Suche:black point

Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.

If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.

List of Demands, Damon Locks" first foray into creating an entire album from spoken and text-based work, finds the Chicago-based musician and educator collecting cultural abstractions and reorganizing them into a firm truth. The album lays out a vision of Black liberation and transmits it outward as a song cycle of bite-sized MF DOOM-meets-Nikki Giovanni rhythm experiments. The sample-based constructions are steeped in a lifetime of not only keen cultural observation, but direct communal participation in the culture. Locks" decades-long resume connects the dots between experimental improvisation, sample based hip hop, punk, and poetry - each done at the highest level and with a list of collaborators that could spin the head of even the most jaded listener. And that seems to be the point. To jump-start the entire personality spectrum into action. Ecstatic positivity examined via his nuanced grasp of reality, all working toward that ever-evasive concept of what could be.

Feeling the deep and the hi simultaneously. Not craving for the extreme - finding balance instead. Indifference.
The word reflects what I often felt in recent times. Not just a feeling but a desire for things less pointed. It seems to be a general zeitgeist phenomenon but as I am part of the electronic music scene, I reflect a lot
about what is happening within this genre. There has been an urge for the either really hard, driving, fast and aggressive, or the extreme opposite.
Catchy vocals with a pop music feel, very direct and relatable melodies, soft grooves, piano chords. Either way - it feels like it has to be very distinctive - aggressive or soft - as long as it is extreme. It seems to be a moment in time where in whatever you do - it HAS to be in the face. All of this is fine of course - but never was my nature or personality. There is a reason why I chose to the adjective "Recondite" as an artist name because I could identify with the meaning of it. "hidden, obscure, not in the obvious”.
“Indifferent” is opposing this Zeitgeist and is representing driving techno with minimalistic melodic atmospheres, deep, haunting vibes, reserved yet strong and decisive within its own language, floating between melancholic desperation and hopefulness - music that lives right in between the hard and the soft... the aggressive and the neat... not black or white.

Black Truffle is thrilled to begin 2025 with a rare solo release from Konrad Sprenger, alias of elusive Berlin composer-producer-instrument builder Jörg Hiller. A prolific collaborator, Sprenger has worked extensively with icons of American minimalism such as Ellen Fullman (with whom her recorded the gloriously eccentric song album Ort) and Arnold Dreyblatt (as a core member of the Orchestra of Excited Strings since 2009), as well as releasing their music on his impeccably curated label, Choose. As an instrument builder and installation artist, he has overseen the creation of a computer-controlled multi-channel electric guitar and, with Phillip Sollmann, a modular pipe organ system designed to be reconfigured from space to space.

In much of Hiller’s work, a scientific approach to acoustic phenomena co-exists with a pop sensibility and a sly sense of humour. Nowhere is this unique combination more in evidence than in his slim body of solo work, beginning with the startling diversity of instrumentation and compositional approaches heard on the short pieces of Miniaturen (2006) and Versprochen (2009), followed by the more single-minded exploration of the computer-controlled electric guitar on Stack Music (2017). Set brings together these various strands of Sprenger’s work into a wildly infectious, playful epic, performed by the composer and the mysterious Ensemble Risonanze Moderne. On the LP’s second side, we are also treated to a guest appearance from longtime collaborator Oren Ambarchi, on whose recent solo releases Simian Angel and Shebang Sprenger has made key production contributions. Ambarchi’s signature stuttering, swirling harmonics weave through a sparkling assemblage of electric guitars, acoustic instruments, percussion and electronics—though, given the deft use that much of Sprenger’s recent production work makes of midi-controlled sampled instrumentation, it’s anyone’s guess where the acoustic ends and the digital begins here.

As soon as the needle drops on the first side, we are inside a musical world that Set will inhabit for its 33 minutes: sparkling guitar harmonics and palm-muted notes, tuned percussion, crisp electronic drum hits, flashes of horns, and untraceable bursts of synthetic sound are arranged into a skittering polyrhythmic framework calling up the detail-rich percussive constructions of contemporary techno filtered through the pointillism of the post-serialist European avant-garde. Behind this shifting mist of particulate sound, winds and strings sound out held chords, reminiscent of Arthur Russell’s Tower of Meaning in their epic yet seemingly aimless drift. The relationship between elements is mysterious, appearing both carefully considered and almost random. Though never straying too far from where it begins, as the piece moves along, it spotlights increasingly bizarre instrument choices (shakuhachi and steel drums, anyone?) as well as momentary liftoffs into motorik propulsion. Set is a fascinating, mercurial thing: at once propulsive and fragmented, essentially static in form yet ever-changing in detail, unabashedly egghead in its construction yet sure to get the feet tapping.

