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first copies in clear vinyl

- Original released in 1972 on the Hot Wax label, the most
successful of the two sister labels (Invictus or Holland
Dozier-Holland)
- This funk Detroit classic album is reissued on 180gm
Heavyweight vinyl
- Played by the likes of Grandmaster Flash and sampled
by DJ Shadow and The Go! Team
- The Politicians were an alias for the HDH session crew,
although McKinley Jackson was real.

Soundtrack-LP mit Originalsongs aus den Staffeln 4, 5, 6 der erfolgreichen Netflix-Zeichentrick-Serie BIG MOUTH, geschrieben und komponiert von Mark Rivers. Das Album enthält Gesangsdarbietungen der angesehenen Besetzung, darunter Nick Kroll, Maya Rudolph, Andrew Rannells, John Mulaney, Crissy Guerrero, Jason Mantzoukas, Paul Pell, Jon Daly, Joe Wengert u.v.m. Rotes Vinyl.

It runs through the minds of men and women of a certain age, complexion, and place who grew up during the era of segregation and who defied their parents, the law, and all genteel propriety and custom by answering one bluesman's invitation to cross the color line and join him getting lowdown and dirty as he serenaded a generation from the bandstand, on jukeboxes, and through the radio.

To them, the slurred guttural sound of a wise man singing "Hush, Hush," putting down the "Big Boss Man" or advising the listener to "Take Out Some Insurance" before they behold the "Bright Lights, Big City" was a siren's call they had no choice but to answer. Even if they tried, they couldn't resist the steady, dirty rhythm punctuated by the twanging sting of an electric guitar note and the sweet wail of a harmonica. And when they leaned in close, they could even hear the barely perceptible sound of a woman's voice whispering forgotten lyrics into an ear.

Ain't nobody can do Jimmy Reed like Jimmy Reed could. But this drive down Jimmy Reed Highway with fellow Mississippian Kent "Omar" Dykes at the wheel with Jimmie Vaughan (older brother of the legendary Stevie Ray Vaughan) riding shotgun and folks like, Kim Wilson, Miss Lou Ann Barton, James Cotton, Delbert McClinton, and Gary Clark, Jr., joining the duo, comes mighty close. As Omar guns the engine and peels rubber on the two- lane blacktop lined with no- good women, empty whiskey bottles, too many cigarette butts and bad intentions, he leaves John Law trailing behind eating his dust. Hop in for a ride and turn up the volume. The electric bluesman who shaped the minds and moves of a musical generation is alive and well. (by Joe Nick Patoski)

Through the album trilogy Misanthropical House, Algorithm and Blues and Research and Destroy, The Good The Bad and The Zugly have limped their way through midlife crises and pubescent antics. Loud-mouthed and bitter, we have embraced our fate as mediocre losers on the narrow and winding Scandirock path. Haunted by a constant bad conscience over the outcome of our miserable lives, which in addition to bitterness, have resulted in substance abuse, pettiness, greed, spiritual lethargy, bastard offspring, excessive self-confidence, understated self-awareness, and of course - bodily decay. In breif; A urinal without a drain. The question has always been nagging: Why us? Why have we, since the dawn of time, been made to curse the day we were born? Well, the truth shall set you free, as they say.

Limited pink vinyl. Through the album trilogy Misanthropical House, Algorithm and Blues and Research and Destroy, The Good The Bad and The Zugly have limped their way through midlife crises and pubescent antics. Loud-mouthed and bitter, we have embraced our fate as mediocre losers on the narrow and winding Scandirock path. Haunted by a constant bad conscience over the outcome of our miserable lives, which in addition to bitterness, have resulted in substance abuse, pettiness, greed, spiritual lethargy, bastard offspring, excessive self-confidence, understated self-awareness, and of course - bodily decay. In breif; A urinal without a drain. The question has always been nagging: Why us? Why have we, since the dawn of time, been made to curse the day we were born? Well, the truth shall set you free, as they say.

180g schwarzes Vinyl

Das 2007er Album der beiden Gitarristen und Sänger erscheint hiermit erstmalig auf Vinyl

Mit Gary Clark Jr, James Cotton, Delbert McClinton, Kim Wilson und Lou Ann Barton

12 Tracks von Jimmy Reed, oder von ihm inspiriert

Jimmie Vaughan ist der ältere Bruder von Stevie Ray Vaughan

Written and recorded in a firestorm of creativity during the mastering phase of Lukah's upcoming double LP with Real Bad Man, Permanent Blackface is a monstrous vignette displaying the true power of Lukah's songwriting and the technical brilliance of his team. The album flashes before you like a lightning strike illuminating a barren cityscape.

Introducing himself as Mr. Blackface, Lukah identifies the true artist's responsibility to hold a mirror to the listener in order to confront and disarm taboos. In both content and music, the record balances vulgarity and introspection, the horror of silence, and the comfort of colossal, discordant sound. Over 12 songs the celestial, often blood-soaked color palette of soul and R&B that gave emotional weight to Why Look Up and Raw Extractions has been scraped away like a charred skeleton. With a small cast of voices consisting entirely of Lukah's immediate family, and production duties handled in-house by WALZ, Deener, Hollow Sol, Cities Aviv, SB11, and Lukah himself, the record has the intimacy of a theater production. The only voices present are Lukah, joined by his mother providing scat vocals, and his grandfather discussing the Jungian self-hatred of the colonial project and its terrifying repercussions for contemporary Black Amer-icans, with a fitting invocation of Dr. Frankenstein's monster. The beats here are reminiscent of noir, 78rpm swing and big band, evoking the underlying horror of a pre-Civil Rights movement America, where segregational binaries invert-ed folk tales through the white terror of ghosts, the black "spook", and mythic themes of fate and free will. The whip-lash of shifting perspectives keeps your head on a swivel in way only Lukah's superior pen can elucidate. Will it trigger anger that first voice you hear on Permanent Blackface is Judy Garland singing "Sweet Chariot"? But isn't this just Lukah speaking through her, announcing he's got "The Southin his mouth"? As the internet endlessly debates intention and appropriation in our artistic history, the insignificance of this small sample is put into perspective: another white pebble in a black ocean of Lukah's creation. "If the sun don't shine today / pray the sun come out tomorrow...pray the sun pierce through the sorrow"

The album introduces an unnamed character beset by disposition. As the story's scope increases, the gaze of the mir-ror shifts. How would white society feel if historical roles were reversed? How does a presumed white listener experi-ence the trauma of interacting with police?

