Cerca:beneath

Sugaring a Strawberry, the sophomore record from Julia, Julia, is a study in coming undone—on purpose. Recorded at COMA, Julia Kugel's home studio, and mixed through a custom Flickenger clone, the album drifts in and out of clarity like memory itself. It's emotionally retrospective, creatively unvarnished, and deeply human. You can hear it in the hiss, the warmth, in the vocals so raw they're like an open window. These songs weren't engineered for perfection. They were built to breathe. Her long-time collaborator and husband, Scott Montoya, mixes it all so loosely that you can hear the air between tracks— a space that makes the music feel inhabited rather than recorded.


"Bound" opens the album like a secret passed between sisters, solemn and unspeakably close. It begins with the softest of touches: hushed guitar, a near- whispered delivery that carries the intimacy of someone singing only for one other person. It's a love song, but not romantic, more ancestral in the way long bonds can be. All glow and undercurrent, "I Know," is like hearing someone hum through a wound. The track arrives as if it had been waiting, coiled and complete, to be sung. Its pulse is slow but insistent, anchored on a hypnotic loop and a vocal that's half-incantation, half-confession. One of the most outward-facing songs on the record, "Feeling Lucky," opens like a cigarette flicked in the dark– smoky and a little bit slick. Built on a skeletal beat and a nearly detached vocal, it leans into a sarcastic swagger that barely masks the ache beneath. The delivery is droll and glazed, the instrumentation is sparse and a little woozy, leaving space for her voice to sway—a shrug of a song, stylish in its sadness. "A Love That Hurts" drifts in on soft, fingerpicked guitar and a dry, close-mic vocal that feels both haunted and immediate. The mix is stripped down and analog-warm, letting tape hum and silence frame the emotion. Julia sings like she's remembering something she doesn't want to, each line a slight unraveling. Like the rest of the album, "A Love That Hurts" doesn't push toward resolution. It sits in the ache, sifts through it, makes it beautiful.

Sugaring a Strawberry doesn't seek catharsis so much as stumbles into it. There's a quiet volatility to these songs like they might fall apart if you press too hard. It moves in shadow and softness, asking questions it doesn't answer. It doesn’t end with closure. It ends with truth.

Following three acclaimed albums, a string of sought-after 45s, and collaborations with vocalists including Yurika and Sophia Solompon, championed by esteemed tastemakers such as Gilles Peterson, Cerys Matthews, and Jeremy Sole, "Nadir" finds Sababa 5 at their enigmatic and irresistible. Sababa 5"s latest album, "Nadir", delves into a darker, more sophisticated, and cinematic fusion of psychedelic soul and Middle Eastern rock. The title, Nadir, is an astronomical term referring to the point on the celestial sphere directly beneath an observer, diametrically opposite the zenith. Metaphorically, it signifies the lowest point or a moment of adversity. This duality resonates with the band"s exploration of contrasting musical themes-melding the cosmic and the terrestrial, the ethereal and the grounded. The name encapsulates the album"s essence, reflecting a journey through deep, introspective soundscapes that are both otherworldly and rooted in raw, earthly grooves.

GATEFOLD DOUBLE VINYL WITH SPOT UV FRONT COVER

Following the skewed-unself-help-brilliance of ‘Sus Dog’ (which marked his first full foray into songs, abetted by Thom Yorke), and its companion piece ‘Cave Dog’, Chris Clark returns to the dancefloor’s simple, but no less affecting pleasures, with ‘Steep Stims’.
“I found it hard to pull away from listening to this record, hard to stop making it, I had to remove myself from the Stims and stop enjoying it at some point. The album feels like nature to me. I love it when electronic music feels more naturalistic than acoustic music, more potent, that’s the devil’s trick, the promise of electronic music.” comments Chris.
“I used an old synth - the Virus on all of the tracks. I used it at Mess in Melbourne - run by my friend Robin Fox - I loved it so much I had to buy one when I got back to the UK, it took a while to find. They’re a bit clunky to program but make some of my most favourite sounds.”
‘Steep Stims’ marks a back-to-basics approach, invoking the early years of gung-ho creativity enforced by limitations in technology at the time. “Most of the tracks on this album capture the spirit of making music on old samplers, which don’t have much memory time”, explains Clark. “It reminds me of making ‘Clarence Park’, my first album, where I would have to finish tunes in the session, as they would be saved on floppy disks and I couldn’t easily go between tracks. This new record is just a few synths and a few choice sounds; the writing is the important thing.”
Made quickly, ‘Steep Stims’ reflects the immediate rave energy of his live show, but that’s not to say it’s basic floor fodder, as it’s rife with personality, synth magic, and knack for melody. Although swift and impressionistically captured rather than laboured over, it’s still formidably deft, with plenty of oddball weirdness lurking beneath the dancefloor.
Soft, orange, scorched, brutal, the opening track ‘Gift and Wound’ captures the classic dance music dread / awe / euphoria combo perfectly, before ‘Infinite Roller’ merges sparkly-minimalism with snarling bass and soft sines, which turn more dense and metallic as it progresses.
The melancholic smoke belch of ‘No Pills U’ gives strong classic vibrations, which is belied by its creation, made in just 20 minutes. “I love working quickly sometimes”, comments Clark. “Inspiration hits, rough and ready. It’s off the cuff but also screams ‘don’t gild the lily with nonsense, keep it simple keep it clean’”. Segueing into its elder brother, the piece becomes bigger and beatier on ‘Janus Modal’, where it permutates for over 7 minutes of fluttering, beatific club majesty.
At ‘18EDO Bailiff’ you inexplicably find yourself at a clearing, things have suddenly got much quieter. You enter a decrepit and eerie old house, and as you move through its unsettling interior, you arrive at ‘Globecore Flats’. A real piano tuned to 18 notes per octave gives the pair of tracks a haunted, olde worlde feel, which promptly gets eaten by a huge tech step tearout monster, birthing a strange but exotic beast.
The white hot ‘Blowtorch Thimble’ is all hooktasm-rave-hyper-amen-energy, whilst acidic flute leaps around like Ian Anderson on pingers throughout the catchily simple jump-up lurch of ‘Civilians’.
“‘In Patient’s Day Out’ is like some sort of Morricone-does-kraut-rock-with-drum-machines, but that’s probably just in my head” says Clark. “I made several versions of this then went with the early mix but cranked through some choice outboard because it just had something.”
Drumless, yet still full of exhilarating-big-trance-drama, ‘Who Booed The Goose’ flashes by in stroboscopic fast forward, then ‘5 Millionth Cave Painting’ gives a palate cleanser, letting “the virus with its delicious broken, luxurious reverb have a moment”, before ‘Negation Loop’ swoops down in all its glory, with Clark’s tweaked vocals leading deconstructed trance breakdowns, tape edits and brutal noisebursts.
An antidote to the bombast of its predecessor is ‘Micro Lyf’, which closes the set on a poignant note, of sorts. Muted staccato gives way to field recordings “that gradually put it in this outside space; alien in a meadow somewhere nameless. It feels like a sinkhole. The record kinda swallows itself up and then is gone”, ends Chris.

One Instrument welcomes Morning Seance, composer and sound artist, originally from Italy and based in Vienna. On this debut LP, Morning Seance traces a drifting narrative composed of unstable harmonies, fluid structures, and ghostlike forms. The album unfolds like a dream told in fragments, oscillating between fluctuating pulses and decaying transmissions, from nocturnal stillness to acoustic mirages. The first half of the record moves through zones of suspended tension and evanescent contours, where tracks like “Be faster than your own depression” and “The tenderness of our own autobiography” sketch fragile architectures of affect. The second half enters a more spectral terrain — “Breakfast in a night club,” “A visit to the Brion-Vega tomb” — not places, but agglomerates of sonic sensation, detached from any personal frame.

With each piece, the music dissolves and reconstitutes itself, resisting finality or form, and doing so with an indestructible joy that hums beneath the wreckage. This is degenerate ambient music: anti-geometric and subject to emotional weather — not a refuge, but a slow collapse of structure and purity, where atmosphere gives way to excess and disobedience.

