make perfect sense together, on vinyl if not on paper, sounding like Watery, Domestic-era Pavement one second and some bucolic Canterbury Scene prog the next, but always, always like Moreish Idols most of all.

The future that is undefined is limitless. If Lock Eyes & Collide captures Moreish Idols’ present, what do they see in their future? “If we’d just made Float II for our second EP, people would be, ‘Oh, they’re the band that does that,” says Tom. “I’m so glad we’ve made this weird alter-ego of our first EP; now we feel we can do whatever we want.”

One of the most notorious hatemongers in movie history is Captain Ahab from John Huston’s 1956 classic Moby Dick. His manic monologues cast a spell on generations of viewers. Berlin based musician and sound artist Jan Jelinek has now turned the voice of Ahab into a musical instrument.

Faitiche presents Jan Jelinek's soundtrack for SEASCAPE – polyptych, an audio-visual software developed in collaboration with Canadian new media artist Clive Holden in 2022.

SEASCAPE – polyptych is based on image and acoustic source material from Moby Dick. While Holden works on manipulating film sequences, the voice of Ahab plays a central role in Jan Jelinek’s soundtrack. The dynamic volume and tone of the captain's speech control a synthesizer system that turns Ahabs voice into ten abstract soundscapes.

In this production the voice gives the impulse and controls things but is not the sound of spoken word itself that we hear. Only occasionally can snippets of speech be heard so that syllables or sounds are recognisable. Instead we hear compositions made of hissing, soundscapes and eruptive sounds. The atmosphere is dark and sinister. Still every piece has a clear sonic structure and follows an understandable dramatic composition. This music is abstract but not overwhelming. Quite the opposite, SEASCAPE – polyptych is an invitation to listeners to let themselves be carried by the stream of sonic events. Although part of a media art work, the soundtrack can be enjoyed without any of this connecting superstructure. It works with no previous knowledge. But what happens when one does know that it’s the sonic waves of a human voice that is controlling a network of synthesizers?

If you want to hear Ahab, you will hear a choir of Ahabs in every piece of sound. The subliminal threatening as well as the conjuring Ahab. Finally the Ahab who whips up his crew and tears them with him into their downfall. The majestic „on the quay now, waiting and watching“, the oppressive “drawn towards the whirlpools center” - they are all music as well as sonic discourse.

ULTRADISC ONE-STEP BOX SET OF BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN'S 1973 DEBUT PLAYS WITH AUDIOPHILE SOUND: LIMITED TO 7,500 NUMBERED COPIES.

1/4" / 15 IPS analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe

Teeming with identifiable characters, youthful romanticism, vivid narratives, and sophisticated arrangements, Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. is a personal postcard from the heart, soul, and mind of a rock ’n’ roll lifer bent on discovering his world and what lays beyond it. The 1973 album establishes many of the signature themes and sounds Bruce Springsteen would embrace throughout his unparalleled career. No wonder a majority of the songs — “Blinded by the Light,” “Lost in the Flood,” “Spirit in the Night” included — remain staples of the New Jersey native’s fabled concerts.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at RTI on MoFi SuperVinyl, and strictly limited to 7,500 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 33RPM LP set is the definitive-sounding version of Springsteen’s daring debut. Afforded the benefits of SuperVinyl’s nearly non-existent noise floor, Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. plays with a clarity, directness, and emotionalism that practically whisks you into the New York office in which Springsteen — accompanied by then-manager Mike Appel — played a few originals for legendary Columbia Records executive John Hammond and earned a record deal.

That solo-centric aspect of Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. — credited only to Springsteen and featuring only a handful of accompanying musicians — helps make it unique in his catalogue. So do the acoustic-based frameworks, revealed on this pressing with newly exposed detail, nuance, and immediacy. The music emerges with an openness that gives flight to the Boss’ storytelling. His words flow with unbridled, stream-of-conscious pacing and vibrant imagery; they pay homage to and update a tradition established by Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie, and Jack Kerouac. Equally important, Springsteen’s still-underrated vocal performances can now be appreciated in full-range fidelity. Earnest, transparent, and sincere, his singing comes across with an urgency that distinguishes him from the era’s singer-songwriter mold and a raw energy that underlines his unflinching belief in rock ’n’ roll.

Recorded in just three weeks, Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. also stands out by way of its insightful artwork. Designed by Grammy winner John Berg, the inviting cover is appointed with images of the local landmarks, beachfronts, and geography that provide the backdrops for some of the songs. Those graphics are complemented by the beautiful packaging of Mobile Fidelity’s UD1S edition. Tucked in a sleek slipcase, the LP is housed in a special foil-stamped jacket with faithful-to-the-original graphics. In every way, this reissue is made for listeners who prize sound quality and who want to engage themselves in everything involved with this invigorating album.

An aspirational declaration by a then-23-year-old musician who was already a seasoned veteran of the Jersey Shore bar-band scene, Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. can in many ways be seen as a semi-fictional autobiography released more than four decades before Springsteen penned his official tome. Elaborate, descriptive, and absorbing, Springsteen’s lyrics spark with the enthusiasm and exuberance of a wide-eyed adventurer ready for possibility, excitement, and fun — but who is also mindful of loss, pain, and disappointment. Words often tumble and collide like dice spilling from a jar; shaken and fully intact, they pour forth with purpose and without self-conscious concern.

One of two songs composed after label president Clive Davis cited the need for a radio-friendly single, the opening “Blinded by the Light” provides an unforgettable introduction. It flares with a blend of confidence, fun, and poetry that helps define Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. Crackling with wiry guitars, funky chords, Clarence Clemons’ cool-toned saxophone, and action-packed lyrics, the shuffle simultaneously expands and contracts — and establishes Springsteen as a master of rhyme, alliteration, and breathless expression. The thread continues on “Growin’ Up.” Steered by ascending piano lines, soulful grooves, and frisky rhythms, the coming-of-age confessional is at once rebellious and controlled, fearless and vulnerable, honest and boastful. It is a tale to which multiple generations still relate.

Such universality has always been a Springsteen trademark. It surfaces throughout Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J., as does another Boss hallmark: the importance of friendship and tight bonds. These concepts relate to the fact many of the songs — see the feverish “Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street?,” strutting “It’s So Hard to Be a Saint in the City,” and tender “For You,” the latter complete with brilliant Hammond organ shading — are directly tied to the friends, acquaintances, places, and happenings he knew. “Lost in the Flood,” whose cinematic drama and epic scope hint at the directions Springsteen would pursue on his next LP, extends that familiarity while addressing the kind of socially conscious issues with which he’s forever been associated.

Balancing the label’s vision of him as a folk-based singer-songwriter and his own desire to play rock ‘n’ roll with a full band, Springsteen never again made a record like Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. One of the most captivating debuts in history, it heralds the start of a legacy whose import Springsteen seemingly foretells on “Blinded by the Light”: “He’s gonna make it tonight.” And how.

Over the course of a nearly 50 year romantic and creative partnership sound artist Annea Lockwood and the late pioneering electronic composer Ruth Anderson have shared space on a number of significant releases of early electronic and tape music, including Charles Amirkhanian’s trailblazing 1977 anthology of women electronic composers New Music for Electronic and Recorded Media, a 1981 split LP on Opus One, a 1997 CD for Phill Niblock’s XI imprint, and 1998’s Lesbian American Composers compilation on CRI. The couple additionally taught a course on the history of women’s music-making, at Hunter College, called Living Women, Living Music. Throughout their time together, they co-authored a number of Hearing Studies designed for people with no formal musical training, which were collected for a 2021 book publication by Open Space Music. They spent most of their private life between Crompond, NY and the house they built themselves at Flathead Lake, Montana. Although Ruth passed away in 2019, the composers’ dialogue continues today with Tête-à-tête, a collection of unreleased archival and new material spread across an LP and a single-sided 10” record.

It all began with a telephone call. In 1973, Ruth Anderson was seeking a substitute to cover a yearlong sabbatical from her position as the director of the Electronic Music Studio she had founded at Hunter College in New York City. Her friend Pauline Oliveros too was on sabbatical, but recommended Ruth call Annea Lockwood—then living in London—about the post. Already drawn to America by the work of the visionary composers with whom she would soon be labelmates on Lovely Music, Annea jumped at the opportunity and within days of meeting in person the pair were, in her words, “joyously entangled.”

Over the next nine months, while Ruth was living in Hancock, New Hampshire, the couple would speak daily by phone in between visits. Ruth recorded these phone calls and, in 1974, surprised Annea with a cassette containing “Conversations,” a private piece she composed by dexterously collaging fragments of their conversations alongside slowed and throwed snatches of old popular songs: “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby”; “Oh, You Beautiful Doll”; and “Bill Bailey.” The centerpiece of Tête-à-tête, this side of intimate musique concrète extends to its listeners a rare invitation to eavesdrop on the halcyon phenomenon of two people falling in love. Tender and playful throughout, “Conversations” comes to its zenith with a cut-up of relentless laughter of a contagious beauty that is, for once, properly convulsive.

“For Ruth” is Annea’s elegy to her life partner. In 2020, Annea returned to Hancock as well as to Ruth’s resting place at Flathead Lake to make field recordings, which she wove together with further excerpts of the couple’s 1974 conversations for a commission presented as part of the 2021 Counterflows Festival in Glasgow. A consummate field recordist, Annea imbues the simple sounds of church bells, birds, wind, and the bodies of water that permeated her time alongside Ruth with an otherworldly depth and sense of narrative akin to that of her celebrated sound maps of the Hudson, Danube, and Housatonic rivers. An oneiric, subtly tonal evocation of a meeting at the shores of existence.