For Greg Mendez, reflection doesnüft mean a static image in a mirror, or even a face he recognizes. Itüfs more a kaleidoscopic mirage, where paths taken shapeshift with the prospect of paths untread, and the subconscious merges with the intentional. On his self-titled new album, the Philadelphia-based songwriter and multi-instrumentalist investigates the shaky camera of memory, striving to carve out a collage that points to a truth. But there isnüft a regimented actuality here; instead, Mendez highlights the merit in many truths, and many lives, and how even the hardest truths can still contain some humor. While this is technically Mendezüfs third full-length album, his back catalog boasts an extensive range of EPs and live recordings. Heüfs a prolific and thoughtful songwriter, understanding the joy in impulse, and shying away from the clinical sheen of overproduction. 2017üfs ügüP/ _(c)_ /üPüh and 2020üfs Cherry Hell garnered acclaim for their quiet, lo-fi urgency, exploring themes of addiction and heartbreak with an intentional, authentic haze, and itüfs this approach that has solidified Mendez as a staple in the DIY community for years. Greg Mendez was written in fragments, some stretching across more than a decade, with Mendez reworking old ideas and arrangements, and others blossoming much more recently. The weight of time..and perhaps the anxiety in running out of it..clouds the album, as Mendez prods at some painful experiences from his childhood and early adulthood. The common thread connecting the characters is their evident imperfections, and the various degrees of damage they cause, both knowingly and unknowingly. But where do we draw the line between a good person and a bad person? For Mendez, itüfs never been that easy. Greg Mendez is an intimate dialogue between the chapters weüfve experienced, and how they can inform the reality we perceive. Itüfs a reminder that we are constantly shifting, ever-changing selves and that if we ruminate too long, we may find ourselves stuck in the seriousness of it all. Here, Mendez allows us to take the time to notice what happens outside of the framework we may have built for ourselves, and the beauty that can occur when we finally do.

With a career spanning over 50 years, U Brown is one of the last legends of Jamaican reggae. Singer, toaster and producer on the famous Hits Sound label, he has spanned the decades, leaving an indelible mark on roots reggae with hits like “Weather baloon”, “Superstar” and “Tu Shung Peng”.

His discretion and humility, despite being one of the world's greatest toasters like U Roy or Big Youth, make him a cornerstone of this music.

After many years of collaboration on stage and in the studio, U Brown and French label Irie Ites Records have teamed up to produce this new album entitled 'Still Chanting Rub A Dub'.
Comprising 12 tracks, this opus showcases U Brown's inimitable voice.

U Brown's inimitable voice and flow, recognizable from the very first notes. The themes addressed revolve around current social issues, in which the artist encourages us to surpass ourselves on a daily basis and to fight against the corruption of the most powerful. Lyrics that will speak to a wide audience!

Musicians on the album include the cream of reggae songwriters such as Roots Radics, Naram & Art, Med Tone, The Ligerians, Irie Ites All Stars, Nambo Robinson and Dean Fraser. Mixed by Roberto Sanchez and Irie Ites for a rootsy result in the image of 70s albums. A host of roots reggae greats feature on various tracks, including Eek A Mouse, Cornell Campbell, Frankie Paul, Sugar Minott, Linval Thompson, Glen Washington, Al Campbell, Naggo Morris and Trinity.

Still Chanting Rub A Dub is an album that will undoubtedly mark U Brown's long career as one of his landmark albums. A must-have for all fans of Reggae Roots and Rub-A-Dub!”

Cool Calm Pete has been featured in the past with MF Doom, RJD2, El-P, Morcheeba, Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings, Aesop Rock, and others. More recently with Kool Keith, Real Bad Man, Heems, and Lee Scott.
Lost (Director’s Cut) kicks off Petes return with some new projects on deck.
Sometimes it takes time for something to establish its proper place in culture, and the modern-day discourse never fails to rush to label an album to be a classic or a flop. Then there are albums like Cool Calm Pete’s “LOST.” Adored by its dedicated fan base upon its original release in 2005 on Embedded Records and Definitive Jux, this record has continued to garner attention over the years from those who are familiar with it. While word-of-mouth alone may not have been sufficient to propel the album to mainstream success, its enduring popularity two decades later is a testament to its well-deserved recognition as an indie rap cult classic. The Korean-American emcee born as Pete Chung wasn’t asking to be a pioneer but having been raised in Queens NY during the golden era of hip hop, rhyming better than his peers just naturally became his identity. Throughout his debut album, his slow-paced, conversational flow fit like a glove to the self-produced “working class” beats that color most of the album. His education in fine arts as a painter and his day-job with a then-burgeoning lifestyle brand called Supreme sometimes took precedence in his professional life, but his dedication to the craft as a hip hop artist was evident, and fans took notice. The album hasn’t been re-released since its initial 2005 drop. and vinyl copies haven’t sold on the collectors’ market for less than $100 in years. With its first official re-release, the laws of supply-and-demand will surely alter that market, and chances are that with more ears to hear the album, those original pressings will only become hotter. In the meantime, the new “LOST (Director’s Cut)” has been re-mastered and extended for release on Cool Calm Pete’s own label Bubble Wife Records, with never-before-heard cuts led by a remix of the title track by Blockhead. Find it.

`Think Differently' is the debut LP by the duo of Callahan & Witscher. Jeff Witscher has been one of the most daring voices in underground American music for two decades, highlighted by releases on Pan and NNA Tapes. Jack Callahan's focused, uncompromising approach to sound caught the attention of both Demdike Stare's DDS label and Swiss composer Jürg Frey, who took Callahan on as his first composition student. Fans of their individual work might expect opacity, disruption, or rhythmic irregularity from their collaboration, but `Think Differently' sounds like a pitbull in a convertible, a sand-kicking beach party, the dopamine hit you get from 311 or Smash Mouth. It's a punchy, crunchy, highly infectious record. How did Callahan & Witscher cut the path from the ghostly margins of avant garde musics to the gutters of post-grunge American hard rock? In the words of Callahan, "at some point, you start to need a stronger drug." The most potent characteristic of this stronger drug is the guitar. And not just any guitar, but a sassy, contagious, blithe guitar. Its presence is a drastic shift for two guys who've combined to make dozens of records over the years, not a single one of which has a recognizable guitar sound on it. Alongside the cool breezes and hyperactive fretwork of Callahan's guitar playing, the songs are backboned by strutting, groove-happy vocals: all bark, all bite. Every song is a careful collage, light but dense, ornate with gang choruses, soulful femme vocals, autotune and whisper scratches. This accumulation almost manages to hide the record's potent undertow of dread. `Think Differently' unfolds carefully, a slow-motion demolition that reveals the anxiety of second guessing, the exhaustion of tour, creative bankruptcy, willful misunderstanding, the pain of caring. Setting this lyrical cynicism against such sonic glee isn't a spoonful of sugar, it isn't a bait-and-switch, it isn't a prank. After all, the dumb bliss of Sugar Ray's "Fly" shades a song about Mark McGrath's mom dying. "All Star" is about climate change. Most Sublime lyrics are a bummer. But there's still room for a raised beer, for a dumb grin. Like these ancestors, Callahan & Witscher aim at maximum uplift, at sounds that warm and dazzle like a sped-up sunrise. In spite of overdraft fees, in spite of bad art, in spite of self-doubt.