The album is crafted entirely from a single source: the Roland Alpha Juno-1. Despite this constraint, it achieves a vast sound spectrum, transforming one synthesizer’s voice into a layered landscape of textures and moods.

The electronic music of Morning Seance is built on constant variation and intricate, looping patterns with no clear beginning or end. This variation is not simply applied to an audio element, but enacted as a compositional logic — avoiding mechanical combinations and obvious rhythms. The result is a mutable mass of audio matter and tonal debris, guiding the listener through richly divergent environments.

On Beacon Hill: at twilight we find Anthony Moore, roots winding backwards to the halcyon days of Slapp Happy and the "70s progressive art rock scene, at guitar and piano. With the atmospheres and accompaniments of AKA & Friends, he breathes infernal new life into songs from his six decades of multivarious music making. This new delivery system is unto a séance, a communal incantation, twining Anthony"s avant and pop traditions together in a darkly radiant coil of folky chamber music; a rope to lower the listener through cobwebs and murk, unveiling new life beneath Anthony"s mad old lines. AKA are Anthony Moore, Keith Rodway and Amanda Thompson. A pagan family of sound worshipers hailing from that unholiest of all places: Hastings UK, home of Crowley and Turing. Like their sinister forbears in that infamous tradition, this latest trinity shares a passion for subverting pattern and number, factoring unlikely permutations arising from sea and horizon, greensward, the southerly aspect, and the planisphere as half-world. Their equatorial shore speaks of a planet of water and earth, fire and air. AKA"s humble tools of choice for this endeavor are guitar, piano, organ, synthesizer and vocals. The Friends of AKA are Tullis Rennie, trombone and electronics; Olie Brice, double bass; Richard Moore, violin; and Haydn Ackerley, guitar. They too navigate the shoreline of the south coast, haunt the same taverns and regularly play together in whatever combinations fit the bill. Leaving the drums (and their drummer) at home to realize anew these dreamladen songs, AKA & Friends ensure that the notes fall around the beat and not on it, so as to define the pulse with absence. As such, time is liberated, prised free from the merciless clock; a rhythm of waves, passing through a steady-state universe of no beginnings and no endings. Discontinuities are dissolved, all is transition.

Leviathan Whispers is an album of longings, laments, deliriums and drones, savage and sublime. Within are breaths, hums and bone songs for shadows and fl ames to dance to. Tim Hill is an inspirational fi gure within the UK arts, jazz, noise and improv world. A shapeshifting maverick exploring Britain's diverse musical traditions, from rough music to industrial folk, free jazz to dub, post-punk to avant-rock, incorporating ambient electronics, hymns and noise. Having worked with pioneering arts company Welfare State International, Tim’s performed inside Stonehenge, on the back of trucks at Notting Hill Carnival, leading giants through the streets of London, Dublin and Galway, at Olympic Torch events, celebratory feasts and leading humanist funerals. Tim is also festival director for The Sound of the Streets, a charity promoting outdoor music and musical director of the Wye Valley River Festival where he helps street bands across the country including The Big Noise in Taunton and Horns of Plenty in Oxford.

Leviathan Whispers is a spectral, contemplative selection of Tim's recorded work, including material created for art installations, outdoor projects, solo performances and personal meditations. Inspired by landscape and the eternal pull of Blake's Albion, baritone, alto and soprano saxophones are mixed with tape loops, old synths, recycled live recordings, woodwinds and reeds. Other sounds are processed by Colin Potter (Nurse With Wound) and drone artist Jonathan Coleclough. The album artwork and accompanying videos feature sound sculptures by Michael Fairfax (Royal Society of Sculptors) alongside unsettling visuals by fi lm-maker and junk-alchemist David Young. "an amazing player - there's a weight to his music with a wonderfully dark edge" Corey Mwamba / BBC Radio 3 Fans of Colin Stetson, John Surman, Anna Von Hausswolff , William Basinski and La Monte Young will fi nd much to savour on this new 12" LP. LAUNCH PARTY: we're holding a special launch event with a live performance and talk by Tim Hill on Saturday, 15th November inside a beautiful Victorian chapel beneath Royal Berks Hospital, Reading.

In 2023, k.d.b lived in a crumbling farmhouse on the edge of the River Maas. Each morning, he’d wake at 6:00 and walk along the river’s bank with his dogfriend Miemel, pausing at sunrise for a cup of coffee.

It’s 6:34, and a thick rug of mist rolls out across the river. It’s so dense that k.d.b can’t see the water beneath it. Then comes the sun: a single ray cutting through the mist like a tube of light, landing on Miemel’s face. In her mouth is a CD she’s picked up, and on the CD is the title Instrumental Romance.

'What is Instrumental Romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'Romantic instrumentals? Or a romance used instrumentally? As in, a romance used to get something—like love?'

Miemel drops the CD and turns her attention to a stray purple grape on the path. Grapes are poisonous to dogs, and as she bends toward it, k.d.b. shouts, “NO!” At that precise moment, a large fish rises from the mist. It launches into the air, mouth wide open, and hangs there above the clouds. His shout, having traveled across the river, bounces back towards k.d.b with a “NO,” and in perfect synchrony, it appears the fish is also shouting at Miemel. The timing is so perfect, they can’t be sure it isn’t.

The fish falls back down, entering its watery world with an eerie, splashless silence, leaving k.d.b and Miemel standing open-mouthed on the bank. Before they can register the perfection of this duet, another fish (or maybe the same one again) rises from the mist in the exact same spot and launches into the air. Without thinking, k.d.b shouts again. The word “ROMANCE” comes out. This time, however, he is slightly too late, and the word is too long, so “ROMANCE” lingers on after the fish has already fallen back down.

'What even is romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'The construction of mystery or excitement with dead red flowers and timing?'

A foghorn sounds behind him, and k.d.b turns 180 degrees to see a boat moving freight, right to left, along the River Maas. 'That’s strange', he thinks. 'If the river is there, then what’s that behind me, below the mist?'

Staring at the boat and its shipping containers as they float out of sight, k.d.b imagines a man. The man is standing at the bottom of a small valley, holding a fish. 'Who is this man, and what does he want?'

- Jacob Dwyer

Mona Steinwidder (Museum of No Art) and Mitko Mitkov have spent years exchanging sounds and words across Hamburg's creative landscape - Swimming Pool Reflections is where those exchanges accumulated in Steinwidder's studio beneath the slanted roof of a former barracks. Premiered in November 2024 for Gesa Troch's exhibition "you say water is sweet", the work intertwines Mitkov’s texts (originally composed as emails to members of a swimming club, as imaginary as they are real) with Steinwidder’s clarinet and synthesizer, full of dubby resonance.

Swimming Pool Reflections isn't about swimming. It's about standing at the edge and watching - the way light fractures through water, how shadows play across tile, everything that forms and dissolves in the viewer's eye. The libretto moves through straits where bodies of water collide, small lakes with white slides, pools suspended in generic landscapes generated from uploaded photographs. Binary gods and transparent shadows. Sediment and cosmic hands weaving existence on overdimensional looms.

Across two uninterrupted sides, words float like those oil spots Mitkov describes: "swallowing light, drifting between the waves, forming a strange pattern". The music holds space for these reflections without trying to contain them. Everything stays permeable. Everything keeps moving.

For our ninth offering we have ventured out of our small but fertile swamp in search of another source of magick. Meandering across boggy pastures new, we crossed paths with Steevio, who sat hovering serenely in the fern covered shade of a nearby valley. Instantly recognising the singular vision of this fabled artist, we hastily gathered our nets and cast them under Steevio’s branches, capturing four beautiful offerings as they wriggled towards us. Upon the return to our mulch, it became clear that we could not contain Steevio’s creations, so willful was their vitality. It was therefore all we could do to release them back to the universal dance from whence they came.

