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„Öd“ marks the long-awaited return of Institut für Feinmotorik - the Black Forest collective known for using eight prepared turntables to investigate acoustic micro-phenomena generated by everyday objects - with a new album and their first full-length release on Faitiche. It is also the return of their almost comical understatement as personal artistic principle: „making almost nothing out of almost nothing,“ compressed into the dots on an umlaut.

The Öd-nis, the wasteland, is a field that the collective has been ploughing in sound since their first release in 1997. Eight prepared turntables, four mixers, no records, six hands (give or take) merge into what they call the „Octogrammoticum“. A rotating organism of surfaces in friction, fed with the clutter from a drawer: rubber bands or tin foil, CDs, a discarded socket board. Under IFF's scrutinizing stylus, mundane almost-nothings get scratched open to reveal the acoustic density of negative space itself.

Last year’s „Adhesive Tape“ drew IFF closer together after an almost ten-year hiatus. An eponymous event series at Berlin's silent green set in motion what would become their most twistedly funky release since „Penetrans“ on Staubgold in 2002.

The only thing öd about „Öd" (meaning „barren" or „boring“ in German) may well be its title: layers of improvised play and randomized loops convolve around porous, dubby groove locks, tugging at each other in a call-and-response with howling static that cuts through bulbous ambient techno into a scrap-metal Dixieland phantasm. Stratified yet spacious, these sonic double exposures always hover on the verge of collapsing. What you think you hear might not be what you actually hear.

The album’s track titles resemble Conceptual Poetry, extending this psycho-phenomenological gesture into the realm of spoken language. Conceived by renowned poet Dagmara Kraus, they become word molecules - „stern,” „dies,” „lose“ - tilting delicately between German and English, constantly changing depending on the ear’s perspective and pointing back to the deeply unstable fabric connecting meaning and sound. Which also makes „Öd“ an unusual cross-disciplinary collaboration - at least in the field of electronic music.

PS: Since its beginnings in Bad Säckingen, IFF has always been more than the sum of its rotating parts, moving tirelessly between multimedia art, theory, solo projects and collaborations. With IFF Expanded, the collective now opens its eight-doored apparatus, inviting artists working with CDJs or samplers to join - an ambitious live format that loosens its former purity law while carrying forward a long-standing curatorial practice. The same thread also runs into the related event series Acephalic Headspace.

Institut für Feinmotorik (*1997), artist-group originating from Black Forest working in various fields. In musical context known for transforming turntables into instruments by removing the records and instead applying rubber bands, paper scraps, household materials – resulting in a vivid laboratory for the productive misuse of everyday objects. This approach is documented in record releases and performed live.

Charles Webster was one of the architects of the early UK house scene but has never got the flowers he deserves. Maybe this first win a new series of reissues from his incredible vaults, will change it. Unreleased Stuff comes on Remote and opens with a louche tech house sound that's deep and emotionally dialled in. 'Don't Work' is great advice for anyone as well as being a humid house roller for the backroom. 'How To Live' brings more of a steamy energy that encourages you to get up on your toes and then 'Bad Year' slows it down and layers in some lovely liquid West Coast chords. Two more brilliantly vibey cuts close an EP that must not be sniffed at.

Siân Pottok is a citizen of the world.


Born in West Palm Beach, Florida, to a mother of Indian and Congolese heritage and a father of Slovak and Belgian descent, Siân grew up between Belgium and New York before finally letting her travelling wings come to rest in Paris. What could have become a story of fragmentation instead became a source of creative strength. Singer, songwriter, composer and photographer, Siân has always turned borders into bridges.


She first honed her voice in the jazz clubs of Paris and New York, performing alongside renowned artists such as Richard Bona, Jon Batiste and Mike Stern. Yet her path has always extended far beyond the stage. For nearly a decade, she led cultural initiatives with women and children living through exile, violence and poverty across India and Southern Africa, weaving together music, photography and artistic transmission as tools for dialogue and empowerment.
The true turning point came when she discovered the kamele ngoni, the West African harp whose ethereal sound seemed to echo something long buried within her. The instrument became her musical alter ego—the invisible thread binding together her many inheritances. Guided by Malian master Abou Diarra, Siân embarked on an inward journey towards her African roots. Yet this return to her origins was never an act of retreat into identity. Instead, it gave rise to a body of work that remains profoundly open to the world, where Africa enters into conversation with jazz, folk, soul, alternative pop and the rhythms of Brazil.
Along the way, she has crossed paths with remarkable artists including Rogê, Chico César, Fatoumata Diawara, Lokua Kanza, Flavia Coelho, Thomas de Pourquery and Philippe Baden Powell. On stage and in the studio, Siân continues to shape a musical universe that refuses labels. Like artists such as Björk, Joni Mitchell and Laura Mvula, she moves forward as an explorer, guided not by genre but by intuition.


Today, Siân stands as one of the most distinctive voices of the new Francophone music scene an artist capable of uniting musical sophistication with emotional power, introspection with collective celebration, depth with an irresistible urge to dance.


Animal — The New Album


With Animal, produced by British musician Tom Excell (Nubiyan Twist, Africa Express...), Siân delivers her most intimate and assured work to date. Every song feels like a shedding of skin, a quiet metamorphosis, exploring self-acceptance, femininity, the freedom to be oneself, cultural heritage, and the reconciliation of one's own imperfections.
From Stereotype, a fearless manifesto against the expectations imposed on women, to the title track Animal, an anthem celebrating the beauty of imperfection ("I've turned my cracks into a crown"), the album gives a voice to everyone who refuses to fit into predefined boxes. In Terre, je danse sur toi, featuring Fatoumata Diawara, Siân pays tribute to Mother Earth and to the roots that unite us all. Oh! Congo, recorded with Lokua Kanza, reconciles her cultural heritage with an ancestral homeland that feels both distant and intimately familiar. En équilibre, with Flavia Coelho, embraces the exhilaration of risk and the courage to leap, while Put a Mask and I Could Kill confront hidden wounds and the invisible violences that quietly shape who we become.
In ADé, Siân addresses Adenomyosis as though speaking to an unwanted housemate. "My body is your battlefield," she sings, giving voice to an intimate shadow lodged deep within herself. This bittersweet lullaby transforms a pain so often left unspoken into an act of profound tenderness towards oneself.
The album also holds a rare treasure: Reste tel(le), an unpublished text by Pierre Barouh, the founder of the Saravah label. Never before set to music or performed, this elusive poem of free love finds new life through Siân's voice, becoming a dialogue across time between two artists united by the same devotion to freedom, métissage and openness to the world.
Driven by Tom Excell's vibrant Afro-pop pulse, the spiritual breath of the kamele ngoni, organic arrangements and deeply personal songwriting, Animal is an album of liberation. It invites us to lay down our masks, embrace our contradictions and reconnect with the free, instinctive and powerful animal that lies dormant within us all. More than a collection of songs, it is a radiant manifesto for the richness of identity, the passing on of memory, and reconciliation with oneself.
Animal is not simply the title of an album, it is a declaration of independence. An invitation to live fully, unapologetically, and without instructions.
A citizen of the world, travelling freely between continents, languages and memories, Siân Pottok delivers with Animal her most personal, and perhaps her most universal work to date: an album that reminds us that our fragilities, our roots and our differences are, beyond doubt, our greatest strength.
— Christophe Tison

Balaise was the original title of Vers le Nord’s debut album. In French slang, balaise means something in between badass and flamboyant. The word keeps popping up throughout the record, like a teenager’s graffiti scrawled on a bus shelter after a few drinks. Balaise robots. Balaise ghosts lurking in the shadows. Balaise is the barfly who fantasies about becoming a street vigilante. In many ways, Matthieu Pellerin's new solo project is entirely contained within that word: a gigantic piece one man against the world cobbled together, a monument shaped by hand using layers of synthesizers sounding like cathedral organs cast in concrete.


Stitching this type of freak together took time. Five years, or what sounds like forever in an age obsessed with career trajectories and content strategies. But for Matthieu Pellerin, it was never about career plans or taking the easy road. Or he would have dug up the rotting corpse of Oi Boys, his now-defunct band, whose brief existence and explosive popularity once united sullen skinheads, gothic street punks, and old school punks alike. Or he would have fully embraced the Metz scene, now that the Great International Triple Alliance of the East (Noir Boy George, The Dreams, The Feeling Of Love...) and rising solo acts like Tune Zitoune, Josy Bazar, Fantôme Josepha, and Tony Gerrano have somehow transformed this sprawling open-air heroin camp into an unlikely capital of cool. But Vers le Nord doesn't point East, and it is as a lone rider that Matthieu Pellerin can fully reveal his songwriting scope.


With Le Seul Élément, his first solo project, the Lorraine native had already shown a rare gift for crafting worlds. Picture vast sonic masses stretching like industrial zones, noise-filled fog pierced by pale neon lights and landscapes caught somewhere between the gnarliest dive bar and a doomsday bunker. And slipping through the soul-crushing slowness and fractured blackened atmospheres, one could perceive a throwback to his years plotting in black metal-tinged Loth and Bishop.

Vers le Nord populates those landscapes that once were rough sketches. Damaged characters reign supreme, with a plethora of exquisite mutts brought to life, rather than outcasts committed to the cause. Where Nuits Blanches —his new supergroup featuring members of Rixe, Lion's Law, Headbussa and La Femme— pulls no punches with raw confessions, Pellerin switches gear for tales of robot apocalypses, vagrants and fam-seeking school shooters, delivered with William Sheller-esque rhymes and striking images. Yet even within fiction, he manages to create something deeply intimate, almost defining, showing very little effort: he is a natural. All in all, à l’aise (at ease). Songs resonate deeply with the listener, perhaps because of Pellerin’s odd way or always addressing someone without ever really naming them, a floating, obsessive and inescapable “you” calling us out.


