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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.

Every so often an album of such deceptive genius, of such aesthetic clarity, comes across our desk and transfixes us. Thought Leadership's III Of Pentacles is one such work of art. It's an instant classic and glides into the pantheon of timeless guitar-soul totems. Originally out on cassette only, we present the first ever vinyl issue. It's a hideously limited pressing of 300 for the world, so don't sleep on this.

Thought Leadership has already garnered big support from such tastemakers as Ruf Dug, Jason Boardman, Nathan Gregory Wilkins, J Walk, Evan Woodward, Justin Robertson and Heavenly's Jeff Barrett. The first time we heard III Of Pentacles, we nearly wept at the thought that something so beautiful, so bursting with real hope, could even exist in this brutal world. To quote the Quietus, "imagine if Stockport was situated somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway rather than the M60, and you’ll have some idea of the coordinates to the post-industrial, sunburnt dream space opened up here."

So, who is Thought Leadership? What do we know about them? They reside in Stockport and are obsessed with ethereal guitar records. That’s about it. That and these X ideas shared with you, the listener.

Captured on a multitrack recorder in a terraced house in Stockport, this is as DIY as it gets. Glaringly obvious is a love for classic Factory and early 4AD. Perhaps it is the proximity to the River Mersey where the ideas arrived, and there being but three miles between where this and the Durutti Column’s classic “LC” was recorded, as the two operate across a familiar aural plain. Be it geographic or otherwise, limited by a true economy of means, namely guitar, pedals and drum machine, the fruit borne from these humble tools has been indelibly shaped by the perma-gloom that hangs low over the Manchester and Stockport environs.

Ushered in on 808 kicks, “I” opens the record as a beautiful Sketch for Stockport; a chiming maj7 chord dripping in chorus and delay sets us on our way. The Vini Reilly comparisons are unavoidable. “II” is all John McGeoch, with its trippy goth-psyche arpeggiated pattern cascading across the stereo image. Do those drums swing? But goths don’t swing?! They do here. We’re treated to a bit of crunch on the lead guitar part and some really lush reverb. We even step forth into shoegaze territory, albeit briefly, for the middle eight. “III”, a firm Be With favourite, continues the dreamy psyche leanings of the previous track, with an even bigger melody this time. We’re hearing The Teardrop Explodes on quaaludes here. A proto-dream pop cut soaked in melancholy. But watch out! The coda finds Johnny Marr has gotten into the ‘ludes and gatecrashed the final bars with some incredibly ignorant B minor pentatonic noodling.

“IV” ditches the drum machine for the first in a suite of three beatless electric guitar duets. The first of these semi-improvised rubato ideas is a striking departure from the earlier playful pieces, coming over emo and moody. Greyscale sulking for Stratocaster. Sign us up. “V” contains some really lyrical phrasing; a gorgeous conversation between two guitars. Real Stopfordian Primitive; meditative, crude, rain-soaked. We cycle through the same feels, then end on an alluring chord that breaks the pattern. Sometimes thoughts are like this. “VI” creeps in all plaintive, then a huge reverberating descending guitar line comes tumbling in like something off those classic Dif Juz 12”s. There’s some Maurice Deebank in there too, for sure, and the coda nods to early Meat Puppets.

“VII” rounds out the A Side, and succinctly presents a summary of all ideas explored thus far on our journey. The drum machine is back, this time with some wispy delay, before both guitars enter together playing interlocking lines. As we start, we end, with the delayed 808 guiding us out.

Opening Side B, “VIII” sees us embark on the other side of our journey as we slow down and space out. The drum machine is here, but the guitars are different now. Think Sensations Fix or Göttsching at his most peeled out. Drones, ambient drifts of broken chords and distorted lead lines all swirl round the mix. Side B is one for headphones for sure. “IX” is almost too exquisite for words. A New Age Mixolydian voyage through the cosmos. If you’re unmoved by the end you’ve probably got no pulse. We were left blunted ineffable by this one, such is the smudged elegance radiating from this idea. All hail the Thought Leader.

“X” is a full circle moment, and a fitting end. If you’ve not already elsewhere across the platter, you will be getting heavy Robin Guthrie vibes from this piece. Like the rest of Side B, this improvised jam sticks within a framework of related chords but the celestial energies channelled might invite us to wander “outside”, especially when the Tubescreamer is engaged.