"It seemed that if I didn’t somehow repeat the process of greatness, and do so immediately, multiple times away to satisfy playlist and binge watch culture, then I “wasn’t shit”. After a while I was like “nah this doesn’t feel good,… I don’t know if I am finding joy in this”. I would record songs and not release them, obsess over sessions recorded in my home with 30 takes of vocals and wake up only to delete them. When it began to feel right I found solace in an epiphany that I was not obligated to operate at any other wavelength. I am moving on a different type of time, and that doesn’t expire." -Cavalier

For heads of a certain time period of NYC hip-hop, Brooklyn born, New Orleans-based rapper and songwriter, Cavalier was the one that got away. The outrageously talented artist whose name and reputation preceded him everywhere you went in the scene. The rapper who everyone knew was so dope that he had to blow, but who never seemed concerned with any of that. The pretty boy draped in Polo who stole every live show with a feather in his hair and a mouth full of gold fronts. The cat so dedicated to his own independence that even indie labels stopped trying to sign him and projects came when they came, but when they came they were undeniable.


Cavalier was THAT guy for a lot of us; a silver-tongued philosopher with an eye for the poignant details of black life and a delivery as effortless as a young Ken Griffey’s swing. All that said, it never really felt like Cav had that moment in the spotlight that we always assumed was coming. After chiseling away through headier cult corners of the NYC hip-hop scene Cavalier was recognized for his memorable co-pilot to Quelle Chris’ 2013 Mello Music debut, Niggas Is Men. The critically acclaimed LP helped propel Quelle Chris into the forefront of indie hip-hop (and also happened to be the first production credits for Messiah Muzik). Cav followed up with his first full length, Chief, which sports a notable Raekwon feature but also early work from producers like Ohbliv and Tall Black Guy. A relocation to New Orleans and partnership with producer/vocalist Iman Omari yielded two more projects: 2015’s Lemonade EP and Private Stock in 2018. Great records all; eagerly sought by collectors and signal boosted by influential media like OkayPlayer, Solange’s Saint Heron, and Pitchfork. Cavalier’s bonafides have never been in question, but his new album Different Type Time feels like a revelation—a sonic suspension bridge between his rich history and the artform’s future.

Different Type Time doesn’t sound like the future though, its vibrations are somewhere all their own. It sounds like jazz, like a conversation overheard in roti shop, or a pool hall, or the foyer of your old building on a fall day, front door propped open with a brick. The blues is in there too, and the south—the American South, and theGlobal South, and South Brooklyn. It’s not that it sounds like the past, but you can hear everything that came before in the thick of the basslines and the yearning of the keys. Different Type Time also doesn’t sound like now, it sounds like RIGHT NOW; the bounce of the lyrics like the staccato of basketball in the park, carried on a spring breeze.

Although he doesn’t rap on DTT, Quelle Chris plays a pivotal role; producing eight songs and serving as associate producer/consigliere to Cav throughout the creative process. “There is no time wasted in explaining things when I collaborate with Quelle. He understands the universe I am in and the realities I want to create. He’s in them. And I don’t think I can envision one without him,” Cavalier explains. Messiah Muzik, Wino Willy, Ohbliv, Ahwlee, Child Actor, Fushou and several other producers round out the credits, all lending their talents to the album’s spaciously soulful sound. At the center of all these alchemies is Cavalier, nimbly dancing in and out of pockets like a sidewalk game of jumprope. Different Type Time is a masterclass in this thing we call hip-hop; daring and original, yet always standing deeply rooted in the culture.

This Album is a collection of what I call Punk Art Poetry.
Poetry put together like a lyric to tell a certain story or explain a thought on some punk related matter. Some of these stories did actually turn themselves into a song which I released on my Punk Art imprint.

Most of these poems were influenced or inspired a piece of art I was working on.
Hope you like them or can relate to these stories.

Thanks for your indulgence

Die verdammt allergrößte Band des Universums ist zurück mit ihrem zweiten Album, offenbar direkt aus der Andromeda-Galaxie reingeschlittert! Intergalaktischer Lo-Fi-Garagenpunk! Bone (The Anomalys, Gitarre) & Jackie (The Jackets, Gesang & Schlagzeug) aka Plush Stuffed Huge Penis & Hungry Oversized Vagina veranstalten dieses Super Lo-Fi Trash Rock'n'Roll Bad Taste B-Movie Horros-SciFi-Sex-Märchen! Seit zehn Jahren verbreiten THE SEX ORGANS mit Hilfe ihrer menschlichen Sklavenfirma VOODOO RHYTHM RECORDS gnadenlos ihre Weltraum-Botschaft! Diesmal sind sie zu dem Schluss gekommen, dass die ganze Erde am Abgrund steht und es keine Hoffnung mehr gibt ... außer sich den Machenschaften der 'Sex Organs' überhaupt zu unterwerfen. In den 12 Manifesten dieser einzigartigen Platte zeigen sie uns, wie es richtig geht: "The ultimate soundtrack to the downfall" - Sex ist unvermeidbar... Als tiefschwarze Vinyl-LP mit bedrucktem Insert und DLC oder Gatefold-Sleeve CD mit 12seitigem Booklet erhältlich! Geschichte: The Sex Organs wurden 2014 von Bone (NL/The Anomalys) und Jackie (CH/The Jackets) gegründet und wurden sofort zu einem Kult-Act, der in ganz Europa auf den besten Garagenfestivals und Clubs spielte und eine Welle von Rock'n'Roll "Sexcitement" auslöste - genau dann, wenn es nötig war! Sie spielten auch in etablierten Museen, auf Film- und Comicfestivals, gingen auf Tournee in Kanada und wurden (stolz) aus dem Schloss Dracula in Transsylvanien verbannt (wahre Geschichte)! Die Sex Organs zu sein, mag eine Herausforderung sein, aber niemals langweilig!Die Sex Organs spielen wilden, schweißtreibenden Trash and Roll, der den Zuhörer Song für Song zu einem explosiven Höhepunkt treibt! Das ist so primitiv wie es nur geht - ein Stehschlagzeug, eine Gitarre und Texte über den sexuellen Zustand der modernen Zeit, in der wir leben!