Despite all of the darkness, Vers le Nord stirs deep emotions. There is something of Type O Negative or Anna von Hausswolff in its constant collision of the ludicrous and the epic gothic, its bleak romanticism that never tells a sordid tale. While the vocals remain rooted in a distinctly French punk lineage—think No Class, La Souris Déglinguée and OG Bérurier Noir—the reactor core is hidden somewhere else. Oneohtrix Point Never feels like a closer relative with his ultra-emotional music made of cold synths and disembodied anthems, swallowing and regurgitating forty years of icy, contemplative new wave across ten songs. It comes as no surprise that Lila Ehjä and Aimable, two rising specialists in lowering the temperature below seasonal norms, appear on “Enterrez-moi bordel” (“Bury Me, for fuck's sake”), a grandiose, spectral and magnificently arrogant finale. And in the end, Vers le Nord starts where the original idea was hiding all along: somewhere amid the ruins, definitely balaise and yet somehow, completely à l'aise.

2026 Repress

French DJ and producer Hemka makes a striking solo debut on Mutual Rytm with 'Introspection'.

Born in Marseille and based in Paris, Hemka has been shaping her take on techno for over a decade, steadily growing her international presence with music on respected imprints such as Token. Her music fuses the raw energy of 90s techno with modern textures and is fast-paced, groovy and laced with subtle psychedelia. By weaving in her own vocals, Hemka adds a deeply personal and authentic layer that resonates with both the body and mind. Following the strong reception of her track 'Fragrance' on the 'Federation Of Rytm III' compilation, this potent new EP is a powerful reflection of her bold, emotional and forward-thinking artistic voice and the start of an exciting new chapter with SHDW's Mutual Rytm.

'Abyss' kicks off with tightly coiled, heavy-hitting drum funk and eerie synths that never let up while ghoulish vocals layer in extra darkness and anxiety. 'Time' is another sleek, stripped-back but banging wedge of linear techno excellence and 'I Can't Shine' layers up paranoid vocals with high-speed glitches and rubbery drums to ensure maximum impact in the club. The excellence continues with 'The Bad Place' with booming drums and moody synth atmospheres, getting you up on your toes and keeping you there. Last, 'Unchanged' fizzes with static electricity as wordless vocals refract around the mix next to wispy synths and icy hi-hats. Digital bonus cuts 'Voice In My Head' and 'Eternity' round things out with more heady and intense techno for driving deep into the night.

Were FEX the Wildest & Weirdest German New Wave Band in 1984?

Few cult mysteries in modern music have captured the internet's imagination quite like "The Most Mysterious Song on the Internet." Eventually identified as "Subways of Your Mind" by the elusive German band FEX, the track became a viral sensation decades after its creation-and even made its way into a recent Hollywood blockbuster (Black Phone 2).

Now, two more lost FEX recordings have emerged from an old demo cassette: "Dead End" and "Sarah." And they're every bit as electrifying as the legend suggests.

On both songs, guitarist and main songwriter Ture Rückwardt joins forces on lead vocals with his former wife and musical partner Ilona Rückwardt, forming a vocal pairing that channels raw energy and eerie chemistry. What they deliver are two of the most urgent, adrenaline-fueled post-punk artifacts you're likely to hear this year-even if they were recorded more than forty years ago.

Opening with a sharp, melodic guitar solo, "Dead End" bursts forward with uptempo drive-catchy, fierce, and full of momentum. Apparently inspired by Orwell's 1984, its lyrics depict urban desolation-loneliness, homelessness, hopelessness-yet still shimmer with defiance in lines like, "Truth is amazing - hoping is like waiting."

The second track, "Sarah," dives even deeper into darkness. Mixing post-punk intensity with psychedelic textures, Rückwardt tells an imaginary story of a couple lost in drugs and spiraling through a bad trip, only to wake and realize that sobriety offers little comfort-the real world itself can be just as brutal and offers no easy escape.

Neither song makes the slightest concession to commercial trends. Instead, they feel utterly uncompromising-wild, strange, and defiantly timeless. In a world obsessed with polish and playlists, "Dead End" and "Sarah" sound like transmissions from a different planet.

Both tracks were originally recorded as demos in 1984 in the band's rehearsal room, with Hase engineering. The newly restored versions preserve the raw spirit of the original tapes while adding subtle layers to enhance their atmosphere without losing the authentic 1980s sound. FEX hint that the untouched demo versions might surface later, possibly on a second volume of their archival

The second chapter after “neverlost”, “closer” blends samplebased production with classic songwriting – like a sonic mosaic of warmth and groove. Lyrically “hippiesque,” Sepalot explores natural beauty, unity, equality, and self-determination. Guest features shine: Blu delivers sharp lyricism, and Illa J surprises
with soulful vocals on “My Own Way.” For fans of The Avalanches, Caribou, and Madlib – Closer is lush, human, and unforgettable.

Sepalot is one of those rare artists whose sonic palette refuses to be boxed in. His music exists in the fertile space between multi-layered sophistication and playful unpredictability – a quality rooted in his eclectic upbringing. From skate-punk beginnings to soul all-nighters, from obsessive vinyl digging to
deep immersion in hip-hop’s golden era, Sepalot has carried the art of sampling like a badge of honor. His beats are mosaics – meticulously pieced together fragments of sound forming an intricate whole. Beyond the studio, he’s explored these influences as DJ, producer, and live performer, leading the
Sepalot Quartet across Europe’s jazz festivals, and more recently with his experimental band Tikhet alongside Angela Aux

With “closer”, the upcoming second chapter following his 2023 album “neverlost”, Sepalot distills his broad musical world into a sample-based yet song-driven statement. The production feels warm and tactile – think needle-on-vinyl crackle meeting modern songwriting clarity. Lyrically, it’s “hippiesque” in the best
way: themes of natural beauty, unity, democratic awareness, equality, and spiritual introspection weave through the tracklist.

The guest list is just as inspired: legendary wordsmith Blu delivers razor-sharp verses, while Illa J – brother of the late J Dilla – steps away from his signature rap to surprise with soulful vocals on “My Own Way.” Together, they amplify the album’s humanist core, balancing groove-heavy production with
lyrical depth.

Fans of artists like The Avalanches, Caribou, DJ Shadow, or Madlib will find plenty to love here, but Closer carries its own unique fingerprint – a testament to Sepalot’s ability to merge hip-hop grit with songwriting grace. If “Neverlost” was a map, “Closer” is the destination: lush, thoughtful, and deeply human.
Highly recommended for anyone ready to hold hands, open their mind, and let the beat guide them.

A deep journey into the sound abysses of the night, invoking hidden energies, opening a ritual portal to the core of the seal and the ritual itself.

This compilation brings together diverse artists who explore a fusion of dark techno, industrial environments, ritual textures and pulses that evoke vast underground spaces. The idea is to generate a state of technical-ceremonial trance: vinyl becomes a physical talisman, object of worship, beyond a simple club track.

Side A opens with darker rhythms, synthesizers that resonate like funeral bells, mechanical percussions that hit like ancestral machinery. As it progresses, the journey intensifies, layers of bass that rumble like mine hulls, reverberations that expand consciousness.

The B-side takes flight towards the ethereal and the expansive: distant melodies, ritual echoes, processed voices that look like invocations, culminating in a track that sounds like the closing of a rite, the day that meets the night.

Keith Hudson’s Nuh Skin Up Dub is a deep, heavyweight dub album that stands as one of the most potent statements in the genre’s history. Released in 1979, this sonic masterpiece showcases Hudson’s signature dark, almost mystical production style, where heavy basslines, echo-drenched drums, and ghostly fragments of vocals swirl together in a hypnotic haze. Unlike the more polished, accessible dub records of the time, Nuh Skin Up Dub is raw, unfiltered, and experimental, pushing the boundaries of rhythm and space. Tracks like "Nuh Skin Up" and "Felt We Felt the Strain" pulse with an eerie, almost menacing energy, while Hudson’s masterful use of reverb and delay creates a soundscape that feels simultaneously expansive and claustrophobic. Often referred to as the “Dark Prince of Reggae,” Hudson had an uncanny ability to craft music that was both deeply meditative and unsettling, and Nuh Skin Up Dub is a prime example of his genius. It's a record that rewards deep listening—every spin reveals new layers of sonic detail, hidden textures, and dub wizardry. For fans of heavy, atmospheric dub, Nuh Skin Up Dub is an essential listen, a landmark recording that solidifies Keith Hudson’s status as one of the most visionary figures in reggae history.

The third chapter in CLIKNO's MAT (Music / Art / Text) EDITIONS series features four extended deep Minimal Techno tracks by Dr.Nojoke, titled wrongwrongrightright.

This release is accompanied by Dana Widawski's SelfMade 1-4, a series of four fayence-style plates created using traditional techniques to convey unconventional, socio-critical themes, and a text, solo moral judgement, by Marianne Klausen—a manual for a performance on moral judgment that explores the meanings and values of concepts like good, bad, wrong, and right—fusing auditory and visual art with writing into a unified experience.

At the core of Dr.Nojoke's wrongwrongrightright lies a deep, hypnotic quality, woven through layers of rhythm, melody, and noise, creating a transcendental pulse for the dancefloor. Notone on the A-side takes a more straightforward, acidic approach, while Cornips on the flipside is a deep minimal groover with a funky interplay of sounds. The second record dives even deeper with two more obscure tracks, Volasuri and Jilimuz, appealing to fans of Voices From The Lake and similar artists.