RIYL Durutti Coulmn, Cocteau Twins, Dif Juz, Sensations Fix, Spike and adjacent guitar musicks – but, ultimately, this is just its own thing; such is the strength of ideas presented. "It’s good music to chill out to." (??)

Be With is honoured to present the first ever vinyl release of III Of Pentacles, carefully remastered by Be With's engineer Simon Francisco to ensure it sounds better than ever after its initial tape release. Cicely Balston's expert skills have made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the records have been pressed to the highest possible standard at Record Industry, in Holland. The original tape cover artwork, so crucial to Thought Leadership's striking visual aesthetic, has been rejigged for vinyl issue here at Be With. Its stark presentation befits the music contained within. They inform us that they shuffled their tarot deck to ask what the album should be called and the card you see on the cover popped out. The III Of Pentacles tarot card represents teamwork, shared vision and the ability to achieve goals through collaboration. We like to think Thought Leadership and Be With have nailed this one.

"Daft Punk brought me here, he brought me Daft Punk"

Just knowing that this slice of hyper-rare disco dynamite was crafted by Thomas Bangalter's dad should be enough for you to buy this on sight, if only to understand a little bit more about Thomas and Daft Punk's background. But this is so much more than a Daft Punk family curio.

Born Bangalter in 1947, Daniel Vangarde is a French songwriter and producer. In 1975, Vangarde founded his label, Zagora Records, who we have worked closely with on this lovingly curated reissue. For years, Vangarde wrote and produced songs that remained underground, under several pseudonyms and for various artists. Dubbed "the secret father of French disco" this here groove-fulled firecracker - using his Who’s Who moniker - is for disco-funk, library music and cosmic beat lovers.

The intense, evocative opener "Palace Palace" positively throbs with raw energy and sounds, honestly, like something off Daft Punk's Discovery. The title refers to the fashionable Parisian club Le Palace, essentially the Parisian Studio 54. "I’d been to a nightclub in New York, a big ring where people were roller skating with a whistle. The atmosphere was great. The music was all disco. I made this song when I came back. A vocoder transformed my voice. Back then, it wasn’t used much." The track rides a killer groove and is deceptively complex, with layers of fantastic percussion and ace synth work going on all over it. Listed to on repeat, it's brilliance is simply undeniable.

The louche, slo-mo heater "Hypno Dance" is, in Be With's opinion, *the* deadly dancefloor track. A svelte slice of ace space disco again geared towards the roller skating dance mania of the day. So deep, so disco, so instrumental. An unreal track and, as the title hints at, totally hypnotic. The side closes with the somewhat throwaway "Popeden" - it's a jaunty number that you're probably best skipping, in all honesty. Have we ever steered you wrong?

The B-Side opens with the frankly enormous "Roll Jacky Roll" is another thrilling, high class roller-rink jam with beautiful melodies that's adored the world over. The wonky, abstract "Ad Libitum 80" is a super dope, swirling, staccato electro-funk bounce which sounds light years ahead of its time. This might be the real lowkey sleeper gem on this record. CHECK! This remarkable LP rounds out with the huge "Dancin' Machine". It's got sleek drums that emit an absolutely ace swagger and elements of Italo synth funk feels. A relaxed, slow rhythm throughout ensures you can't help but get your funk on when this crashes soundsystems. We'll leave the final word on this to Daniel: "It amuses me to think that my son Thomas was influenced by "Dancin’ Machine" for "Around The World", he says. Both songs being based on an hypnotic repetitive refrain. Both songs being, of course, timeless pieces of Euro genius.

Who's Who really is a fantastic late-70s-early 80s roller disco-funk essential. The audio has been carefully remastered by Be With regular Simon Francis, ensuring it sounds better than ever. Cicely Balston's expert skills have made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the records have been pressed to the highest possible standard at Record Industry in Holland.

When it came to the sleeve for this we were presented with an unusual problem: we usually have to rely on an original sleeve as the starting point for the restoration, but instead we were able to scan the original 35mm transparency of the front cover photo. The problem is that with a modern scanner the results were far sharper than when they made the original sleeve. We’ve played around with the exposure and the colour grading but we’re sorry to say that our version of the front cover still ended up looking too good! Don’t hate us.

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.

NOW Music proudly presents NOW That’s What I Call Gold – The Ultimate Hits – this essential 3-LP set brings together 46 tracks by legendary artists with timeless anthems, celebrating some of the greatest hits of all time, including chart-topping classics and enduring favourites.