Over 19 tracks, Wayfaring Strangers: Cosmic American Music mines gold from dollar bin country-rock detritus to reconstruct events as seen from the genre's wild west - Americana's vast private press substructure. As progenitor and contemptuous poster boy for the music that came to be Cosmic American, Gram Parsons found himself mired in a recording career spent mostly in scouting the perimeters of chart success. "He hated country-rock," Parsons collaborator Emmylou Harris would later reflect. "He thought that bands like the Eagles were pretty much missing the point." Parsons had been orbiting the idea of Cosmic American Music for some time. In 1968 he'd parted ways with the Byrds and was looking to take air with a new project. "It's basically a Southern soul group playing country and gospel-oriented music with a steel guitar" he told Melody Maker, on the subject of The Flying Burrito Brothers. So it was that when A&M's Burrito Brothers debut The Gilded Palace of Sin made it to shelves in February of 1969, early adherents to the Cosmic American gospel were already echoing its message from areas flanking Gram Parsons' Southern California hills and canyons. There was F.J. McMahon in coastal Santa Barbara, Mistress Mary further inland in Hacienda Heights, and Plain Jane of Albuquerque, New Mexico, each responding by committing their own private readings to tape before day one of the 1970s. Parsons himself might've disdained them, had he even been aware of such minor ripples, shimmering at the edges of his desert oasis. But these were true believers all the same, given over fully to his roots music concept, each filling vinyl grooves with non-rock instrumentation like fiddle, banjo, and pedal steel guitar, the last undoubtedly Cosmic American Music's most distinguishing stringed signifier. Only too predictably, big labels did the grunt work of confining and defining the movement, as ABC, United Artists, RCA, and more played catch-up with Asylum's raptor rock juggernaut, via backwoods crossover also-rans with names like Gladstone, American Flyer, and Silverado. Twang reigned, the shitkickers kicked shit, and the vaguely western-sounding guitar records piled up. Country-rock became "the dominant American rock style of the 1970s," as Peter Doggett's comprehensive Are You Ready for the Country put it much later. Wayfaring Strangers: Cosmic American Music picks up and dusts off golden ingots from the dollar-bin detritus of that domination, to reconstruct events as seen from the genre's real Wild West-America's one-off private press label substructure.

Girl With No Face: Das vierte Album von Allie X, Girl With No Face, ist eine gewagte Ausgrabung ihrer Identität. Eine wahnsinnige Reise in den Kopf
einer Künstlerin, die gerade drei Jahre in der Isolation verbracht hat und jeden Input verweigert hat, während sie zum ersten Mal in ihrer Karriere die
alleinige Produzentin, Autorin und kreative Stimme wurde. Inspiriert von der Technologie und dem Hedonismus der New-Wave-Szene der frühen
80er Jahre, sind die analog angehauchten Songs des Albums eine Reihe von krassen Widersprüchen - retro im Gefühl, aber ultramodern in der
Thematik, pointiert, unvorhersehbar und doch tanzbar, zugänglich und doch herrlich bedrohlich. Kurz gesagt, Girl with No Face ist völlig untypisch fü
die hypergetunten, automatisierten Formen, die den heutigen Alt-Pop dominieren.
Durchdrungen vom britischen Experimentalismus der frühen 80er Jahre, mit Anklängen an The Human League und New Order, ist das Album ein
deutlicher Schritt weg vom 2020er introspektivem und sparsamen "Cape God" - so viel schneller und bedrohlicher.

Will probably ship earlier than the 14th. Up until Raising Hell, the rap juggernaut we know as Run-DMC was still in its building and breaking-down- doors phase. In 1986 that changed, and in a dramatic way. With their third long-player, the group had reached the mountaintop. It was THE record that proved hip-hop wasn't a fad. Raising Hell marked an important and significant new era for the group. Leaving producer Larry Smith for up-and- coming sonic innovator Rick Rubin (still co-produced by Run's brother Russell Simmons), they began to fully transition not only their own sound, but the sound of the entire genre. Less live playing - with some exceptions - and a slicker, tighter sonic attack. Musical aesthetics aside, though, at their core they stayed true to the essence of hip-hop: two turntables and a microphone, or two. It's impossible to talk about the album without its worldwide smash, 'Walk This Way,' which hit #4 on the Billboard pop charts and saw the group digging in the rock crates to summon Aerosmith in the flesh, combining Steven Tyler's and Joe Perry's musicianship with the group's own take on the '70s classic. The song's video cemented Run-DMC as legit MTV idols, and both groups rode its wave to new heights. Beyond 'Walk This Way,' the platter is full to the hilt with undeniable classic singles: 'You Be Illin''; 'It's Tricky'; 'Peter Piper' and the fashion-world shifting 'My Adidas.' Each song was new proof that Run-DMC's sound was indeed new, but still familiar, and full of the energy, charisma and innovation that drew fans to their first two LPs. Aside from the singles, the reason the album stands up so well is the fact that there is virtually no filler. 'Proud To Be Black' remains a pioneering and underrated cut when people talk about 'conscious' hip-hop. And to make sure they never lost the streets that gave them their start, 'Hit It Run,' 'Son Of Byford,' 'Is It Live' and 'Perfection' all bring it back to the group's early days in the park. Besides the triple platinum status the album achieved, it was more than just a pop smash. It signaled a new era for rap music, and it was

the no-turning- back point for the entire genre. This was the beginning of what we now call the Golden Era, and it still sounds as fresh today as it did three decades ago.

"This is the time that we, who have benefitted from the Last Poets shouldbe able to say, 'it's the Last Poets. It's them we should be honouring, because we did not honour them for so many years_"

KRS One wasn't just addressing the hip hop fraternity when he uttered
those words by way of introducing the video for Invocation - a poem
written thirty years ago, around the time of the Last Poets' last significant comeback. He was speaking to everyone who's been affected by the word, sound and power issuing from the most revolutionary poetry ever witnessed, and that the Last Poets had introduced to the world outside of Harlem at the dawn of the seventies.

In 2018 the two remaining Last Poets, Abiodun Oyewole and Umar Bin
Hassan, embarked on another memorable return with an album -
Understand What Black Is - that earned favourable comparison with theirseminal works of the past, whilst showcasing their undimmed passion andlyrical brilliance in an entirely new setting - that of reggae music. Trackslike Rain Of Terror ("America is a terrorist") and How Many Bullets demonstrated that they'd lost none of their fire or anger, and their essential raison d'etre remained the same.