The dance germinates with the writhing polyrhythmic ‘Apricity’. Hearing the crunch of frost laden grass beneath our webbed toes, we look above us to search for the sun. Angular beams of light escape over the horizon, as the warmth of Steevio’s machines coalesce. A glistening hi hat breaks through the membrane to bind his creation and anchor its ever shifting arms.

‘Octopus’ glides gracefully through a sun-dappled kelp forest. Sub frequencies rumble up from the shadowy darkness below, rippling along the fronds as they ascend. As the ocean begins to churn, a wriggling melodic tentacle parts the foliage, gleaming with primordial energy. Its joyful visit to the surface realm leaves us with a brief yet powerful reminder of the mystery beneath.

The glow of the midwinter sun warms our bones on ‘Apricity (Sunrise Mix)’. Percussive elements bubble out of the depths, forming intricate cascading patterns as they grow over the perfectly formed kicks. The moog filter tames the brew with Steevio’s intuitive restraint , until he releases its mighty power upon the gleeful forest dwellers, to their rapturous gratitude.

With ‘Adref’ we return home. The sedate tempo provides oceanic space for a melody which inhales and exhales over a familiar landscape of perfectly tuned percussion. With each breath the melody seems to increase its reach, until it’s buried deep within our bones, its memory resonating on long after it’s gone.

Steevio’s music reflects the universal moments where seemingly chaotic and disparate elements are suddenly revealed to be perfectly harmonious. Of course examples of this are always universally present in nature, and have been eternally, but we have to be reminded to appreciate them. In the same way that a wave deposits a perfect line of shells on a beach, dew freezes on grass, or individual strands of mycelial hyphae bind together to form incredible patterns, Steevio’s music is likewise; effortlessly considered. For us, it has more in common with the unrelenting flow of a river than it does with dance music. It is psychedelic music in the same sense that nature is intuitively psychedelic; without ever leaning into any tried tropes of what is culturally considered ‘psychedelic’ music.

It's not often where I sign a whole release off the back of a demo folder sent to me but when Radicall sent me some tunes he'd made on the Polyend Tracker, I was well impressed by the quality of the tunes & knew I had to have some for the label.

I narrowed it down to my favourite four and thankfully, they were all available for signing and ready for release, probably one of the most seamless releases I've worked on since I started Future Retro London a few years back!

Big thanks to Radicall for his wicked tunes!

Akhira Sano is a Tokyo-based artist working across sound, drawing, installation, and video. His practice finds generative potential for music in life's fleeting incidents, etching meaning from unassuming spaces and resonances. With releases on 12k, LAAPS, IIKKI, and The Trilogy Tapes, Sano has steadily carved out a distinctive voice within minimal and experimental music - one that privileges attentiveness and patience over spectacle.

"To Material Past", Sano's debut for SWIMS, carries this thread with a single 30-minute work built solely using glockenspiel tones and field recordings from his local neighbourhood. This is a night walk with no map or end point; Sano follows irregular, coiling fragments that extend to form a tessellating luminous whole - like a subliminal mass of tree roots quietly shifting the concrete slabs beneath our feet.

Under this faded gauze of gestures and interactions, Sano's glockenspiel interjects like a grandfather clock, softly marking the partitions that make up a day's collected experience; clicking and chiming like the sleeping brain, as it sifts and catalogues a lifetime's ephemera of thoughts, faces and puzzles.

In between the folds of ceremony and commonality lies a perennial spring of musical expression.

A statement along the time continuum, or a testament to the resilient resourcefulness embedded in that truth, forms the philosophical approach of this album – the first outing of Dídac.
Studying an extensive archive of instruments, artifacts, and field recordings at the Musée d’ethnographie de Genève—a space steeped in folkloric gesture – Dídac encountered a cosmos of liturgical music and folk song. Anchored in reverance for tradition and transformation alike, this album navigates the old-world Mediterranean lore through a post-modern ambient lens, threading drone, gentle rhythm, electroacoustic textures and the crude tactility of archival material into one woven tapestry.

Under the guidance of Dr. Madeleine Leclair, Dídac was invited to work within one of the world’s most extensive ethno- musicological archives—L’AIMP. In the saturated basements and tape-lined backrooms of the museum, he submerged himself in the sounds of ritual and rural life: wax cylinders from the Eastern Mediterranean, tapes of liturgical hymn, the worn edges of communal song.
In a makeshift studio on the fourth floor of the museum, he sifted through the hours of material he collected, gradually discovering that the archive was no static source – It did not dictate; rather, it served as a companion—offering not answers, but questions. Not a beaten track, but a cluster of sonic clues and riddles. Samples do appear occasionally, tenderly interwoven into the dialogue of the songs. In Dídac’s self-titled debut, the past is not worn as ornament or kitsch; it is listened to and responded to. The museum, its archives, and the visit to Geneva became a foundational culisse of sorts, igniting a myriad of rough cuts and improvisational outtakes.
Dídac, or Diego Ocejo Muñoz, was born in Madrid in 1994 to a family of both Catalan and Castilian origin.

Brought up in a religious household, the influence of the Catholic Church innately shaped the social fabric, schooling and daily life. This lingering dominance led the adolescent Diego into a path of rejection of everything sacramental, promptly resorting to subversion in the shape of grafitti, skateboarding and underground music. Only later in life, after a rigorous venture as an acid and electro producer, the Church re-emerged before him in new light, invoking a deep fascination for its mysticism, iconography and choral tradition.

Spain in general and Catalonia in particular, has long served as a crossroads of the eastern–western Mediterranean continuum, with many of its cultures sharing aspects of way of life and ceremony. At the MEG, Diego found himself puzzled with this realization, resulting in a sonic amalgamation that reaches farther away from the rugged mountains of Catalonia than you might perceive at first encounter.

The deeply embedded memory of rite and public ceremony, religious hymn and landscape—sieved through the undercurrent of personal re-emergence, forms the emotional topography of this album. The record does not trace this landscape; it inhabits it. Its repetitive mysticism and ambient, wide-eyed gaze could possibly evoke (perhaps redundant) comparisons to artists such as Dimitris Petsetakis, or Popol Vuh’s late 70’s cinema scores.
The delicate lines between the sacred and the secular – between memory and re-invention – serve as a cipher to understanding this album in its entirety. Titles like Malpàs Mines or Pantocrator’s Portal Outro nudge toward a folkloric and devotional bedrock—places where labor and spirituality coexist, where names preserve both dust and veneration.

Nevertheless, this is far from mere nostalgia. It is a reclamation — singing alongside the spirits of the past, nurturing what still hums beneath the soil. It is an intimate reflection on tradition, rebellion, adolescence, ceremony and fantasy – a pastoral contemplation on what once was and what is to be.

25 has always been a mystical number in the world of Kiosk ID, woven into our story since the earliest days of Bar 25, Holzmarkt 25, and every chapter since. When midnight struck on December 31st of last year and 2025 arrived, the magic of the number was undeniable,echoing through Kater Blau, Holzmarkt, and Kiosk ID—and calling for a celebration like no other. As our lasers lit the night, two core Kiosk ID artists—Britta Arnold and Sascha Cawa—took to the decks, weaving a spellbinding journey crafted specifically for this moment. Months in the making, they unfolded a beautifully hypnotic tribute to the magic of 25, premiering five tailormade tracks in the process. That moment lives on as Kiosk ID no. 40—a special double LP capturing the magic of that night. Side A features the live New Year’s recording: an unfiltered document of Britta and Sascha’s hypnotic, otherworldly, and deeply danceable set, as it unfolded in real time—strobing into the first moments of the new year. Sides B, C, and D feature five exclusive studio originals, written and produced specifically for this night. On ‘Counting’, Britta and Sasha unfold their brand of stripped darkness and rolling groove work, while ‘Reformer’ teeters on taut coils of suspended synths. With ‘NGVMT’, the energy bursts open—a radiant block-party roller with throbbing staccato swagger and clanking metallic arpeggios. ‘Beam’ lifts off into pure cosmic wonder, its fluttering, airy themes spiralling skyward. ‘Good Life’ rolls the credits with a beautifully introspective soliloquy, tender and reflective beneath gentle waves of aspirating piano chords. Together, these recordings offer both an auditory keepsake and an invitation to relive that unforgettable night or discover it anew. Across five hypnotic compositions and a half hour of dance floor bliss, ‘Good Life 25’ encapsulates the ever-evolving sound