LP1 sets the stage with Queen’s electrifying ‘A Kind Of Magic’, followed by Philip Bailey & Phil Collins’ #1 ‘Easy Lover’. The Police feature with their #1 smash ‘Message In A Bottle’, while The Killers follow with their record-breaking anthem ‘Mr. Brightside’. The massive ‘Stick Season’ from Noah Kahan is up next before the first side finishes with Lana Del Rey’s stunning ‘Video Games’. Flip the LP over for contemporary classics from Coldplay and Duran Duran. Sinéad O’Connor’s ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’ still sounds raw and breath-taking and is followed by classics from the Pretenders, Shirley Bassey, Dusty Springfield, and Soft Cell’s ‘Tainted Love’, one of the best-selling UK singles of the ‘80s, whilst another of those closes out the first LP: Ultravox with their masterpiece, ‘Vienna’.



LP2 delivers a legendary lineup, including Billy Joel with his Grammy-winning ‘Just The Way You Are’ and Céline Dion’s powerful version of ‘All By Myself’. John Denver’s ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ and Paul Simon’s groundbreaking ‘Graceland’ are featured along with the pop genius of Electric Light Orchestra with ‘Last Train To London’. While on the other side timeless ballads from Elton John with ‘Tiny Dancer’ and Lewis Capaldi’s ‘Someone You Loved’ come ahead of Wings, Simply Red and ‘60s gems from Stevie Wonder, The Supremes and the peerless ‘Walk On By’ from Dionne Warwick.



LP3 opens with Neil Diamond’s universally beloved singalong anthem, ‘Sweet Caroline’ and Cliff Richard’s mid-70s classic, ‘Devil Woman’. Disco legends Donna Summer (‘MacArthur Park’) and Gloria Gaynor (‘I Will Survive’), lead into Sophie Ellis Bextor’s ‘Murder On The Dancefloor’ which became a smash for the second time recently. Ed Sheeran and Pharrell Williams had enduringly popular hits with ‘Galway Girl’ and ‘Happy’, and the side closes with the harmonic vocals of All-4-One and their beautiful signature song ‘I Swear’. The final side is packed with anthemic and uplifting classics kicking off with Spandau Ballet’s ‘Gold’, Survivor’s ‘Eye Of The Tiger’, and Take That’s soaring ‘Rule The World’. The remainder of the collection celebrates and showcases some of the ‘70s greatest tracks including Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Lost In France’, Marianne Faithfull’s poignant ‘The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan’ and Blondie’s era-defining and genre-defying #1 ‘Heart Of Glass’.



NOW That’s What I Call Gold is a must-have for all music lovers —packed with legendary artists, timeless hits, and unforgettable moments in pop. Don’t miss out on this golden treasure trove of musical brilliance!

Find all the titles that influenced one of the greatest rock band of all times, on a double vinyl. With: B.B. King, John Lee Hooker, Elvis Presley, Little Richard, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Muddy Waters, Sonny By Williamson I... The tracklist was made up by the journalist Lionel Eskenazi, who is a true specialist of the what many consider as the best rock band ever

f11 FLRNTN, Benjamin Duchenne - "Last Man Standing" (feat Sivan) (1:08)
f12 Nicholas Gunn & Harshil Kamdar - "Here I Am" (feat Alina Renae - Richard Durand remix) (1:08)
f13 DJ TH X TH3 ONE X Sue McLaren - "Everything To Me" (1:08)
f14 Matty Ralph - "Te Adoro" (1:08)
f15 Armin Van Buuren & Vini Vici - "Sarabande" (feat Anna Timofei) (1:08)
f16 Lilly Palmer - "Hare Ram" (1:08)
f17 David Forbes - "Techno Is My Only Drug" (1:08)
f18 Armin Van Buuren - "Blah Blah Blah" (Lilly Palmer remix) (1:08)
f19 Armin Van Buuren - "The Road To Your Destination" (A State Of Trance Year mix 2024 outro) (1:14)

