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Since first forming in 2016, London's High Vis have steadily polished their palette of progressive hardcore with shades of post-punk, Brit pop, neo-psychedelia, and even Madchester groove, mapping a middle ground between hooks and fury, melodies and mosh pits. Singer Graham Sayle describes their third album 'Guided Tour' as an axis of competing forces: "It's trying to be a hopeful record, while also being incensed." Rounded out by drummer Edward 'Ski' Harper, guitarists Martin MacNamara and Rob Hammaren, and bassist Jack Muncaster, the band's deep roots in the UK and Irish DIY hardcore scenes have kept them grounded but growing, inspired equally by restlessness and righteous anger. As Sayle puts it, "Everyone's scratching, everyone's working all the time, and their idea of relaxing is just getting fucked and avoiding reality. This album is an escape from that."From its opening seconds of a cab door slamming, a car revving away, and a baggy rhythm swinging to life, 'Guided Tour' sounds like a band reaching for new heights, bristling with energy. Recorded across a few weeks at Holy Mountain Studios in London with producer Jonah Falco and engineer Stanley Gravett, the results feel dynamic and dialed-in, like anthems burned into sense memory through sweat and repetition. Harper cuts to the chase: "We had a clear idea going in, every moment got used. Maybe when we're 60 we can sit around and get a drum sound right, but for now it's about getting things done."The album's 11 songs span the spectrum of contemporary guitar music, sharpened by experience, camaraderie, and societal frustrations. From swaggering street punk ("Drop Me Out," "Mob DLA") to jangling indie sneer ("Worth The Wait," "Deserve It") to heavy alt ("Feeling Bless," "Fill The Gap") to shoegazey spoken word ("Untethered"), the group's chemistry transmutes any style to their unique intensity. Sayle champions this evolving fusion: "For years coming from hardcore, we had pretty clear boundaries - other scenes were separate worlds. Now things are getting more blended, drawing from different places."Nowhere is this sentiment flexed more boldly than on "Mind's A Lie," a dance- punk anthem inspired by Harper's love of house, garage, and pirate radio. Stabs of sampled female vocals (by celebrated South London singer and DJ Ell Murphy) build into a razor wire rhythm of low-slung bass, tense drums, and sparkling guitar before Sayle's staunch voice starts barking harsh truths ("Face to face with all I've known / I can't call these thoughts my own"). After a sudden breakdown, the track regroups and takes off, cruising into the horizon in a haze of chiming guitars and Murphy's ascendant voice, from the streets to somewhere beyond.

Thirteen years later, building on everything they had learned about capturing the purest sound, Guttenberg returned to produce The Ultimate Demonstration Disc Volume 2. Designed to bridge the gap between technical terminology and the listening experience, this collection serves as a practical guide to the audiophile lexicon. On each track, Guttenberg "spells out" exactly what to listen for, providing clear musical examples of concepts like "transparency" and "soundstage depth." By using a custombuilt recording chain and avoiding dynamic range compressors, equalizers, or overdubbing, the album captures a "live" session exactly as the microphones heard it - resulting in a sound so neutral and natural that it can be used to reveal the subtle differences between high-end speakers, electronics, and cables.

San Francisco hardcore stalwarts Western Addiction return with Psychedelic Munitions, a high-octane successor to Frail Bray that captures the explosive fervor and technical precision of their Bay Area roots. Recorded and mixed by Scott Evans at Sharkbite Studios and Antisleep Audio, then mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege, the album delivers a massive, "live-in-the-room" sound that avoids modern polish in favor of visceral, room-shaking grit. Despite the time between releases, the band bridges the gap with a collection of songs that feel both seasoned and dangerously urgent. Psychedelic Munitions stands as a definitive masterclass in authentic California punk, honoring the legacy of the Gilman Street scene while pushing the boundaries of the genre's aggressive potential. Since forming in 2003, WA has defied easy categorization, the band crafting songs that comfortably draw from a wide swath of rock 'n' roll while retaining punk's ferocity with a hardcore feel. Fat Mike often lists WAs "Cognicide" (2005) as one of the greatest releases on the label, also calling it one of the best hardcore albums he's ever heard. Joey Cape from Lagwagon has also stated that it's his favorite album released on Fat Wreck Chords.