The collection opens with “Resolutions,” Ruth’s last completed electronic work, from 1984. A meditation for the individual listener composed as the result of her study of Zen, it’s a rigorous, process-driven piece that charts the very slow, smooth descent of a 5th from the octave above middle C down to sub-bass frequencies. Minimalist in execution, yet powerful in effect, it glides by almost imperceptibly, with new tones arriving and hovering or levitating upwards, seemingly out of nowhere. A healing piece, it harnesses the highly focused energy of pure tones as a means to, in Ruth’s words, “further wholeness of self and unity with others.”

Tape transfers by Maggi Payne, master by Giuseppe Ielasi and lacquers cut at Dubplates & Mastering, with domestic photos and liner notes provided by Annea Lockwood.

After 3 individual pieces on the Hamburg label PUDEL PRODUKTE, the longplaying work of the man from the Pension Stammheim is finally released. It quickly becomes clear that this is a real capacity record: 6 (on vinyl) or 8 pieces (on electricity) from the cosmos of a man who means business. You can already tell by the fact that the record is only called ROTTE and not something else. Rotte makes ROTTE and nothing named, nothing labelled, nothing carefree commodes and prisoners certainly not.

It is relatively easy to approach ROTTE. Just listen and do nothing else. No, nothing. Nothing at all. Don't give away flowers, smoke cows, talk yourself or listen to the net. Don't try to get out of the Bermuda Triangle in the process! Concentrate as if you were reading a book by Suhrkamp. Be action-less in the here and jazz. Beat the six kinds of wood out of the coffin and leave only the steel screws!

Take Rotte and ROTTE seriously. Man and work. With him, though, black is absolutely a colour. My ketamine is my petrol. First Takes only. Drilling without Club of Gore. Undisputed truth. No Lounge. The lyrics on Rotte are not a party.

It might seem a bit TOO colourless, a bit TOO intense, a bit TOO hard and dark. Too much psycho-babble. But the songs bring it and you. They are designed in such a way that nothing else works during them. Nobody would think of peeling an egg at Russian roulette. That's how you have to see it.

The songs were musically supervised by Jörn Elling Wuttke and Oliver Bradford (Thee Church Ov Acid House), by DIE NERVEN producer Ralv Milberg, by Douglas Creed (BPitch Control + Freude am Tanzen), Boris Nielsen (Käptn Peng) and Peter Armster.

There is a congenial mutual autocorrection between lyrics and music. Individually, this cannot be heard and it is not offered. By the way, you don't hear anything else at the Federal Criminal Police Office at the moment. So please.

A1 Fliege gegen Scheibe
Written & produced by Oliver Bradford, Jörn Elling Wuttke, Christian Rottler
Lyrics: Christian Rottler

A2 Butterbrot und Peitsche
Written & produced by Peter Armster, Christian Rottler
Lyrics: Christian Rottler

A3 Gaffa, Farbe und Zustimmung
Written & produced Jörn Elling Wuttke, Christian Rottler
Lyrics: Christian Rottler

B1 Autosuggestion
Written by Boris Nielsen, Christian Rottler, produced by Boris Nielsen, Marc Eggert
Lyrics: Christian Rottler

B2 Deichtorhallen
Written & produced by Oliver Bradford, Jörn Elling Wuttke und Christian Rottler
Lyrics: Christian Rottler

B3 Dunkelwach
Written by Mario Willms, Christian Rottler, produced by Mario Willms
Lyrics: Christian Rottler

When David Drucker of Painted Faces begins to write and record, every dumb sign, bad horror movie, seemingly innocuous turn of phrase, petty embarrassment, transcendent joke, and musical
influence are drawn together like iron filings to a magnet.
What results is a document of a particular point in time for the artist. There are infectiously haunting hooks and raw atonal passages, cheap synths (and as time goes on less cheap ones), simple but effective chords, ramshackle percussion (a plastic toy maraca passed among audience members that refuses to die), and a host of other elements that all add up to something very special and deeply personal.

It’s a portrait of the artist as a freak.
On his latest album, Normal Street, the story continues. The title track opens with a nebulous cloud of beeps and squeals which slowly give way to more solid melodic form. Drucker, always searching for ever
freakier and liberated pastures, walks a particularly unique line between unpredictably risky experimentation and skillful songcraft. It’s this interplay hat makes Painted Faces truly original and exciting.
What “works” is totally relative, and through his long honed practice of trying things, he has created his own sonic vocabulary.

Normal Street is a fractured collection of songs, sounds, ideas, sometimes brief and other times delicately sustained; its stream of consciousness mischievousness bringing to mind Zappa and the
Mothers filtered through the angst of bedroom pop and tape label minimalism.

Since its beginnings, Hypnótica Colectiva has always shown a special interest in the music recorded and released in the city of Detroit.

A place with which we have both a blood and spiritual bond because of what occurred there socially and artistically during the 20th century.

This love led us to become ambassadors of what was happening there on a musical level, holding cultural events to screen documentaries translated into Spanish, as well as a number of themed sets at our events, dedicated motor city sections in our record shop or recently lectures on the history of the city and its music at the Museum of Illustration and Contemporary Art of Valencia (Muvim).

The time has now come to bring all this history, this musical influence, to the editorial section of our label HC records.

Detroit Legacy was born from the idea of capturing these influences on vinyl. Seeking artists from all over the world who share this passion that inspires them to create their music, what we can define as the universal Neo-Detroit.

For this first edition or first volume, the collective has enlisted in its ranks creators affiliated to the label who have shown us in their careers, this influence and this feeling.

Paul Cignol opens the record with Distance. From Dublin he offers us a track of warm sequences inspired by Deep Techno, with deep pads responding to organ keys and a subtle touch of 303.

Mallorcan LLuis Barcelo Sureda is responsible for the second track Funk Station. With a Techno Soul character that we might hear from Detroitish labels like Acacia or producers like Blake Baxter.

A real eminence in Techno is the Catalan Don Alex Martín, who already released in the mid-90s on Monssieur Garnier's label (France Communications). The Barcelona native brings his wealth of experience and wisdom through Megatech, which transports us to the spectrum of Derrick May’s Transmat who, in his day, was nicknamed "The Innovator". This track provides agile sequences of complex syncopated rhythms, combining with a dreamy Michigan style synth.

The anthem of the album comes from Ghent. The sublime Belgian creator, Mariska Neerman, once again makes our hairs stand on end and our hearts melt with a heavenly composition entitled Stellium.

No one interprets Neo-Detroit quite like Mariska, whom we baptise as a sovereign heiress of the genre in the world. If we have to think of an influence for this piece, we go straight to the genius of Detroit, the one and only Jeff Mills, in his most symphonic and harmonic facet of tracks released on his label Axis Records such as "The March", A Universal Voice That Speaks To All That Will Listen or A New Found Sense Of Being.

Some of these songs have been re-interpreted by world class philharmonic orchestras such as the Montpellier Philharmonic Orchestra at the 2005 Blue Potential (Pont Du Garde). Mariska's score in this song fuses organ keys with harmonic layers and violin - favourite instruments of the Detroitian extraterrestrial - with a harmonic result of strength and hope. An authentic anthem of classic emotional Techno.

Old School electro takes centre stage with the Master from Terrassa Ivan Arnau a.k.a. Dark Vektor. In the influence of Juan Atkins (the creator) as Cybotron or Model 500 and later creators who developed this sound like Aux 88. Metaverso Frik is a great recital of a urban poetry created and interpreted by Ivan, to completely devastating effect.

Croatian Bojan Jascur a.k.a. N-TER, closes the vinyl with We Will Emerge, in a exercise of vindication, a common weapon in the context of Detroit music. Raging, trippy electro in the purest style of Cosmic Force or Dynarec.

This first tribute to 8 Mile doesn't end with the vinyl, as 2 digital bonus tracks are included in the release.

We return to Barcelona with Pastin Futon in another sequence of consecutive oscillated rhythms oscillated much like Kevin Saunderson (The Elevator) in his day and the Techno Groove that we know today.

The most robotic touch of the release is the closer with this synthetic jigsaw puzzle of a track with echoes of the 1967 Detroit Riot, the Detroit Rebellion. Again produced by another Barcelona native, The Bandit (Dj Spy / Util Records). The sequences are very reminiscent of Arpanet and Drexciya.

The idea for the cover comes from Motor City itself by Jon Yowell, first cousin of HC records founder and head of HC records David Verdeguer.

Born, raised and a lifelong resident of Detroit, Jon is an enormously talented musician capable of writing lyrics, performing them on the mic and manipulating a number of stringed instruments as well as the drums, where he is a true master.

The cover is a tribute to the formative backgrounds of many of the city's musicians in every sonic trend. Wayne State University in the capital of Michigan.

Founded in 1868, it has offered didactic teaching to many of the city's musicians.

Not all of Detroit's creators went to university, and even less so when talking about Techno, many artists are self-taught or learned in a non-academic way, but it seems to us a good base to begin to highlight the origins of the city's music in a historic building, where those who have the opportunity to learn about music have been and continue to be educated.

The adapted designs are the work of our image manager Dani Requeni.

Mastering by Steve Voidloss at Black Monolith Studios in London (UK).