Linking music and literature, building a bridge between the written and the sung – only the greats have managed to do this in the past. Leonard Cohen, Scott Walker, and Patti Smith were just some of the shining stars that Anna B Savage orientated herself towards as a teenager. Born on the anniversary of Bach’s death, the young musician spent her birthday every year in the Green Room of the Royal Albert Hall watching her parents perform compositions by the grand master. That shaped her. Today, thanks to albums such as her debut, “A Common Turn” (2021), and the incredibly sensual art-pop opus “in|FLUX” (2023), the singer-songwriter is one of the truly exceptional talents on the British independent scene. In her music, otherworldly vocals nestle up against chamber orchestral compositions, delicate arrangements rise up and blow away, and the musician’s highly eclectic sound grows song by song into an experience that lingers for days and weeks. Potentially life-changing.
A sense of rootedness is at the heart of Anna B Savage’s third record You and i are Earth, a record that is as much about healing as it is an unbowed sense of curiosity, and, more simply, “a love letter to a man and to Ireland.” Following on from her critically acclaimed records A Common Turn and in|FLUX, You and i are Earth manages to convey a sense of intimacy, while also being open-ended. Gentleness is as radiant a touchstone on the record as earthiness, something that Savage attributes to the place she finds herself at present, both geographically and emotionally. And quite literally the record bears witness to a particular piece of earth - Ireland, and Savage’s relationship to it as her new home. That process is brilliantly rendered on Agnes, a complicated piece of work featuring Anna Mieke that turns on tropes of duality and transformation. It mirrors an unsettling experience that Savage had through meditation, which ultimately ended in an immersive, beautiful feeling, “I felt like I was part of the earth, completely connected to the mycelium network, I felt like I was where I was meant to be.” In many ways, that experience framed the album’s artwork, a photograph taken in some woodlands in Co. Sligo, with Savage looking up at the trees, their fractals reflected in her eyes, mirroring something she had felt in her meditation, bringing us back full circle, and to that sense that we are essentially in unison, or at least striving to be, that “you and I are earth”.

Linking music and literature, building a bridge between the written and the sung – only the greats have managed to do this in the past. Leonard Cohen, Scott Walker, and Patti Smith were just some of the shining stars that Anna B Savage orientated herself towards as a teenager. Born on the anniversary of Bach’s death, the young musician spent her birthday every year in the Green Room of the Royal Albert Hall watching her parents perform compositions by the grand master. That shaped her. Today, thanks to albums such as her debut, “A Common Turn” (2021), and the incredibly sensual art-pop opus “in|FLUX” (2023), the singer-songwriter is one of the truly exceptional talents on the British independent scene. In her music, otherworldly vocals nestle up against chamber orchestral compositions, delicate arrangements rise up and blow away, and the musician’s highly eclectic sound grows song by song into an experience that lingers for days and weeks. Potentially life-changing.
A sense of rootedness is at the heart of Anna B Savage’s third record You and i are Earth, a record that is as much about healing as it is an unbowed sense of curiosity, and, more simply, “a love letter to a man and to Ireland.” Following on from her critically acclaimed records A Common Turn and in|FLUX, You and i are Earth manages to convey a sense of intimacy, while also being open-ended. Gentleness is as radiant a touchstone on the record as earthiness, something that Savage attributes to the place she finds herself at present, both geographically and emotionally. And quite literally the record bears witness to a particular piece of earth - Ireland, and Savage’s relationship to it as her new home. That process is brilliantly rendered on Agnes, a complicated piece of work featuring Anna Mieke that turns on tropes of duality and transformation. It mirrors an unsettling experience that Savage had through meditation, which ultimately ended in an immersive, beautiful feeling, “I felt like I was part of the earth, completely connected to the mycelium network, I felt like I was where I was meant to be.” In many ways, that experience framed the album’s artwork, a photograph taken in some woodlands in Co. Sligo, with Savage looking up at the trees, their fractals reflected in her eyes, mirroring something she had felt in her meditation, bringing us back full circle, and to that sense that we are essentially in unison, or at least striving to be, that “you and I are earth”.

Originally release in March 2009, Midle Cyclone is repressed for 2025. 'Middle Cyclone' was produced by Case with Darryl Neudorf and recorded in Tucson, Brooklyn, Toronto, and Vermont. It features Case backed by her core band - guitarist Paul Rigby, bassist Tom V. Ray, backing vocalist Kelly Hogan, multi-instrumentalist Jon Rauhouse, and drummer Barry Mirochnick - along with numerous guests including M. Ward, Garth Hudson, Sarah Harmer, and members of The New Pornographers, Los Lobos, Calexico, The Sadies, Visqueen, The Lilys, and Giant Sand, among others. In addition to twelve new songs written by Case, 'Middle Cyclone' includes covers of "Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth" by Sparks, and "Don't Forget Me" by Harry Nilsson.