Work of Art is not merely a sophomore album; it is a victory lap run with the precision of a master artist. Following the stratospheric global ascent of his debut, Mr. Money with the Vibe, Asake faced the kind of pressure that usually demands a pivot. Instead, he treated that intensity like clay, sculpting a project that feels at once more expansive in scale and more intimate in spirit. Released in 2023, the album serves as a definitive statement on Asake’s sonic identity, deepening his signature fusion of Amapiano, Fuji-inspired percussion, and Afrobeats while moving with a newfound sense of deliberate poise.

If his debut was a high-octane sprint to introduce his sound to the world, Work of Art is a confident stroll through his own creative museum. Anchored once again by the masterful production of Magicsticks, the album serves as the perfect architectural space for Asake’s erratic, infectious flows. The record feels richly textured—brimming with pulsating log drums, soulful samples, and the specific, ecstatic chaos of Lagos nightlife. Asake successfully bridges the gap between traditional Yoruba heritage and the deep, percussive basslines of South African Amapiano, resulting in a sound that feels simultaneously ancestral and futuristic.

The project thrives on a unique duality: it is introspective, yet undeniably club-ready. Tracks like "Amapiano," featuring Olamide, provide the anthemic energy his fans crave, while cuts like "Basquiat" showcase a lyrical swagger that frames his life as high art set to a relentless four-on-the-floor beat. By leaning into his "Mr. Money" persona with added vulnerability and a clearer focus on the craftsmanship of his vocal delivery, Asake avoids the dreaded sophomore slump entirely. He proves that he isn't just making pop songs; he is curating a moment. Ultimately, Work of Art captures the feeling of an artist standing at the peak of his powers, looking out at the landscape he has helped reshape, and confirming that, indeed, he belongs there. It is not about reinventing the wheel—it’s about proving that the wheel he built is a masterpiece.

Since first forming in 2016, London's High Vis have steadily polished their palette of progressive hardcore with shades of post-punk, Brit pop, neo-psychedelia, and even Madchester groove, mapping a middle ground between hooks and fury, melodies and mosh pits. Singer Graham Sayle describes their third album 'Guided Tour' as an axis of competing forces: "It's trying to be a hopeful record, while also being incensed." Rounded out by drummer Edward 'Ski' Harper, guitarists Martin MacNamara and Rob Hammaren, and bassist Jack Muncaster, the band's deep roots in the UK and Irish DIY hardcore scenes have kept them grounded but growing, inspired equally by restlessness and righteous anger. As Sayle puts it, "Everyone's scratching, everyone's working all the time, and their idea of relaxing is just getting fucked and avoiding reality. This album is an escape from that."From its opening seconds of a cab door slamming, a car revving away, and a baggy rhythm swinging to life, 'Guided Tour' sounds like a band reaching for new heights, bristling with energy. Recorded across a few weeks at Holy Mountain Studios in London with producer Jonah Falco and engineer Stanley Gravett, the results feel dynamic and dialed-in, like anthems burned into sense memory through sweat and repetition. Harper cuts to the chase: "We had a clear idea going in, every moment got used. Maybe when we're 60 we can sit around and get a drum sound right, but for now it's about getting things done."The album's 11 songs span the spectrum of contemporary guitar music, sharpened by experience, camaraderie, and societal frustrations. From swaggering street punk ("Drop Me Out," "Mob DLA") to jangling indie sneer ("Worth The Wait," "Deserve It") to heavy alt ("Feeling Bless," "Fill The Gap") to shoegazey spoken word ("Untethered"), the group's chemistry transmutes any style to their unique intensity. Sayle champions this evolving fusion: "For years coming from hardcore, we had pretty clear boundaries - other scenes were separate worlds. Now things are getting more blended, drawing from different places."Nowhere is this sentiment flexed more boldly than on "Mind's A Lie," a dance- punk anthem inspired by Harper's love of house, garage, and pirate radio. Stabs of sampled female vocals (by celebrated South London singer and DJ Ell Murphy) build into a razor wire rhythm of low-slung bass, tense drums, and sparkling guitar before Sayle's staunch voice starts barking harsh truths ("Face to face with all I've known / I can't call these thoughts my own"). After a sudden breakdown, the track regroups and takes off, cruising into the horizon in a haze of chiming guitars and Murphy's ascendant voice, from the streets to somewhere beyond.