Eric D. Johnson rarely lingers at one location too long. As a kid growing up in the Midwest, Johnson's family moved around a lot, but it wasn't until he became a touring musician years later that motion became a central part of his identity. That transient lifestyle stoked an enduring reverence for the world he watched pass by through a van window. A sense of place is a unifying theme he's revisited with Fruit Bats throughout its many lives. From the project's origins in the late '90s as a vehicle for Johnson's lo-fi tinkering to the more sonically ambitious work of recent years, Fruit Bats has often showcased love songs where people and locations meld into one. It's a loose song structure that navigates what he calls "the geography of the heart." "The songs exist in a world that you can sort of travel from one to another," says Johnson. "There are roads and rivers between these songs." Those pathways extend straight through the newest Fruit Bats album, aptly titled A River Running to Your Heart . Self-produced by Johnson_a first for Fruit Bats_with Jeremy Harris at Panoramic House just north of San Francisco, it's Fruit Bats' tenth full-length release and one that finds the project in the middle of a creative resurgence. After two decades of making music, hard-earned emotional maturity has seeped into Johnson's songs, resulting in a more complex sound that's connected with audiences like no other previous version of Fruit Bats. A River Running to Your Heart represents the fullest realization of that creative vision to date. It's a sonically diverse effort that largely explores the importance of what it means to be home, both physically and spiritually. And while that might seem like a peculiar focus for an artist who's constantly in motion, for Fruit Bats, home can take many forms_from the obvious to the obscure. Lead single "Rushin' River Valley" is a self-propelled love song written about Johnson's wife that clings to the borrowed imagery of the place where she grew up in northern California. Then, there's the gentle and unfussy acoustic ballad "We Used to Live Here," which looks back to a time of youthful promise and cheap rent. But the wistful "It All Comes Back" is perhaps the most stunning and surprising track on the album, Johnson's production skills on full display. Built upon intricate layers of synths, keyboards, and guitars, it's a pitch-perfect blend of tone and lyricism that taps into our shared apprehensions and hopes for a post-pandemic life. "We lost some time / But we can make it back / Let's take it easy on ourselves, okay?" sings a world-weary but ultimately reassuring Johnson in the song's opening lines. It's the kind of performance that makes you hope Fruit Bats stays in this one place, at least for a little while longer.

BLUE & BONE VINYL

Eric D. Johnson rarely lingers at one location too long. As a kid growing up in the Midwest, Johnson's family moved around a lot, but it wasn't until he became a touring musician years later that motion became a central part of his identity. That transient lifestyle stoked an enduring reverence for the world he watched pass by through a van window. A sense of place is a unifying theme he's revisited with Fruit Bats throughout its many lives. From the project's origins in the late '90s as a vehicle for Johnson's lo-fi tinkering to the more sonically ambitious work of recent years, Fruit Bats has often showcased love songs where people and locations meld into one. It's a loose song structure that navigates what he calls "the geography of the heart." "The songs exist in a world that you can sort of travel from one to another," says Johnson. "There are roads and rivers between these songs." Those pathways extend straight through the newest Fruit Bats album, aptly titled A River Running to Your Heart . Self-produced by Johnson_a first for Fruit Bats_with Jeremy Harris at Panoramic House just north of San Francisco, it's Fruit Bats' tenth full-length release and one that finds the project in the middle of a creative resurgence. After two decades of making music, hard-earned emotional maturity has seeped into Johnson's songs, resulting in a more complex sound that's connected with audiences like no other previous version of Fruit Bats. A River Running to Your Heart represents the fullest realization of that creative vision to date. It's a sonically diverse effort that largely explores the importance of what it means to be home, both physically and spiritually. And while that might seem like a peculiar focus for an artist who's constantly in motion, for Fruit Bats, home can take many forms_from the obvious to the obscure. Lead single "Rushin' River Valley" is a self-propelled love song written about Johnson's wife that clings to the borrowed imagery of the place where she grew up in northern California. Then, there's the gentle and unfussy acoustic ballad "We Used to Live Here," which looks back to a time of youthful promise and cheap rent. But the wistful "It All Comes Back" is perhaps the most stunning and surprising track on the album, Johnson's production skills on full display. Built upon intricate layers of synths, keyboards, and guitars, it's a pitch-perfect blend of tone and lyricism that taps into our shared apprehensions and hopes for a post-pandemic life. "We lost some time / But we can make it back / Let's take it easy on ourselves, okay?" sings a world-weary but ultimately reassuring Johnson in the song's opening lines. It's the kind of performance that makes you hope Fruit Bats stays in this one place, at least for a little while longer.

Tape
"And we"re coming out of dreams / And we"re coming back to dreams" is the first thing you hear Bill say as you remake your acquaintance on YTILAER. Right out the gate, he"s standing in two places at once: meeting up with old friends behind the scenes and encountering them on the record, finding himself coming round the bend and then again as someone else on down the line. Like the character actor he played on Gold Record, writing stories about other people, telling jokes about everyone, and in singing them, becoming the songs. "You do what you"ve got to do / To see the picture" Bill"s got a full band sound going on this one, with him and Matt Kinsey on guitars, Emmett Kelly on bass and backing vocals, Sarah Ann Phillips on B3, piano and backing vocals and Jim White on drums. Jim and Matt sing on one song, too, and some other singers come in, too. Bill plays some synth here and there, and Carl Smith drifts in and out of the picture with his contra alto clarinet, as do Mike St. Clair and Derek Phelps on brass. Somehow in between them all, you might think you hear the distant sound of a steel guitar. And you might - but you might not, too. In this company, Bill continues his journey, tunneling underneath the weathered exterior of what seems to be and into the more nuanced life everything takes on in the dark. With Bill"s voice making the extraordinary leaps and bounds that measure the lives of the songs, the band follow him through passages that seem to invent themselves; other times playing with deeply soulful grooves and/or desperate intensity, as these moments come and go. There"s nothing they can"t do. "I wrote this song in five and forever / I"m writing it right now" Bill sings on "Natural Information" - an admission of the everyday alchemy he"s forever trafficking in. Time passes, triangulating the encounters that went into any one record with two out of any three others, all of it made flesh, new constitution, in our stereo speakers. If every album is its own life, it stands to reason that they"re invariably passing in the night. Cascading images flowing from the stream of consciousness. Turning like pages from the journal, unspeakably personal, then suddenly become tall tales, like a book pulled off the shelf, completely unbound. Headlines flow through. Mirror images, mirthful ones. Bill"s lyrics strain at the lines on the page, not content to separate the printing of the fact from the myth or be confined to ink on paper. They want to fly free. And they do. "I realize now that dreams are real" On YTILAER"s inner sleeve, alongside his lyrics, Bill celebrates the "exhilaration and dread" of cover artist Paul Ryan"s paintings. Paul"s another one met up with again down the road, his indelible cover imagery on Apocalypse and Dream River now an axis of meaning in the Callahanian world - and in the bright colors found in these new images, a parallel to Bill"s recognitions here. "A breath of exquisite air as we come up from drowning", sounds like the desired hope for those hearing the songs of YTILAER.

Rupert Marnie’s debut album “Evocative Rhythm” is a singular object to begin with. Split over two parts, each one working as an individual piece and under seemingly endless configurations when played together on a pair of record players, “Evocative Rhythm” is an elusive piece of musical abstraction you will play a crucial role in shaping, fashioning it as you dabble with it - certainly curious and cautious at first, then manipulating its raw clay more firmly as you envision it with a clearer idea of where to go with it. Or is that just a mirage?
Fruit of geographical meanderings through Hamburg’s tentacular architecture, Rupert Marnie’s maiden full-length effort reflects that of the city’s tonal, rhythmic and harmonic structures in a uniquely vibrant way: dancy and not, ethereal and full-bodied, oneiric and anchored. From field recordings garnered here and there across town, then either truncated, morphed, stretched out beyond recognition via a wide palette of technical means (granular synthesis, time-stretching, use of resonators, delay, reverb, pitch-shifting…), Marnie weaves a narrative that bridges the gap continually betwixt non-formulaic beatless meditation and proper club-focused functionality, plus the countless possible creations that will emerge when combining both sides of the disc to form your own story out the battery of elements at reach.
Evocative Rhythm” is much more than the sum of its parts. A mirage of ambient, techno, electro, whatever style and labels that could be stuck all over it, yet never managing to say a true word of it.

Introducing Marc Codsi's new Arabic infused synth oriented album, 'Songs from the Aftermath'.
Lebanese musician and composer Marc Codsi has released numerous albums with various projects
such as Scrambled Eggs, Lumi, Zalfa and many others whilst maintaining a very active career as asolo artist and film composer. 'Songs from the Aftermath' is his 5th album and presented as a natural
continuation to his 2019 opus work, ‘A New World’ (Annihaya Records).
Codsi continues his personal exploration of Arabic music codes, mainly investigating quarter tones
scales in an fully electronic environment in order to create new harmonies and textures that still
convey a feeling of familiarity whilst keeping a certain aura of strangeness and mystery.
The album was recorded between during 2021 and 2022 and the music eventually comes as a very
personal quest for transcendence. A sort of speculative answer to the world’s ongoing absurdity and
what seems to be an incessant array of conflicts, disasters and tragedies.
From these dark alleys may we still arise to proclaim a sense of beauty, poetry and elevation!

On Labyrinth, Heather Woods Broderick serves as our reflective host, subverting expectations of conventional songcraft with impressionistic language and quietly relentless explorations of the human experience that's at once light and dark, more circular and less linear. "Many of us yearn for stillness and peace, as an escape from the movement all around us," she explains when asked about the themes of the album. "Yet movement is perpetual, happening all the time on some level. It's as wild as the wind, yet eternally predictable in its inevitability. It is linear in part, but infinite in its circuitry. Our lives just punctuate it." Broderick began crafting Labyrinth in March 2020, when most forms of move- ment were brought to a screeching halt. The Maine-born, Los Angeles-based songwriter _ who, in addition to her work as a solo musician, built a life playing and touring with acts such as Sharon Van Etten, Beth Orton, Damien Jurado, and Efterklang _ was suddenly forced off the road for the first time in her career. She used this disruption as an opportunity to pare down her creation process and construct the scaffolding for Labyrinth in her apartment. Employing only the most crucial tools at her disposal, Broderick found herself opening different artistic doors as she focused on sharpening her recording skills, capturing the majority of the album on her own before finishing the remainder with co-producer D. James Goodwin. For all of Broderick's sage lyricism and vocal authority, Labyrinth never provides the listener with any easy answers. If the image of the labyrinth represents the enormity of modern life and the difficulty of navigating it, Heather Woods Broder- ick provides a guide to its endless kinetic wonders _ of being present, aware, and connected despite its disconnects. She describes the texture of its walls, its indifferent rhythms, and the inherent poeticism of feeling lost amid the dead-ends and unexpected turns. At this point in our history, perhaps that's all we need to keep moving.