In 2006, SPIN Magazine called Case "one of pop music's best" voices, and Interview Magazine hailed her album 'Fox Confessor Brings The Flood' as "one of the most original, beguiling, honest records of the year." The album also earned Case Female Artist of the Year honors from the PLUG Independent Music Awards, and a Top 10 placement in the Village Voice's annual Pazz and Jop Critics Poll of the year's best releases. 'Fox Confessor' was Case's first album to debut in the Billboard Top 100, and has sold nearly 200,000 copies in the U.S. alone.

This is the debut release from Danish Qbasic as a solo artist, and its likely the strongest lo-fi record to emerge straight out of Copenhagen.

The A-side brings a cheerful, feel-good disco vibe, based on an old Detroit sample that loops endlessly, accompanied by repetitive, uplifting woodwind instrument.

Flip over to the B-side, and youll encounter a strong contrast: dark, mean heavy, and gritty cassette tape samples create a dreamy, solitary journey through an urban nightscape. As you walk through the dark night you discover shadows of new, sleepy buildings appear, drawing you in, yet leaving you torn between approaching or retreating. You dont want to go towards them, but neither do you want to leave.

This is the debut release from Danish Qbasic as a solo artist, and its likely the strongest lo-fi record to emerge straight out of Copenhagen.

The A-side brings a cheerful, feel-good disco vibe, based on an old Detroit sample that loops endlessly, accompanied by repetitive, uplifting woodwind instrument.

Flip over to the B-side, and youll encounter a strong contrast: dark, mean heavy, and gritty cassette tape samples create a dreamy, solitary journey through an urban nightscape. As you walk through the dark night you discover shadows of new, sleepy buildings appear, drawing you in, yet leaving you torn between approaching or retreating. You dont want to go towards them, but neither do you want to leave.

Baby I’m serious! Frits Wentink’s Bobby Donny Ace Series welcomes the illusive Prince Palmer for his first vinyl release on the label. Frits himself steps up on remix duties alongside another Bobby Donny artist, Joy Jenkins to round off another killer release from the Bobby Donny camp!

Records for AIA organisation. All benefits and even a bit more have been donate in advance to the Artists In Action Association... Organising kitchen in Calais refugees camp « The Jungle ». Here we got one excellent techno tune from Crystal Distortion, one pumpin from Suburbass and a great funny tribecore track from Matt Weasel Buster Tribe :) We also have here something really sticking to the subject : a tune made with sounds from the Jungle.

Seve & SleepingWater - Run For Human Values's Video Clip

a centrifugal spin collapses inward
sucked into the ground
vibrating with the quake beneath the crust
the folding repeats itself in time
an echo amid the buildings of a primordial era

with closed eyes
the shapes begin to take form
in the debris
objects clump together into conglomerates

a scream
trapped in water-retaining cells
the moss that embeds itself after
a short passage of time
you talk back
but I can’t hear you

something springs forth
somewhere

a remnant that remains

—
Strange Meridians is an album by multidisciplinary artist upsammy. It is released by adventurous electronic music label topo2 on November 21, 2024. The record is pressed on 180 grams of ICCS-certified bio-vinyl, housed in a heavy full-colour sleeve, and comes with a download-code to the full release. Mastering is done by Isabel Schröer at Scape Mastering and artwork by courtesy of Thessa Torsing and Kees de Klein. Poetry by Thessa Torsing with editing by Eelco Couvreur.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

NOW Music is proud to present the newest addition to the ‘Yearbook’ series: NOW – Yearbook 1981. NOW – Yearbook 1981; a celebration of the eclectic and creative brilliance of the year in pop. 4 CDs of 85 tracks that defined the charts in 1981. Available on a 4CD special edition which is housed in ‘hard-back book’ packaging, including a 28-page booklet with a summary of the year, a track-by-track guide, a quiz, and original singles artwork, and as a standard 4-CD package. A limited edition 3LP set pressed in translucent red vinyl, limited to 3,000 units and a 4CD set

To celebrate 40 years as a solo artist, Alison Moyet releases Key, a collection of 16 reworked singles and deep cuts, alongside two brand new tracks. Key is a blazing showcase of the depth and breadth of Moyet"s song writing ability that unlocks who she is as a creative artist. With nine studio solo albums to choose from to celebrate her fortieth year as a solo artist, Moyet wanted "to look at the trajectory of those decades and explore songs that, in their original form, were never fully realised or have had their relevance to me altered by time." The album distils 40 years of music making, presenting a cohesive overview of a long and dazzling journey.