quête:angel

For Fans of, KISS, Starz, Angel, and 70’s classic rock! Employing a dazzling mix of glam rock, hard rock, and progressive rock, Angel's outrageous, white-satin-heavy image and equally over-the-top stage shows, making them one of the more colourful arena rock bands of the mid-'70s and early '80s. Discovered by KISS bass player, Gene Simmons, the group issued their eponymous debut album in 1975, which hewed closer to prog rock than the glam pop that would inform future endeavours like On Earth as It Is in Heaven(1977) and Sinful(1979). The group released a total of 5 studio albums and 1 live album before going their separate ways in 1981.Formed in Washington, D.C., the group's self-titled 1975debut was recorded for the flamboyant Casablanca Records label--home to KISS--with a line-up comprising Frank DiMino (vocals), Punky Meadows (guitar), Gregg Giuffria (keyboards), Mickie Jones(bass), and Barry Brandt(drums). A heavy slab of heavy pomp rock with lengthy songs swathed in Giuffria's atmospheric keyboards and featuring the longtime stage favourite "Tower". Now to celebrate the50thAnniversarythis classic has been remastered and is being released on both a 6-pane l CD digipak and on 180G vinyl with liner notes by Rock Candy journalist Dave Reynolds. There are only 700 of the Black-Blue swirl worldwide. A must have for any Angel fan with classics like “Tower” and “Rock & Rollers”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pure beauty of a kind... Angel Flo delivers here, not only some tunes...
It's an invocation, a ceremony...

We are pleased to announce our new EP from Simon Schilling, known under the pseudonym 'The Angel Code'. The talented ambient producer, originally from Heidelberg, brings a breath of fresh air to the ambient scene with his latest work. The release will be available both on vinyl and digitally in March. The Vinyl buyers will also receive a special bonus gift.

The Angel Code is not merely an ambient music project; it is an invitation to wander inward, to inspire introspection and connection. Blending ethereal textures, subtle melodies, and atmospheric layers.

A place where sound becomes emotion. Trust in the unseen. Let the code guide you. Vinyl Tastes Better...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recorded at Absolute Studio & Soundfirm Melbourne, jan - june 1990.
Engineered by Steve Burgess.

Special thanks to : Steve Burgess, all at Soundfirm, Philip Brophy, Robert Goodge,all the Tunisian extras who sang & played for us between scenes during the shooting of Isabelle Eberhard & finally to Sylvie Partiot for her marvelous sound recordings & atmospheres.

Everything in our world is intertwined, interconnected and mixed, something not fully explored from the past still influences the present and creates the future.

The spiral of time has caught its beginning on the ancient multicultural city, breaking through the multilayered chaos of history, met us at this very segment and crystallized this artefact — Babylon is ahead of you.

A blast from the past, a fleeting moment of falling in love, an inhumane apocalyptic metropolis, an icy deathbed or an eternal lost love…? The golden coast awaits you. Its crystal doors are there for you to open them. The deep, azure saltwater is here…forever…

By alone or not.

Serenades presents the second EP from talented producer BB. angel (fka baby angel) who has traveled a huge musical path.

High Roller Records, reissue 2025, 180g black vinyl, ltd 250, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover, lyric sheet, A4 info sheet, poster, fully restored original artwork, mastered for vinyl by Patrick W. Engel at Temple of Disharmony, Cutting by SST Germany on Neumann machines for optimal quality on all levels... The ultimate audiophile edition of this German Speed Metal classic

High Roller Records, reissue 2025, transparent beer colored vinyl, ltd 250, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover, lyric sheet, A4 info sheet, poster, fully restored original artwork, mastered for vinyl by Patrick W. Engel at Temple of Disharmony, Cutting by SST Germany on Neumann machines for optimal quality on all levels... The ultimate audiophile edition of this German Speed Metal classic

Mit "Entangled in Chaos" griffen Morbid Angel nach ihrer Domination Tour von 1996 den erfolgreichen 70er-Jahre Kunstgriff des Live-Albums wieder neu auf. Mit 5 Songs vom grandiosen "Altar of Madness" und weiteren Hochkarätern der David Vincent-Ära, der singende Bassist verließ die Band kurz nach Tournee und LiveAlbum Produktion. "Entangled In Chaos" wurde unter Fans schon kurz nach VÖ als Best Of-Album mit Live-Atmosphäre wertgeschätzt und hoch gehandelt.

"The Art Of Dying" is DEATH ANGEL's first album after a 14 years hiatus, but one thing is sure: time hasn't harmed the band's talent in any way! With a line-up that has remained largely unchanged since the 1980s (only Gus Pepa left the band and got replaced by Ted Aguilar), DEATH ANGEL deliver a tour-de-force of pure, uncut thrash Metal comprising of great and powerful thrashers like 'Thrown To The Wolves', 'Thicker Than Blood' and 'Prophecy', "The Art Of Dying", incredible mid-tempo smashers such as the catchy 'The Devil Incarnate' and even a haunting ballad with 'Words To The Wise'.