"The Last Poets' mission was to pull the people out of the rubble o f their lives," wrote their biographer Kim Green. "They knew, deep down that poetry could save the people - that if black people could see and hear themselves and their struggles through the spoken word, they would be moved to change."

Several years later and the follow-up is now with us. The project started when Tony Allen, the Nigerian master drummer whose unique polyrhythms had driven much of Fela Kuti's best work, dropped by Prince Fatty's Brighton studio and laid down a selection of drum patterns to die for. That was back in 2019, but then the pandemic struck. Once it had passed, the label booked a studio in Brooklyn, where the two Poets voiced four tracks apiece and breathed fresh energy, fire and outrage into some of the most enduring landmarks of their career. Abiodun, who was one of the original Last Poets who'd gathered in East Harlem's Mount Morris Park to celebrate Malcolm X's birthday in May 1968, chose four poems that first appeared on the group's 1970 debut album, called simply The Last Poets. He'd written When The Revolution Comes aged twenty, whilst living in Jamaica, Queens. "We were getting ready for a revolution," he told Green. "There wasn't any question about whether there was going to be one or not. The truth was many of us still saw ourselves as "niggers" and slaves. This was a mindset that had to change if there was ever to be Black Power." He and writer Amiri Baraka were deep in conversation one day when Baraka became distracted by a pretty girl walking by. "You're a gash man," Abiodun told him. The poem inspired by that incident, Gash Man, is revisited on the new album, and exposes the heartless nature of sexual acts shorn of intimacy or affection. "Instead of the vagina being the entrance to heaven," he says, "it too often becomes a gash, an injury, a wound_" Two Little Boys meanwhile, was inspired after seeing two young boys aged around 11 or 12 "stuffing chicken and cornbread down their tasteless mouths, trying to revive shrinking lungs and a wasted mind." They'd walked into Sylvia's soul food restaurant in Harlem, ordered big meals, then bolted them down and run out the door. No one chased after them, knowing that they probably hadn't eaten in days. Fifty years later and children are still going hungry in major cities across America and elsewhere. Abiodun's poem hasn't lost any relevance at all, and neither has New York, New York, The Big Apple. "Although this was written in 1968, New York hasn't changed a bit," he admits, except "today, people just mistake her sickness for fashion." Umar is originally from Akron, Ohio, but had arrived in Harlem in early 1969 after seeing Abiodun and the other Last Poets at a Black Arts Festival in Cleveland. That's where he first witnessed what Amiri Baraka once called "the rhythmic animation of word, poem, image as word- music" - a creative force that redefined the concept of performance poetry and stripped it bare until it became a howl of rage, hurt and anger, saved from destruction by mockery and love for humanity. When Umar's father, who was a musician, was jailed for armed robbery he took to the streets from an early age where he shined shoes and raised whatever money he could to help feed his eight brothers and sisters. By the time he saw the Last Poets he'd joined the Black United Front and was ready to join the struggle. Once in Harlem, Abiodun asked him what he'd learnt in the few weeks since he'd got there. "Niggers are scared of revolution," Umar replied. "Write it down" urged Abiodun. That poem still gives off searing heat more than fifty years later. In Umar's own words, "it became a prayer, a call to arms, a spiritual pond to bathe and cleanse in because niggers are not just vile and disgusting and shiftless. Niggers are human beings lost in someone else's system of values and morals." And there you have it. It's not just race or religion that hold us back, but an economic system that keeps millions in poverty and living in fear - a system born from political choice and that's now become so entrenched, so bloated on its own success that it's put mankind in mortal danger. It was many black people's acceptance of the status quo that inspired Just Because, which like Niggers Are Scared Of Revolution, was included on that seminal first album. Along with their revolutionary rhetoric, it was the Last Poets' use of the "n word" that proved so shocking, but it would be wrong to suggest that they reclaimed it, since it never belonged to black people in the first place. There's never any hiding place when it comes to the Last Poets. They use words like weapons, and that force all who listen to decide who they are and where they stand. Umar's two remaining tracks find him revisiting poems first unleashed on the Poets' second album This Is Madness! Abiodun had left for North Carolina by then where he became more deeply enmeshed in revolutionary activities and spent almost four years in jail for armed robbery after attempting to seize funds related to the Klu Klux Klan. Meanwhile, the 21 year old Umar was squatting in Brooklyn and had developed close ties with the Dar-ul Islam Movement. A longing for purity and time-honoured spiritual values underpins Related to What, whilst This Is Madness is a call for freedom "by any means necessary," and that paints a feverish landscape peopled by prominent black leaders but that quickly descends into chaos. "All my dreams have been turned into psychedelic nightmares," he wails, over a groove now powered by Tony Allen's ferocious drumming. Those sessions lasted just two days, and we can only imagine the atmosphere in that room as the hip hop godfathers exchanged the conga drums of Harlem for the explosive sounds of authentic Afrobeat. Once they'd finished, the recordings and momentum returned to Prince Fatty's studio, since relocated from Brighton to SE London. This was stage three of the project, and who better to fill out the rhythm tracks than two key musicians from Seun Anikulapo Kuti's band Egypt 80? Enter guitarist Akinola Adio Oyebola and bassist Kunle Justice, who upon hearing Allen's trademark grooves exclaimed, "oh, the Father_ we are home!" Such joy and enthusiasm resulted in the perfect fusion of Nigerian Afrobeat and revolutionary poetry, but the vision for the album wasn't yet complete. He wanted to create a new kind of soundscape - one that reunited the Poets with the progressive jazz movement they'd once shared with musicians like Sun Ra and Pharoah Sanders. It was at that point they recruited exciting jazz talents based in the UK like Joe Armon Jones from Mercury Prize winners Ezra Collective, also widely acclaimed producer/remixer and keyboard player Kaidi Tatham, who's been likened to Herbie Hancock, and British jazz legend Courtney Pine, whose genius on the saxophone and influence on the UK's now vibrant jazz scene is beyond question. The instrumental tracks on Africanism are in many ways as revelatory and exciting as the Last Poets' own. It's important to remember that the kaleidoscope of styles and influences we're presented with here aren't the result of sampling but were played "live" by musicians responding to sounds made by other musicians. That's where the magic comes from, aided by Prince Fatty's peerless mixing which allows us to hear everything with such clarity. Music fans today have grown accustomed to listening to all kinds of different genres. Their tastes have never been so broad or all- encompassing, and so the music on this new Last Poets' album is as groundbreaking as their lyrics, and perfectly suited to the era that we're now living in. John Masouri