CLIKNO … art for dancing

Taste
From Vulgar Latin *tastāre


/ˈteɪst/


1. "The ability to perceive the good among the bad."


A Madrid-based label is set to release vinyl-only music, focusing on microhouse, rominimal, and deep genres. Our concept emphasizes the "simplicity" of minimal music, paired with classy and elegant designs and aesthetics.


The EP features three tracks, each embodying deep cultural and atmospheric elements, including Romanian lyrics and layered textures. Fat Dubs highlights his taste, resulting in a work rich in both cultural significance and personal expression.

2022 Re Edition

STAREAWAY is Markus Guentner from Regensburg, of Kompakt- and Ware-fame, and Heiko Badje from Hamburg, the man behind saudade-driven pop-band La Grande Illusion. Exploring the possibilities of combining Guentners critically acclaimed adventures in ambient scapes and Badjes melodies and distinctive singing, their track 'Baghira", as an early result, was selected on Kompakts 'Pop Ambient 6 compilation in 2005. Their first EP as STAREAWAY, called 'Learn How To Love Me", was released on Hamburg-based label Couldn.t Care More in 2011 including a remix by deep house icon Osunlade crossing all borders, yet feeling so natural, and the somewhat timeless electronic pop reference 'Unwise". Now STAREAWAY come up with their first album 'No Life In This Ghost Town' (again on Couldn.t Care More); seven sketches between song and track deliberately carved from a shimmering wall of electronic sound by guitars, spiritualized voices and subtle melodies. It.s caressing and thoughtful, but there is also a darkness that makes you shiver. Glowing embers in far away windows. STAREAWAY combine a vision of sound with multitudes of micro-organisms which take turns no one can forsee. And what may appear as a mere coincidence is in fact a concentrated search. They are seekers of the things lying underneath. STAREAWAY's 'No Life In This Ghost Town' is mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri. It will be available as Double Vinyl (+ Download-Code) and, of course, digitally. Layout by JL Prozess (Markus Guentner), artwork by Claudia Kugler.

Jason Dungan (aka Blue Lake) and Johan Carøe find beauty in the rhythms
and repetitions of domestic life for collaborative album, 'Routine' - out September 25

Copenhagen-based multi-instrumentalists Jason Dungan and Johan Carøe didn't set out to make an album. Instead, as the title 'Routine' suggests, they found their way there through a process of habitual making and listening, developing an intuitive musical language to reflect the dreamlike meanderings and creative play of life's quiet moments. 'Routine' blends pop orientated sounds, Avant-garde minimalism, folk and new age with the emotive depth of film-score.

Their meeting was not entirely coincidental. Previously in bands such as Squares and Triangles, Jason Dungan has since recorded multiple albums under the moniker Blue Lake, including the lauded 'Sun Arcs', pursuing his passion for self-built percussion and multi-string instruments. Johan Carøe meanwhile is a composer whose film soundtrack work has seen him collaborate with Angelo Badalamenti, Arp, and Sofie Birch, at whose Andersabo residency (curated by Dungan) the pair first met, resulting in the highly praised album 'Repair Techniques' written by Birch and Carøe.

'Routine' emerged organically over many years against the backdrop of great personal change. As Carøe said goodbye to his father and welcomed his first child, the pair sent each other fragments of melodies and patterns, working up responses when time allowed to assemble a sonic palette that combined acoustic instrumentation of zither, clarinet, cello, saxophone (among others) with the textures of tape, drum machine and Yamaha DX7 synth. Inspired by the vulnerability and DIY ethos of Arthur Russell's home recordings, the vision of labels like Disques de Crepescule, and the art pop, experimentation inherent to late '70s and early '80s recordings from NYC and Japan alike, Dungan and Carøe conjured new forms for their folk, leftfield pop and avant garde influences from the low-lit living rooms of Copenhagen and rural Sweden. "I'm very interested in the ways in which music and art emerge from our wider experiences as people, workers, parents and in the daydreaming activity of making music," Dungan explains of a process which allowed the duo's individual styles to drift apart and merge together seamlessly. "I think the process was definitely capturing moments in time, but over a long time," Carøe adds. "It was a bit like improvisation, but with time stretched."

The music floats with grace and humility, remaining sophisticated yet acutely introverted.
Whether on 'Clouds', where soft layers of zither and clarinet are moved along by a featherlight bass riff and the hypnotic clip-clop of the primitive groovebox, or the gentle grandeur of cello rising and falling through 'Routine 1', the album reveals itself over 10 instrumental tracks, evoking the ineffable calm that descends when the light changes and the world turns inwards. The act of time passing became a key creative ingredient to the evolution of the album, enriched with the exciting challenge to transform their passing rounds of home recordings via a slow release musical dialogue. Jason found creative moments in the twilight hours to lay down zither, melodica, acoustic guitar to name but few, while Johan utilising "line-in and headphones" would manipulate, stretch and pitch Jason's melodic pathways during newly born naptimes.

Carøe rhythmically plucks and slides the stringed cello instrument, leaving palpable foundations on 'Hymn' and 'Chords', in a treated, stylistic approach akin to Mabe Fratti, while 'Silence' draws to a close with a gospel touch. Dungan's harp-motion zither flourishes reveal more classical connotations on 'Reunion' with inspiration of Bedroom Community's Nico Muhly as organs rise with Moogs, culminating with a climatic choral outro from friend, mezzo-soprano Anna Caroline Olesen.

'Routine' then is their first collaboration, an album of deep and sincere reflection with inviting overtones that gesture with unrushed authenticity. A document of a new-found friendship that opens a window into the most personal of spaces, where the daily practices of music and life exist side-by-side to wondrous effect.

Second Skin is Nene H's declaration of liberated identity. Across nine tracks, Nene traces the metamorphosis from conformity to authenticity that unfolds after a breakup. They trace a step-by-step transformation: the shedding of imposed narratives and the layering of a new, liberated self. The result is a sonic diary of emancipation, where musical ideas move through noise, South West Asian modalities, trap, future bass, house, trance, minimal and deconstructed club music fusing and mutating freely. With their second album, Second Skin, Berlin-based artist Nene H deepens their commitment to radical honesty through sound. Where their debut was a tribute to their late father and a processing of personal grief, the second album turns inward toward identity, the fracturing and reassembling of the self that follows the dissolution of a long-term relationship. They carefully infuse shattered Southwest Asian motifs with their vocals. Vocals appear and disappear like traces of memory. The opening track, Where Was I, continues the story of their previous album Ali. From there, the question "where was I?" transforms into an existential inquiry. The starting point of both their personal journey and the journey of this album. After stepping through that door, the album unfolds into a deliberate balance: four deconstructed pieces and four more straightforward 4/4-driven tracks. The sibling tracks on A2-A3 and B3-B4 share the same DNA, though their destinies are not the same. Every element is placed with intention; every sound carries its own narrative thread. Each track gestures toward a different genre, a different world, yet together they form a coherent, flowing story. It's the story of closure and liberation.

On March 20, 1964, legendary American comedian and harpist Harpo Marx joined the Riverside Symphony on stage at a benefit for the Southern California organization. By then, the comic had been in semi-retirement, and after a series of heart attacks in 1961, he was told to stop working altogether. But to a lifelong performer, nothing compared to the feeling of being on stage. Benefit shows, he slyly argued, were not technically work, since he wasn’t getting paid. For the next few years, Marx’s wife and doctors grudgingly went along with the pitch. Harpo Speaks! The Riverside Symphony Concert, out June 5 from Ramseur Records, captures a considerably remarkable, one-of-a-kind performance: The silent Marx Brother, the one whose trademark persona led many audiences to believe he was actually mute, spoke. As Harpo Marx’s first, and last—recorded just six months before his death—live album, Harpo Speaks! places listeners in the room, immersed in the swell of the Riverside Orchestra as Marx performs alongside the symphony and leads them in a narration of Peter and the Wolf. In another unusual move for Marx, he allowed the recording of the show for posterity, though the tapes seemingly disappeared after his death. Harpo Speaks! is the result of heroic archival work. Recently discovered by longtime Marx Brother archivist John Tefteller, he and Marx biographer and expert Robert Bader set out to restore the long lost recording. “The fact that we have a recording is a miracle,” says Bader. “It was not the most professionally recorded thing.

It was very haphazard. The work that was done to rehabilitate it is stunning. It’s as if you’ve found something covered with layers of mold and dirt, got it all cleaned off, and now are able to see something brand new underneath it.” Across the recording’s near-43 minute runtime, Marx, alongside the Riverside Symphony, takes the cheering audience through the delightfully lighthearted “Toy Symphony” and carries them into the softly romantic “Moon Medley,” (a medley of “Fly Me to the Moon” and “How High the Moon,” arranged by his son Bill, alongside his own composition, “Moon Tune”) and a rare instrumental performance of his composition “Guardian Angels.” And then the concert’s true highlight: the near 22-minute long riveting narration of Peter and the Wolf. For the first time, Harpo reveals his voice: deep, yet soft-spoken, refined, yet still retaining the slightest hint of his New York City origin. And, in speaking, he entertained, getting laughs not just for his physical gags, but for the storytelling itself: the dramatic inflections in moments of suspense, the arch mischievousness, and tongue-in-cheek references to Goldwater, Rockefeller, and Nixon.

For if their first album ALLOMBON could be seen as the opening of a secret passage, this second record, FLOWERS TOO, is something else entirely: no longer the discovery of a world, but its methodical exploration, its feverish mapping, its deepening down to the underground layers. At a time when contemporary psychedelia seems at a standstill, when ecstasy has lost its effect, when the vast territories of the imagination have been parceled out, signposted, monetized they keep digging. And deeper still. Esoteric pop the noblest, the most dangerous kind is no longer practiced on the surface. It has abandoned the grand avenues to retreat into hidden laboratories, mental back rooms, basements more deeply buried than those of garage, punk, or black metal. It is there that the secret society Dorian Pimpernel has been working for years, with a stubbornness that feels less like a career than a calling.