Gwen Stefanis Debütalbum Love. Angel. Music. Baby.
Das Album ist auf 45 RPM 2LP neonpinkem Vinyl gepresst. Mit enthalten ist die #1 Single “Hollaback
Girl”, sowie “Rich Girl”, “Cool” und “What You Waiting For?”
Anlässlich des 20-Jährigen Jubiläums des 5x Platin Albums wird diese Neuauflage am 22.11.2024 veröffentlicht.

This re-issue faithfully replicates the original 1971 Island Records UK release in gatefold sleeve and is pressed onto high quality 180g vinyl. Released in June 1971, Angel Delight was the first of two albums of Fairport Convention as a four-piece, after the departure of founder member Richard Thompson that January. The band were living in a converted pub, The Angel, in Hertfordshire where they worked up the material for the album, another blend of the traditional and the original. The title track a pun on the time they were having at the pub, and a nod to the popular British dessert of the same name was a jolly catalogue of their life at the moment, referring to producer John Wood as 'John The Wood' and drummer Dave Mattacks as 'Dave The Drum.' It also mentions the day a lorry crashed into the pub, which, had Dave Swarbrick been in his room at the time could well have killed him. The album Fairport's only Top 10 album in the UK chart is also known for its traditional medley of jigs and reels, The Cuckoo's Nest, the beautiful ballad Wizard Of The Worldly Game and the group's version of the salty English song The Bonny Black Hare

Icy Hardcore !

Long awaited EP.

Military Genius (aka songwriter/producer Bryce Cloghesy) today announced his new album Scarred for Life will be released November 1st, 2024 via Unheard of Hope. The follow-up to his atmospheric 2020 debut Deep Web, Scarred for Life is a genre-flexing mix of bass-heavy R&B, spaced dub, and jazz that is newly grounded within a more traditional rock framework and centered on lyricism. Lead single “Darkest Hour”–out now alongside a self-directed video filmed near his new desert home in Joshua Tree, California–reflects a head first journey into the unknown. "’Darkest Hour’ encapsulates the feeling of being swept away by time, into an endless night,” says Cloghesy. “There is a certain melancholy in leaving the past behind, dwelling on simpler, antiquated ways of life as we are pushed forward. This message is poignant on a personal level–becoming a father has led me to contemplate my own childhood, witnessing a purity of emotion prior to self-awareness. This applies to a broader collective consciousness too, as the march of progress fundamentally alters our shared experience. It's all about embracing the journey, stepping beyond the point of no return, and facing the future."

Military Genius (aka songwriter/producer Bryce Cloghesy) today announced his new album Scarred for Life will be released November 1st, 2024 via Unheard of Hope. The follow-up to his atmospheric 2020 debut Deep Web, Scarred for Life is a genre-flexing mix of bass-heavy R&B, spaced dub, and jazz that is newly grounded within a more traditional rock framework and centered on lyricism. Lead single “Darkest Hour”–out now alongside a self-directed video filmed near his new desert home in Joshua Tree, California–reflects a head first journey into the unknown. "’Darkest Hour’ encapsulates the feeling of being swept away by time, into an endless night,” says Cloghesy. “There is a certain melancholy in leaving the past behind, dwelling on simpler, antiquated ways of life as we are pushed forward. This message is poignant on a personal level–becoming a father has led me to contemplate my own childhood, witnessing a purity of emotion prior to self-awareness. This applies to a broader collective consciousness too, as the march of progress fundamentally alters our shared experience. It's all about embracing the journey, stepping beyond the point of no return, and facing the future."

XXCEPTION TO THE RULE - THE SWEETER THE JUICE b/w ANGEL IN DISGUISE

Daxwood Records out of North Carolina owned by music maestro Doyle Wood have recorded some real gems over the years.

From the Daxwood Studios, IZIPHO SOUL are proud to present XXCEPTION TO THE RULE, a female duo consisting of Vanessia Mathis and Daniela Curry.

On a 7” for the first time are two songs originally recorded in 1982.

THE SWEETER THE JUICE (Re-Titled for 2024) is an arousing dancer with a potent ‘squelchy’ bass sound and soaring vocals.

On the flip is ANGEL IN DISGUISE, a supreme ballad of it’s era, with Vanessia’s voice shining through; the piano solo by the late Eldridge McMillan is simple yet has so much feeling - Pure SOUL!!

These tracks are featured on a 2011 CD album - Xxception To The Rule ‘Then And Now’.

Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water, the self-titled debut from the duo of trumpeter Will Evans and guitarist, synthesist, producer and multi-instrumentalist Theo Trump, arrives like a vault revelation. It feels like a decades-old yet newly unearthed masterwork of gorgeous ambient improvisation, the sort of thing scholars live to research and shepherd into deluxe reissue.

The patient, crystalline chords that swell and resonate like a series of confessions; the textured brass murmurs that suggest a ’60s or ’70s Fire Music master at their most poignant. Provocative found-sound experiments threading arcane religious recordings through dystopian soundscapes. Ear-shattering free-noise tumult. Where and when did this music come from? Who are these voices?

As it turns out, Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water springs from an engrossing human story, though it isn’t necessarily the one you’d expect. This work of stunning maturity is in fact an entrance by two little-known explorers in their early 20s, who grew up together in Virginia, in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It documents one of those perfect, sparkling moments in post-adolescence when big decisions and responsibilities are right around the corner, but for a spell, two young artists are able to create among the comforts and nostalgia of their shared past.

It also represents a reunion of sorts, as Evans and Trump connected as toddlers, became inseparable as boys, then pursued independent lives and creative paths as young adults. “Theo is my oldest friend,” Evans says, “and I feel like that’s what this band is — us meeting right in the middle of our interests.”

Now, having conjured this magic, they’ve detached once again: Evans, whose other works include the indie/avant-jazz unit Angelica X, is currently based in New York City. Trump recently moved to England, where he’d participated in his family’s theatre company, to go to school and further his solo ambient project. “This album didn’t start out as something super ambitious,” Evans explains. “It was more just an excuse to spend time together again and make music.”

***

In conversation, Evans and Trump are a delight, especially for cynics who might think that Gen-Z is only capable of doomscrolling. They come across as kindly young intellectuals who grew up using the internet as it was intended, for exposure to ideas and art across genres and generations. Trump points to indie-folk and the oracular post-rock of late Talk Talk, Bark Psychosis and Gastr del Sol. Pressed for his guitar heroes, he cites Bill Orcutt, Mary Halvorson and Marc Ribot, and mentions his devotion to alt-country. Heyday electro-industrial stuff like Skinny Puppy and Nine Inch Nails also meant a lot to him.

Evans is equally intrepid, though his background has a greater jazz focus. Ambrose Akinmusire, among today’s most thoughtfully commanding trumpeters, is a favorite. As for the soulful murmur he offers throughout Forgetting You, Pharoah Sanders’ wistful and lyrical contributions to Floating Points’ work is a touchstone.

The two grew up down the street from each other in the northern Piedmont town of Batesville, Virginia. Their families were friends, holidays were celebrated together and they became the most loyal of pals. As children they had a pretend band.

Then life unfolded, they attended different schools and their paths diverged. Evans discovered John Coltrane and became a jazz obsessive, as Trump found punk and hardcore and later began making ambient music. As a dedicated jazz trumpeter, Evans studied formally and widely; Trump was an autodidact, teaching himself guitar and absorbing synthesis and production techniques. The late teens and very early 20s brought moves away from home and back to home, as well as plenty of listening and learning. The Covid pandemic meant an opportunity to reconnect on long walks. Through it all, together and apart, they remained reverent of each other.

By early 2023, they found themselves living again among the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the evening, after giving trumpet lessons in Charlottesville, Evans would make the eerily beautiful trek “over the mountain” to Trump’s home in Staunton, Virginia. They’d talk and eat and begin to improvise, deep into the night. Evans played trumpet and sometimes drums. (Given the wee-hours recording schedule, the neighbors didn’t appreciate the latter.) Trump plugged a rickety, junk-store Telecaster-style guitar into a cheap solid-state amp and explored open tunings; he also layered on lap steel, electric bass, synths and electronics.

They locked in and relished each other’s gifts. In Trump, those include patience and intentionality and sonic decision-making; for Evans, a distinctive trumpet sound that both musicians think of as a singer’s voice. “Will’s playing is so thoughtful and well placed,” Trump says. “My goal from a producer’s mindset is that the trumpet will occupy the space that vocals would take.”

Often, they got lost in the best way. “The thing I look for most when I’m playing is that feeling of disappearing into what you’re doing,” Evans says. “Usually when that happens, the music is good.”

By the same token, they didn’t pursue free improvisation as an ethic, or as a pure process. Their goal was something closer to spontaneous composition. “We were trying to make good songs,” Evans says simply. Later, Trump did brilliant post-production work, expanding a modest setup into an enthralling soundworld. Under his judicious editorship, music that was wholly improvised sounds at times like a carefully composed new-music commission.