This was the second studio outing by supergroup Cactus. Existing of ’Vanilla Fudge’ rhythm section Carmine Appice (drums) and Tim Bogert (bass), as well as former Amboy Dukes lead vocalist Rusty Day (vocals/mouth harp), and Jim McCarty (guitar) from Mitch Ryder & the Detroit Wheels and the Buddy Miles Express. The album offers eight tracks of which are six originals and two covers: Little Richard’s ’Long Tall Sally’ and Chuck Willis’ ‘Feel So Bad’.

Box Set #6 ist die neueste in einer Reihe von umfangreichen Box-Set-Neuauflagen des beliebten Backkatalogs des Afrobeat-Pioniers Fela Kuti. Nach früheren Ausgaben, die von Künstlern wie Chris Martin, Erykah Badu, Ginger Baker, Brian Eno und Questlove kuratiert wurden, wurde das neueste Box Set der Reihe von dem Schauspieler, Produzenten, DJ, Rapper und Sänger Idris Elba alias Big Driis zusammengestellt und enthält die Klassiker Open & Close (1972), Music of Many Colours (1980), Stalemate (1977), I Go Shout Plenty!!! (1977), Live in Amsterdam (1983) und Opposite People (1977).

Die auf 5.000 Exemplare limitierte Box enthält das Artwork jedes Albums, das originalgetreu von den Vinyl-Originalpressungen reproduziert wurde, sowie ein 24-seitiges Booklet mit den Songtexten, Kommentaren des bekannten Afrobeat-Historikers Chris May zu jedem Album, bisher unveröffentlichten Fotos und einer Einführung von Elba. Alle Boxen werden von einem speziellen 16" x 24" Poster begleitet, das von Lemi Ghariokwu, der kreativen Kraft hinter vielen von Felas bahnbrechenden Albumcovern, entworfen wurde.

Music compilation and art book. We open the GLITZERBOX again and look into a glittering kaleidoscope of music and illustration. Crossing genres, in handmade editions and with great attention to detail, Jimmy Draht fuses artistic ideas into a new whole.

The vinyl contains beautiful folk songs, experimental collages, field recordings and lo-fi pop. All tracks are exclusive or have never been released on vinyl before.

Featuring music by: Maxine Funke, Tenniscoats, Mouth Harp Ensemble, How to count planets, A Happy Return, Benoit Pioulard, New North Wales, Dump, My Two Toms, Oro Swimming Hour, Matthew de Gennaro, The Gentlist, Andersens, Jam Money, Michael Tanner.

The artists, whether they paint, draw, scribble or cut, whether analogue or digital, whether they are graphic artists, illustrators or visual artists: they combine image and sound, discover connections and show that music can create images and vice versa.

Art by Petra Péterffy, Laurent Impeduglia, Nadine Spengler, Michael Dumontier, Tomoko Mori and Nicholas Stevenson.

A limited and numbered edition of 300, with hand-printed 3 color silkscreen book. Compiled by Markus Acher (The Notwist) and Jimmy Draht.

Since the late 90s JIMMY DRAHT publishes elaborately designed music-graphic-comic-text hybrids, most of them handmade and screenprinted. Initiated by Marion Epp, often in cooperation with a music label, artists from various genres are invited to participate. Each release is accompanied by exhibitions and music events.

Bands such as Calexico, The Notwist, Lali Puna, Neoangin, Pram, Otomo Yoshihide, A Million Mercies, Ted Milton, MS John Soda, Schwermut Forrest, Tied & Tickled Trio have participated (to name a few).
In terms of design we were lucky to showcase the works of ATAK, Anna Sommer, Knust, CX Huth, Katz & Goldt, Judith Zaugg, Thomas Ott, Jochen Gerner, Martin tom Dieck, Jim Avignon, Le Denier Cri, Elvisstudio and many more.

ALIEN TRANSISTOR was founded in 2003 by Markus & Micha Acher of The Notwist. The concept of the label is to produce music that has a musical or personal reference to the Notwist microcosm: From electronic soundscapes to abstract hip-hop to laptop-treated contemporary, from processed oriental music to Nick Drake-inspired songwriting. Alien Transistor respects no musical boundaries.

Like an annabac, the first seconds of the first song from the first album by SAFFRON EYES (a group from Saint-Etienne including members of Raymonde Howard, Le Parti, ThOmas.W...) summarize, for those in a hurry, the themes and feelings that will be developed on the short half-hour of music that the disc contains: smiles in front, blows in the back, amicable breakups and deaf threats. Smile Until It Hurts encapsulates all of this: pleasure in offering (racy and referenced songs, in the fine tradition of indie rock), joy in receiving (pies in the mouth). If the previous EP - first recording act - of the group Pursue a Less Miserable Life (released in 2020 on our label) had a taste of the end of summer, this one clearly smells of the Cold War. He is degreased, boned and only the desire to fight remains, mischievously camouflaged under a form of obvious beauty that whistles in the shower. A production fed on indie rock and its roots (blues, post-punk and a hint of doo-wop), bringing together around a happy campfire the Pixies, Jesus Lizard, Wet Leg, Fugazi, The Cramps, The Gun Club, La Luz, The Feelies, The Bad Seeds, Kathleen Hanna, Anna Waronker…

Alternative rock, or abbreviated to just simply alternative, first came to present in the early ‘70s as independent underground music and gradually developed into the ‘90s as a reaction to the mainstream pop music from that era. Alternative music was represented by bands who were signed to independent labels, but major labels also picked up on the trend, which led to commercial success in the international music charts. The 2LP 90’s Alternative Collected highlights songs by bands such as Faith No More, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Kula Shaker, Eels, R.E.M., Oasis, Live, Soundgarden, Fun Lovin’ Criminals, Smash Mouth, and many others