The Fluid are arguably the great unsung band from the fertile underground rock scene of the late '80s and early '90s. The Denver five-piece - John Robinson (vocals), James Clower (guitar), Matt Bischoff (bass), Garrett Shavlik (drums), and the dear departed Ricky Kulwicki (guitar) - fused the fire of '80s hardcore with crunching Detroit protopunk, '60s garage rock, and '70s rock swagger. Think MC5, Faces, '70s Stones, all cranked up and really high on Sex Pistols and Black Flag singles. Rising from the ashes of early-'80s Denver bands Frantix (whose "My Dad's a Fuckin' Alcoholic" is a true gem of American punk) and White Trash, The Fluid were the first non-Seattle band to sign to Sub Pop, and Clear Black Paper was the second full-length album the label ever released. The label honchos were fans of Frantix, and happily got involved with The Fluid when the opportunity arose via the label's European licensing partner, Glitterhouse. Witnessing The Fluid's dominant live presence helped - a particularly fiery early show at Seattle's Central Tavern featured The Fluid, Mudhoney, Mother Love Bone, and Soundgarden all trying to outdo one another on stage. The band fit right in on Sub Pop's nascent roster of acts who, wherever they stood on the spectrum of punk/rock/metal, shared a commitment to thunderous riffs and explosive live shows. Legendary for their ferocious stage presence, The Fluid toured all over the US and Europe, holding their own and then some on bills with Mudhoney, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Dinosaur Jr., and other powerhouses of the era. From 1986 to 1993, The Fluid put out four albums and a number of EPs and singles, including a split 7" with Nirvana in 1991, before doing one album for a major label and promptly disbanding. Yet, while their partners-in-crime bulldozed into the mainstream, The Fluid remained something of a cult band, their audience confined to those who got hip during the band's existence, and crate diggers who nabbed original vinyl or CDs, which had quickly become rarities after selling through their original runs. Why? Record industry machinations? The fickle finger of pop culture? Being from Denver, not Seattle? Who the hell knows_ and who cares! The point is the band ripped, and the world deserves to hear them again. The Fluid took influences they shared with their contemporaries and ran in their own direction, focused on ass-shaking grooves more than misanthropic sludge. Rock anthems like "Cold Outside" sit alongside Stooge-oid rhythmic poundings ("Black Glove"), bluesy romps ("Leave It"), the occasional grungy dirge ("Wasted Time"), and raw punk bangers ("Is It Day I'm Seeing?" from the seminal 1988 Sub Pop 200 compilation). The band wasn't shy about their inspiration, either: scattered through their catalog are covers of The Troggs, The Rolling Stones, MC5, Iggy Pop and James Williamson, and Rare Earth. The Fluid stand out as champions of a feral, urgent, exuberant approach to rock 'n roll. As it turns out, that wasn't a recipe for stardom in the era of hyper-slick pop, boomer dinosaurs crying tears in heaven, and hair-metal power-ballads. But someone had to do it. To set things right, Sub Pop, The Fluid, and producer Jack Endino (Nirvana, Soundgarden, High on Fire, Mudhoney) teamed up to refresh and reissue The Fluid's entire indie-label catalog: their 1986 debut, Punch N Judy; 1988's Clear Black Paper; 1989's Roadmouth; the 1990 Glue EP (produced by Butch Vig, of Nevermind fame); and a treasure trove of rarities and previously unreleased material. All the music has been remastered from original tapes by Endino and JJ Golden, and the bulk of it has been meticulously remixed by Endino and the band, righting some sonic quirks that diminished the impact of the original records. Now, with their definitive material sounding better than ever, it's high time The Fluid get their due.