Grey Vinyl

On Labyrinth, Heather Woods Broderick serves as our reflective host, subverting expectations of conventional songcraft with impressionistic language and quietly relentless explorations of the human experience that's at once light and dark, more circular and less linear. "Many of us yearn for stillness and peace, as an escape from the movement all around us," she explains when asked about the themes of the album. "Yet movement is perpetual, happening all the time on some level. It's as wild as the wind, yet eternally predictable in its inevitability. It is linear in part, but infinite in its circuitry. Our lives just punctuate it." Broderick began crafting Labyrinth in March 2020, when most forms of move- ment were brought to a screeching halt. The Maine-born, Los Angeles-based songwriter _ who, in addition to her work as a solo musician, built a life playing and touring with acts such as Sharon Van Etten, Beth Orton, Damien Jurado, and Efterklang _ was suddenly forced off the road for the first time in her career. She used this disruption as an opportunity to pare down her creation process and construct the scaffolding for Labyrinth in her apartment. Employing only the most crucial tools at her disposal, Broderick found herself opening different artistic doors as she focused on sharpening her recording skills, capturing the majority of the album on her own before finishing the remainder with co-producer D. James Goodwin. For all of Broderick's sage lyricism and vocal authority, Labyrinth never provides the listener with any easy answers. If the image of the labyrinth represents the enormity of modern life and the difficulty of navigating it, Heather Woods Broder- ick provides a guide to its endless kinetic wonders _ of being present, aware, and connected despite its disconnects. She describes the texture of its walls, its indifferent rhythms, and the inherent poeticism of feeling lost amid the dead-ends and unexpected turns. At this point in our history, perhaps that's all we need to keep moving.

Hot on the heels of last year’s Mermaids reissue retrospective, Hull’s deep listening house forerunners return: this time revisiting a pair of originals as well as previously unreleased versions.

It’s testament to the depth of feeling that Steve Cobby and David McSherry can conjure, that these tracks sound as potent and impactful as they did when they first came out - and not just for the dance. Throughout their 30+ years, the Yorkshire duo have produced ten albums amid many more collaborations, and transformed the remix into an artform, putting their fingerprints on everyone from Busta Rhymes to The Orb to Radiohead.

This EP collection finds them at the full scope of their powers: from disembodied mood music, to tripped-out dubby beats and raw house sessions for the club. The title track Subtle Body sounds like it drifted in through the window in the middle of a snowy night. Its layered chimes, looped delay feedback and floaty chords (played on a Wurlitzer Electronic Piano that Steve bought from Bill Nelson), mark it out as an enduring piece of ambient music, and a favorite for film-makers, able to soundtrack both haunted memories and afterparty comedowns with finesse. It precedes an unreleased instrumental version of Nightfall from Fila Brazillia’s 2002 album Jump Leads (named Mixmag’s chill album of the year), and as an instrumental, the chunky electro bass and mix of ephemeral tones and bird-like chirrups are brought clearly into focus. The attention to detail is what makes Fila Brazillia’s sound palette so rich, and Nightfall a certified smokers’ anthem.

On the B side, the tempo and temperature rises, and we’re treated to The Light Of Jesus, a favorite from Fila Brazillia’s 1994 debut LP Old Codes: New Chaos. Atop a bumping house groove, the song weaves together smooth organ pads and electrified guitar licks with syrupy bass and gospel-tinged exaltations from Charles Bukowski. The EP rounds out with Room ‘96, a live house jam from Hull’s Room nightclub, and a veritable time capsule back to the halcyon ‘90s rave days, when the lights were still on, everyone was home, and anything seemed possible.

The songs here on Subtle Body might be a window into a time long past, but they remain in the present: and as long as bodies seek pleasure, and dancers want to keep going til sunrise, Fila Brazillia will endure, and soundtrack those moments for us all to get lost in.

Pressing Info: 180g clear blue vinyl, printed inner-sleeve. Based between Brussels and Berlin, Golden Hours is comprised of past and present members of Gang Of Four, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Tricky, The Fuzztones and The Third Sound, to name just a few. A band with mileage and stories, they trade in rock'n'roll missives that are at times dark, tense and hypnotic, at others sweaty, relentless and danceable. Made up of Hákon Adalsteinsson (Guitar/Vocals), Rodrigo Fuentealba Palavacino (Guitar), Tobias Humble (Drums/Vocals) and Wim Janssens (Bass/Keys/Vocals), Golden Hours' self-titled debut album is due for release March 31st 2023 on Fuzz Club Records. Wim says of the project and its incoming debut: "The musical backgrounds of each member are pretty broad but somehow when we come together there's a pretty clear definition of what our music should sound like. There's a beautiful friction between the noise we produce and the love for melody that seems to overtake at just the right moment. There never seems to be a lack of ideas when we come together. In silent agreement, every idea gets tried and will be further developed into a song or skipped in a heartbeat. No time is wasted. It all happens pretty automatically."

Based between Brussels and Berlin, Golden Hours is comprised of past and present members of Gang Of Four, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Tricky, The Fuzztones and The Third Sound, to name just a few. A band with mileage and stories, they trade in rock’n’roll missives that are at times dark, tense and hypnotic, at others sweaty, relentless and danceable. Made up of Hákon Adalsteinsson (Guitar/Vocals), Rodrigo Fuentealba Palavacino (Guitar), Tobias Humble (Drums/Vocals) and Wim Janssens (Bass/Keys/Vocals), Golden Hours’ self-titled debut album is due for release March 31st 2023 on Fuzz Club Records. Wim says of the project and its incoming debut: “The musical backgrounds of each member are pretty broad but somehow when we come together there’s a pretty clear definition of what our music should sound like. There’s a beautiful friction between the noise we produce and the love for melody that seems to overtake at just the right moment. There never seems to be a lack of ideas when we come together. In silent agreement, every idea gets tried and will be further developed into a song or skipped in a heartbeat. No time is wasted. It all happens pretty automatically

If you were smart enough to get your grubby paws on the first Scrap Metal compilation, you probably have a pretty good idea of what you’re in for with our second installment. Featuring long-lost gems from ultra-rare 45s and private press singles—plus one previously unreleased banger—Scrap Metal 2 maintains a steady NWOBHM course. Packed with infectious outliers and supremely talented one-and-done metal warriors from the crucial British movement of the late ’70s and early ’80s (and some killer American obscurities inspired by them), this collection delivers all the fist-pumping, riff-mongering and flashy solos of heavy metal’s golden age. As always, every track has been officially licensed and every artist gets paid. As a late entry into the NWOBHM sweepstakes, JJ’s Powerhouse was formed in Merseyside, England, by guitarist Jon “J.J.” Cox with members of his previous band, Quad. Much like the opener to the original Scrap Metal comp, you can hear early Metallica coursing through this legendary ripper. Coincidentally, this ultra-rare 45 was released in ’83, the same year as Kill ’Em All. Taking their name from a 1978 sci-fi novel by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Welsh super troopers Storm Queen reveled in animal-print clothing and flying Vs. The Motörhead-meets-Priest anthem “Raising the Roof” is the flipside to their only single, which the band self-released in 1982. Led by guitarist Dave Morse, Storm Queen’s earliest lineup included bassist Bryn Merrick (RIP), who would go on to join The Damned. Roaring out of Birmingham, England, in 1975, Jameson Raid palled around with fellow Brummies Black Sabbath and named themselves after a failed 19th century attack that helped kick off South Africa’s Second Boer War. Their three-song 1979 debut featured the infectious “It’s a Crime,” which comes across like a deadly hard-glam version of Budgie. Still fronted by vocalist Terry Dark, they’re going strong as of 2022. A.R.C., a punky proto-metal group from the UK, released the boozy single “Home Made Wine” b/w “The Chase” in 1979 and—as far as we know—were never heard from again. They’re not to be confused with a gang of Tolkien enthusiasts also called A.R.C., who released two NWOBHM singles in the early ’80s and actually were heard from again. Nonetheless, the A.R.C. we have here was led by a thirsty lad named Klaus Brunnenkant, who liked to rock n’ roll all night and party every day. Both sides of Metropolis’ sole single bear the legend, “Unauthorized duplication shall result in getting your ass beat.” This San Jose metal squad released their only single in 1986 and dedicated it to Metallica bassist Cliff Burton, who had recently been killed in a bus accident. “The Raven” is the serpentine NWOBHM- and Edgar Allan Poe-influenced flipside to “Time Heals Everything,” and yeah, you can hear the guitars going out of tune on the solo, but that’s part of the charm. Of the two dozen or so metal bands that have called themselves Prowler over the years, we’re pretty sure this particular Prowler is the only one from San Diego. These dudes take a thrashier approach than most of the bands here on Scrap Metal 2: “Temporary Insanity” strikes a deft balance between early Anthrax and early Testament, with just enough hard rock swing to keep it from getting overly staccato. Self-released in ’86 as the band’s only single, the song is the flip to “I Love It.” Not much is known about Christian Steel beyond this: They put out their only single in 1983, which boasted “Need Your Love” as the flip to “I Don’t Want To.” The former, included here, sounds kinda like a dizzy, more metallic version of ’70s Jersey rockers Starz, who famously influenced the likes of Mötley Crüe, Poison and Twisted Sister. Ohio guitarist/vocalist Marty Soski’s career dates back to at least 1969 with the Inside Experience track “Be On My Way,” which we unearthed for our own Brown Acid: The Third Trip. This time, we’ve got a monster Soski cut that he recorded under the name Black Rose. Released in 1982, the absolutely smokin’ “Sidewinder” was the A-side on the band’s sole single. The main riff isn’t far off from Y&T’s major-label banger “Mean Streak,” which was released the following year. When Dark Age titled their 1987 album The Youngest Metal Band in the World, they weren’t even sort of kidding. Legend has it that “Star Trippin’,” which was released as a single a year earlier, was written by guitarist CJ Rininger when he was just 12 years old. His brother Dave, the vocalist, was two years younger. Old photos of the band—complete with pineapple haircuts—seem to bear this story out. Either way, the song is pure flash metal, conjuring Sunset Strip sleaze all the way from Ohio. By now, all you heads know Los Angeles magic men Sorcery from their storied appearance in—and soundtrack for—the death-defying Ozploitation flick Stunt Rock. What we have here in “Whales” is a previously unreleased track from the same 1978 recording sessions. It’s a little bit Zeppelin, a little bit prog, and a whole lotta thundering riffage. Why this languished in the vaults for so long is anyone’s guess. Better late than never!