The Spice of Life, released in November 1969, stands as Marlena Shaw's second--and final--studio album for Cadet Records, produced and arranged by the renowned Richard Evans and Charles Stepney. From the opening, Shaw's voice--both playful and powerful--cuts through the lush yet tight-knit arrangements, weaving together a vibrant tapestry of soul, proto-funk, jazz, gospel, and blues. The album features two defining classics: her deeply resonant original of 'Woman of the Ghetto' and a signature take on Ashford & Simpson's 'California Soul', both staples in sampling culture (you'll probably find that you're more familiar with Shaw's material than you thought.) Evans and Stepney's arrangements are far from mere support--they're panoramic and inventive. You'll hear kalimba flourishes, psych-tinged guitar accents, and bongo-fueled organ textures that elevate each track, keeping the atmosphere rich but never overwhelming. Moments like the Bacharach-styled 'Looking Through the Eyes of Love' or the dramatic flair of 'Stormy Monday' showcase their widescreen sensibility and Shaw's versatility. Beneath its musical elegance, "The Spice of Life" carries a weighty current of social commentary. Tracks such as 'Woman of the Ghetto' and the succinct, fierce 'Liberation Conversation' bring political and feminist themes into a soulful, expressive framework--adding unexpected depth to the sophisticated sonic palette. This album offers an immersive journey through soul-jazz mastery, one that rewarded listeners with sampling gold for decades to come. Reissue on 180g vinyl.

Shadows fold into colour. Memory dissolves into noise. You brush up against the walls of the mind. Touch is soft as breath. On ‘B side’, Areliz Ramos follows her work’s current into its more “fantastic and elusive… and even romantic” side; a place where fantasy loosens the bolts of reality and memory, and emotion is alluringly refracted into musical collages and loose-strung compositions. Across the album, voices drift in and out of an intimate space, while pensive guitar lines stumble and bloom like scribbled unresolved notes in a diary. Beneath its icy, often chaotic surface, ‘B side’ radiates a deep sense of joy and fragility. Ramos sketches out an entire world by free association, collaging notions and echoing quiet thoughts into deeply honest snapshots of daydreams.

Areliz Ramos is a Peruvian producer living in London, recognized for an evocative palette weaving lo-fi and downtempo threads into dreamlike, abstract emo narratives. While her debut ‘Frío’ (Where to Now?), orbited around homesickness and estrangement, ‘B side’ embraces imperfection, incorporating her guitar (named "Frank"), pedals, synthesizers, and her own vocal textures for the first time, privileging emotional immediacy over technical precision. The creative process behind this album reflects a conscious decision to let go, loosen control, let intuition lead, and engage her own ‘B’ side.

Rather than constructing a safe haven from hardship, Ramos offers a cracked mirror, staring right at it, embracing that vulnerability. The gentle and beautiful ‘B side’ explores fleeting satisfaction, or the elusive comfort sitting just out of sight.

Developed over three years across residencies, tours, and periods of deep listening, “Your Whistle Tells of Landscape” finds Australian sound artist Alexandra Spence continuing her investigations into the perceptual entanglements of sound, place, memory, and imagination. Like much of the artist’s work, it unfolds at the liminal edge between the real and the imagined — between what is heard and what is remembered.

Composed from a constellation of materials gathered across sites and seasons — snowscapes recorded in Vancouver, insect choruses from a Sydney backyard, ceramic fragments unearthed while mudlarking with tinysound — it renders an intimate cartography of experience: one shaped equally by ecological resonance and internal drift. Each piece traces a kind of imaginary geography, where sonic ephemera become proxies for topography, weather, or myth.

The album is informed by time spent at EMS (Stockholm) and MESS (Melbourne), where Spence deepened her engagement with microtonality and tuned feedback systems, and by dialogues with sympathetic artists such as Tashi Wada and Patrick Farmer. Sound materials were sourced from Serge Modular systems, a custom lyre built by Tim Wall, amplified objects, handmade electronics, and Spence’s own field recordings captured within rockpools, beneath sand, and among a flock of sheep in the French Pyrenees. On “Magenta,” a collaboration with Delphine Dora, the domestic and mythic intertwine, as layers of voice, environmental recordings, and Halldorophone feedback drift in and out of one another like overlapping weather systems.

Despite its diverse material palette, the album resists spectacle or accumulation. Instead, it moves with a quiet sense of continuity and a rich interiority — less a sequence of compositions than a set of situated attunements. Across its duration, sounds seem to murmur, glint, or hover right at the edge of presence, invoking a listening practice that is as much about orientation as it is about reception. These are pieces not simply about place, but of place — etched with the grains of time, vibration, and breath.

Many Amerindian cultures share the belief that the future lies behind us, while the past is what we face ahead. This challenge to Western chronology is, however, rooted in common sense: the open possibilities of what is to come are, in theory, what we cannot see—the uncertain—whereas the events that have already happened unfold before our eyes and are available for us to learn from.



This second album by Chilean producer, live performer, and DJ Valesuchi could be described as an experiment with time through music. Some years after relocating to Rio de Janeiro, she released Tragicomic LP (2019) on MAMBA rec—a label founded by the boundary-pushing Brazilian party Mamba Negra—and the self-released EP Cascada (2024). In both works, we can already appreciate her musical imprint: rhythmic and emotional timbral lines—wet, filtered, mathematical,

devotional, multilingual, fantastic, and unreal. However, in Futuro Cercano (Discos Nutabe, 2025), we can hear a leap: the sedimentation of her lived experiences in electronic communities across Latin America, her search for a universal yet personal language to convey emotion and new spiritual meaning, finds in this release a consistency and spontaneity that is rarely heard these days.



In a time when all cultural expression is not only expected to be taggable, but is also increasingly produced from templates that precondition our perception—favoring categorization and connections to works or scenes of the past—the tracks on this album are generically unclassifiable. They represent an openness to experiment without prejudice with electronic instruments and rhythms that are asancestral as they are futuristic. They publicly reveal an intimacy born from the compositional process, a bond formed through the encounter—sometimes tense, sometimes harmonious—between human will and that of the machines themselves. Or, as Valesuchi put it, "cyborging my friendship with the machine and becoming a tempest." Tempest as an eruption of the unknown into the present, the result of opening oneself to a nearly meditative state to uncover the deepest feelings through improvisation on cybernetic feedback and loops. And in that improvisation, to develop “técnicas para estirar o medir el tiempo”

“techniques to stretch or measure time” as she sings in 22, the album’s first track. “Connecting knowledges” as a portal to access that future so near it lies behind us, and to anticipate it as intuition and prospection.



That’s why Futuro Cercano is more than just electronic music: it is a technological ritual, an immersion into the secrets that machines hold as artifacts of human and non-human knowledge, as mysterious objects that allow us to connect with our own otherness—the personal alien hiding beneath the skin that opens us up to uncertainty as possibility rather than catastrophe.

Joanna Duda Trio’s new album, 'Delighted' weaves a hypnotic tapestry of sound that immediately captivates the listener. From the very first note, the track invites you into a world where inventive rhythms and melodies dance with a mesmerizing intensity. The crispness of the percussion and the looming intensity of the double bass create a vivid sonic landscape that feels both fresh and accessible, while undeniably complex.

Duda’s composition is one of her strengths, having been sought out to compose the music for the first Polish film for Netflix Originals (Erotica 2022), and she again demonstrates her uncanny ability to blend subtle complexity with melodic piano hooks that ooze playfulness. Beneath the surface a darker, more menacing undertone that keeps the listener on edge.