Abdou El Omari was born in 1945 in Tafraout, south of Agadir -- a village suspended between the pink granite peaks of the Anti-Atlas and the waves of the Atlantic. A landscape already musical in itself. He grew up in the dry mountain light, surrounded by the rhythms of nature and Berber's culture. Very little is known about the man -- a veil of mystery still surrounds his life, only deepening the fascination. In the 1970s, as Morocco was transforming, Abdou El Omari shaped a sound of his own -- a visionary blend of spiritual jazz, psychedelic funk, Moroccan traditions, and early electronic experimentation. Today, his work is resurfacing, rediscovered by a new generation of listeners in search of lost horizons. This record stands among its rarest and most precious fragments. At twenty-two, he founded his first group, Les Fugitifs, which gained him local fame. Soon after, he released records and cassettes on labels such as Cléopâtre, Hassania, Boussiphone, Hilali, and his own, Al Awtar, while performing on RTM (national radio and television). He also composed for artists like Naima Samih, Laila Ghofran, and Aicha El Waad. In 1976, through the label Gam, he released his only vinyl album, Nuits d'été -- a record that would become cult decades later, reissued in 2017 by Radio Martiko. In the 1980s, his music grew quieter, more secret. He tried to recover his old tapes from the studios he had recorded in, but gradually withdrew from the scene and returned to hairdressing. A pioneer of musical fusion, he opened paths that would remain unexplored for years. He passed away in 2010, never witnessing the rediscovery of his music by diggers, bloggers, and collectors online. One day, his close friend and poet Aziz Essamadi, rescued a cardboard box from the trash -- a box containing Abdou El Omari's personal archives. It was later entrusted to Casablanca based collector Ahmed Khalil, founder of the label Dikraphone. Inside were treasures preserved by chance: demos, rehearsals, private recordings, unseen photographs -- and a stunning, almost forgotten cassette. Here, El Omari sounds bolder than ever, exploring territories where pop, cosmic disco, electric blues, and Moroccan tradition merge without boundaries. Armed with his ARP Odyssey synthesizer, hypnotic grooves, and the celestial layers of his Farfisa, he expanded the dialogue between deep roots and electronic exploration. This album is the continuation of a vision -- a music of the Moroccan future: rooted, but reaching for the unknown. Colorful, magnetic and timeless, here is music for dancing as much as for dreaming.

"Reflection Code" is an EP that delves into the multifaceted aspects of human reflection through a collection of immersive musical compositions, each inviting the listener on a unique sonic journey.

The Practice of Desire — A deep techno track featuring enveloping pads and modulating metallic cosmic sounds, reminiscent of heavy matter from outer space. Accompanied by a lecture from Gangaji, this track adds an extra layer of depth and meaning to the musical experience.

Port Del Compte — Inspired by memories of Spain's stunning landscapes and a performance at the Parallel festival, this track transports the listener to picturesque settings, filling their heart with joy and harmony.

Bad Trigger — This track offers a profound reflection on life events, utilizing an expressive electronic soundscape with a compelling bass line at 144 bpm. It creates an atmosphere conducive to introspection and self-discovery.

Green Frequency — A shamanic sequence infused with forest vibes and the calls of an electronic bird. This composition immerses the listener in nature, evoking a sense of unity with the surrounding environment and the inner self.

"Reflection Code" invites listeners to explore their inner reflections and connect with each composition on a profound level, creating a unique auditory landscape that lingers long after the music ends.

Toki Fuko music can be described as mechanical signals are structured in a hypnotic substance. Their constant musical experimentation actor perceives as an analysis of the surrounding world.

José James just can’t leave the ’70s alone. Or maybe it’s the other way around. The singer, songwriter, bandleader, and producer was born in 1978, after all, but over his past 17 years of fundamentally forward-looking, blessedly mercurial music, he keeps getting pulled back in. His 2013 Blue Note breakthrough No Beginning No End revisited the hooky, funky, jazz-streaked songcraft of the time through a modern crate-digger’s ears. On 2020’s No Beginning No End 2 — James’ debut on his own Rainbow Blonde Records — he went back through the portal with a small army of fellow celebrated eclecticists. Just last year, there was the album 1978, a richly layered love letter to said year that felt deep, luxe, and cool. It’s as if — vested with the restless fluidity of jazz, the tuned-in sensitivity of soul, and the revisionist grit of hip-hop — he is trying to play his way into the exact moment when, culturally speaking, everything was about to change.

“I'm still so fascinated by the tension in that era of all these seemingly clashing things happening at once,” says James. “The loft scene, the jazz scene, Elton and Billy, Bob Marley, the Isleys, Funkadelic, disco being this behemoth in a way I don't think we even understand today… And then there’s where everybody went from there — into hip-hop, into punk rock, exploding jazz. It's like a summation of the ’70s, and it's about to transform. It's the peak of the rollercoaster.”

Literally breaking into history is impossible, of course, but James’ new LP, 1978: Revenge of the Dragon, does feel like breaking through or bursting out. In loving contrast to its predecessor, the fresh set plays hot, like a Friday night out at the Mudd Club in its prime. Though he’s dreamt up albums with collaborator counts approaching the dozens, James gathered a tight crew for this one. Himself and Taali on vocals. BIGYUKI on keys and analog synth. Jharis Yokley on drums. Bass split between David Ginyard (Blood Orange, Terence Blanchard) and Kyle Miles (Michelle Ndgeocello, Nick Hakim). And an all-star brass lineup: Takuya Kuroda on trumpet, young lion Ebban Dorsey on alto sax, and genre-spanning ronin Ben Wendel on tenor sax. They set up in Dreamland Studios near Woodstock, a restored 19th century church, and recorded live to tape, two tracks, drums pushed to the max — “a small homage to the rise of punk,” says James.

In that place out of time, the band laid down a handful of choice covers and some wild originals, like the single “They Sleep, We Grind (for Badu),” a decades-collapsing cut powered by an ugly groove. Steeped in dub, funk, and sampledelia, James chants an artists’ mantra (“They sleep, we grind / Man, f--- your nine to five”), makes lyrical callouts to Marley and Nas, and channels everything from George Clinton to J Dilla, not to mention the earthy mysticism of Erykah Badu. In 2023, James released and toured his Badu covers LP, On & On. “Living in her musical house for a year was transformative,” he says. “This is my summary of everything I learned through her, tying it to this idea that artists move differently. We are in society but we are outside, too, looking out and in at the same time. Our hours are different, our schedules are different.”

To that point, James and co. actually began each day in the woods, filming the album’s visual companion piece, Revenge of the Dragon, an honest-to-God kung-fu short complete with bad overdubs, training montages, camera tricks, and plot twists. The film pays tribute not only to the genre’s greatest year (1978, of course), but also its cinematic exchange with Blaxploitation, plus James’ own recent Shaolin training and admiration for Bruce Lee as a culture-bridging force (the LP’s cover recreates an iconic shot of Lee). On top of that, says James, “We had this immediacy in the studio. Live, one take, no overdubbing. I feel like that's where the martial arts piece comes in, where it's about being relaxed but also aware, and there's immediacy in your movements.”

Across the project, tribute takes that refracted, multifaceted form. From his personal late-’70s playlist, James chose four covers reflecting the era’s disco-fied churn: the MJ-meets-Quincy dancefloor masterpiece “Rock With You”; Herbie Hancock’s prescient vocoder fever dream, “I Thought It Was You”; and a pair of Black-radio hits from two bands whose fans typically wouldn’t have been caught dead in the same stadium: “Miss You” by the Rolling Stones and the Bee Gees’ “Inside and Out.” All of it gets filtered through a contemporary Black (and beyond) lens, coming out loud, free, funky, and buzzing — dynamic, yes, but also of a joyous piece.

1978: Revenge of the Dragon transports you to a crowded room where all this is playing out in real time. That feeling is helped out by opener “Tokyo Daydream,” a bass-driven swan dive into a neverending night of boutique bar-hopping and neon revelry. Later, “Rise of the Tiger” finds James bringing rare braggadocio to a propulsive track with growling synth lines and a hunger for whatever comes next. And then there’s the closer, “Last Call at the Mudd Club,” which with its upbeat energy and string of Stevie-inspired pickup lines, evokes the sort of unabashedly elated track the DJ throws on at 3:56 a.m. before everyone is kicked out. “I wanted to leave the album on that note,” says James. “If this was a night out in New York, this would be the last thing you hear before you get in that taxi and go back to your apartment.” Or, perhaps, back to 2025.

WOW. Daniel O'Sullivan's transcendent new album, Eros, is one of the greatest things we've ever heard. A simply stunning song cycle of hypnotic, experimental contemporary chamber music composed for a 14-piece ensemble. Combining minimalism, complex syncopation, detailed acoustic textures, weird intervals and samurai precision, this record will elegantly blow your mind. When Daniel first sent us this, he pitched it as “Liquid Swords meets Michael Nyman”. Trust us, he wasn't wrong. A "unique hybrid orchestral music", it presents a confluence of Daniel's longstanding fixations; indeed, there's elements of Nyman, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Magma, Aaron Copland and RZA. But this is wholly O'Sullivan's. Originally commissioned for the Sonoton Music Library in Munich, Eros now receives a deluxe vinyl release courtesy of Be With Records, bringing this meticulously crafted work to a wider audience. Limited to just 500 copies for the world, these are gonna fly.