PowerSolo had a few decades of confrontational badassery behind them already when they descended on a barn in the Isle of Mön to record this, their 85th studio (OK, barn) album. The concept was clear: let's boil up a crazy stew with all the ingredients that the fanbase knows and loves. Kind of a return to the roots and the early albums in the mid 2000s It's Raceday... and Egg. Let a bunch of very diverse songs simmer together and create a beautiful dish that is both xtra spicy, surprising, complex yet super yummy. Like a Jambalaya: distinctly American fare, but not mainstream at all. We're talking Creole and Cajun food influenced by African as well as French cuisines and made by the ingredients at hand - some high end and some cheap and maybe even gone a bit stale. Seafood, chicken and smoked pork sausage combined in a vibrant, tasty and utterly unique mouthful. Yes, the metaphor promises a lot, but the album provides. Like the aforementioned LPs, as well as the breakthrough hit album The Real Sound from 2014, Jambalaya - Xtra Spicy was recorded, mixed and produced by Ulrik Petersen and Jesper Reginal (aka The Great Nalna and Yebo of The Tremolo Beer Gut infamy) at Dark Side of The Möön / Kondi Frost Studios. The musical crew consisted of main man Kim Kix as well as his right-hand man Anders "Peasoup" Pedersen. The drums were alternately manned by none other than former PowerSolo member JC Benz and live drummer Mike "ZACK" Sullivan. A pinch of South American spice was added by Flavia Couri of The Courettes on the duet "If I Could Fly" and every dish deserved a bit of French sugar. It was applied on "She's A Trucker" by none other than Phoebe Killdeer from Nouvelle Vague and Phoebe Killdeer & The Short Straws. Kix has previously produced and guest starred on these ladies' recordings, and they were both happy to take a seat at the table of this feast that is Jambalaya - Xtra Spicy

Glitching through pop music, cruising around the borders of the avant garde, passing by the edge of coldwave and tumbling into dance and club vibes: after her debut Bad Woman Céline Gillain is back with her second album: 'Mind is Mud'.

On Mind is Mud' Gillain let herself sink in the swamp of emotional confusion, the perpetual brain fog caused by a post Covid-world asking herself: do we have to get used to paradox as a way of life from now on?*

A musical dissection in nine songs of the mudflow, a flow which reveals its rich complexity the more Gillain dived into it: from the demanding intro 'Together' Céline opens up her highly personal and unique vision, shifting between high definition lost dimensions and emotionsthe mud slowly transfers in a crackling and sparkling stream of consciousness.

The mud is well alive in all its weirdness and unclarity. At times, it even glows in the dark.

The answer to that question is yes. The story of Mind is Mud by Céline Gillain: "Music is a place where intuiting is a work in itself. For me, it's the one place where I'm in charge, free to think and do what I want. Mind is Mud is the fruit of a collaborative practice with a DAW, a research around the palliative power of rhythm and the dancefloor, music as a space where emotions and ideas merge, storytelling, the comic potential and imaginative nature of sound. I don't really write, I copy paste and then I arrange and rearrange. Every sound I use comes from software, field recording, Instagram, movies and midi scores I collect here and there. In the hierarchy of sounds, you might call them cheap sounds. The lyrics are collages as well, made of pieces of texts from various contradictory sources. In addition to using the voice as a vehicle for ideas, I investigate its percussive and polyphonic potentialities, the possibility to have more than one voice/mouth."

2023 Repress

Snoop Dogg is a legendary personality. He burst on to the scene in the early 90’s and stole the show with his appearances on Dr. Dre’s classic album, The Chronic which cemented him as a prominent figure within the halls of hip hop. Since then he has gone on to release multiple platinum albums, star in major motion pictures, and even host a TV show with the one and only, Martha Stewart! In 2017, Snoop releaed the album, Neva Left which was a call back to the style that gained him notoriety. Packed with features from the likes of Too $hort, Wiz Khalifa, K CAMP, Nef The Pharoah, Devin the Dude, KRS-One, Redman, Method Man, BADBADNOTGOOD, Kaytranada and more.

Includes one-sided 7” ('It's All Punk (Full version)”, signed and blind stamped limited edition print, fly poster (20cm x 30cm), 20 page 12” x 12” booklet with lyrics and photos laid out in style of newspaper.

The ‘It’s All Punk Rock’ album was initially inspired by various artworks Punk Artist Mal-One had completed and titled. These titles usually turned into Punk Poetry / Lyrics and finally into songs. The idea would lead to grouping these songs together and to add the additional difficult cherry on the top. The songs would also include the word ‘Punk’ in each of their titles. Creating what we called the first Punk Art Concept Album. The title of the album as well as summing up the contents, grew from a term Mal-One had used for years when asked what had inspired a certain work or what was the meaning behind something …”It’s All Punk Rock”’ would be the quick reply.

Each song tells the story or relates the ideas behind a work, whether that be 430 King’s Road (where Punk meets Rock ’N’ Roll) the story of the various guises that Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood would conceive for their shop from LET IT ROCK, TOO FAST TO LIVE TOO YOUNG TO DIE, SEX, SEDTIONARIES. Anarchy Tour After Grundy (Punks out on Parole) the story of the `Anarchy Tour’ and what happened after the infamous appearance by the Sex Pistols on the ‘Today’ show with Bill Grundy. Punk Rock Jubilee 77, the Silver Jubilee celebrations of 1977 and its punk overtones. The Punk Rockers Gig Prayer, a Punk poem for the various venues that bands played back in those heady times. The Last Punk on Portobello Road (Ode to Joe), a lament to Mr Joe Strummer an inspiration to us all. Yes, every picture as they say tells a story, in this case never a truer word spoken.

Hope you enjoy the ride sonically and visually.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Blood Money is etched. It"s scratched out in bold, dark lines, with marimba, trumpet, and bass clarinet and contains some songs of Tom Waits" most memorable melodies. The songs are declarative, sardonic, unforgiving, musical dispatches, from the bottom of the heap. "Blood Money is flesh and bone, earthbound," said Waits. "The songs are rooted in reality: jealousy, rage, the human meat wheel...They are more car?nal. I like a beautiful song that tells you terrible things. We all like bad news out of a pretty mouth. I like songs to sound as though they"ve been aging in a barrel and distressed."