"This delightful composition was worth the wait" (Twisted Soul Music) "Effortlessly interchanging some mind boggling time signatures, I love their precision" (Soweto Kinch, BBC Radio 3) "To say that Joanna Duda is a jazz pianist is an understatement. The artist transcends musical boundaries, often using jazz as a starting point for broader sonic explorations" (Polskie Radio)

The Trio has an extensive European tour planned to support her album release.

„All is love and pain in the mouse parade“ ist das lang erwartete vierte Album der Band. Es ist eine Sammlung von Geschichten darüber, wie Liebe und Schmerz miteinander verwoben sind. Gefühle, die auf den ersten Blick unvereinbar scheinen, aber gleichzeitig existieren und einander brauchen. Das Album wurde im Heimstudio der Band in Island geschrieben, aufgenommen und produziert, mit Unterstützung ihres Kindheitsfreundes, dem Toningenieur Bjarni Þór Jensson.

Mit ihrem 2011 erschienenen Durchbruchalbum „My Head Is An Animal“ schafften Of Monsters and Men den Sprung von Reykjavík auf die Weltbühne und wurden von isländischen Indie-Lieblingen zu internationalen Chartstürmern.

Inmitten ihres kometenhaften Aufstiegs veröffentlichte die Band 2015 ihr zweites Album „Beneath the Skin“, das auf Platz 3 der Billboard 200 debütierte. Begleitet wurde die Veröffentlichung von einem Überraschungsauftritt in der HBO-Erfolgsserie „Game of Thrones“. Ihr cineastischer Sound tauchte überall auf, von „The Hunger Games“ bis „The Secret Life of Walter Mitty“.

Nach über einem Jahrzehnt hat sich die Band von folkigen Newcomern zu einer festen Größe des digitalen Zeitalters entwickelt. Sie hat 9 Millionen monatliche Hörer:innen auf Spotify und erreicht eine neue Generation, die entdeckt, dass die Schönheit Islands über Fjorde und Thermalbäder hinausgeht.

Rare groove fans, take note of yet another gem from the good folks at P-VINE as they reissue Les DeMerle's iconic cover of 'A Day In The Life,' famously sampled in O.C.'s hip-hop classic 'Time's Up.' It's a laidback and jazzed up sound with deep cut rhythms, big horns and conversational sax leads that hit different. Alongside the jazz-funk gem comes 'Aquarius' with DeMerle's sharp drum breaks (which in the past have been sampled by Jurassic 5, De La Soul and DJ Shadow) ride beneath funky keys work and joyous horns that persuade you to get up and move. Pressed in very limited quantities, it's a vital addition to any hip-hop or rare groove set.

10 year anniversary edition of Kreng's massive »Works for Abattoir Férme 2007 - 2011”« 4 LPs worth of slow, skin crawling cinematic ambience made for the Belgian theatre group Abattoir Fermé.

It could hardly be a better time to again dive deep into Kreng and Abattoir Fermé's disturbingly beautiful underground worlds. Through 8 full- length vinyl sides we are transported through the most terrifying, shadow- filled, down-right bizarre moments of the subconscious. What could be the sound of your darkest dreams or most surreal fantasies gradually unfolds throughout the three and a half hour duration. Exactly this is what Abattoir Fermé specialises in, and Pepijn Caudron's scores perfectly reflect and accompanies both this theatricality as well as our own fears and desires in a masterful way.

Each extended side is crafted from an arsenal of samples, disintegrating vinyl and corroded tape, and Pepijn Caudron manipulates these sounds in a way that belies the sources. Rather than allow the sounds to emerge, they stay trapped beneath swathes of noise, tape delay and oppressive bass giving us a compositions that emerge like a cross between William Basinski, Jerry Goldsmith (circa Alien) and Henryk Górecki.’ »Works for Abattoir Fermé« is not for the faint of heart, but for the rest of us it might be just what the Doctor ordered...

DEVO’s Hardcore documents the group’s beginning as pre-punk outcasts in the fertile Akron, Ohio, underground rock scene. Spawned at the nearby college of Kent State, site of the infamous May 4 Massacre, DEVO formed as a conceptual art project armed with the radical philosophy of de-evolution. Brothers Mothersbaugh (Mark, Bob and Jim) and Brothers Casale (Jerry and Bob) along with drummer Alan Myers soon whipped up an otherworldly brand of “devolved blues” that could hold its own alongside the beatnik groove of 15-60-75 (a.k.a. The Numbers Band) or the primal rock poetry of The Bizarros. Recorded on various four-track machines and in tiny studios, basements and garages between 1974-1977, Hardcore reveals their strikingly clear vision: rock ’n’ roll stripped bare of its collective cool and jerked back into propaganda fit for post-modern man. It’s no surprise that these transmissions would soon catch the eye and ear of Brian Eno, who later produced their landmark 1978 debut album. Noisy synth, strangled guitar chops and a primitive rhythmic thud power the early DEVO sound. Threaded beneath it all are lyrical themes of post-McCarthy paranoia, middle-class ephemera and DEVO’s long-running topic of choice: sex, or lack thereof. Few moments in pop music history can match the grinding, pent-up energy of “Mongoloid” and the spastic bounce and sputter of “Jocko Homo” (two anthems presented in their earlier and superior versions here). Cult favorites like “Mechanical Man” and “Auto-Modown” make Volume 1 essential listening. Superior Viaduct and Booji Boy Records are proud to present DEVO’s Hardcore to a new generation of spuds, lovingly packaged with Moshe Brakha’s stunning cover photography. As David Bowie said in 1977, DEVO is indeed “the band of the future.”

NYC punk-chic, discodelic funk band Say She She is back with Cut & Rewind, their politically-charged, dancefloor-crushing third album. Led by the powerhouse vocal trio of Piya Malik, Sabrina Mileo Cunningham, and Nya Gazelle Brown, the group channels progenitors like Minnie Ripperton, Charles Stepney, Liquid Liquid, and Raw Silk to create a groove-forward, psychedelic soundscape of pulsing disco beats, heavenly whistle tones, and soaring three-part harmonies. There's a feeling of righteous rebellion simmering beneath these songs' body-moving exterior, though: "She Who Dares" is a call to fight against a near-future dystopia where women's rights have been decimated globally; "Disco Life" decries the racism and homophobia of Steve Dahl's 1979 "Disco Demolition Night," reclaiming the dancefloor as "a playing field where all are free." Cut & Rewind is protest music dressed up as a sweat-dripping, hip-shaking, mind-expanding good time.

Animistic Resonance marks a new stage for artist and electronic musician Leslie García, as it is her first album under her own name, following several releases as Microhm and her parallel work as founder of the contemporary art studio Interspecifics, where she has developed an extensive body of sonic projects presented in major museums and programs around the world. The album is the culmination of a profound and extended exploration of sound as language. It is also a statement against the classicism of long-form ambient pieces. Narratively, each track is conceived as a finely detailed work that functions as a condensed temporal fragment, each with its own individuality while simultaneously forming part of a broader universe.

The compositional language of the album draws on minimalist structures, deep listening strategies, and experimental approaches to electronic sound. Each track offers a meditation on repetition, density, and micro-variation, unfolding like a sonic landscape shaped by temporal tension and perceptual ambiguity. Animistic Resonance resists categorization, situating itself between ambient, noise, and abstract rhythm, while grounding its aesthetic in a Latin American sensibility that embraces technological poetics, affective depth, and critical imagination.

The album invites listeners to move beyond the surface and inhabit a world of vibrational and animistic temporalities. It offers a refuge in sound, a suspended space where calm can emerge. In the midst of contemporary turbulence, Animistic Resonance opens the door to imagining new ways of listening and feeling, demanding an embodied and visceral form of engagement.

Composition sound synthesis and programming by Leslie García. Composed between 2022—2024 in Mexico City.
Mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri at Black Knoll Studio, NY. Artwork by Daniel Castrejón.

Identified Patient returns to Dekmantel for a third time with his Reset EP. The future-facing four tracker is another mutant fusion of bass and techno with low-end power with cerebral sound designs.