The Fluid are arguably the great unsung band from the fertile underground rock scene of the late '80s and early '90s. The Denver five-piece - John Robinson (vocals), James Clower (guitar), Matt Bischoff (bass), Garrett Shavlik (drums), and the dear departed Ricky Kulwicki (guitar) - fused the fire of '80s hardcore with crunching Detroit protopunk, '60s garage rock, and '70s rock swagger. Think MC5, Faces, '70s Stones, all cranked up and really high on Sex Pistols and Black Flag singles. Rising from the ashes of early-'80s Denver bands Frantix (whose "My Dad's a Fuckin' Alcoholic" is a true gem of American punk) and White Trash, The Fluid were the first non-Seattle band to sign to Sub Pop, and Clear Black Paper was the second full-length album the label ever released. The label honchos were fans of Frantix, and happily got involved with The Fluid when the opportunity arose via the label's European licensing partner, Glitterhouse. Witnessing The Fluid's dominant live presence helped - a particularly fiery early show at Seattle's Central Tavern featured The Fluid, Mudhoney, Mother Love Bone, and Soundgarden all trying to outdo one another on stage. The band fit right in on Sub Pop's nascent roster of acts who, wherever they stood on the spectrum of punk/rock/metal, shared a commitment to thunderous riffs and explosive live shows. Legendary for their ferocious stage presence, The Fluid toured all over the US and Europe, holding their own and then some on bills with Mudhoney, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Dinosaur Jr., and other powerhouses of the era. From 1986 to 1993, The Fluid put out four albums and a number of EPs and singles, including a split 7" with Nirvana in 1991, before doing one album for a major label and promptly disbanding. Yet, while their partners-in-crime bulldozed into the mainstream, The Fluid remained something of a cult band, their audience confined to those who got hip during the band's existence, and crate diggers who nabbed original vinyl or CDs, which had quickly become rarities after selling through their original runs. Why? Record industry machinations? The fickle finger of pop culture? Being from Denver, not Seattle? Who the hell knows_ and who cares! The point is the band ripped, and the world deserves to hear them again. The Fluid took influences they shared with their contemporaries and ran in their own direction, focused on ass-shaking grooves more than misanthropic sludge. Rock anthems like "Cold Outside" sit alongside Stooge-oid rhythmic poundings ("Black Glove"), bluesy romps ("Leave It"), the occasional grungy dirge ("Wasted Time"), and raw punk bangers ("Is It Day I'm Seeing?" from the seminal 1988 Sub Pop 200 compilation). The band wasn't shy about their inspiration, either: scattered through their catalog are covers of The Troggs, The Rolling Stones, MC5, Iggy Pop and James Williamson, and Rare Earth. The Fluid stand out as champions of a feral, urgent, exuberant approach to rock 'n roll. As it turns out, that wasn't a recipe for stardom in the era of hyper-slick pop, boomer dinosaurs crying tears in heaven, and hair-metal power-ballads. But someone had to do it. To set things right, Sub Pop, The Fluid, and producer Jack Endino (Nirvana, Soundgarden, High on Fire, Mudhoney) teamed up to refresh and reissue The Fluid's entire indie-label catalog: their 1986 debut, Punch N Judy; 1988's Clear Black Paper; 1989's Roadmouth; the 1990 Glue EP (produced by Butch Vig, of Nevermind fame); and a treasure trove of rarities and previously unreleased material. All the music has been remastered from original tapes by Endino and JJ Golden, and the bulk of it has been meticulously remixed by Endino and the band, righting some sonic quirks that diminished the impact of the original records. Now, with their definitive material sounding better than ever, it's high time The Fluid get their due.

The Fluid are arguably the great unsung band from the fertile underground rock scene of the late '80s and early '90s. The Denver five-piece - John Robinson (vocals), James Clower (guitar), Matt Bischoff (bass), Garrett Shavlik (drums), and the dear departed Ricky Kulwicki (guitar) - fused the fire of '80s hardcore with crunching Detroit protopunk, '60s garage rock, and '70s rock swagger. Think MC5, Faces, '70s Stones, all cranked up and really high on Sex Pistols and Black Flag singles. Rising from the ashes of early-'80s Denver bands Frantix (whose "My Dad's a Fuckin' Alcoholic" is a true gem of American punk) and White Trash, The Fluid were the first non-Seattle band to sign to Sub Pop, and Clear Black Paper was the second full-length album the label ever released. The label honchos were fans of Frantix, and happily got involved with The Fluid when the opportunity arose via the label's European licensing partner, Glitterhouse. Witnessing The Fluid's dominant live presence helped - a particularly fiery early show at Seattle's Central Tavern featured The Fluid, Mudhoney, Mother Love Bone, and Soundgarden all trying to outdo one another on stage. The band fit right in on Sub Pop's nascent roster of acts who, wherever they stood on the spectrum of punk/rock/metal, shared a commitment to thunderous riffs and explosive live shows. Legendary for their ferocious stage presence, The Fluid toured all over the US and Europe, holding their own and then some on bills with Mudhoney, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Dinosaur Jr., and other powerhouses of the era. From 1986 to 1993, The Fluid put out four albums and a number of EPs and singles, including a split 7" with Nirvana in 1991, before doing one album for a major label and promptly disbanding. Yet, while their partners-in-crime bulldozed into the mainstream, The Fluid remained something of a cult band, their audience confined to those who got hip during the band's existence, and crate diggers who nabbed original vinyl or CDs, which had quickly become rarities after selling through their original runs. Why? Record industry machinations? The fickle finger of pop culture? Being from Denver, not Seattle? Who the hell knows_ and who cares! The point is the band ripped, and the world deserves to hear them again. The Fluid took influences they shared with their contemporaries and ran in their own direction, focused on ass-shaking grooves more than misanthropic sludge. Rock anthems like "Cold Outside" sit alongside Stooge-oid rhythmic poundings ("Black Glove"), bluesy romps ("Leave It"), the occasional grungy dirge ("Wasted Time"), and raw punk bangers ("Is It Day I'm Seeing?" from the seminal 1988 Sub Pop 200 compilation). The band wasn't shy about their inspiration, either: scattered through their catalog are covers of The Troggs, The Rolling Stones, MC5, Iggy Pop and James Williamson, and Rare Earth. The Fluid stand out as champions of a feral, urgent, exuberant approach to rock 'n roll. As it turns out, that wasn't a recipe for stardom in the era of hyper-slick pop, boomer dinosaurs crying tears in heaven, and hair-metal power-ballads. But someone had to do it. To set things right, Sub Pop, The Fluid, and producer Jack Endino (Nirvana, Soundgarden, High on Fire, Mudhoney) teamed up to refresh and reissue The Fluid's entire indie-label catalog: their 1986 debut, Punch N Judy; 1988's Clear Black Paper; 1989's Roadmouth; the 1990 Glue EP (produced by Butch Vig, of Nevermind fame); and a treasure trove of rarities and previously unreleased material. All the music has been remastered from original tapes by Endino and JJ Golden, and the bulk of it has been meticulously remixed by Endino and the band, righting some sonic quirks that diminished the impact of the original records. Now, with their definitive material sounding better than ever, it's high time The Fluid get their due.