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

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Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Struck but not beaten, 777 crawls back out to present Nasty King Kurl's next mischievous achievement: Baba Bass Tunes

777_24! A barkin' bad electro bass release with five booty bustin' tracks leaving no body unturned!

RED VINYL REPRESS.

This is Fugazi's debut record, released in 1988. These 7 songs were later combined with the 6 tracks from the Margin Walker EP and released on the 13-Songs Maxi CD.

This EP (on red vinyl) was re-cut from the Silver Sonya masters in 2008 at Chicago Mastering Service and comes with a free MP3 download of the album.

Originally released on cassette in 1993 and now for the first time on vinyl, this is an incredible document from a teenage Arrington de Dionyso. All the seeds of his 30+ career are engrained on these fully formed Tascam recordings. "Bobcatflamethroat" was originally released as "Pine Cone Alley Cassette #9" in August of 1993. The songs were recorded on a Tascam Porta-One 4 Track cassette studio inside a secret area in the basement of the College Activities Building at the Evergreen State College, known as "Happyland". This album has never before seen a digital release of any kind, however there is one song "Everything is Broken" which later became part of the original "canon" of Old Time Relijun after that band was formed in 1995. That song was re-recorded on the first Old Time Relijun album "Songbook Vol. I" released in 1997. I still dig most of the tunes on this one- these were all written and recorded while preparing to welcome a new young life into the world (my daughter Lucinda, born August 22, 1993). So while not specifically "Children's Music" per se, the tunes are wild, hopeful, optimistic yawps of playful abandon for all ages. There are a number of "inside jokes" that only would have made sense to the very tight knit inner circle hat I considered my "core" group of friends at that point in my life. I also think there are more than a few "hits" on here. I was 18 years old! Anyone who has followed the last thirty years of my musical career should find something of interest and delight on this album. For some reason I chose to record most of the guitar and bass parts "direct" without an amplifier- I'm not sure why I did that but it's a unique sound in retrospect. There's a decent dose of throatsinging and other odd vocal techniques, proving that I dove deep into this territory of vocal exploration at a very young age. Also plenty of mouth harps, flutes, kazoos, and clarinet, although this was just BEFORE I bought my first bass clarinet. The song "Kite Dragon Hypnosis" showcases the very first time I EVER recorded anything with a saxophone! The lyrics are reflective of my interests in the theories of "Ethnopoetics" as put forth by Jerome Rothenberg in many of his books such as "Shaking the Pumpkin" and "Technicians of the Sacred", as pathways to understanding the universality of myth and shamanism as connective threads through human poetic expression. And yes, if you know something about the Evergreen State College, I did indeed receive 16 credits for working on this album.

If you went down the wrong alleyway, took a shortcut through the park or crossed the wrong open space after dark in the UK in the 1970s, you stood a fair chance of being accosted by someone with a big mouth, low morals and some gurning mates to impress, usually reeking of fags and cheap booze and always ready to put the boot in. And, before you could say, “sickening violence”, a short but chaotic scuffle would ensue and a winner eventually emerge, battle scarred and bruised. The boot boy was the worst kind of hooligan. There wasn’t anything you could do or say to appease him. You had the same chance as a fly caught up in a spider’s web. Zero. Your best bet was to run. His intent was always to give you, and vicariously the rest of the world, a good kicking. Thugs, long-haired louts, short-haired louts; the anti-hippy. Birds, booze, bovver and football on their criminal minds. So fasten your braces for a white knuckle-duster ride. 14 bovver rock bruisers for all of you peace-loving losers. Somebody’s going to get their head kicked in tonight... Put the boot in.

New York City 4-piece deliver a modern blues rock masterclass on their feisty debut album.

“A timeless classic rock sound that revels in lean riffs and raw emotion.” – Afropunk

In an age where artistic merit is awarded to those who shout the loudest, Dakota Jones pride themselves on an unwavering ability to leave a lasting impression. Spearheaded by Tristan Carter-Jones fierce and unashamedly uncensored songwriting, the band’s fast-growing reputation as formidable live act has stamped Dakota Jones with the hell-hath-no-fury power of Chaka Khan, the wild spontaneity of Janis Joplin, and the honey-dripping sensuality of Marvin Gaye. Their debut album’s message of proud black heritage and triumphant queerness manifests itself in Carter-Jones’ ability to challenge norms of adulthood and femininity as she takes a deep dive into some of life’s most visceral emotions.

Tristan Carter-Jones: “I’m a black, queer woman expressing myself through love and music. Some folks still find that to be a transgressive act in and of itself. I work to fight that idea. I write a lot about my
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sexuality and the ways in which I express it. Songs about sex and love bounce back and forth between songs about heartache, hangovers and self-medication, and the pleasure and pain of truly finding yourself. I don’t think we get to hear these things from a woman’s mouth as often as we should.”

Serving as an instant tone setter, the album opens with the line "Stretch marks from growing pains" with Carter-Jones lamenting the woes of adjusting to adulthood on lead single ‘Did It To Myself’ - her husky and commanding vocal instantly asserting its place in the spotlight. The atmosphere soon turns steamy on the flirtatious title track ‘Blacklight,’ whilst fantasising over a modern-day Bonnie & Clyde love affair the funk-laden ‘We Playin Bad Games’ packs a punch with its tale of free spirits entwined in a haze of late-night revelry.

Elsewhere, stories of caustic heartache twist the knife into wounded blues guitar riffs on ‘Like That’ and ‘Black Magic (That Power)’, in which Carter-Jones’s stoical voice never once faulters as she mourns the memories of a previous flame. Personal prayer ‘Lord Please’ recites empowered words of reassurance, and solidarity in the face of injustice erupts into a rallying cry for change on the classic sounding ‘Noise’ – written as a reaction to the 2016 US election. “I woke up after the election feeling pure panic and fear in my body,” remembers Tristan. “I wanted people in a place of privilege to stand up for what I was feeling, stand up for injustice, stand up for all of the things we need to change as a country. I wanted their rage, and I wanted their noise.”

Finally, the band’s tender tropes of togetherness eventually boil into gritty, guitar-slung balladry on hidden bonus track, ‘California,’ where, knees buckling under the weight of past trials and tribulations, Carter-Jones sets out on one final journey of self-discovery, hastily pulling out from reality and leaving only a dust cloud in her wake.