Job Veerman debuted on the Dekmantel UFO Series in 2019, returned in 2020 and has lit up the festival several times with transportative sets that balance power with precision. Like his productions on the Nerve Collect label, he co-runs with Gamma Intel, they are leftfield explorations of genre and tempo that find strange sensuality in often abstract ideas. Once again here, the Dutchman draws on eclectic influences to craft music that sounds like no one else but remains anchored by magnetic rhythms.

Opener 'Light' kicks off with a fuzzy synth line that slithers between syncopated drums. Whispered vocals drift through the mix as lurching basslines swell and collapse beneath them. The groove disassembles and reassembles in waves, propelled forward by bursts of glitchy, off-kilter percussion that's unsteady yet seductive. 'Scales' is a slow, menacing descent into rhythmic darkness. It sounds both ancient and futuristic with ghoulish vocalisations and filtered synths flickering like a badly wired circuit. There's a rave tension lurking throughout, but always in the shadows.

'Internal Pace' drives on but rides fluid, wobbly bass while tightly looped hits build the pressure. Layers of static and subtle distortion add grit to this unrelenting heads-down roller. Finally, 'Return' is a kinetic, razor-edged ride where jungle breaks collide serpentine melodies. Ethereal female coos drift in and out, brushing against spat-out vocal fragments so that tension crackles throughout this hallucinogenic trip.

With Reset, Identified Patient reaffirms his status as a singular voice who twists sound into evocative new worlds.

Honour's debut album is a ligament stretching from Lagos to London and to New York, curling across the diaspora and brushing the darker hues of blues, hip-hop, free jazz, ambient, gospel with Christian mythology and Yoruba folklore. As cinematic as it is painterly, Alàáfíà is a meditation on themes of life, death and love that pulls inspiration from the unexpected poetic profundity of casual conversations, field recordings, literature, ephemera, or personal archives. The result is an impressionistic vision in Black and Blur that both exhausts and implicates language_substantiating a mythos proposed by Fred Moten that sublimates boundaries between everywhere and nowhere; history and the present; the individual and the universal. Alàáfíà delineates a gothic landscape cut by overdriven beats, swooping orchestral blasts, choral bursts and ear- splitting fuzz, where the fleshly and spiritual realms commune. Dedicated to Honour's late grandmother, the title track began to take form after their last embrace and remains steeped in her influence and spirit_a tape-saturated composition that starts in Lagos and ends in London's smoke-stained cityscape, the song's dream-like quality developed out of the artist's grief and PTSD coping with this loss. Beneath the stretched guitar drones and stuttering loops, their grandmother's shared faith bubbles to the surface. "When Angels Speak of Love," borrows its title from two works by Sun Ra and bell hooks, respectively. Sculpting echoes of praise music into disorienting spirals perforated with syrupy DJ Screw-inspired breaks and sharp splinters of melancholic guitar, "When Angels Speak of Love" engages a conceptual dialogue with the spirits of both late thinkers, folding them into Honour's pantheon of ancestral guides. The album's ninth track, "Giz Aard ($uckets)," is a dirge of regimented drums which anchor this somber melody as it whirls into a blizzard of heartache, uncertain if its consequence will be death or eternal joy. The album's sole lyrical offering, "Pistol Poem (Lead Belly)," begins with a darkly humorous bar, "He went thru hell and back/ came back/ 2 get the strap," that swells into a haunting allegory based on the life of Philip "Hot Sauce" Champion. A modern take on the Blues, Honour's lyrics reify the artist's status as a student of both literature and popular culture, crossbreeding the artist's clever wordplay with additional references to Richard Pryor, Robert Johnson, Kelly Rowland & Bryon Gysin. Setting core principles of hip-hop, R&B, jazz and gospel music to atemporal soundscapes and compositions, Honour crafts a record that marinates in its own knotty contradictions. The ghosts that sit on the artist's shoulders have never been more tangible than with this emotive debut.

»Downriver« unfolds like a dérive through obscured geographies, echoing the psychogeographic journeys of Iain Sinclair. Just as Sinclair’s writing blurs the tangible and the imagined, Sequences, the project of Antwerp-based artist Niels Geybels, drifts into spaces where memory and environment overlap. Single-take recordings stretch into slowly mutating drones, fractured textures, and ghostlike voices that seem to seep in from unseen thresholds. The atmosphere is one of decayed grandeur, evoking disused monuments, neglected warehouses, and corners of the landscape where centuries of history accumulate beneath the surface.

This is music shaped by wandering without a map: a patchwork of distortion, hidden detail, and abrupt rupture. The sense of time loosens, the everyday unravels, and new contours emerge out of drift and delay. Downriver situates itself between sound art and environmental music, drawing listeners into liminal zones where place becomes porous, haunted by what has been and what might yet be.

Written and recorded by Niels Geybels Mastered by Jacob Calland

First released on August 18, 2023, "Outline of Nature" started as an experiment in building a modular synthesizer system and ended up as a voltage controlled outpouring of love for the natural world. Sylvan-born and pastoral-powered, sap-blooded and lightning-charged, this album grew out of the damp florescent corners of the woods, each note and sound, a fractal extension of their seedling sounds. It was nurtured into being at The Twilight Research Centre, a studio facility situated on the border of Somerset and Dorset. During Covid lockdown 1.0, I spent the outdoor hours we were permitted, wandering through the centre's surroundings, in the green lanes, woodlands and corridors of the wilds with their wary and flickering inhabitants, beneath the distant eyes of the soaring buzzards and the hulking red kites. I didn't expect it, but it was in the quiet, ferociously vibrant dens of nature, that I found a deeply profound connection with the natural world. It once again made sense to feel as much a part of the woods as the trees were; I felt like a natural entity in its habitat again, not something I'd properly felt since running wild through the gullies, dells and fells of the Midlands as a child. And I became afflicted with a powerful urge to build strange electronic sound systems that were organic, chaotic, fractal and in some way reflective of the awesome natural systems that surround us and surround the centre. I plugged in the modular, and went searching for signs of life. Adding to this, just before the lockdowns, I stumbled across a three volume nature encyclopedia in a local charity shop, called "Outline of Nature in the British Isles" by Sir John Hammerton. The sub-heading reads "A Comprehensive Photo-Survey of the Varied Life of Field and Hedgerow, Moor and Mountain, River, Pond and Sea", and it's a stunning collection of grainy photographs, beautiful illustrations and wondrously poetic writing, some of which inspired track titles and of course, the album title. I also rekindled my love of Ladybird nature books such as the "What to Look for in Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter" series, "Birds and How They Live" and "Butterflies, Moths and Other Insects", rebuilding a small collection I had as a child and discovering numerous volumes new to me. Between the two literary sources, I had a rich well of imagery, writing and pastoral nostalgia to draw from; and coupled with the extended sessions of blissing out in my own heavily ecstatic awe descended on me in the sheer grandness of the wilderness, I set about enticing out of the woods an album of phosphorescent electrical music, abundant with comparatively microscopic, but persistent and wild life-forces.

180 gram pressing.

Producer, DJ, multi-instrumentalist and live performer Alek Lee returns with his second LP, an immersive instrumental journey shaped by his raw, smoky, guerrilla-style production. Cold Feet invites you deep into the Alek Lee universe, rich with swirling synths, layered percussion, Balearic guitar lines and dub-infused horns.

From the psychedelic, Sade like grooves of the title track and “Too Soon,” both steeped in cinematic mystique, to the sun drenched energy of “Pino Pino” and “The Right Thing,” which shimmer with Balearic disco flair, the album glides effortlessly across moods and tempos. A highlight arrives with the summer dub anthem “Was Was Was,” featuring long time collaborator and former Shame On Us bandmate Yovav Arzi on electric guitar.

The journey winds down with “Illusions,” a sultry, downtempo banger laced with an oriental twist, before dissolving into the final track “Cold Feet Desert”, a return to stillness, barefoot on white desert sand beneath a star strewn sky.