The results speak for themselves. “A Happy Death” summons up a swath of American desolation through the viewfinder of Wim Wenders. “Flesh of Lost Summers” and “Partings” are highlights from an essential ECM LP that never was. “A Collapse of Horses” infuses those seminal post-rock influences with the plod of doom metal or slowcore. The album’s final track, “The Mountains Are a Dream That Calls to Me,” was in fact the first thing the duo recorded, as an evocation of those twilit drives across the Blue Ridge Mountains. “Looking back at what we chose to name the songs,” Evans says, “and some of the sounds and how they make me feel, there is an air of impermanence and loss to this album.”

“I’m excited for everything that’s to come,” he adds, “but I recently thought, ‘Damn — that’s not going to happen again.’ It was a privilege for us to have that time together.”

High Roller Records, reissue 2024, black vinyl, ltd 200, insert, poster, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover, mastered for vinyl by Patrick W. Engel at Temple of Disharmony

High Roller Records, reissue 2024, black vinyl, ltd 200, insert, poster, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover, mastered for vinyl by Patrick W. Engel at Temple of Disharmony

Alliyah Enyo’s genius 2022 ‘Echo's Disintegration’ album infused William Basinski's "Disintegration Loops" with choral smoke, and she now returns with an even more immersive followup alongside ambient enigma and Kelela producer Florian T M Zeisig, making heady and translucent loop-finding vocal soundscapes.

In 2022, Enyo worked with the Edinburgh Sculpture Workshop on an epic two-hour composition made from tape loops inspired by selkies, mythical creatures in Celtic folklore. Contemplating memory, grief and time itself, Enyo devised a "sonorous myth" installation and performance that drowned her voice in the deep sea, using echo to help parallel the communication of humpback whales. It was powerful enough for her to net the award for Sonic Arts at the Scottish Awards for New Music last year, and it's this material that she revisits here, entering into a dialog with Berlin-based producer Florian T M Zeisig, here adopting a new avatar - Angel R.

On the A-side, Enyo distills two hours of the original composition into 11 haunted fragments that ooze in and out of each other like a dream. Reworked at Glasgow's Green Door studio, she sculpts her voice into weightless Radigue-style incantations, leaning into the tape loops' corroded inconsistencies. Enyo's voice becomes the selkie's song: wordless echoes that sound as if they're being dragged slowly towards the sea bed. There are remnants of folk forms in there; we hear traces of church music and Celtic ballads - but she obscures her influences with dubbed reverb, distortion and repetition. Phrases disappear and re-appear, time becomes a loop, best absorbed in a single sitting to properly perceive its graceful, sinking bliss. By the end of the side, Enyo’s vocals are completely waterlogged, dimmed against Robin Guthrie-like shimmers, all brassy, blurred incantations emanating from the depths of a floatation tank.

Florian T M Zeisig responds on the B-side with three flooded, longer-form pieces that will appeal to anyone who devoured his album of corroded Enya loops a couple of years ago. Enyo's voice is now reduced to a whisper, blistered and gauzy expressions that float over dense pads on 'Untitled I' before getting lost in the weeds completely on the muggy 'Untitled II'. On the closing 'Gates of Heaven', he sculpts Enyo's voice until it's just an illusory, hypnotic reflection, slow-fading into the aether.

Limited edition "Coke Bottle Cloud" color vinyl with etched b-side. Australian duo Armlock make music for having your head in the clouds. On new album Seashell Angel Lucky Charm, Simon Lam and Hamish Mitchell bring you on a steady ascension through compressed and heavenly sonic realms. The band's second proper release, and first for Run For Cover Records, showcases the songwriters' experimental electronic roots through an indie rock lens. Free from distortion or overindulgence, Seashell Angel Lucky Charm is a collection of consistent rhythms decorated with clean guitar tones and eccentricities. Through playful layers of vocal harmony and minimal arrangements, Armlock capture the inventive and uncomplicated essence of Pinback or Alex G. Self-described as "indie rock with a touch of spirituality and emo", Armlock's journey into a higher realm is seeped with the looming confusion that comes with exploring the unknown. With an introverted demeanor, Armlock explores the human desire to find guidance in a world much bigger than its people. Every sound on Seashell Angel Lucky Charm feels precise and intentional, making the anthemic choruses on tracks like "Fear" and "El Oh Ve Ee'' feel expertly placed and pop-oriented. These two songs show Armlock's savvy with harmony as they use octaves of angelic sounds to stretch a simple one-word chorus until it soars with meaning. Unlike most indie rockers, Armlock use guitar as a tool in their belt rather than a vessel for songwriting. Where their 2021 EP Trust set foundations in downtempo acoustic guitar, Lam and Mitchell's evolved songwriting is a testament to where an electric guitar can amplify a song's groove, or usher in sonic space.