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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.

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.

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.

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.

Ashley Tindall, AKA Skeptical, returns in peak form with Blimp EP — the fourth release on his Rubi Records imprint — delivering four meticulously crafted cuts of uncompromising drum & bass.

Opening with the title track, Blimp sets the tone with a deep, steppy wobbler that nods subtly to the title track from his second Rubi Records release, Capsize EP. All the signature Skeptical hallmarks are here: hypnotic, pared-back metronomic drums and shimmy-inducing, undulating subs that demand movement. Yet this time there's a noticeable shift — warm, underlying melodic pads bring an unexpected emotional depth. It's not dreamy, but it is more introspective than we're used to, showing another layer to his sonic palette.

So Good flips the script entirely. A dark, cinematic growler, it leans into ghosted vocal fragments and a futuristic film-noir aesthetic. Tense, claustrophobic rhythms and sinister textures create an unsettling atmosphere — tailor-made for those lights-out, pressure-heavy dancefloor moments.

Third comes the undeniable monster of the EP, Technology. Trademark "stink-face" Skeppiness is in full effect from the first bar. Disjointed sci-fi stabs and eerie pads collide with clinical, almost militaristic drum programming, all anchored by a devastatingly weighty bassline. Movement isn't optional — this is pure Skeptical, uncompromising and lethal.

Closing the EP is Bad Generation, a sound system–influenced weapon that finds Skeptical operating at his dubwise best. Fusing minimal D&B with heavyweight, roots-inspired rhythms is no easy task, but here it's executed with effortless authority. It's equally suited to shelling down a rave or getting lost in a deep, eyes-closed session.

Four tracks. Four distinct moods. 100% Skeptical.
Blimp EP confirms once again that his sound continues to evolve — sharper, deeper, and more refined with every release.

Support: Ben UFO, Joy Orbison, Gilles Peterson, dBridge, Break, DLR, Doc Scott, Mefjus, Kasra, Kings of the Rollers, Alix Perez, Jubei, Dub Phizix, Flight, Tasha, Loxy, Lens.

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.

N-You-Up & Boogie Vice Deliver Feel-Good Firepower with 'Come On Closer' on Definitive Recordings
Definitive Recordings proudly welcomes a brand-new floor-filling release from Boogie Vice and N-You-Up, two artists well
known to fans of Get Physical Music and the global house underground. Their new collaboration, ‘Come On Closer’, is a
powerful, feel-good house bomb that blends infectious female vocals, uplifting grooves, and jazzy soul into one irresistible EP.
The Original Mix sets the tone with its high-energy beat and bouncy piano bassline, laying the foundation for a hooky female
vocal that anchors the entire track. It’s pure peak-time house, designed for hot, sweaty dancefloors. Things get deeper on the
Carboot Sale Mix, a jazz-infused reinterpretation featuring live drum fills, trumpet flourishes, and rich organ chords that give it a
smooth, late-night edge.

A stripped-back Dub Mix follows, keeping things rolling with minimal vocals and a groovy focus on rhythm and atmosphere. The
EP also includes two bonus DJ-friendly tools: the Piano Tool, which spotlights the irresistible keys at the heart of the original,
and the Intro Mental Tool, a perfect warm-up cut with gradual layering and tension-building groove.
N-You-Up, the Southern France-rooted producer formerly known as The Beatangers, brings decades of DJ experience and a
deep love for jazz, funk, and disco into his sound. With standout releases on Nervous and Get Physical he is a name
synonymous with high-quality house music that always moves the crowd. Boogie Vice, hailing from Paris, burst onto the scene
with chart-topping nu-disco releases like 'Bel-Air' and 'Bad Girl', later gracing labels such as Ed Banger, Cuff, and Outcross
Records. With his unmistakable blend of funk, house, and flair, he continues to push boundaries while connecting with a global
audience.

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.

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.

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.

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.