With a career spanning over two decades, Alek Lee has carved out a unique space in the global music scene. Known for his long, genre defying DJ sets and dynamic live performances, he moves fluidly between dub, house, and his own idiosyncratic productions. As a solo artist and through projects like Shame On Us and Project Runaway, Alek has played some of Europe’s most respected venues and festivals, including Sisyphos, Kater Blau, Glastonbury, Garbicz and Fusion. His releases have earned radio play from BBC6’s Iggy Pop and NTS’s David Holmes and featured on Peggy Gou’s Boiler Room and France’s legendary Radio Nova.

Now based in Athens, Alek continues to evolve his distinctive sound with Cold Feet, his most expansive statement yet.

Signals Aligned stands as a sonic testament to the intersection of science, spirituality, and the vast unknown. Inspired by pioneering theories on the nature of anomalous phenomena, viewing them not as extraterrestrial but as a complex, multidimensional enigma.

There’s a consistent theme of “discovery through distortion.” Truth is often obscured by layers of misinformation, disinformation, and misperception. The music plays with the concept of clarity and distortion, revealing hidden textures beneath shifting layers of sound.

The sound palette is vast and ethereal, incorporating elements of noise, shimmering synths, and organic textures. There’s a sense of both wonder and unease that mirrors theories on the strange and unexplainable.

The latest by Andrew Clinco's acid punk alias VR SEX takes its title from an architectural phrase but more importantly refers to the warped, wicked underworld the songs both chronicle and condemn. Donning the moniker Noel Skum - an acerbic anagram of Elon Musk - Clinco vents his scorn for and fascination with the seedy, surreal margins of low-life Los Angeles, doomed to dead ends of vanity, lust, and technology. Although initially launched as an outlet for "heavier sounds" beyond Clinco's duties in new wave fantasists Drab Majesty, the project has ripened into a compelling exercise in world building, weaving themes of gritty city neofuturist sleaze within a framework of driving, distorted guitars and cathode-blasted synths. Echoes of Chrome, Wire, Minimal Man, and Sisters Of Mercy ripple through the collection but ultimately Rough Dimension charts its own twisted vision of "our unforgiving reality." Written and demoed across two weeks alone in a Marseille flat using his prized 1980's Gibson "Invader" and a laptop, Clinco then took the tracks to Strange Weather studios in Brooklyn to record with Ben Greenberg (Uniform, The Men) who helmed 2019's debut, Human Traffic Jam. The results are notably ripping, refined, and riveting. Riffs in alternate tunings chug and churn over mid-tempo drums punctuated by spikes of sci-fi electronics while the vocals swagger and spit venom ("where we walk is also where we shit / but if we bark at our reflections are we hypocrites? / impulses bleed right into our seed / where hate culminates the apple rotted on the tree"). It's a bristling mix of the melodic and the macabre, absurdist observations of fast living and desperate measures, the clock of youth ticking towards midnight as dreams unravel in Babylon. VR SEX's specialty is making these cautionary tales of psychic decay and tainted love a thrill rather than a drag. There's a sunglasses at night glamor to Clinco's choruses and solos, a wit to his black leather judgements ("what is the answer / to cancerous people / walking in my line of sight?"). The music's milieu tends towards parasites and predators but its mood skews refreshingly accelerated and amused, cruising the strip with a cigarette, watching goths and limousines crawl in gridlock beneath digital billboards. The Rough Dimension may be a cesspool, but it's home.

Feel the Magic, the latest EP from DJ Paradiso released under the Tranceatlantyk label, is a radiant tribute to the golden era of Eurodance and early ’90s rave culture. The five-track collection bursts with high-octane rhythms, euphoric synths, and infectious melodies that transport listeners straight to the heart of a neon-lit dancefloor. From the opening track “MYB to the Beat,” with its punchy tempo and catchy vocal snippets, to the blissful tones of “Feels Like Heaven,” DJ Paradiso crafts an atmosphere brimming with nostalgia and joy. Each track is a carefully constructed homage to the spirit of carefree rave nights, rich with shimmering pads and driving beats.

The second half of the EP ventures deeper into the dancefloor’s hypnotic side. “Magic Shine” offers luminous arpeggios paired with an upbeat pulse, while “Underground” dives into moodier territory, layering darker grooves beneath an entrancing rhythm. Altogether, Feel the Magic balances retro homage with modern clarity, offering a feel-good yet dynamic journey through sounds that once defined a generation of ravers—and now, through DJ Paradiso, feel excitingly alive again.

LTD. CLEAR BLUE VINYL

New York painter and musician exploratory industrialist Tor Lundvall initially envisioned his 14th album, Beautiful Illusions, as an entirely instrumental affair, "inspired by memories of sitting in a church or cathedral watching the shifting sunlight through stained glass." Although he ultimately chose to wreath the majority of the tracks with hushed, poetic vocals, his original muse still resonates. These are certainly songs of shadowplay and vaulted skies, the quiet grandeur of dusk deepening on the horizon. Lundvall characterizes the lyrical subject matter, too, in ways both specific and surreal, exploring "the doubts, the anxieties and even the bleak fantasies the mind spirals into during moments of isolation, separation and distance." Tricks of the eye, mind, and ear, magnified by silence and the looming long winter. Shivering pulses and muted bass lines tread the twilight while icicle synths and wiry guitar map the melody until the voice enters, narrating oblique moods of essence and absence, tenderness and truth. Glimpses of dark humor flicker in the wordplay but the greater sonic landscape is one of falling leaves and failing light, small gestures rendered as revelation, cloaked in reverb and spatial fog. Lundvall's mastery of nuance and negative space continues to heighten, whispered brushstrokes of the invisible and the unsaid, what lies beneath and what lies beyond: "Behind the shields and false fronts is usually a sadness. The heartbreaking reflections of what might have been."

Brazilian Psychedelic Rock Artist Firefriend via Cardinal Fuzz and Little Cloud Records announce a first time vinyl pressing for the classic - “999 to 666 ts Street” Prepare to take the long way through the void — Brazilian sonic architects Firefriend present the searing “999 to 666 TS Street”, a full-length LP that bends time, bleeds color, and dives deeper into the cracked corridors of psychedelic rock. With roots tangled deep in the underground of São Paulo and their eyes forever fixed on the cosmic unknown, Firefriend has carved out a space uniquely their own — a distorted dreamscape where shoegaze meets fuzz, noise folds into melody, and every track is a doorway. “999 to 666 TS Street” is a concept record that navigates a haunted psychogeography: an address etched between realities, where spiritual unrest collides with dystopian daydreams.

A Journey Through Sound and Shadow Drenched in fuzzed-out guitars, whispered vocals, analog synths, and pulsing rhythms, this LP sees the trio — Yury Hermuche (guitar/vocals), Julia Grassetti (bass/vocals), and Cacau Bandeira (drums) — begin to forge the fearless vision they seek. From the opening surge to the final fractured lullaby, “999 to 666 TS Street” is both a destination and a transmission: a call to the wanderers, the outsiders, and the seekers. But Firefriend's mission isn’t just sonic — it’s political.

As proudly left-wing artists with an internationalist vision, the band channels the disillusionment and resistance of a generation watching the world teeter. Their music radiates both critique and hope, connecting the dystopia of late capitalism with a dream of liberation. Whether playing São Paulo basements or European festivals, Firefriend brings an urgent message beneath the haze: solidarity is louder than silence. "This album is a street you can't find on any map — it's the place your mind goes when you turn the lights off," says frontman Yury Hermuche. "It's noise, beauty, and a little bit of danger." "We wanted to build a record that feels like a fever dream on vinyl," adds bassist Julia Grassetti. "Something physical, something that glows in the dark." About Firefriend Known for their hypnotic live shows and cult international following, Firefriend has shared stages with underground legends and graced the grooves of multiple celebrated independent releases.