The Fluid are arguably the great unsung band from the fertile underground rock scene of the late '80s and early '90s. The Denver five-piece - John Robinson (vocals), James Clower (guitar), Matt Bischoff (bass), Garrett Shavlik (drums), and the dear departed Ricky Kulwicki (guitar) - fused the fire of '80s hardcore with crunching Detroit protopunk, '60s garage rock, and '70s rock swagger. Think MC5, Faces, '70s Stones, all cranked up and really high on Sex Pistols and Black Flag singles. Rising from the ashes of early-'80s Denver bands Frantix (whose "My Dad's a Fuckin' Alcoholic" is a true gem of American punk) and White Trash, The Fluid were the first non-Seattle band to sign to Sub Pop, and Clear Black Paper was the second full-length album the label ever released. The label honchos were fans of Frantix, and happily got involved with The Fluid when the opportunity arose via the label's European licensing partner, Glitterhouse. Witnessing The Fluid's dominant live presence helped - a particularly fiery early show at Seattle's Central Tavern featured The Fluid, Mudhoney, Mother Love Bone, and Soundgarden all trying to outdo one another on stage. The band fit right in on Sub Pop's nascent roster of acts who, wherever they stood on the spectrum of punk/rock/metal, shared a commitment to thunderous riffs and explosive live shows. Legendary for their ferocious stage presence, The Fluid toured all over the US and Europe, holding their own and then some on bills with Mudhoney, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Dinosaur Jr., and other powerhouses of the era. From 1986 to 1993, The Fluid put out four albums and a number of EPs and singles, including a split 7" with Nirvana in 1991, before doing one album for a major label and promptly disbanding. Yet, while their partners-in-crime bulldozed into the mainstream, The Fluid remained something of a cult band, their audience confined to those who got hip during the band's existence, and crate diggers who nabbed original vinyl or CDs, which had quickly become rarities after selling through their original runs. Why? Record industry machinations? The fickle finger of pop culture? Being from Denver, not Seattle? Who the hell knows_ and who cares! The point is the band ripped, and the world deserves to hear them again. The Fluid took influences they shared with their contemporaries and ran in their own direction, focused on ass-shaking grooves more than misanthropic sludge. Rock anthems like "Cold Outside" sit alongside Stooge-oid rhythmic poundings ("Black Glove"), bluesy romps ("Leave It"), the occasional grungy dirge ("Wasted Time"), and raw punk bangers ("Is It Day I'm Seeing?" from the seminal 1988 Sub Pop 200 compilation). The band wasn't shy about their inspiration, either: scattered through their catalog are covers of The Troggs, The Rolling Stones, MC5, Iggy Pop and James Williamson, and Rare Earth. The Fluid stand out as champions of a feral, urgent, exuberant approach to rock 'n roll. As it turns out, that wasn't a recipe for stardom in the era of hyper-slick pop, boomer dinosaurs crying tears in heaven, and hair-metal power-ballads. But someone had to do it. To set things right, Sub Pop, The Fluid, and producer Jack Endino (Nirvana, Soundgarden, High on Fire, Mudhoney) teamed up to refresh and reissue The Fluid's entire indie-label catalog: their 1986 debut, Punch N Judy; 1988's Clear Black Paper; 1989's Roadmouth; the 1990 Glue EP (produced by Butch Vig, of Nevermind fame); and a treasure trove of rarities and previously unreleased material. All the music has been remastered from original tapes by Endino and JJ Golden, and the bulk of it has been meticulously remixed by Endino and the band, righting some sonic quirks that diminished the impact of the original records. Now, with their definitive material sounding better than ever, it's high time The Fluid get their due.

"In Game of Thrones Season 5, nine noble families fight for control of the mythical land of Westeros. Political and sexual intrigue is pervasive. Robert Baratheon, King of Westeros, asks his old friend Eddard, Lord Stark, to serve as Hand of the King, or highest official. Secretly warned that the previous Hand was assassinated, Eddard accepts in order to investigate further. Meanwhile the Queen's family, the Lannisters, may be hatching a plot to take power. Across the sea, the last members of the previous and deposed ruling family, the Targaryens, are also scheming to regain the throne. The friction between the houses Stark, Lannister, Baratheon and Targaryen and with the remaining great houses Greyjoy, Tully, Arryn,Tyrell and Martell leads to a full-scale war. All while a very ancient evil awakens in the farthest north. Amidst the war and political confusion, a neglected military order of misfits, the Night's Watch, is all that stands between the realms of men and icy horrors beyond. Game of Thrones has always featured excellent music. The opening theme is practically iconic at this point, having been played and covered so many times. Composer Ramin Djawadi’s heavy, atmospheric tunes have always helped set the mood, no matter what tone the show is going for at any given time. Game of Thrones Season 5 (Music From The HBO® Series) is available as a limited edition of 750 numbered copies on translucent red coloured vinyl and includes an insert."