An English composer and multi-instrumentalist, Daniel O'Sullivan’s career has been marked by versatility and innovation. In addition to his work with Sonoton, he has composed extensively for the legendary KPM music library, contributing to its storied legacy of production music. As a deep virtuoso and collaborator, O'Sullivan has also played in a number of influential projects, including Ulver, Sunn O))), This Is Not This Heat, Grumbling Fur and Miracle (with Steve Moore), leaving an indelible mark on the contemporary experimental music landscape.

O’Sullivan’s first foray into classically informed chamber music, Eros is a culmination of his long-standing fixations and expansive musical influences. The album features arrangements that are as detailed as they are emotionally resonant, showcasing his unparalleled ear for intervals and mastery of counterpoint. The music brims with complex rhythmic syncopation and a sensitivity to texture and space, resulting in a soundscape that is both intoxicating and dauntingly precise.

Recorded June 2023 and February 2024, in Brussels, London and Carmarthenshire, Wales, Eros features members of Echo Collective (Neil Leiter and Margaret Hermant), Thighpaulsandra (from seminal post-industrial band Coil), and jazz pioneer Oren Marshall. Daniel's sonic weapons of choice, in his own inimitable words, were "Big Bad Drum, Pee Anne Oh, Low End Brass, Willowy Winds & Samurai Strings." You get the picture. As a cyclical suite, this is a record that really needs to be heard in its entitreity, from start to finish, to truly appreciate the genius at work here.

A jaw-dropping statement of intent, the minimalist "Golden Verses" sets the tone with its complex cue which has your neck snapping right when it feels like it needs to. Listen and you'll understand. A syncopated tangle of sharp strings, crunchy bass, drums percussion and bright piano and mallets vie for position with French horn and woodwind melody in the most compelling and unexpected ways. Quite simply, it's one of the finest album openers I've ever heard. It's followed by the atmospheric rippling minimalism of "Lyre Lyre", a gorgeous gem with shimmering chimes, bright melody, human percussion and syncopated pizzicato strings. It kinda comes on like a less-abstract Boards Of Canada, bursting with typical wonderment. The piano and string-drenched "Dolorous Stroke" effortlessly builds its warm, pastoral orchestration with flowing piano arpeggio, steadfast drums, expressive string quartet, rich low brass, woodwind and lyrical flute. Just sublime.

The insistent frenetic propulsion of "Plain Paper" is utterly beguiling, featuring a determined string motif, urgent drums and percussion, driving low brass and breathless, energetic flute. The haunting, interweaving string arpeggios that propel "Grapes Draped" presents a claustrophobic minimalism for chaos and darkness, with growling low woodwind and brass, spiky harpsichord, skittering flutes and tight drums. Up next, "Xanix Annum" is a stately minimalist waltz with expressive lyrical string quartet and delicate woodwind, anchored by drums and percussion. "Painting Rose" is a bouncy stop-start track with angular syncopated strings and a piano pulse underneath bright harpsichord and flutes. "Rotunda Garden" presents ethereal textural minimalism for landscapes and reflection with flowing string arpeggios, warm, low woodwind drones, floating choir and cymbal swells. Closing out this extraordinary side of music, the glowing, flowing minimalism of "Flowry Orb" features urgent organ, piano and woodwind arpeggios, half-time drums with shimmering cymbals, a soaring, beautiful violin solo and hypnotic vocal chant.

Side 2 opens with "Theia Mania" a determinedly off-kilter, angular track featuring low wind, brass and drum stomp in dialogue with lively string trio, woodwind and solo horn. The light, airy minimalism of "Painting Percy" is built around an interplay of rhythmic motifs for piano, low brass, bassoon, fluttering flutes, urgent strings, drums and percussion whilst "For Archetypes" is a delicate, gently syncopated chamber cue for nostalgia, nature, reflection and moments of calm, with steady piano motif, intimate woodwind and French horn, and warm, graceful strings. The urgent Ars Memoriae is a propulsive march for progress, processes and industry, underpinned by driving tuba, with determined strings, resolute drums, and vivid, expressive flute, clarinet and French horn.

The syncopated energetic minimalism of "Mirrored Seven" presents layers of melodic and cyclical piano, drums, low brass, harp, flute and strings. "Pure Ornament" follows, a slowly evolving chamber cue with flowing clarinet, string and harp arpeggio, plodding tuba and percussion, fluttering flute and graceful, lyrical solos. Stunning! Up next, "Brave Boy" moves from its tender, warm, lullaby-like intro with lyrical flute, clarinet and strings before opening into a playful backend driven by a bouncy tuba riff and syncopated piano, woodwind, string trio, and drums and percussion. Rounding out this astonishing piece, "Waxen Waned" is a warm, pastoral chamber cue with light lyrical woodwind, tender French horn and subtly pulsing string trio.

The album's title is a reference to Plato’s conception of Eros, which is more than romantic or physical desire. It is a dynamic and creative force that drives individuals to seek perfection whether in art, relationships, philosophy or the pursuit of truth. Wholly appropriate, here, we think. When asked what his influences were in making this astounding record, he answered thusly: "Non-musical: Householding, Pythagoras, Goethe, Grail romances, Hermeticism, Doctrine of Signatures (Parcelsus, Bohme, Pliny), Eric Rohmer, John Stezaker, Yasujiro Ozu. Musical: Duke Ellington (late suites), Smile-era Brian, early RZA, Wagner (Parsifal Overture), Magma, Mancini, Axelrod, YMO, Hildegard, Nyman, Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Jobim (Stone Flower), Alessandro Alessandroni, Tavener, Moondog, Orthodox Music, Secular Music." That's some pretty deep shit. Makes you want to dive in, no?

Mastering for this vinyl edition was overseen by Be With regular Simon Francis, and it was cut by the esteemed Cicely Balston at Abbey Road Studios to be pressed in the Netherlands by Record Industry. Truly, Eros is a work of extraordinary depth and sophistication. It invites listeners to immerse themselves in its intricate layers, to lose themselves in its hypnotic rhythms, and to marvel at the precision of its execution. With this release, O’Sullivan reaffirms his position as one of the most inventive and uncompromising voices in contemporary music. Do. Not. Sleep.

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.

There's iconic. Then there's *iconic*.

A MASSIVE speaker-smashing release, decades overdue. It's been bootlegged - shamefully so, many times over the years - but finally we present the first ever officially licensed reissue of this truly special Afro-disco-not-disco LP from 1979. A favourite of Harvey, Antal, Young Marco and, er, every great DJ to ever play deep records ever, basically. It's not hard to see - or, indeed, *feel* why.

Gem after gem of relentless, irresistibly funky gold, it's an incredibly revelatory album with endlessly complex drum patterns and basslines to dive into, throughout. Truly, this is uniquely FIRE music, unlike anything else you've ever heard, based on Gwo ka music from the gorgeous islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique. A thrilling synthesis of primal, hypnotic drums - the most tribal of percussive elements high in the mix throughout - with the loping synth pyrotechnics of, amongst a whole host of other greats, Wally Badarou and bass power of disco funk don Sauveur Mallia (Arpadys, Spatial & Co.)

Originally released on the seminal French label Barclay, you'd be hard pressed to even find an original copy in nice condition anywhere, let alone for a reasonable price, so it's high time an officially licensed, remastered reissue came around. It's just the latest in a long line of Be With reissues where the music sounds like the - drop-dead dazzling - cover. This here is a true drum attack. BUY ON SIGHT!

Tumblack was a short-lived project, produced and arranged by electronic wizard Yves Hayat and it can certainly be regarded as one of the first examples of Zouk, mixing powerful disco-funk arrangements with Gwo ka, traditional music from Guadeloupe. Gwo ka is an Antillean Creole term for "big drum". You can say that again! It refers to both a family of hand drums and the music played with them, which is a major part of Guadeloupean folk music.Whilst the first side is credited to the exceptional Tumblack band, the flip is given over to "Tumblack & Friends". These weren't just any old friends. Oh no, they were the absolute cream of the French scene (think Arpadys, Voyage, Le Club, Giant, CCPP, Synthesis, Swing Family) such as Sauveur Mallia, Wally Badarou, Marc Chantereau on percussion, Slim Pezin on guitar and Jean-Paul Batailley and Pierre Alain-Dahan handling drum duties.

The urgent, frantic "Fracas" gets things moving straight away with a cavalcade of drums and percussive funk before giving way to the stratospheric "Invocation", one of the album's many, many highlights. It's effectively one long heavenly drum break, a really hard, raw, tribal drum workout without a whole lot else going on - and all the better for it! One to make you sweat, no question. Up next, "Jubilé" is announced with a bellowing accapella voice, chanting the titular name before the heaviest of kicks smashes out your system and lulls you into an absolute state of bliss for nearly 6 minutes. Whoooooosh! Rounding out the sensational A-Side, "Vaudou" is a scratchy, funky patterned drum workout which - yep, yet again - absolutely slays your neck muscles, making them snap and contract in extraordinary fashion. TURN IT UP!

Ushering in the B-Side, the brief, fidgety, African chant-funk of "Parlement" segues seamlessly, beautifully into "Waka", an overwhelmingly rich gem of percussive funk. You do not want this to end, once it hits its stride. For maximum heavenly drum pleasure, you'd need to go a long way than the moment "Waka" feels like it's fading out before it kick-drum-blend into the mighty "Caraïba (Intro)". It's just staggeringly good. It's a minute-long layered drum prelude to the gigantic track which follows. Indeed, "Caraïba" is arguably the best loved and most well-known cut off the LP. And with good reason...featuring that Mallia bass, warm Rhodes and clavs, synth magic, memorably alto sax lines and, of course, tribal chanting.