Production comes courtesy of the Grammy-winning John Wooler, ex Virgin Records A+R and founder of the Blues label Pointblank who has worked with everyone from John Lee Hooker and John Hammond to Isaac Hayes and Van Morrison. The album also features a wealth of hugely talented and accomplished musicians, including backing vocalist Kudisan Kai, former backing vocalist for the likes of Elton John, Chaka Khan, Anita Baker, Natalie Cole, Beck, Sting, Mary J. Blige and Jill Scott. Also present; Grammy winning keyboardist Jon Gilutin, who has spent years working with some of the industry’s most respected and iconic artists including Linda Ronstadt, James Taylor, Lady Gaga, Willie Nelson, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Jackson Browne, Celine Dion, Bonnie Rait and Carole King. You’ll also hear the talents of acclaimed guitarist Michael Toles. Most well-known for being a part of the Stax Records group The Bar Kays, and for his contributions on famous records by Issac Hayes, Al Green, BB King, Johnny Taylor, Rufus Thomas, Albert King to name just a few.

Dakota Jones are a rising funk, soul and blues rock band from Brooklyn, New York City. Comprising of Tristan Carter-Jones (vocals), Scott Kramp (bass) Steve Ross (drums), and acclaimed musician Randy Jacobs (guitar) - former member of Was(Not Was) who has recorded for Seal, Bonnie Raitt, Tears for Fears, Elton John and many others. Though Carter-Jones and Ross first met in 1999 whilst at primary school, the band formed years later following a series of home jam sessions in 2016. The band’s collective alias originates from Carter-Jones’s middle name, ‘Dakota’. Dakota Jones have since released a string of acclaimed singles and EPs as well as received international attention for their track, ‘Have Mercy’ after it featured on Netflix’s 2019 film, Always Be My Maybe starring Ali Wong and Randall Park – and now after years of hard work and determination, the band are finally set to reveal their long awaited debut album. “We’d been regularly releasing EPs, waiting for our chance to come, and wondering what that would look like,” says Carter-Jones. “We didn’t realise until we started making this record that we needed to stop waiting for some break to come along, and just do it ourselves, independently.”

“Black Light really dives into a place of funk soul and everything that comes with it. There’s joy and dancing, sleek guitar licks and funky bass slaps. There’s pain and longing, and there’s the feeling of relief when you come out of that place and find your joy and purpose again. Black Light is my story.”

Backed by members of the David Nance Group, Rosali (Long Hots, Wandering Shade, Monocot) wades through the emotional mire with infectious, earworm melodies led by her luminous voice. With their rich, raw instrumentation, these rock ballads sound like the resilience discovered in facing one’s darkest moments, the assurance of the calm and clarity that comes after the storm. As she sings on the second track, “Bones,” “Through the darkness of the field / I walk through without yielding / To the rest of the feelings / I’m carrying.” With her confident song craft, Rosali illustrates the ability to push through, moving toward something greater without being destroyed by the weight of trauma.

Engineered by James Shroeder and featuring Kevin Donahue (Simon Joyner), James Shroeder (Simon Joyner, DNG, Connor Oberst), David Nance, Noah Sterba, Colin Duckworth, and Daniel Knapp, the album was recorded in ten days and the raw immediacy of the music is palpable across these ten tracks. Added adornment was contributed by Philadelphia's Robbie Bennett (War on Drugs) on organ and keys, and Matt Barrick (The Walkmen, Jonathan Fire Eater, Muzz) makes a percussion cameo on “Whisper,”which was tracked at Philly’s Silent Partner Studio, where No Medium was mixed by Quentin Stoltzfus (Mazarin, Light Heat). The open creative collaboration elevated the songs, resulting in the exciting, vibrant sound of the album.

Rosali wrote the bulk of these songs in January of 2019 while on a self-imposed two week residency in the hills of South Carolina. Alone in an old farmhouse, she experienced supernatural events and faced her own demons in the deepest darkness. Perhaps as a result, there is a boldness that permeates the album, a daring vulnerability in both the lyrical themes and their musical accompaniment. Rosali says, “I approach guitar playing the same intuitive way I sing, which is profoundly spiritual for me. Where words fail, the guitar becomes the conduit for raw feelings, providing a direct connection to them. I’m constantly working on being fearless in my work, which means showing the rough side, the mistakes along with the triumphs.”

While writing No Medium, Rosali was inspired by harmonographs—swinging pendulums that create beautiful illustrations of the mathematics of music—considering how the mind, too, creates images through song. She imagined herself as the swinging pendulum—“a body suspended from a fixed point” (Encyclopedia Britannica), governed by the forces surrounding her. She thought about the pendulum’s relationship to time, movement, and even its use in divination practices. The album’s title, lifted from Charlotte Brontë’s, Jane Eyre, resonated with this vision: “I know no medium: I never in my life have known any medium in my dealings with positive, hard characters, antagonistic to my own, between absolute submission and determined revolt. I have always faithfully observed the one, up to the very moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanic vehemence, into the other.” With the multiple meanings of “medium”—as middle ground, a term for psychics, and as the material of artistic expression—No Medium felt like the appropriate name, describing how the self is shaped by the patterns of life .

The influences for the sound of No Medium reflect this pairing of assured vulnerability, in the stylistic coherence of Bob Dylan’s Desire, the tender delivery in Iain Matthews’ Journey From Gospel Oak, the strut and swagger of Bowie’s Hunky Dory, the ambition and beauty of Gene Clark’s No Other, and the playful catharsis of Harry Nilsson’s Nilsson Schmilsson. The Richard and Linda Thompson-esque album opener “Mouth,” places Rosali within both a physical and emotional space. “East of the river I was travelling on / watch me lie, undone / rest me in a forest, overgrown / until I am free of all that I’ve known,” she sings. There is movement, both within a cityscape, and in her outlook on love. Speaking of her thought process when writing the song, she says, “I imagine confidently walking away from the past, toward a new approach to love and intimacy to achieve a closer relationship with myself.”

In “Pour Over Ice,” Rosali explores her relationship with alcohol and her former reliance upon it as a social lubricant to quell her social anxiety, an energizer to keep moving, a means to cope and self-medicate, and most addictively, to lure out her wild side as a free flowing, good time girl. While drinking helped her through some shitty times, it eventually got the upper hand and became an insatiable hole within. She says, “The ‘you’ in the song is really me, talking to that component of myself struggling with drinking and self-sabotage, caught up in the cycle, and all the bad choices I made.” She sings, “Maybe I didn’t care enough / or can’t remember / chasing small pleasures / making fire from embers.” Rosali wanted her lead guitar on this track to simultaneously sound like a slow motion car crash propelling her through the day, and the sound of a gnawing hunger for something more.