If you were smart enough to get your grubby paws on the first Scrap Metal compilation, you probably have a pretty good idea of what you’re in for with our second installment. Featuring long-lost gems from ultra-rare 45s and private press singles—plus one previously unreleased banger—Scrap Metal 2 maintains a steady NWOBHM course. Packed with infectious outliers and supremely talented one-and-done metal warriors from the crucial British movement of the late ’70s and early ’80s (and some killer American obscurities inspired by them), this collection delivers all the fist-pumping, riff-mongering and flashy solos of heavy metal’s golden age. As always, every track has been officially licensed and every artist gets paid. As a late entry into the NWOBHM sweepstakes, JJ’s Powerhouse was formed in Merseyside, England, by guitarist Jon “J.J.” Cox with members of his previous band, Quad. Much like the opener to the original Scrap Metal comp, you can hear early Metallica coursing through this legendary ripper. Coincidentally, this ultra-rare 45 was released in ’83, the same year as Kill ’Em All. Taking their name from a 1978 sci-fi novel by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Welsh super troopers Storm Queen reveled in animal-print clothing and flying Vs. The Motörhead-meets-Priest anthem “Raising the Roof” is the flipside to their only single, which the band self-released in 1982. Led by guitarist Dave Morse, Storm Queen’s earliest lineup included bassist Bryn Merrick (RIP), who would go on to join The Damned. Roaring out of Birmingham, England, in 1975, Jameson Raid palled around with fellow Brummies Black Sabbath and named themselves after a failed 19th century attack that helped kick off South Africa’s Second Boer War. Their three-song 1979 debut featured the infectious “It’s a Crime,” which comes across like a deadly hard-glam version of Budgie. Still fronted by vocalist Terry Dark, they’re going strong as of 2022. A.R.C., a punky proto-metal group from the UK, released the boozy single “Home Made Wine” b/w “The Chase” in 1979 and—as far as we know—were never heard from again. They’re not to be confused with a gang of Tolkien enthusiasts also called A.R.C., who released two NWOBHM singles in the early ’80s and actually were heard from again. Nonetheless, the A.R.C. we have here was led by a thirsty lad named Klaus Brunnenkant, who liked to rock n’ roll all night and party every day. Both sides of Metropolis’ sole single bear the legend, “Unauthorized duplication shall result in getting your ass beat.” This San Jose metal squad released their only single in 1986 and dedicated it to Metallica bassist Cliff Burton, who had recently been killed in a bus accident. “The Raven” is the serpentine NWOBHM- and Edgar Allan Poe-influenced flipside to “Time Heals Everything,” and yeah, you can hear the guitars going out of tune on the solo, but that’s part of the charm. Of the two dozen or so metal bands that have called themselves Prowler over the years, we’re pretty sure this particular Prowler is the only one from San Diego. These dudes take a thrashier approach than most of the bands here on Scrap Metal 2: “Temporary Insanity” strikes a deft balance between early Anthrax and early Testament, with just enough hard rock swing to keep it from getting overly staccato. Self-released in ’86 as the band’s only single, the song is the flip to “I Love It.” Not much is known about Christian Steel beyond this: They put out their only single in 1983, which boasted “Need Your Love” as the flip to “I Don’t Want To.” The former, included here, sounds kinda like a dizzy, more metallic version of ’70s Jersey rockers Starz, who famously influenced the likes of Mötley Crüe, Poison and Twisted Sister. Ohio guitarist/vocalist Marty Soski’s career dates back to at least 1969 with the Inside Experience track “Be On My Way,” which we unearthed for our own Brown Acid: The Third Trip. This time, we’ve got a monster Soski cut that he recorded under the name Black Rose. Released in 1982, the absolutely smokin’ “Sidewinder” was the A-side on the band’s sole single. The main riff isn’t far off from Y&T’s major-label banger “Mean Streak,” which was released the following year. When Dark Age titled their 1987 album The Youngest Metal Band in the World, they weren’t even sort of kidding. Legend has it that “Star Trippin’,” which was released as a single a year earlier, was written by guitarist CJ Rininger when he was just 12 years old. His brother Dave, the vocalist, was two years younger. Old photos of the band—complete with pineapple haircuts—seem to bear this story out. Either way, the song is pure flash metal, conjuring Sunset Strip sleaze all the way from Ohio. By now, all you heads know Los Angeles magic men Sorcery from their storied appearance in—and soundtrack for—the death-defying Ozploitation flick Stunt Rock. What we have here in “Whales” is a previously unreleased track from the same 1978 recording sessions. It’s a little bit Zeppelin, a little bit prog, and a whole lotta thundering riffage. Why this languished in the vaults for so long is anyone’s guess. Better late than never!

First things first - you don't need me to tell you about the significance of Australia in the history of punk. I mean, what am I, Jon Savage? Google it yourself, FFS. Instead, let's just agree that the speedy, feral racket thrown together by the likes of The Saints, Radio Birdman and The Scientists in the mid-late '70s is AT LEAST as deliriously entertaining as anything concocted by their UK/US counterparts, sowing the seeds for seemingly endless garage-inflected noisemakers in the land down under. No one likes using words like 'tradition' or 'heritage' here - the punk rock clusterbomb is far too messy for any of that business - but also emerging from Australian rock's primordial soup is the addictive sneer of Stiff Richards. Like their predecessors, the band are a gleefully wracked mess of full throttle energy and barrelling power chords, with songs like 'Kids Out On The Grass' and 'Point of You' proving at least the equal of '(I'm) Stranded' or 'Aloha Steve And Danno'. Nine tracks in less than 30 minutes, all winners and all determined to leave you flipping over couches and smashing your TV set. And let's face it, you may as well; there's nothing good on. It all builds towards frantic closer 'Fill In The Blanks', which rattles around your speakers like the UK Subs trying to play Ed Kuepper riffs at the centre of an earthquake, before grinding to a halt as a voice says, "That's the one." Does it sound self-satisfied? Hey, it's got good reason to - this is the best no-frills garage rock party since Gino & The Goons' 'Do The Get Around', and the only appropriate response is to declare yourself betrothed to Stiff Richards because you can't imagine your life without 'em. Don't believe me? Sort out your ears and get 'State Of Mind' in 'em. Rock'n'roll as it's supposed to be played. Will Fitzpatrick.

2023 Repress

The primer of techno was barely dry or England already had its own variant of the genre: UK techno. Original Man by British producer Dave Angel is perhaps the perfect example of what that variant sounded like, back then. If only you knew where to find it. The single was released in 1993 on a record label that has long since ceased to exist. Fortunately, Utrecht-based record label SoHaSo made this transverse techno-soul classic available again, in a punchy remaster. With its juxtaposed rhythm programming and orchestral arrangements, Original Man still lives up to its title, even if it is 30 years later. On the flip you'll find Quarter Pounder. With its nervous hi-hats and high paced rhythms, this seems like the perfect soundtrack for a highway chase between two roadhouses. As a bonus, SoHaSo has supplemented the vinyl version of this EP with a rare Dave Angel track which also was released back in 1993 on French dance label FNAC. It's called 4th Symphony and ticks all the right techno boxes: strings, hihats and a melancholic melody. If you wanna learn more about UK techno, you might as well start with this wonderful re-release.

As the artwork on the EP depicts, "Darkest hour before dawn" is a dusky scenario representing the Dutch environment known as "the polder" in the lower lands. It questions all kinds of actions taken or not taken to protect, restore, conserve, innovate, or modestly leave the landscape to its own more murky outcome. The darkest hour, full of gloom, will be available around the spring equinox?

Portrait of tracks separately:


"Darkest Hour before dawn"

Is this piece supposed to be an ode to the ancient Dutch hardcore movement, that once and probably only then would be experienced to such intensity or is this still maybe just a little near reminder of it? Anyway starts this unlit track slowly and remains that way but maintains a fat-pumping pulse, possibly reminding of a soldier walking a death march. Settling up those launch pads further down the piece, near the bridge for shooting off some drum-fire 909 snares as if it rocketed. Then, suddenly, the extended delay of that snare turns into a psychedelic drone beside, attending to, or paranoidly chasing comrades soul in his journey throughout and above like a trustful partner?