Another mighty super-ahead-of-its-time classic, the bouncing bass heavy synth funk of "Chunga Funk" deploys Mallia and Wally Badarou (on Mini Moog) exceptionally well. I mean, come on, that bassline is just ridiculous. Try not to move to this one. This extraordinary record closes out with the more traditional Gwo ka sounds of "Bateau La Passé", the tribal chorus making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Tumblack really is a gorgeous late-70s disco-not-disco essential. It's an absolute MONSTER that will completely blow you away; and, yes, it's as compelling and trance-inducing as the cover. The audio for Tumblack 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. The cover of Tumblack is so iconic and we sought special permission from original artist Hélène Majera to recreate this at Be With HQ. It absolutely zings off the print and serves as the perfect finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue.

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.

Back in the day, when he was the drummer for Poni Hoax, Vincent Taeger would sing in French whatever came to his mind backstage after concerts, just for fun, to amuse his friend the late Nicolas Ker. Since then, time has flown by, undoubtedly bringing its share of ups and downs. Nonetheless, today, this artist with a long career is finally releasing his debut album as a singer, OK Crooner. It's indeed an album for a singer, but also one for a musician. For this part, Taeger doesn't come alone; he brings along the Jazz Kamasutra, a sexy sextet that knows how to play everything and will later accompany him on stage. To get to this point, Vincent Taeger had to stop playing around with big names like Air, Damon Albarn, Justice, Lenny Kravitz, Skepta, Tony Allen, Oumou Sangaré, Jeff Mills, Archie Shepp, Sampa the Great, Andrea Laszlo de Simone... More than half of the major artists with whom he once collaborated, contributing to their albums or simply laying down a drum, bass, or any other heavy instrument line. Before OK Crooner, he also transformed into Tiger Tigre. This roaring alias was used for a first solo album, instrumental and so deep that one might have thought the ghost of François de Roubaix had taken shape. But that was before, before this exceptional musician decided to dive into the vast ocean of French variety to give a sequel, a culmination to this project. During COVID, Vincent Taeger started frantically listening to Souchon, Chamfort, Gotainer, and Christophe. Inspired by his elders, while not renouncing his attachment to the meticulous arrangements reminiscent of Alain Goraguer's soundtracks, he picked up a pen to jot down snippets of songs to accompany his increasingly sophisticated compositions. And the worst part is that he enjoyed it! Coming from rap, he has a knack for punchlines. Throughout the album, he delivers just as many harsh or soft words as good ones, alternating between risqué humor, Gaulish wit, and poetry. Partially recorded at Studio Ferber, but mainly at home with his partner, known by the alias La Plongée, who co-produced the album for the occasion, OK Crooner is a key album in Vincent Taeger's discography. Besides being the one where he finally unveils his voice to the public, without pretense as it is prominently featured and minimally, if at all, retouched, Taeger also offers music that suits him perfectly. Sharp yet accessible, jazz, pop, baroque, classical, modern, and resolutely marked by Tony Allen's legacy, which he daringly mixes with Beethoven in the Fifth Symphony. His alter ego, Vincent Taurelle, with whom he has produced many albums, took care of mixing this one.

Recorded in its entirety using just a laptop, a pair of headphones and a midi sampler, Indentations is the debut full length album from New York based percussionist and producer Grant Chapman.

Indentations draws deeply on Chapman's personal experiences surrounding loss and betrayal. An intimate work reflecting the struggle of dealing with traumatic experiences, the album makes the case for equilibrium following life-altering experiences.

‘’The album is a meditation on the sheer weight a broken relationship can have on two people. A personification of the stages of grief one feels when growing apart from someone they love, for reasons they can’t seem to reckon with or comprehend.’’

Working from his East Village apartment, Indentations is a rich amalgam of intricately layered found sounds, almost all of which were found on YouTube, taking in influences that range from ASMR to acapella choral performance.

The effect is dizzying in its depth and scope. Chapman has created a boundless emotional musical journey that can feel both deeply intimate and cosmically vast.

While she was waiting for her last album 'Pripyat' to be released, Catalan composer and producer Marina Herlop was restless. She was concerned about her (by then) uncertain music career, and felt emotionally unmoored. "Some days I used to sit on the balcony of my flat to catch some sun," she explains, "I would close my eyes and start visualizing myself as a gardener, pulling out purple weeds from the soil, every bad memory or emotion I wanted to expulse being one of the plants." As the days dragged on, the fantasy deepened, and Herlop discovered that parts of the garden was withering; the energy she had been putting into the non-musical side of her life had seeped into her creative pasture and poisoned it. She knew what she needed to do to overcome the blight: plant some seeds and tend to her art to help it blossom and bloom once again. 'Nekkuja' is a place for Herlop's warmest, sweetest sentiments to rise to the surface and crack through the topsoil. She describes the record as a way for her to seek and affirm inner light, and it's undoubtedly her brightest, poppiest statement to date. The forward-thinking, experimental touches that nourished 'Pripyat' are still present, but blessed with a level of positivity that's rare to find in a scene so entranced by darkness and melancholy. Skittering fragments of ornate acoustic instrumentation provide a serene welcome to 'Busa', punctuated by precise electronic processes that shuttle the sound towards abstraction and fantasy. Herlop's voice grows over the tangle of sounds from a childish giggle into a layered, matted mantra, sounding passionate, hopeful and full of energy. The vitality spills over into 'Cosset', where she wraps powerful motifs around ricocheting beats and dramatic piano rolls. Herlop's garden opens up dramatically on 'Karada' when bucolic field recordings crack like sunlight over harp plucks and willowy vocals. Her voice seems to bend around the whooshing streams and chittering of birds as if she's singing to the manicured land itself - a utopian paradise that Herlop employs as a metaphor for the creative process. In contrast to the view that an artist is an isolated genius or an idol to be worshipped, Herlop believes that the garden helps us see the process as closer to devotion or perseverance. A gardener brings order to the wild chaos of the outdoors, collaborating with nature to arrange something vibrant and enduring. Blending familiar sounds with fanciful concepts, Herlop traces an imaginary garden, imploring us to wander and wonder. And by the album's billowing final track 'Babel', it's flowered into a flush of pruned vocal phrases and delicately groomed orchestral rushes, painted in orange, green, blue and red.

Moody cacophonies, sonic dispatches from Japan, crystalline breakbeats that are more environment than rhythm: Jake Muir’s enmixed, described by Muir as a “(re)mixtape,” is a mind-bending deep dive into the enmossed archive. Besides reflecting the history of the label, Muir’s mix is a production in its own right. A Los Angeles native based in Berlin, Muir is a DJ and field recordist who “sees mixes as a vehicle to explore narratives outside of the album format.”

In Bathhouse Blues (2023), where Muir sampled various sources to explore gay cruising culture and sensuality, his more expansive, conceptual approach to the form is illuminated. Mixes are not just a linear succession of tracks with transitions—they’re excavations that also result in the creation of new audio artifacts. Inspired by the psychedelic impulses of illbient, Muir uses DJ and sound engineering techniques to melt down genre distinctions and create alien atmospheres.

From the enmossed community, Muir pulls from artists like bad lsd trips, Angelo Harmsworth, Nick Klein, Tetsuya Nakayama, and Patrick Gallagher to coalesce a super-compendium of the global sonic underground, all viewed through his own unique lens. Muir takes major liberties with processing and effects automation to carve new worlds from the soil of these preexisting works. Some of the tracks and material on enmixed are heavily edited, emphasizing specific harmonics or bass frequencies, and some portions contain three or four layers, putting artists in direct conversation with each other.

This heady approach—using the tools of both mixtape and remix—results in a super textual and dense palimpsest of the enmossed catalog. “Because mixes are more open- source,” Muir says, “it’s easier to express some ideas since there is more material to pull from.”

- Rob Goyanes

Silver foil printed j-cards on heavyweight iridescent ('Lapis Lazuli') recycled paper Duplicated at a carbon-neutral facility

Sage Green Vinyl. Highly anticipated first pressing of Live at The Cabin, originally a live-stream release show performance during the pandemic after Slaughter Beach, Dog's "At The Moonbase" record. The album was released digitally through Lame-O Records in the fall of 2022, and has been a cult favorite release by fans of the band. Available with beautiful artwork by Russell Edling (Lame-O, Golden Apples) fans will appreciate getting to dive deeper into the world of Slaughter Beach, Dog.

Brussels is a highway where rainbow-fuelled melancholia kids race its track, mountain and road bikes. Endless summers cherish the collective chosen chaos of the city; every corner displays wild micro-natures, buzzing insects, and rare weeds fourishing organically; tape hiss and AM radio compression are the soundtrack of everyday life. And hear! Originated in the Brussels DIY, indie rock and noise scene, a new kid on the block appears: Another Dancer.

They deal in utopian music - of the open, welcoming and whatsoeverish kind. It’s fresh, snotty, neurotic art-rock deeply rooted in 80s/90s DIY aesthetics. The songs on their debut album balance gently between forgotten pop hits and broken sound experiments. In their world, any shitload of weird, random, and badly synchronized sounds unveil broken-hearted pop mastery. In the Another Dancer universe, radios are stuck to WFMU and Soulseek is a self-conscious AI producing 80ies psychedelic FM-rock.

Brussels-based Another Dancer is outdated, wild at heart and elegantly shy. Their full album I Try to Be Another Dancer is out September 10th on Bruit Direct Disques and Aguirre.