Rosali’s alliance with the Omaha musicians that orbit David Nance Group (including Nance himself) came about while on a Long Hots / DNG tour in the summer of 2019. Great friendships formed and one night after playing in Detroit, Dave suggested they be her backing band. The pairing was effortless and natural, and in November of the same year, they were recording No Medium in a basement in Omaha.

Back in October 2009, Strut’s Inspiration Information series was in full swing. Following an acclaimed collaboration between Mulatu Astatke and The Heliocentrics, Finnish maverick Jimi Tenor hit the studio for a mouth-watering head to head with Afrobeat drumming legend, Tony Allen.

Tenor had already built a reputation as a fascinating enigma in modern day music. Consistently one of the most inspired and unpredictable live artists around, his work since his breakthrough album ‘Intervision’ (Warp, 1997) had involved open-minded projects ranging from live film soundtracks and orchestral pieces to a series of Afro-based albums with his band Kabu Kabu. Enjoying a burgeoning revival, Tony Allen had continued to attract new fans. Celebrated as the creator of the Afrobeat rhythm and a lynchpin of Fela Kuti’s Africa 70 band, his work at the time of this recording had included the first album as The Good, The Bad & The Queen with Damon Albarn and his debut recording for World Circuit Records, ‘Secret Agent’.

Recorded at Lovelite Studios in Berlin during November 2008 ith further sessions in Finland and Paris, the Tenor / Allen collaboration whipped up a raw, heavy analogue sound mixing the full range of Allen’s Afrobeat repertoire with Tenor’s off-kilter brew of dark humour, tongue-in-cheek lyrics and tight, firing musicianship. The sessions involved key members of Tenor’s Kabu Kabu band and Berlin-based guest MC Allonymous with tracks evolving naturally from jamming ideas together over five intense days of recording, fuelled by plenty of African food and whisky. Tenor’s trademark range of home-made instruments rubbed shoulders with vintage keyboards and traditional African percussion.

The resulting set became one of the best recordings that both artists produced during this period. Tracks range from Jimi’s S&M tableau, ‘Darker Side of Night’ to the apocalyptic commentary on our times, ‘Path To Wisdom’ and the hilarious lampooning of the UK immigration system, ‘Mama England’, composed on the Tenor tour bus. The album also featured fusions based around more traditional low-slung Afrobeat structures (‘Sinuhe’, ‘Got My Egusi’) and ended with the epic freestyle juggernaut, ‘Three Continents’, a life affirming, mesmeric groove built around another rough-as-nails Allenko rhythm base. 'Inspiration Information: Jimi Tenor / Tony Allen' is re-released on 22nd February 2021 and is dedicated to the memory of the great, incomparable Tony Allen.

First reissue of long out-of-print and sought after release from 2009
Unique fusion of Afrobeat drumming and psychedelic Jazz
Vinyl cut from original sessions

Jac Berrocal, David Fenech and Vincent Epplay return with Ice Exposure, their second album for Blackest Ever Black. A sequel and companion piece of sorts to 2015's Antigravity, its title couldn't be more apt: sonically it is both colder, and more exposed - in the sense of rawer, more volatile, more vulnerable - than its predecessor, capturing the combustible energy and barely suppressed violence of the trio's celebrated live performances with aspects of noir jazz, musique concrète, no wave art-rock, sound poetry and spectral electronics all interpenetrating in unpredictable and exhilarating ways. While there are moments of great sensitivity and even a cautious romanticism, the prevailing mood is one of anxiety, paranoia, and mounting psychodrama: close your eyes and Ice Exposure feels like a dissociative Hörspiel broadcasting from the seedy backstreets of your own troubled mind. Before he picks up an instrument or opens his mouth, Berrocal's unique and compelling presence can be felt: a combination of studied, glacial cool and anarchic, in-the-moment intensity that has served him well over a long and storied career. It was honed during his time as a theatre and film actor, and in the 70s Paris improv scene, it powered his influential Catalogue group in the 1970s, numerous seminal, sui generis solo sides, and far-sighted collaborations with the likes of Nurse With Wound, Lol Coxhill, Pascal Comelade and James Chance which have seen him come to be valorised by two generations of avant-garde agitators and eccentrics. Now in his eighth decade, it comes with an added gravitas, perhaps, but no less energy or vitality. On Ice Exposure, his lyrical, instantly recognisable trumpet playing is a key feature - see especially the ghostly, dubwise take on Ornette's 'Lonely Woman', the dissolute exotica of 'Salta Girls', and the sublime echo-chamber soliloquy 'Opportunity'. But more often it's his voice that commands centre-stage, whether casually discharging surreal poetic monologues or moaning in animal despair - a vocal tour de force that transcends language and culminates in the Dionysian frenzy of 'Why', Berrocal's half-spoken, half-howled exclamations jostling with David Fenech's slashes of dissonant guitar, over Badalamenti-ish, panther-stalk drums. Fenech's origins are in the mail-art scene of the early '90s, when he led the Peu Importe collective in Grenoble, and since then, in addition to his own recordings he has worked as a software developer at IRCAM and played with Jad Fair, Rhys Chatham and many others. Together with Vincent Epplay he is responsible for Ice Exposure's inspired arrangements and vivid, vertiginous sound design. Epplay is a visual artist and composer with particular interest in aleatory composition, concrete, and the reappropriation of vintage sound and film material. He and Fenech fashion a remarkable mise-en-scene for Berrocal to inhabit, one that embraces cutting-edge electronics while also paying homage to the best traditions of outlaw jazz and libidinous rock'n'roll ('Soundcheck' invokes the brutish spirit of Berrocal's hero Vince 'Rock N Roll Station' Taylor). On 'Blanche de Blanc', Berrocal's voice is framed by a groaning, ghoulish orchestra of industrial drones, while 'Equivoque' evokes the most humid and hostile Fourth World landscapes and 'Panic In Surabaya' lives up to its name, a hectic, pulse-quickening concrète collage that leaves you gasping for air. This is a searching and singular trio operating at the absolute peak of their powers, with an interplay that transcends studio and stage and occurs at an almost telepathic level. Ice Exposure is a triumph of that group mind, an underworld dérive as life-affirming as it is unnerving and psychologically precarious.













Panic In Surabaya