With an intrigue for a particular niche of old UK hardcore which takes cues from Sheffield bleep ambience, heady rave futurism and soft, almost new age synth pads, Blank Mind presents ‘Lost Paradise: Blissed Out Hardcore 91-94’. Though the records gathered for the compilation span a short three-year period and bridge the gap between scenes, the collection manages to find a sweet spot where the influence of Warp’s Artificial Intelligence, back room chill out sonics and the nascent jungle boom meet with elements of Italian piano house and slower breakbeat cuts.

Opting to focus on atmosphere to highlight shared connections; in this case the duality of often serene and calming soundscapes with frenzied breaks and bass (see Hedgehog Affair’s ‘Parameters’ and Luxury’s ‘Twirl’ respectively); Lost Paradise is a formidable collection of tracks plucked from a thriving time for British dance music experimentation. The general themes of ascension and escapism channelled through digital samplers are also inescapably linked to a turbulent time in politics, beginning in the post-Thatcher years and culminating in the year the harshest anti-rave Criminal Justice Act came into force.

Initially building the compilation around DJ Mayhem’s track ‘Inesse’, Blank Mind label founder Sam Purcell and Amsterdam based producer Tammo Hesselink began a process of swapping favourites and deep cuts to spread across this 2x12” doublepack. The compilation avoids any obvious centrepieces through masterful sequencing, allowing for moments of refrain and tempo changes in a way that helps add to their overall vision of what this music is and can be; “We wanted to frame hardcore in a different light, looking at this idea of ecstasy through the traditional meaning of the word and exploring that symbolism”. By drawing from what some might consider the softer edges of the movement, the pair offer a look into the relevance of these tracks in the contemporary era, where the past years have seen both an explosion in popularity of old ambient/new-age music and a certified jungle revival.

On For Annette, singer-songwriter ronja summons forth a certain unbridgeable void within our existence and the acceptance of the deafening silence that comes with it. Weaving the strands of her previous release something about us with multiple openings towards more abstract territory, this 5-track EP marks her debut under the forward-thinking Unguarded label, astutely situating her music well beyond the confines of the genre.

The opening track “Nothing Makes Me Feel” beckons the listener into a discreet moment amid the early light of dawn, commencing with an up-close acoustic guitar, soon to be graced by ronja’s hushed voice, softly whispering, as if to avoid waking someone near. “Just Once”, with its weeping waltz, is about losing one’s place in the world, about choosing the imaginary over the real. Behind the strummed chords hides a soft dither of sine tones that attempts to fill the gap that cannot be filled, only to transform into quavering distortion ever after. Where language may falter, ronja turns to choral-like instrumental pieces (“Light” & “Grass from Below”), characterized by her distinctive and multi-layered flute arrangements. The absence of words here allows for a sensible stage of introspection, a fleeting and diaphanous pause, forging a passage to a more hopeful outlook. Yet, these pieces are not isolated; hints of fluttering air and cavernous depths are subtly alluded to in the earlier, more song-based tracks. In just under 18 minutes running time, the theme of loss, or the anticipation of its arrival, lingers solemnly before transcending intermediate states in “Almost There”.