"Flashes of the shambolic post-punk of Good Sad Happy Bad and the goofy, fraternal synth-pop of the blog-era gem Teenagers can be seen, often simultaneously, across the new single from the Brussels-based band Another Dancer. Vocals are layered on top of each other to a conversational near-cacophony, like you’ve been placed at the center of a Dry Cleaning show where everyone is, improbably, in a good mood. Sunny synth sweeps jostle next to bent, jangly guitar lines for a song that finds a special kind of vibrance in its mess. — Jordan Darville”

LEE MOSES is a cult figure amongst rare funk and deep soul collectors with his lone album, Time And Place, the holy grail of his brief but majestic recording legacy. Despite working with the likes of Eddie Billups, King Hannibal, Freddie Terrell, Barbara Hall and Gladys Knight & The Pips, he remains obscure and yet revered. He recorded just eight singles over a period of eight years and scratched a living playing the bars and R&B clubs in Atlanta. “Bad Girl” is a funk/soul masterpiece that is heavily in demand around the world as the three million views on YouTube lays testament. It was recorded in New York in 1967 and is produced by the legendary Johnny Brantley who captures the very soul of Moses in every tortured second of this 5-minute opus that stretches over both sides of the 45.

Throw the gauntlet: Fast Castle is back with Gent1e $oul’s “Shoals”-EP, our furthest excursion into the unexplored depths of mind-bending bassweight! Having perfected his build order on his recent “Block Printing'' and “Silk Armor”-EPs, Gent1e $oul continues to infuse his productions with sonic bass strategies over five versatile tracks.

“Dark Age” provides an aggressive opening, immediately applying pressure with nasty bass wobbles, dembow echoes and a 4x4 switch that might catch distracted players off guard. Tried and tested in many settings, this is an essential option for the incoming dancefloor rush!

With its heavy neo-stepper energy, ”Bad Neighbor” lays siege to dancefloor resistance with a piercing lead, breathing drums and powerful waves of sub wubs. Just like the AoE2’s legendary trebuchet of the same name, “Bad Neighbor” – paired with the right Soundsystem – will make the walls shake.

“Dusty Acer” is a homage to Gent1e $oul’s dear but aging AoE2 gaming machine, capable of producing similar noises to this dark UKG cuts’ central bassline.

Deep dubstep cut “Illumination” takes us to the for a wholesome mana refill: Mystic ambiences make you pull down your cowl, before diving into a fully blown sub massage.

The standout self-titled cut “Shoals” concludes the release: A deep-yet-powerful half-stepping perc grower at 160bpm, operating on subdued rhythmic shifts and layers.

As a special tribute to the AoE2 community, all tunes are flavored with the game's original sound effects. Thanks for keeping us inspired, Nili_Aoe for NAC5 and T90 for HC5!

Bad Bad Hats traffic in playful concepts and warm scenes of youth, celebrated for crispy, lived-in melodies, big choruses that stick for days, and an easy musicianship that carries across their eclectic, wide-ranging releases. The new album – filled with their trademark freewheeling songs, pristine tones and several unexpectedly funky turns – suggests a band still having deep fun creating and playing, inviting listeners new and old to live life to their heartfelt tunes.

Nia Archives is the star at the forefront of the latest era of jungle. Since her emergence in 2020, her collagist soundscapes have helped bring the sound to a new generation of clubgoers (though fair warning: don’t call her a “revivalist” – she’s the first to point out that the scene never went away). So when it comes to talk of the 24-year-old producer, DJ, singer and songwriter’s much-anticipated debut album, the odds are you’re thinking of a full-length record of weightless jungle tracks with basslines so intense they’ll leave your ears ringing.

But the reality of the Bradford-born, Leeds-raised artist’s first ever album – while very much replete with that exquisite jungle sound she does so well – is also doing something a little different. On the thrilling and freeing Silence Is Loud, Nia Archives is looking to make music for beyond the rave. As she explains: “I think music can be experienced in different ways, and there’s different kinds of music for different scenarios. Say you’re at a festival listening to music with thousands of other people, that can feel really uniting. But then you might listen to an album on your own in the bus, or in a taxi; and this project is definitely more a record to sit and listen to than a collection of club tracks.” Nia is intent that Silence Is Loud is taken in as a full body of work of something “more song-focussed, putting interesting sounds on jungle.” It means that this is a record which finds gloomy Britpop, warm Motown, soaring indie, a love for Kings of Leon’s Aha Shake Heartbreak, skittering IDM, Madchester, classic rock, old skool hardcore and more, woven and fused into her ragga and junglist tapestry, all layered with feeling, imbued with her songwriterly lyricism about loneliness, relationships, family, navigating her 20s, and the intense potential power of silence.

The vast sonic palette on Silence Is Loud comes down to Nia’s broad array of influences through her life. With her Jamaican heritage, Nia remembers hearing jungle as a child via her nana, as well as at Bradford Carnival, where she was drawn to the soundsystem culture, dancing carefree on the floats in the parade. The first album she ever bought was Rihanna’s debut, Music of the Sun, and she also went to Pentecostal church back then, and was obsessed with gospel. Aged 16, she moved to Manchester, where she didn’t really know anybody: and so, her solution to meeting people was going out. “Partying was a huge part of my life,” she says, “They used to do little freestyle cyphers at the house parties and I would join in – that’s kind of how I got into singing.” She had found music boring at school, but in meeting all these new people she became interested in making her own music as a hobby. “I was making boom-bap kind of stuff which I didn’t really like in the end,” she laughs, “My lyrics are quite deep, so on a hip-hop beat it all sounds really depressing. I wanted people to dance to my music.” And so she began experimenting with faster tempos alongside that melancholy songwriting, teaching herself how to make beats on Logic: “It’s all been a lot of trial and error, really.”

Nia went to study music in London, and was also interested in visual art, making collages and VHS: “Before the music, I was trying to make a visual archive of my life and the people around me,” she explains, “And then my music was like my diary, and a sonic archive, as well.” Hence, she paired the word “archives” with her middle name, Nia. To this day, in her spare time she’s working on pulling together a documentary on the global nature of the jungle scene.

Back on those first two EPs, Headz Gone West (2021) and Forbidden Feelingz (2022), she honed that junglist sound, painting it with new flecks of colour and vibrance. It was only after she started releasing work that she realised pursuing music could be a viable life path for her. The decision has been paying off ever since. Nia Archives placed third in the prestigious BBC Sound Poll for 2023, alongside garnering a nomination for the Brit Awards’ Rising Star prize, plus wins at the DJ Mag, NME, the MOBOs and Artist and Manager Awards. She has also toured the world – be it North America, Europe or Asia – and even opened a show in London as part of a little something called Beyoncé’s Renaissance World Tour. She’s renowned as a party-starter in her own right, too, with takeovers at Glastonbury, Warehouse Project and her own Bad Gyalz day event. She’s done official remixes for the likes of Jorja Smith, had a huge summer hit with her Yeah Yeah Yeahs rework ‘Off Wiv Ya Headz’, and worked with brands like Corteiz, Nike, Flannels, Burberry, FIFA and Apple. In just three years, it’s fair to say that Nia Archives has become a need-to-know name in dance music.

But Nia is not interested in being one fixed thing. Building on the terrain from her third EP, Sunrise Bang Ur Head Against Tha Wall, the universe of Silence Is Loud is not totally unfamiliar territory; but it’s still emblematic of a bolder scope than we’ve heard from the artist before. Working with Ethan P. Flynn (the songwriter and producer known for his work with FKA twigs and David Byrne), the resulting record is an impressive feat of deftly-sculpted textures; sometimes big and euphoric, like the wobbly, lusty bass of ‘Forbidden Feelingz’, or elsewhere notably gentle and quiet – see: the gorgeous, surprisingly drumless ‘Silence Is Loud (Reprise)’, a heartfelt number that sits somewhere in the school of Adele. “I really sharpened my songwriting skill on this project,” Nia says, “I was really intentional about what I was writing about, and I really loved co-producing with Ethan. His process is so different to anyone I’ve worked with before, and he’s got a kind of DIY set-up like me.” Flynn’s flat overlooks the Barbican, adding that unquantifiable futurist urban quality that the area holds to the music. The pair enjoyed the collaborative process so much that the album was done within three and a half months.

Perhaps this is why Silence Is Loud maintains an exuberant immediacy while still being sleek and spacious, interspersed with flourishes of metallic beats, lush melody and topped with her sugary but powerful vocal, floating over it all. There is an intimacy to the record, perhaps in part due to Nia writing most of her lyrics while sitting in bed in her flat in Bow (once a bedroom producer, always a bedroom producer). You can hear it on the refrain for lead single ‘Crowded Roomz’, which finds rippling guitar lines cutting taut through the beats as Nia refrains: “I feel so lonely crowded rooms.” The song is an examination of life on tour, constantly surrounded by people, but not necessarily those she can be herself around; more than that, the track is exemplary in the category of sad bangers.

Silence Is Loud often finds itself in that push and pull between melancholy and euphoria. There’s a celebration of her unconditional love for her younger brother (the title track), a rumination of an evening with an Irish boy she met by Temple Bar (‘Cards On The Table), or a letter to herself on the light and airy ‘Unfinished Business’, even coming to terms with a lover having a past they haven’t quite processed yet (“nobody comes with a clean slate”). The latter was recorded the week after a music festival, and accordingly captures Nia’s vocal in its not quite healed, husky state.

Nia’s work is always a snapshot of where she’s at when she’s making it. This might not be the debut album you were expecting, but that’s what makes Silence Is Loud so special. Nia Archives has learned the rules of her sound, and is unafraid to break them, pushing jungle and herself into new, unchartered territories that, in turn, go some way to map the history of the greats of British dance music. More than that, it plants her firmly in that lineage.