High school band Kashmere Stage Band was formed in Texas by students from Kashmere High School's elite music division under the guidance of leader Conrad O. Johnson. They recorded plenty of albums but they only got sold locally and made in small numbers so now P-VIBE is embarking on a much-needed reissue run. Zero Point came in 1972, right in the middle of the band's activities which ran from the early 60s to the late 70s. It's a funky jazz fusion workout with great echoed vocals and fuzz-tone guitar.

On his latest full-length, Low End Activist swerves towards weightless grime and suspended hardcore miniatures to tell a very personal story. The UK-rooted producer continues his habit of zeroing in on a distinct approach for each release, leaving a logical breadcrumb trail of soundsystem science in his wake as he channels decades of bass absorption into 14 atmospheric cuts that prize patience and precision over obvious club functionality.

Municipal Dreams plays out as a semi-autobiographical tour through the Blackbird Leys estate that the Activist grew up on. It’s a lived reflection on inequality and the ripple effect it has in working class communities, using the sonic palette to set the mood and scattering pointed samples throughout to spell out the story.

In sampling the exhaust of a stolen Subaru Impreza, ‘TWOC’ looks back to the recreational car theft which was standard entertainment for the kids in his community. There’s an underlying idea that this ‘council estate sport’ wouldn’t have been so prevalent if there were public services and opportunities presented to the scores of disaffected youth looking for somewhere to direct their energy and frustration.

In ‘Just A Number (Institutionalised)’ LEA alludes to the shattered juvenile detention system, growing up seeing friends and family members locked up at ease with little to no support on being released back into society, just meant that the same cycles of behaviour would play out over and over.

‘Violence’ samples from a short film shot by the drama division of the Blackbird Leys Youth Club to evoke the physical threat which formed a background hum to life on the estate. The industrial mechanics of the local car factory, which served an integral role as a workplace for many in the community, gets sampled in ‘They Only Come Out At Night’ while the ‘Everyone I look up to are either junkies or criminals’ sample in ‘Broke’ looks to a lack of positive role models.

Municipal Dreams isn’t a one-note indictment of life on the estate, ‘Innocence’ captures the simplicity of a child at birth before their environment has time to shape them. The Hope interludes cut through the grim honesty of the longer tracks while a subtle thread of wry humour finds its way into some of the talking heads cutting through the signature LEA murk.

But honesty is the operative word here, and the message feels all the more meaningful at a time when the UK’s social divisions are laid bare in the wake of a devastating stretch of austerity. Returning to Blackbird Leys to shoot images for the photo-zine and album cover, the Activist found the local community centre being demolished. The local pub stands derelict, its faded Welcome sign a grimly ironic portent of the options facing children of the estate in the wider world.

Funnelling his memories, hopes and fears into a singular twist on the bass weight tradition, LEA captures evocative scenes that land somewhere between kitchen sink realism and rave futurism.

You find Andrew Gabbard on the road and in his creative prime on this astral road trip, collecting songs like a cosmic traveler hitching a ride. "Ramble & Rave On!," Andrew's third solo LP, sounds like the kind of weathered tattoo you'd see etched on a barfly's forearm as he slams another drink in a dive. Like its title, the record feels like something that's always been around; a trusty mixtape that everyone can agree on. Andrew comes to this collection of songs with something that very much feels like a `studio' record, the kind of album a 60s rock star feels like they've built the confidence to make, to shake off a rawness for something fuller and more realized. The fact that this record was yet again a homemade effort, with Andrew playing everything (apart from Sven Kahns' pedal steel), gives you an idea of how devoted and studied he is to creating that perfect song. `Ramble & Rave On!' is Andrew's most personal album yet, it finds him journeying between his worlds as a decades-long touring & studio musician/vocalist for the Black Keys, as a songwriter with his head-in-the-stars, and as the man in his home with the people he holds dearest and with the studio where he brings it all together. It is clear that Andrew finds himself at this prolific point in his career completely beholden to songs, to their absolute power, and to their otherworldly ability to connect. He has mastered his craft, and proves throughout the course of this album that he can truly make a pitstop stop at every genre.

You find Andrew Gabbard on the road and in his creative prime on this astral road trip, collecting songs like a cosmic traveler hitching a ride. "Ramble & Rave On!," Andrew's third solo LP, sounds like the kind of weathered tattoo you'd see etched on a barfly's forearm as he slams another drink in a dive. Like its title, the record feels like something that's always been around; a trusty mixtape that everyone can agree on. Andrew comes to this collection of songs with something that very much feels like a `studio' record, the kind of album a 60s rock star feels like they've built the confidence to make, to shake off a rawness for something fuller and more realized. The fact that this record was yet again a homemade effort, with Andrew playing everything (apart from Sven Kahns' pedal steel), gives you an idea of how devoted and studied he is to creating that perfect song. `Ramble & Rave On!' is Andrew's most personal album yet, it finds him journeying between his worlds as a decades-long touring & studio musician/vocalist for the Black Keys, as a songwriter with his head-in-the-stars, and as the man in his home with the people he holds dearest and with the studio where he brings it all together. It is clear that Andrew finds himself at this prolific point in his career completely beholden to songs, to their absolute power, and to their otherworldly ability to connect. He has mastered his craft, and proves throughout the course of this album that he can truly make a pitstop stop at every genre.