Arp's LFO that is out of sync with the beat and is being outpaced by it seems to slow everything down even more; meantime creating a pulling, buggy-like effect to the due of all this.

The ascending and descending ghost-pad drawing into the grid of the (tone) key, thereafter parking in them for a while and cycling out again, creating a spatial flow of disturbance and anxiety.

Finishes it with a mountain-big reverberation of organized destruction and chaos. What at first sight seems like simply an innocent route appears to actually be a bit more complex one.


"Lovely memories"

The quite monotonous structure of Lovely memories catchy and groovy song is scanning through your brain files; revisiting, memorizing, and purposely lacking these few "dots above the I" that in some cases you'd gladly be feeling like to square fit it in yourself, of course, when necessary. Connecting the puzzling, dazzling flashbacks together to finally wrap up and perpetuate the pictured events for good, leaving traces of melancholy, loveliness, and perhaps even faith to it.


"24 hours"

Dinginess of 24 hours supposes to be felt in the guts.
The beat, steady with that snare on the 4 & 12, might not be one of the greatest inventions. However, the TR-08's drum line here lays a solid and fertile foundation for a reasonable house track.

Slightly detuned synths weave a scarf pattern around your upper body, and the lower layers carry a warm blanket for the underbelly, providing you with that cozy sense of consolation. Acidy pokes wring itself sneaky and penetrable around, slicing through the song's already solid flesh. Therefore, balancing its bitter sweetness throughout with these soft-hard saw-tooth drops of sourness.

"24 hours" conveys a dispatch or intercommunication that there is little time left to take actions/charge to fix and restore. Something big is about to come if it hasn't arrived already...


"At night"

This remarkable story is a bit out of ordinary.
At night appeared in the artist's dream just the night before his sick father was raised from death in the hospital and got just another year to live before actually passing away completely and anyway. ; ))
And thus also dedicated to the man.

It’s been seven strange years since The Veils’ last studio album Total Depravity, and Finn Andrews has a new double LP to show for it. "...And Out Of The Void Came Love" is the result of this tumultuous period of injury, isolation and new life...

Following the release of Total Depravity, Andrews released a solo album and began a worldwide tour. One night, while lashing out at a particularly intense moment on piano, he broke his wrist on stage. “It sounds wild and Jerry Lee Lewis-esque, but it was an absolute fucking nightmare,” Andrews says. He played on and finished the rest of the tour, but it wasn’t until he got it examined much later that he realized what a bad move that was. “The scaphoid bone in my wrist had died, which I didn’t know was possible. My sister said that at least it was a really ‘on brand’ injury for me.”

Finn’s convalescence meant a lengthy hiatus from touring, so he did what he does best and stayed at home and wrote songs. “I was in a cast and couldn’t use my right hand. I sang the melody lines, then recorded the right hand piano part, then the left hand part. It might have been an interesting, avant-garde process if it wasn’t also just profoundly annoying.”

Just when his hand had healed sufficiently for him to play again, The Veils found themselves in need of a new record label but Finn set about starting to make a new record regardless. Producer Tom Healy invited Finn to his small studio underneath the old Crystal Palace ballroom in Mount Eden, and they listened through the legions of songs he had amassed throughout the previous year.

“Tom was incredibly patient, it was a really laborious process - I brought a lot of junk down there and we had to sift through it all to try and find the parts worth saving.”

Following another two years of intermittent recording between lockdowns, Finn’s wife became pregnant, and yet more songs started coming.

By the time the songs had been recorded, it was clear that arranging the album into two halves best suited such varied material - but the meaning of the songs as a whole still eluded Andrews. “Then my daughter was born, and suddenly the whole record made sense to me,” he says. The music was telling a story, and somewhat strangely for The Veils, it seemed to have a happy ending.

The result of all these years of questioning, confinement and precarious uncertainty is the magnificent new double album from The Veils … And Out Of The Void Came Love. It is an album intended to be listened to in two sittings with a short break in the middle, or as Andrews instructs: “Make a coffee or smoke a cigarette – but don’t mow the lawn or go to the movies or something, that takes too long.”

Composer Victoria Kelly’s soaring string arrangements play an integral role in bringing the songs to life, as do musicians Cass Basil (bass), Dan Raishbrook (lap steel, guitar), Liam Gerrard (piano), Joseph McCallum (drums) the NZTrio and special guests the Smoke Fairies on backing vocals.

“Refreshingly passionate… Andrews rages with a Herculean intensity.” The Guardian
“Horse-whipped, lightning-crash clamor… magnetic.” Pitchfork
“One of the finest songwriters of his generation.” Drowned in Sound

Soundway releases a storming compilation of Cameroonian-born, Nigerian-based super producer Nkono Teles’ solo work.
The pioneer of West African electronic music was known for being tapped by over 100 other musicians to produce or arrange their music, from King Sunny Adé, Guy Lobe, even Steve Monite’s
album “Only You” and more. Having already appeared on Soundway’s best-selling compilation “Doing It In Lagos”, here more of Nkono’s
limited solo work is carefully remastered and reissued on
vinyl for the first time. One of a small handful of pioneers of the Nigerian electronic music scene in the 1980s (alongside the likes
of Jake Sollo & William Onyeabor), Teles was known for being tapped by over 100 musicians to feature on, produce or arrange their music. The list of ‘80s Nigerian records that his sound and style embellished
is seemingly endless: Steve Monite (he arranged and produced the music on the Only You album recently re-issued by Soundway), Dizzy K, Peter Abdul, Odion Iruoje, Steve Black, Rick Asikpo, Feladey, Charly Boy, Majek Fashek & Sonny Okosuns, to name just a few,
all engaged his enigmatic production and keyboard services throughout the 1980s. He became known as the first person in Nigeria to push the use of the drum machine into popular music and created a unique and original boogie-funk sound combining these new
beats with guitars and an array of new and affordable synthesiser sounds that started appearing in the early 1980s.

New London based quartet Qwalia, led by drummer Yusuf Ahmed, offer a plethora of influences whilst remaining resolutely itself. Assembled from musicians who play with David Byrne, Joy Crookes, Nubiyan Twist, Frank Ocean, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Cat Stevens and more; Yusuf is joined by Tal Janes on guitars and vocals, Ben Reed on bass and keyboardist Joseph Costi. Qwalia’s debut album ‘Sound And Reason’ is set for release by Alberts Favourites on 24th March 2023.
The name Qwalia stems from the same sounding word Qualia, a philosophy of mind with the property of being an ineffable experience. Qwalia’s music is an instinctive aural expression of how things seemed in the moment of creation.
In April ‘21, Qwalia spent two days recording completely improvised music at the Fish Factory in North West London. There was no plan or preconceived idea of what the music should sound like or what was going to happen.
“We set up altogether in one room, dimmed the lights, pressed record and just played,” says Yusuf. “We came away with over 13 hours of music, which was consolidated into three albums worth of material. The final record is mainly a result of pulling faders up or down to create space and structure out of what was already there from the live recording. The production process felt akin to a sculptor chipping away excess stone to reveal a statue that was already there, and occasionally putting some makeup on it!”
The band members are Pakistani, Italian, Venezuelan, Jewish and English. A reflection of the fact that cultural categories are infinite; Qwalia’s music unconsciously explores identity, exposing what this can mean. Or perhaps that it doesn’t mean anything at all.
Early support from Mary Anne Hobbs and Gilles Peterson, support to come from Huey Morgan, Cerys Matthews.

Strawberries ripen in the spring. Or so they used to, in a more reliable world, one that seems to be rapidly receding in our collective rearview mirror. Presently, “spring” is a troubled concept — fraught with anxiety. Our seasons, if they are seasons at all, are paradoxical. Crops fail, or they ripen prematurely, all at once, and into a burst of rot. Impossibly, somehow, the supermarket shelves stay stocked (mostly, for now at least), and there are buckets of strawberries on every corner. But, of course, their nature is suspect. And they don’t taste like they used to. Or maybe that’s just ruinous nostalgia. But somewhere along the way we certainly lost something. Everybody knows.

Strawberry Season (Leaving Records, November 9 2022) responds tenderly to this sorry state of affairs, not with false comfort — nor escapism. Rather, the album conveys, often wordlessly, that there remains an abundance of sweetness amidst our increasing unease. While much of twentieth century American popular and folk music may have dwelt on the beauty and plenitude of the prairie, More Eaze applies a similar Romantic focus to the small bursts of fecundity that now hide in plain sight. Blending found sound, generative music, a knack for elegant, classically-informed melodic arrangement, and a sort of Liz-Fraser-by-way-of-hyperpop approach to vocals, Strawberry Season offers unique solace — providing an occasion for the kind of deep listening that our overstimulated and undernourished spirits require if there is to be any hope at all (and of course there must be hope).

More Eaze (serving as composer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, producer, and sound artist) guides us incrementally to this locus of attentiveness. Strawberry Season begins with the softly sweeping gentle pets. Early intimations of Velvet Underground give way, indeed, to a string arrangement that John Cale might have saved for Paris 1919. The second track, Suped, features a kaleidoscopic swirl of grocery checkout scanners that eventually coalesce and release with the subtle strumming of a harp. On known, in the midst of a nearly elegiac outflow of feeling, a shower starts to run. Someone steps inside, pulling the curtain back, sending the plastic rings clattering. Moments later, the unmistakable sound of the showerer blowing their nose — an inclusion that is at once light-hearted and jarringly, movingly intimate.