Admirers of the dreamgaze band Roomer, which made waves in and around the Berlin music scene this past year, might detect faint resemblances. Nonetheless, ronja—a pivotal presence in said band—unveils a distinct effort here, striking subdued but enticing tones, a foreshadowing of what is yet to come from this luminary artist. – Luka Aron

Richard Pryor contained multitudes, each fully inhabited character funnier and more
insightful than the last, so it’s no wonder when he took the stage at The Comedy Store in
Hollywood in 1973, it’d be a full 15 minutes before he spoke to the adoring audience as
himself. No, he needed to start where he started, on the streetcorner, with all the wit,
wisdom, and general jackassery of Wino & Junkie. Throughout a set full of hard jokes and
detailed character sketches (including the men of the Saturday night police lineup in his
hometown of Preoria, Illinois—the first and riskiest stage he knew), the audience has the
chance to get caught up in the silliness so inherent to Pryor while never losing sight of the
issues America had yet to face (and hasn’t still). There are sex jokes that hit so hard the
women in the audience take an audible refractory period, drug advice that has you weighing
the relative trip-laden merits of dope and acid, and a call-and-response on sandwiches that
proves the irresistibility of zealous Black midwestern preachers; there’s a litany of celebrities
whose names and projects have blurred in Pryor’s mind, but whose faces and friendship so
clearly light him up; there’s even fighting advice (don’t fight Italians, their mothers get
involved, and try to avoid a paternal cowboy whuppin’, because no one wants to get hit with
a chair). And then you get hit with the hardest punch: Pryor reaching out from 50 years past
to make the truth plain. You never hear about civilians accidentally killing cops, so why is it
that cops are always “accidentally” killing Black men? As it turns out, 1973 and 2023 aren’t so
far apart that the legendary Richard Pryor can’t bridge the gap.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Cut by Rashad Becker at Dubplates & Mastering, Berlin, November 2018
Mastering: Mathias Durand

Translations: Valérie Vivancos
Layout: Stephen O'Malley
Photos: Stéphane Ouzounoff, Bernard Bruges-Renard

Coordination GRM: François Bonnet
Executive Production: Peter Rehberg

SIDE A
Contrée (2013), 20'

SIDE B
Allégeance volatile (2002), 8'46
Esquive (2010), 10'10

The mastering of these tracks was done by Mathias Durand at François Lê Xuân's Studio 101, in Paris. I would like to warmly thank him for this.

Allégeance volatile and Esquive each tackle the same issue in their own way. Overcoming time: whether it be successive, additional, enumerative, or repetitive. However, there is nothing here about the ensuing nature of so-called "repetitive" music. These are types of high-end music. And it is more about insistence, the obstinacy of an individual who keeps knocking on a door that will never open.

Allégeance's rustic drumming, talkative, acidulous, colourful and overarticulated, with almost clownish desinences, eventually dies out in this very respite. The iterative and puffy shimmering of Esquive with its dull, thin and precise sounds, shifts and is engulfed into another sonic world — which appears as a gaping and collapsed response to this prime insistency.

This is, indeed, a 'volatile allegiance' and 'avoidance' from the sonic to the musical elements: the musical phenomenon anticipated and pursued as the non-sound of sound — or, in other words, the void of sound. This seems to be the lesson of the concrete attitude in music. Such is the kind of questioning that stirs the composer.

He returns with another title: Contrée, which, once again, speaks of a counter-event. Here, the movement is broader, more generous, more confident. Time spreads and stretches out. What seems to be a landscape of entanglements, trajectories, influx, masses and points emerges. "Something" rises and presents itself out of the sounds - these escaping beings, these "relatively short combustion flames " (Schaeffer).

The piece consists of five consecutive and uninterrupted parts: Entrée and Stance I — Véhémence de l'air and Stance II — Grande Allure. It is the central section of an electroacoustic triptych with Sables (2011) as the first and Nil (2017) as the last.