Joni Mitchell Gets Jazzy, Counterbalances Love and Trust with Freedom and Confusion on Court and Spark


Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP
Plays with Definitive Detail and Clarity: Pressed on MoFi SuperVinyl Strictly Limited to 5,000 Numbered Copies
Box Set Features New Liner Notes
1/4" / 15 IPS / Dolby A analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe


Court and Spark, the most commercially successful album of Joni Mitchell's trailblazing career, arrived after a year in which she took some time to breathe and kept a low profile. The pause led to more breakthroughs for the singer-songwriter. Marking Mitchell's increasing drift toward jazz (and affinity for Miles Davis and John Coltrane), Court and Spark garnered four Grammy nominations, earned the Best Album of the Year vote in the prestigious Pazz & Jop poll, and ranks #110 on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing on MoFi SuperVinyl, strictly limited to 5,000 numbered copies, and featuring new liner notes, Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP box set presents the 1974 classic with definitive detail, tonality, and directness. Marking the first time the revered LP has received audiophile-quality treatment, it's one of six iconic 1970s Mitchell records Mobile Fidelity is reissuing on vinyl and SACD sets.

Benefitting from a virtually nonexistent noise floor, dead-quiet surfaces, and superior groove definition, this collectible edition reproduces without compromise the textures, details, and breathtaking craftsmanship that help make Court and Spark into what many fans believe is the Canadian native’s finest hour. Notes bloom and decay as they do amid an acoustic live environment. Soundstages extend far and deep, with black backgrounds and balanced tones adding to the uncanny realism.

The reference-grade presence and openness put in transparent view Mitchell’s incisive words and unique phrasing, as well as the contributions of her prized support musicians — including Tom Scott and the L.A. Express as well as guest turns by the likes of David Crosby, Graham Nash, Jose Feliciano, and Robbie Robertson. Mitchell, experimenting with the melodic parameters of guitar and piano, is rightly found at the center of it all. The jazz-rock rhythms of drummer John Guerin, slippery guitar lines of Larry Carlton, vibrant horns and reeds laid down by Scott — crucial to the songs’ shape-shifting arrangements — can now also be heard with fresh ears.

Visually and physically, the packaging of the Court and Spark UD1S set complements its distinguished status. Housed in a deluxe slipcase, both LPs come in foil-stamped jackets with faithful graphics that illuminate the splendor of the recording. This reissue is for listeners who desire to engage themselves in everything involved with the album, including Mitchell’s “The Mountain Loves the Sea” painting — a picture of waves embracing and receding away from a mountain, a metaphor for the record’s lyrical themes — on the cover art.

Pitching deceptively light compositions against underlying tensions, Court and Spark witnesses the singer-songwriter finding her footing with a group of top-shelf musicians who seemingly understand her visions as well as expanding her lyrical palette and venturing further into territory no artist had dared explore. Mitchell’s accessibly complex structures, beat-propelled rhythms, and spirited interplay with Scott & Co. both give the music a different identity than her prior efforts and point in the directions she soon headed.

Lyrically, Court and Spark matches the wit, integrity, originality, and intellect of anything in Mitchell’s oeuvre — no small feat. Offsetting positives with negatives, and considering circumstances from multiple angles, Mitchell explores issues connected to love and freedom, certainty and confusion, and trust and fear with unfettered boldness and introspective empathy. She teeters between surrender and retreat, and spends a majority of the record sussing out the complications and sacrifices involved with such actions.

Mitchell addresses the transactional nature of desire (the intimate title track, the upbeat “Raised on Robbery,” complete with rock ‘n’ roll pep from Robertson and zesty sax from Scott); anticipation and disappointment of romance (“Car on a Hill,” “”Down to You); fame and celebrity (“A Free Man in Paris,” “People’s Parties”); and sanity (the dark and stormy “Trouble Child,” a satirical cover of Annie Ross’ “Twisted”). Throughout, she sings with an emotionally penetrating beauty and devastating honesty that teaches about ourselves.

Or, as Mitchell relays on “People’s Parties”: “Laughing and crying/You know it’s the same release.”

Ltd Silver Vinyl, DL card. From a long-forgotten trunk; two extended jams, twin slabs, circa 1989. Continuing Fire Records' series of classic remastered albums from Royal Trux, 'Hand Of Glory' is released on silver vinyl. This bad-ass black, white and blue magic is a kind of Burial Dub_ or so preached the sleeve of 'Hand Of Glory' on its original release in 2002. Legend has it, the two sides of this 40-minute gem were recorded between 1985 and 1989. The resultant mountain of creativity from where they hail were inevitably left under a scuzzy sofa as life and a career that ebbed and flowed over nine albums. Royal Trux became an inspirational tipping point for everyone from Pavement & Sonic Youth to the Black Keys, Kurt Cobain, The Avalanches & Hot Chip's Alexis Taylor. "I urge and encourage you to enter the harmolodic multiverse of their music." Alexis Taylor, Hot Chip. 'Hand Of Glory' is not like their other albums but then again none of their albums are alike, it's a two-faced masterpiece. Side one's 'Domo Des Burros'/'Two Sticks' is on par with Beefheart's sprawling 'Trout Mask Replica'. It plays out in 19 minutes, sounding like it was laid down on Warhol's sofa in The Factory; like Dylan's sprawling 'Desolation Row' with, background squalls, interruptions and both Neil Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's overlayed stream of consciousness peeping through a multi-layered backdrop. It's just staggering. "Royal Trux were nothing if not fearless." Pitchfork. Side two's 'The Boxing Story', a loose homage to William Burroughs, moulds and morphs from tape to tape, a multi-speed soundtrack, while the dynamic duo press pause, guitars ring, occasional melodic lines arrive and evaporate. Lou Reed's pastoral 'Metal Machine Music' could perhaps be recognized as an older and perhaps less challenging sibling. A two-sided masterpiece featuring two wayward pieces of creative genius.