Strawberry Season’s second to last song, low resolution at santikos, serves as a sustained meditation on all that has come before it. Building slowly throughout its nine minutes, teetering, at times, on the edge of danceability, it dissipates suddenly, and Strawberry Season concludes with the rustling of clothes, snippets of distant conversation, creaking floorboards, an exhale and a sniff. There is a feeling of having arrived, of temporary reprieve in the face of uncertainty. A hint of a season yet to come, or one that is perhaps only now accessible in dreams.

When Italian composer Bruno Bavota and Dutch songwriter Chantal Acda first met several years ago, they knew almost instantly that they wanted to make music together. Bavota was already a fan of Acda's dreamy, orchestral folk, and in Bavota's intimate, picturesque piano compositions, Acda saw a potential for collaboration that was begging to be explored. As it would happen, the inherent loneliness and isolation of the COVID-19 pandemic would provide a most unusual opportunity to craft an album together - without ever being ion the same room. Originally conceived as a brief two- or three-song EP, A Closer Distance is the result of a month of seemingly endless and effortless creative connections between Bavota and Acda. Spawned from the opening piano phrase that became the album's title track, the nine songs that make up A Closer Distance were written and recorded by Bavota and Acda in their respective homes. No stranger to long-distance collaboration - having worked with an array of artists from Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker of Low to guitar legend Bill Frisell - even Acda was surprised by the ease and pace with which A Closer Distance came together: "This all came so weirdly natural. It woke up a part of me that had been asleep for a while." Mostly built around Bavota's solitary piano arrangements and Acda's layered, ethereal vocals, the songs on A Closer Distance reflect the intimacy and tranquility of their conception. It is a magical collection that connects to the listener with the same air of comfort and familiarity that inspired its creation.

Marroon coloured vinyl.

1st pressing on Maroon coloured vinyl. Manzanita is the common name for a kind of small evergreen tree endemic to California which has strong medicinal properties. It's also the name of the brand new full length by visual artist, writer, songwriter, and musician Shana Cleveland. Subtle, powerful, and unafraid. We can't actually tell you how much we love this record because you'd never believe us, so we'll just say that it is her strongest and most personal album to date. These songs are as strong as the bricks in the Brill building, and seem destined to be covered by others in years to come. Where her previous record, 2019's Night of the Worm Moon (Hardly Art) functions as a collection of speculative fictions equally inspired by Afro-futurist pioneers Herman "Sun Ra" Blount and Octavia Butler, Manzanita concerns the love that loves to love. "This is a supernatural love album set in the California wilderness," Cleveland explains. The combinations of words and song structure are so strong throughout that one hardly notices Cleveland's nimble fingerpicking on first listen, or how much is packed into the arrangements. The lyrics are satisfyingly direct, with the buoyantly whimsical descriptions typical of the 1960s New York School of poetry. It's peppered with the kind of unexpected turns that make the words more modern, and in their spookiness they are more West Coast, as in "Mystic Mine," with its "Mystic Mine Lane, cars rotting away/ I feel so relieved to be/ Back in the country." So much of the pop music we love is propelled by those first blushes of infatuation and lust, but Manzanita concerns the kind of love that one can only experience with time, work, and devotion. Cleveland says: "The songs were all written while I was pregnant (side A) or shortly after my son's birth in that weird everything-has-quietly-but-monumentally-shifted state (side B)," she says. Moving to the country, starting a family, laughing for real at the same joke the thirteenth time you've heard it, surviving heavy shit (this is the first release since Cleveland's successful treatment for a diagnosis of breast cancer at the start of 2022). This is a love album that's somehow populated with the insect world, ghosts, and evil spirits. Sonically, Manzanita sits in a meadow similar to her previous solo records, set back and away from the genre-recombinant garage pop of her band La Luz. This is part due to the fact that there's a different sonic palette in use here. While Cleveland continues to play guitar and vocals; Johnny Goss, who has recorded all of Shana's solo material and early La Luz recordings, and Abbey Blackwell (Alvvays, La Luz) play the bass; Olie Eshleman is on pedal steel; and Will Sprott plays the keyboards, dulcimer, glockenspiel, and harpsichord-little of which would have been out of place on her previous two solo records-Sprott also adds layers of synthesizer infused with the sounds of the natural world.

Tape

1st pressing on Maroon coloured vinyl. Manzanita is the common name for a kind of small evergreen tree endemic to California which has strong medicinal properties. It's also the name of the brand new full length by visual artist, writer, songwriter, and musician Shana Cleveland. Subtle, powerful, and unafraid. We can't actually tell you how much we love this record because you'd never believe us, so we'll just say that it is her strongest and most personal album to date. These songs are as strong as the bricks in the Brill building, and seem destined to be covered by others in years to come. Where her previous record, 2019's Night of the Worm Moon (Hardly Art) functions as a collection of speculative fictions equally inspired by Afro-futurist pioneers Herman "Sun Ra" Blount and Octavia Butler, Manzanita concerns the love that loves to love. "This is a supernatural love album set in the California wilderness," Cleveland explains. The combinations of words and song structure are so strong throughout that one hardly notices Cleveland's nimble fingerpicking on first listen, or how much is packed into the arrangements. The lyrics are satisfyingly direct, with the buoyantly whimsical descriptions typical of the 1960s New York School of poetry. It's peppered with the kind of unexpected turns that make the words more modern, and in their spookiness they are more West Coast, as in "Mystic Mine," with its "Mystic Mine Lane, cars rotting away/ I feel so relieved to be/ Back in the country." So much of the pop music we love is propelled by those first blushes of infatuation and lust, but Manzanita concerns the kind of love that one can only experience with time, work, and devotion. Cleveland says: "The songs were all written while I was pregnant (side A) or shortly after my son's birth in that weird everything-has-quietly-but-monumentally-shifted state (side B)," she says. Moving to the country, starting a family, laughing for real at the same joke the thirteenth time you've heard it, surviving heavy shit (this is the first release since Cleveland's successful treatment for a diagnosis of breast cancer at the start of 2022). This is a love album that's somehow populated with the insect world, ghosts, and evil spirits. Sonically, Manzanita sits in a meadow similar to her previous solo records, set back and away from the genre-recombinant garage pop of her band La Luz. This is part due to the fact that there's a different sonic palette in use here. While Cleveland continues to play guitar and vocals; Johnny Goss, who has recorded all of Shana's solo material and early La Luz recordings, and Abbey Blackwell (Alvvays, La Luz) play the bass; Olie Eshleman is on pedal steel; and Will Sprott plays the keyboards, dulcimer, glockenspiel, and harpsichord-little of which would have been out of place on her previous two solo records-Sprott also adds layers of synthesizer infused with the sounds of the natural world.

With his new album, Gecko Turner confirms that he is a standout artist in the global groove scene, a must for the outernational sounds aficionados.

Somebody From Badajoz is the fifth studio album in his much lauded discography and his first in seven years, eagerly anticipated by both his fans and himself: "this business of dedicating yourself to music and making songs... it's a long game."

With the release of his first two, remarkable, albums, Guapapasea! (2003) and Chandalismo Ilustrado (2006), Gecko started cultivating what one astute journalist defined as Afro-maduran soul—the "maduran" bit referencing Extremadura, a region in central-western Spain.

Badajoz, Gecko's birthplace, is the biggest city in the area, on the border with Portugal, by the Guadiana River. It is a place that oozes history, where there is constant movement at the border, and people's character is friendly and open-minded with foreign habits.

Gecko's Afro-maduran soul isbuilt on Afro-American music and drenched in Brazilian, African, Latin American and Jamaican sounds. There are also echoes of a youth marked in equal parts by our man's admiration for the Beatles and the flamenco that could be heard everywhere in Badajoz in the seventies. It makes for a singular sound and a musical language of its own—spicy, succulent, full of nuances, but with a very personal flavour.

The album opens with the Nigerian talking drums of Twenty-twenty Vision, (neo) soul in a magical falsetto, carried by a sumptuous orchestral arrangement with a cinematic flavour: "I'd been thinking about doing something called 'Twenty-twenty Vision' for some time, making a play on words with the vision we have of the world after the year 2020 and the medical expression, which, in ophthalmological terms, means 'normal or complete vision.' Beyond that particular song, I think that's the mood of the album: a look at society in the twenties of the 21st century and the feelings and demons it produces."

It's followed by De Balde, a very special song born from a posthumously discovered lyric by the great writer Carlos Lencero, a regular collaborator of Camarón, Pata Negra, and Remedios Amaya, and also from Badajoz. While conceived as a fandango, Gecko has moulded it into his sound in such a seamless way it now seems as if the words could only have been written to be embraced by the percussion, brass, and backing vocals heard on the album. It's the only lyric on Somebody From Badajoz not written by Turner, still it sits rather comfortably with the rest, sharing the same emotivity and sensitivity, as well as the trademark humour and irony.

Other tracks see more protagonism for the rhythm.The beat-driven Ain't No Fun Preachin' to the Choir features Gecko's vocals walking the thin line between singing and talking over a phenomenal afro-disco-funk-infused trailblazer. In Am I Sad? it's impossible to not bob your head to the queen of Papatosina's mongrel rhythm, as close to the banks of the Guadiana river as it is to the shores of the Mississippi. Qué Siesta Tan Buena, He Babeao Y To! is an ode to the snooze in true Afro-Maduran fashion. And in Come And Try, the Caribbean influence is evident—lovers' rock that invites you to dance in good company.