They’ve become essential listening for fans of Spacemen 3, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, and The Velvet Underground — yet remain wholly, defiantly themselves. “999 to 666 TS Street” marks the start and is another milestone in their prolific catalog, pushing the limits of psychedelic rock while remaining anchored in the beautifully bleak emotionalism that defines their sound. Beneath the distortion lies a worldview — anti-authoritarian, borderless, and defiantly alive.

Still Forms in Air is the debut album by Italian composer Francesca Marongiu under her own name. It draws inspiration from mid-1980s Japanese ambient music — Hiroshi Yoshimura, Satoshi Ashikawa, Takashi Kokubo — and, more subtly, from Italian experimental echoes rooted in both personal and cultural memory.

The album unfolds like suspended time, like architecture that quietly bears witness to the shifts that have shaped our cities and the ways we live in them. These tracks reflect an emotional and urban landscape, shaped by a gaze cast upon the mid-1980s and early ’90s — a time of subtle yet lasting changes in the form and meaning of shared space. That period marked a delicate turning point, later described as les années d’hiver: the slow onset of fragmentation beneath a surface of creative openness.

Still Forms in Air doesn’t dwell in nostalgia (though it draws from it), but reimagines that duality through a contemporary lens. Its sound blends memory and presence, layering ambient textures with a refined spatial sensitivity. It is a dialogue across decades — clear-eyed, affectionate, and quietly luminous.

Written, arranged and recorded by Francesca Marongiu in Rome and Pistoia between May 2024 and March 2025.
Francesca Marongiu: electronics, synthesizers, vocals, sound objects.
Antonio Gallucci: wind arrangements on track 1 and 4, bass and sound objects on track 3, drums on track 3 and 4.
Mixed by Francesca Marongiu and Antonio Gallucci. Mastered by Antonio Gallucci at Mercurial Mastering in Pistoia. Artist photo by Elisabetta Scarpini. Artwork by Daniel Castrejón.

Pyrex’s post-apocalyptic punk slithers out of the melting pot that is New York City, nodding to influences ranging from early thrash to Crass Records post-punk and the city’s own storied hardcore lineage. Rooted in the classic acid-damaged sound of Chrome, Pyrex takes notes from disparate influences like Poison Idea, Needles and Crazy Spirit, delivering a rolling boil of punk nihilism with hints of psychedelia simmering beneath. Their latest, Slugman, is four tracks of irate punk fury packed into a taut eight minutes—all toxic sludge and raw nerve spilling in abundance. It’s nasty, unhinged and volatile but won’t leave your turntable for a long while. Approach with caution.

Vines, the solo project of New York-based multi-instrumentalist and composer Cassie Wieland, offers a window into her inner world through expansive swaths of sound. She pieces together a celestial mix of synths, percussion, strings, and vocoded voice, making music that is at once deeply personal and cinematic in scope. This diaristic approach first took shape with her 2023 EP Birthday Party, and is crystallized on her debut LP, I’ll be here. With the sweeping and vulnerable I’ll be here, Vines arrives fully formed as an artist who crafts deeply resonant and open music–the kind that invites listeners in to listen, reflect, and share in the journey of learning through living.

“It was through making music that I was able to meet myself,” Wieland said. “Anything I’m going through or feeling is something that somebody else out there can relate to, and that’s really special to me.”

I’ll be here is both a culmination of years spent creating gossamer soundscapes and an opening to a new journey for Wieland as an artist. The album grew out of her years as a composer and songwriter, and builds on the language she developed on Birthday Party, which transformed the tumultuous feelings of the passing of time into minimalist meditations. It was just a start, though–a prologue, a development of the kind of language and ideas she wanted to express. With I’ll be here, she digs deeper and writes music that feels more sprawling, further solidifying her singular voice.

Wieland’s musical composition process is similar to journaling, lending itself to the music’s honesty. When she writes, she makes room for all the ideas she has; in these sessions, there are no wrong ideas, and she allows the music to be attuned to the experiences she’s having at the time. With I’ll be here, Wieland zeroes in on themes of anxiety, loneliness, navigating human connection, and having to grow up from a young age, ultimately coming to a place of acceptance. And though it began as a journal written in solitude, her collaborators shape the music with her.

Working with friends, in fact, was a crucial part of bringing the record to life. “Everything that was supposed to happen came together so easily because of the people involved,” Wieland said. I’ll be here was co-produced and recorded with Wieland’s longtime collaborator Mike Tierney, a four time Grammy-nominated engineer who has worked with artists across the contemporary classical and experimental scene like minimalist pioneer Steve Reich, LA’s preeminent classical ensemble Wild Up, and various bands on Bang on a Can’s Cantaloupe Music label. Percussionist and composer Adam Holmes and violinist Adrianne Munden-Dixon are two other longtime collaborators who are frequent fixtures of her live show. Holmes plays synths, drums, and banjo; in live settings, his kit is loaded with elements of the songs that are then triggered by MIDI, making the music an interactive, evolving experience. The album’s gentle, filamented edges are colored by Munden-Dixon, whose poignant string melodies elevate Wieland’s introspective compositions, as well as cellist Helen Newby, saxophonists Julian Velasco and Jordan Lulloff, and bassist Pat Swoboda.

Wieland takes an economic approach to writing music, building the swirling and immersive landscapes of Vines through short melodies, lyrics, and phrases. As each element layers and interweaves, they grow into sprawling webs of ghostly sound. Prior to Vines, Wieland composed pieces for other people to play using a minimalist’s sensibility, writing slowly unfolding melodies for instruments like violin and saxophone. In recent years, she sharpened her solo style across a variety of singles and covers which have garnered significant attention on social media for their emotional resonance (“being loved isn't the same as being understood” in particular went massively viral on TikTok in 2024). Birthday Party, her debut as Vines, brought her writing to a much more intimate space, centering on her vocoded voice cloaked in feathery reverb. A series of recent singles, meanwhile, including “I am my home,” showcase the way that Wieland’s music is born from the story of her innermost feelings, extending far beyond just the self.

Though Wieland’s music often deals with dark themes, it unfolds with tender melancholy, the kind that feels like a warm embrace. On “Evicted,” Wieland wonders if she’s getting sick or moving on, if she’s lost or found. Her vocals expand with each lyrical repetition, as the instrumentals slowly encircle and the music’s rhythm grows and bursts into a heart-wrenching, yet radiant wave reminiscent of post-rock bands like Explosions in the Sky. “Tired” follows a similar trajectory, building from a looping, melancholy rhythm and floating lyrics into a solemn resignation. Elsewhere, Wieland takes a more ruminative approach: “Omw” begins with twinkling piano and melancholy strings that gradually transform into an undulating mass. It is a song born out of the warm feeling of reminiscence, the slight return of hope that comes with nostalgia.

With any searching journey, there is also a point of understanding. The title track closes the album with the freedom of acceptance. A marching drum beats steadily beneath Wieland’s open vocals, moving forward, ever onward as it flies into the ether. In Wieland’s delicately textured music, there is room to come into yourself, and learn to love whomever that is. I’ll be here is a special space that can be all your own, one in which to feel what needs to be felt. “This is music for your story,” Wieland said. “I want you to use it how you need it.”

Following on from his highly acclaimed debut Len Parrott"s Memorial Lift, Baxter proves that this was no fluke. His 2nd album Floor Show sounds like it was recorded in St Paul"s Cathedral, with vocals added in the whispering gallery. Narratively, it"s seems to be about a disintegrating relationship, although this is no confession booth moment. Guitars float like ectoplasm, Wurlitzer"s spin beneath mirror balls, summoning the presence of spectral beings, swaying to luxurious, narcotic music that predates trip-hop by a good sixty years. Stand-out tracks include the single "Lisa Said", "Cocaine Man" and the wonderful "Francesca"s Party". The album was produced by Baxter, Nick Terry and mixed by Craig Silvey (The Coral, Magic Numbers) in West London in the winter of 2004 / 2005. The band are Damon Reece on drums and Mike Mooney on the electric guitar- both former members of Spiritualized.