Aroop Roy’s star is deservedly in the ascendancy! As one of London’s most exciting selectors, he’s managed to position himself in the sweet spot of being the DJ’s DJ and causing wild scenes wherever he plays, with headline grabbing sets at Defected Croatia, We Out Here, Gilles Peterson’s Worldwide and many more.

As a producer, musician and label owner, he continues to excel, armed with a vast knowledge of outernational sounds, from rare African disco, jazz, funk, to house, UKG and seemingly everything in-between. His open-minded approach has led to brilliant releases and remixes for labels as diverse as Soundway, Heavenly Sweetness, Permanent Vacation, Club Bad, Delusions of Grandeur, Atjazz Recordings and his own Vive La Musique imprint.

Having played a few gigs together, it was only a matter of time before Jimpster convinced Aroop to get an EP together for Freerange and the resulting Re Bulele EP couldn’t be any more satisfying!

Leading the charge, 'Mama Mwana' captivates with entrancing thumb piano loops and a traditional African vocal all propped up by a subtle yet chunky house beat to lock the dancers in.

'Re Bulele' features the hypnotic vocals of Botswana native Fox Meropa. Aroop masterfully combines a deep, techy Afro House groove with glassy synth pads to form a stripped back instrumental with the vocals front and centre. Seemingly disparate elements shine on this wonderful alternative to the deluge of maximal Afro House tracks being released these days.

Moroccan producer FNX Omar delivers the goods with a sublime remix of Re Bulele. Creating tension with layers of looping vocals along with a rolling, percussive groove. Like the original, this remix transcends genres and will create special moments on the dancefloor, whether it be in a dark, sweaty basement or daytime festival in the sunshine.

A quietly funky collection that repays repeated play by creating a mesmeric, almost
hypnotic, cocoon to lose yourself in" Echoes
Examining our relationship with the cosmos as well as more intimate liaisons closer
to home; new transatlantic future soul duo Cosmic Link are set to release their
eponymous debut album on 24th November.
The duo consists of Florida based Jay Myztroh and Bristol based producer Ben
Dubuisson, best known for the Hundred Strong project. Citing influences of Erykah
Badu, Prince, Alice Coltrane, Stevie Wonder and Esperanza Spalding; the album
crosses cosmic soul/RnB, low-end weighted hip hop, and conscious jazz. While the
musical vibrations lay down a groove on a sensory level, the lyrics prompt deeper
subconscious thought.
Under a “Cosmic” header, side one of the album starts with ‘Let It Go’, a song about
releasing the things that no longer serve you in your life, before exploring
meditation (‘Quiet Time’), karma, and responsibility in the way you live your life
(‘Metaphysical’).
Side two of the album is grouped with the theme “Link” and as narrative, explores
the evolution of a relationship: ‘Cellphone’ expresses the desire to be close to
someone, ‘Shoot’ is the introduction to the courting stage, and ‘Show U Love’ is a
request to take a step into a committed relationship.
“All of these songs are personal,” says Jay. “They explore either my experiences or are
written to me as understandings to help me navigate this plane of existence. The
personal nature of the music is what makes it universal to all humans”.
The overall theme of the album is summed up in the lyrics of the closing title track,
“Our motion is perpetual/together we move/at the speed of life/ intertwined by our
timelines/which coincide”.
Jay explains, “There is no separating the all from the source. With all living things
being products of the Cosmos, we are forever linked to it. We all share a source, atimeline, a planet, air, a sun etc. We are linked by simply being and doing the things
beings do”.
Introduced by mutual artist friends, the catalyst for their collaboration was the 2017
album 'Black Diamonds' by Jay's previous project Stono Echo, produced by the late,
great Paten Locke. Over the course of a few years they began remotely exchanging
music and lyrics, building a catalogue of finished tracks. During this time, Myztroh
was also completing his Masters degree in choral conducting that focused on
discovering and promoting compositions from the African Diaspora. Run by Ben
Dubuisson, High Noon Music has been based in Bristol since the early 2000s,
releasing records by artists including Ben’s own Hundred Strong, plus Boca 45,
Joseph Malik, Kali Phoenix, One Cut, Mr Fantastic, and Numskullz.

-Domino is a spooky, bittersweet collection of cinematic soul cuts influenced by 1970’s ‘Giallo’ film scores layered with luminous vocals.
-Ella Thompson's first solo LP release since Janus (2015).
-Ella is the vocalist from the electro duo GL and formerly frontwoman of The Bamboos.
-Music by Karate Boogaloo aka The Frollen Music Library.
-She will be opening for Lee Fields on his Australian dates in December.
-For fans of Kadhja Bonet, Cleo Sol, Nancy Sinatra, Lady Wray.
Ella Thompson’s Domino is a spooky, bittersweet collection of cinematic soul cuts influenced by 1970s Italian 'Giallo' film scores, with luminous vocals that draw a line between 60s icons like Nancy Sinatra and contemporary soul artists like Kadhja Bonet. Ella’s effortless singing and haunting lyrics paint angular pictures in the moody darkness.
The sparse production is intentionally cinematic, deeply influenced by the music of Italian ‘Giallo’ film scores of the 1970s, particularly by composers like Piero Piccioni but comparable to current artists like Adrian Younge or Bad Bad Not Good in a meditative mood. Minimal but propulsive bass and drums know when to hang back, as they do in the title track and when to step forward as they do in the chugging, deep and funky rhythm section work on the single Never Fight The Way You Feel.
All the instrumentation used in Domino was created by Frollen Music Library, a library music project by the musicians behind Karate Boogaloo, Henry Jenkins, Hudson Whitlock and Darvid Thor, all long-term collaborators and friends of Ella’s.
Ella returned to making music under her own name in 2023 after years of releasing music with her electro-pop duo GL and cult indie band Dorsal Fins. One of Australia’s truly accomplished singers, Ella’s range ranges from art music to cinematic soul, jazz, and pop. In addition to her solo project and bands, she has been a featured artist for numerous acts, most notably deep funk pioneers The Bamboos and Mark Ronson.

Inhale. Exhale. Mind your breathing. Squeeze your butt muscles together, and release. Pay no attention to the world on fire around you. This is fine. Written in the most claustrophobic months of 2020, Husbands' third full-length record, "Full-On Monet", plays out like a meditation gone toxic. Densely layered. Lush pop melodies. Surf-rock harmonies. Distorted synth hooks and psychedelic flourishes. All of it coming together to create something that's free-spirited, brainy, fun - and simultaneously jarring, synthetic, and off-kilter. "From far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big ol' mess."

Bobby Caldwell's second album, Cat In The Hat, from 1980, is one of his greatest moments and another masterwork of soulful sophistication. Featuring the eternal "Open Your Eyes", brilliantly sampled by J Dilla for Common's "The Light", it's about as essential as records get. Like its eponymous predecessor, it's been out of print for far too long. To finally release the hugely-anticipated reissue is one of our sincerely proudest moments.

Whilst Ned Doheny is known in Japan as "Mr California", native New Yorker Bobby Caldwell has always been "Mr AOR" to his Far-Eastern friends. His distinct charm is an irresistible blend of soul, jazz, and pop influences. He possessed phenomenal songwriting prowess, smooth vocal performances, was both a great soul guitarist and dextrous keyboard player and known for genius chord progressions. It all added up to a multi-layered brilliance entering the studio, and the singular sound he landed on was laced with soulful, sweeping strings and funky horns, touching lightly on disco, while allowing his supple voice to carry the stunning tracks he'd crafted.

Right from the off, it's easy to tell that Cat In The Hat is a deeply special record. It's fantastically produced and incredibly well-rounded, carving its own lane with deep soul, warm jazz and a stunning vocal delivery that really helped Bobby reach out to some big new audiences at the time. Goosebumps at the ready for the rolling power-piano funk of "Coming Down From Love", opening up the album with a track as good as anything Steely Dan or The Doobies ever crafted, with a vocal performance from the heavens. Pumping AOR wonder "Wrong Or Right" is up there with the slick, classy rhythms of prime Ned Doheny whilst the cool, skipping soul of guitar-drenched "To Know What You've Got" is a funky ballad par excellence, with elemental traces of "What A Fool Believes". No bad thing. Closing out Side A, the folk-funk of "You Promised Me" is a bright, soulful strut with a wonderful vocal coda that just builds. Sensational.

The delicate bounce and falsetto self-harmonising of "It's Over" offers a truly delightful introduction to Side B, and serves as a great precursor to what follows. Bobby's dynamite "Open Your Eyes" is likely the reason you're all here. As if he needed it, the eternal J Dilla further immortalised Caldwell in the hip-hop canon with his production of Common’s epochal “The Light,” which heavily samples the magical “Open Your Eyes.” On a post paying tribute to Bobby in March 2023, Questlove claimed that he "got word Brother Bobby loved it". Bobby's original has seen new life even more recently from the likes of Dwele and Kendrick Lamar and deservingly so, as its insistent drums and staccato piano created a modern-soul classic. You'd think that would be hard to follow, wouldn't you? Not so, when you're Bobby Caldwell. Indeed, the horn-drenched stepper "Mother Of Creation" is absolutely ace, and, whisper it, possibly the album's finest track, all funky piano and guitars with horn lines to die for. Exquisite ballad "I Don't Want To Lose Your Love" rounds out the album beautifully.

Bobby sadly passed away on 23rd March 2023, after a long struggle with mitochondrial damage and oxidative stress, due to an adverse effect from a fluoroquinolone antibiotic. The reissue of Cat In The Hat will be available on vinyl across the globe, ensuring that fans of his incomparable talent - and soul music enthusiasts worldwide - can radiate in the deep beauty of this seminal album. Meticulously remastered and cut by both Simon Francis and Cicely Balston respectively, it has been pressed to the highest possibly quality at Record Industry in Holland.