In these songs, and throughout the album, for that matter, the musicians accompanying Gecko, who himself plays many of the instruments as well, shine brightly. All hailing from Extremadura, Javi Mojave (percussion), Álvaro Fdez 'Dr. Robelto' (bass), and Rafa Prieto (guitar) have been carrying him with delicate forcefulness since he started out as a solo artist. At the same time, the wonderful and essential voices of Deborah Ayo, Astrid Jones, Fani Ela Nsue, and Miriam Solís give the album a sunny variety of colours. And there are many more—a sensational group of musicians contributes dazzling harmonic bursts to many of the songs. The palette of sounds is very diverse and rich in textures and nuances, including, for example, the ngoni, bells, and various repurposed kitchen utensils.

The groove is always around, moving between the magical border sound of Everybody Knows Somebody From Badajoz and Little Dose, the silky soul of The Sibariteo Appreciation Society, and the exultant celebration of End Of The World (which surprisingly sees Gecko turning to the occasional use of autotune), a piece that could be used for the final credits of a Monty Python film and, in fact, closes the album.

Gecko Turner has done it again with Somebody From Badajoz, looking to the future without losing sight of the roots. In times of upheaval all over the globe, when people are looking for purity, he delivers a formidable piece of work: risky, optimistic in spite of everything, and with a decidedly bastard sound. Let's rejoice.

Jeugdbrand is the voice (Dennis Tyfus) and the beat (Jeroen Stevens) of Antwerp. They perform a sparkling drama, a theatrical tragedy, marinated in our classic Antwerp anarchic sense of humor. Recorded at Joris Caluwaerts’ Finster Studios - a landmark in Belgian music.

Inside the multiverse that is Dennis Tyfus’ oeuvre there exists this body of detailed pencil drawings of various sizes. In these drawings the artist puts himself in many tragic situations. Like vomiting on his way home after a long night at the bar. Boiling right wing idiots. Telling sweet little lies on your Tinder profile. Or, you know, taking out the garbage on a Sunday evening. The horror. These seemingly hermetic pencil drawings show a deceivingly simple world. But you’re often stuck with a bitter aftertaste when you understand a bit more what is actually happening behind the colorful masque.

When it comes to his music - and in contrast to aforementioned drawings - Dennis pencils a more piecemeal picture. His recordings and performances often feel like spliced excerpts. Strange sentences and funny remarks waiver by and interconnect. Musical symbols are casually thrown on the table. Instead of a clear picture, we now have the feeling of looking at a bunch of different doodles. Like… sometimes I have the feeling compared to how focussed Dennis works on his drawings, how unfocussed and sketchy he treats his music. We are simply thrown from emotion to emotion. From laughter to tears. It’s a bumpy ride.

I’d like to imagine that Dennis constantly notates all the shards of conversation he picks up during his regular walks in the centre of Antwerp - a wormhole congested with characters, the one more tragic than the other. In a kind of R. Murray Schafer way, Dennis takes in every sentence very un-arbitrary… and that’s the soundscape. Dramatic, normal, boasted, silly, urgent…

Enter Jeroen Stevens. Antwerp’s number one percussionist. If I would have to list all the bands he performs in this text, well, we would be truly wasting data and printers. Jeroen is the grand gift of the wellschooled session musician. But thank the heavens of white improv, he is also sweet and creative. Jeugdbrand is his second entry in the Edições CN catalogue, after taking care of some of the percussive fragments on the “KAGIROI" LP with Sugai Ken (2021). Recently Jeroen has been performing very lengthy - thus correct - performances of Satie’s Vexations for midi instrumentation; Christmas music; and his famed De Stoeltjes project, where he covers Stooges songs on a camping chair. Apparently much to the confusion of Iggy himself. This might all feel like a big joke to you, but when you dare to listen, you will have to admit that Steven’s adventurous music is very rewarding. Special stuff.

The music of Jeugdbrand reminds me a bit of the music of the late Ghédalia Tazartès - especially when it comes to reinterpreting and combining musical idioms - but trying to put a direct reference on this album does it a bit short. Most important, this is music how it could be: incomprehensible, hilarious, serious, ludicrous, well crafted, sloppy, non-genre. With a strong sense of personality. You know, a fragmented beam for your own overstimulated temple. To shake things up a little … “They told us, they told her. I told everybody.”The albums comes with a drawing by German artist Albert Oehlen and with a text by Angela Sawyer of Weirdo Records, Boston.

"And we"re coming out of dreams / And we"re coming back to dreams" is the first thing you hear Bill say as you remake your acquaintance on YTILAER. Right out the gate, he"s standing in two places at once: meeting up with old friends behind the scenes and encountering them on the record, finding himself coming round the bend and then again as someone else on down the line. Like the character actor he played on Gold Record, writing stories about other people, telling jokes about everyone, and in singing them, becoming the songs. "You do what you"ve got to do / To see the picture" Bill"s got a full band sound going on this one, with him and Matt Kinsey on guitars, Emmett Kelly on bass and backing vocals, Sarah Ann Phillips on B3, piano and backing vocals and Jim White on drums. Jim and Matt sing on one song, too, and some other singers come in, too. Bill plays some synth here and there, and Carl Smith drifts in and out of the picture with his contra alto clarinet, as do Mike St. Clair and Derek Phelps on brass. Somehow in between them all, you might think you hear the distant sound of a steel guitar. And you might - but you might not, too. In this company, Bill continues his journey, tunneling underneath the weathered exterior of what seems to be and into the more nuanced life everything takes on in the dark. With Bill"s voice making the extraordinary leaps and bounds that measure the lives of the songs, the band follow him through passages that seem to invent themselves; other times playing with deeply soulful grooves and/or desperate intensity, as these moments come and go. There"s nothing they can"t do. "I wrote this song in five and forever / I"m writing it right now" Bill sings on "Natural Information" - an admission of the everyday alchemy he"s forever trafficking in. Time passes, triangulating the encounters that went into any one record with two out of any three others, all of it made flesh, new constitution, in our stereo speakers. If every album is its own life, it stands to reason that they"re invariably passing in the night. Cascading images flowing from the stream of consciousness. Turning like pages from the journal, unspeakably personal, then suddenly become tall tales, like a book pulled off the shelf, completely unbound. Headlines flow through. Mirror images, mirthful ones. Bill"s lyrics strain at the lines on the page, not content to separate the printing of the fact from the myth or be confined to ink on paper. They want to fly free. And they do. "I realize now that dreams are real" On YTILAER"s inner sleeve, alongside his lyrics, Bill celebrates the "exhilaration and dread" of cover artist Paul Ryan"s paintings. Paul"s another one met up with again down the road, his indelible cover imagery on Apocalypse and Dream River now an axis of meaning in the Callahanian world - and in the bright colors found in these new images, a parallel to Bill"s recognitions here. "A breath of exquisite air as we come up from drowning", sounds like the desired hope for those hearing the songs of YTILAER.

»Holo« by the US-American three-piece Kiln, first released in 1998, is one of those rare records that managed to carve out a niche of its own while also building bridges to variety of genres like Chicago-style post-rock, the ambient mysticism of projects like Rapoon or the music made at the intersection of shoegaze, and electronic music in the late 1990s. Lush textures, subtle rhythms, jazzy inflections and electronic experimentation seamlessly blend into each other over the course of the eleven tracks. This reissue through the German label Keplar makes the fully revised version, self-released by the group in 2007 under the name »Holo re/lux,« available on vinyl for the very first time. »Twenty-five years later this newly mastered vinyl edition is evidence that the sound of ›Holo‹ continues to attract like-minded listeners,« says member Clark Rehberg III. »Which on many levels means that our mission was successful.«

Rehberg had embarked on this mission together with Kevin Hayes and Kirk Marrison in 1993. They had first worked together under the name Fibreforms as a live trio that used treated guitars, kit drums, and tapes of found sound to explore the balance between band composition and recording experiments, while Marrison made heavy use of the Akai S612 sampler as a fabricating strategy with the project Waterwheel. »Kiln seemed to encapsulate the evolution and melding of those previous approaches to one that insisted on the continual opening up of the compositional process, allowing more of the mystery that can be discovered through studio experiments—and accidents—to become important elements of creating our music,« says Rehberg of the trio that is still going strong after three decades. »The word Kiln implies heat and transformation, an attitude that we apply to every sound we use—we begin with notes and performance and then mosaic with shape and colour.«

»Holo« followed up on the trio’s debut self-titled EP that had been recorded in the summer of 1996. »That same year, during a lull in our collabs, Kirk began building pieces on a low-memory Mac using an early 8-channel DAW,« explains Rehberg. Enchanted by the unprecedented fidelity and energy of those recordings, the three reconvened to build upon them and make more music in that manner. »I’d say our intention was no different than any other time: create something immersive and compelling: dense melodic blasts of uniquely constructed but ultimately accessible audio moments.« The group worked individually and in pairs for about 18 months while being spread across the United States. »We poured everything into it that we had at the time, working dead-end jobs by day and on audio in every other open moment. I remember the struggle of that process, but also the pure joy as we pulled down countless moments of magic while the pieces took shape.«

Rehberg says that he still hears »a time-stamp of those efforts and the belief that we were creating a special audio experience« when listening back to »Holo,« a record the band itself chose to revise almost a decade after its initial release. »Ultimately we just felt those pieces needed more impact and we had the tools and ability to make that happen,« he explains. 16 years after that and a quarter of a century after it first introduced Kiln as a force to be reckoned with, the remastered version feels indeed timeless. It is both a snapshot of the first extensive album project by a group whose bond is still »diamond strong,« as Rehberg puts it, and a record that continues to sound fresh, if not visionary also today.

All tracks composed and recorded by Kevin Hayes, Kirk Marrison, Clark Rehberg III.
Originally released on Thalassa in 1998.
Remaster by Stephan Mathieu. Vinyl cut by LUPO.
Cover art by Kirk Marrison & Clark Rehberg III.
Text by Kristoffer Cornils.