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Black Vinyl

“Sometimes They Come Back” is not just the title of a horror movie based on a macabre tale by Stephen King, it is also a summary of what happened to UK death etal veterans BENEDICTION, yet you might ke to add a “better than ever before”. While never officially disbanded, 2020’s Scriptures, the group’s eighth studio album achieved what is usually not an easy feat. It connected well with classics like Transcend the Rubicon (1993) and its immediate and memorable songwriting, the heavy-as-a-brick Grind Bastard (1998), and also saw legendary vocalist Dave Ingram return with his merciless roar and knack for morbid, twisted lyrics. After two albums with Dave Hunt on vocals, Scriptures was BENEDICTION’s first record in over a decade impressing with aggressive up-tempo attacks like ‘Iterations of I’ and ‘Rabid Carnality’ or the neck-breaking mid-tempo barrage of ‘Stormcrow’, songs that became live staples alongside ‘evergreens’ such as ‘I Bow to None’, ‘Magnificat’, ‘Subconscious Terror’ or ‘Vision in the Shroud’ in no time. With Scriptures, BENEDICTION even almost cracked Germany’s top ten by entering at a phenomenal #11 of the Official German Charts showing that the death metal veterans founded 1989 in Birmingham, England, offered an extremely well received sonic catharsis when due to the pandemic, people were locked down and pissed off.
When the shroud of Covid-19 lifted, the quintet finally could start to promote the album onstage with numerous festival gigs including Summer Breeze (DE), Copenhell (DK), Mystic Festival (PL), UK Deathfest, Alcatraz (BE), Party.San (DE), Obscene Extreme (CZ), Eindhoven Metal Meeting (NL) and Rock Hard (DE) to name but a few, played triumphant shows in South and Middle America as well as in their home country and all over Europe.
Kicking in the door without further warning, fast paced opener ‘A Carrion Harvest’ that mounts in a vicious Slayer-style break, starts with Ingram growling ‘Brace for impact, go!’ giving an unmistakable hint at what to expect during the following 47 minutes and 11 songs. With tremolo riffs and hammering grooves in spades, tracks like ‘Engines of War’, ‘Genesis Chamber’, ‘Crawling over Corpses’, ‘In the Dread of the Night’, and ‘Psychosister’ show a remarkable consistency and Scott Atkins, who produced the record at Grindstone Studio once again, ensures with a crisp and massive sound that the aforementioned impact leaves no bone unshattered. Garnered with artwork by Wolven Claws Artist, Ravage Of Empires continues BENEDICTION’s flawless discography on Premier League level and promises to become one of 2025’s undisputable old school death metal highlights!
With their brilliant new record in tow, founding members and guitarists Darren Brookes and Peter Rew, longtime vocalist Dave Ingram, drummer Giovanni Durst, and Nik Sampson (bass) will travel far and wide once more. Already confirmed are the Tales of the Triple Death Tour with Jungle Rot and Master kicking off on album release date as well as confirmed appearances at Wacken Open Air and Maryland Deathfest. More to be announced soon!

Petrol Green Vinyl

“Sometimes They Come Back” is not just the title of a horror movie based on a macabre tale by Stephen King, it is also a summary of what happened to UK death etal veterans BENEDICTION, yet you might ke to add a “better than ever before”. While never officially disbanded, 2020’s Scriptures, the group’s eighth studio album achieved what is usually not an easy feat. It connected well with classics like Transcend the Rubicon (1993) and its immediate and memorable songwriting, the heavy-as-a-brick Grind Bastard (1998), and also saw legendary vocalist Dave Ingram return with his merciless roar and knack for morbid, twisted lyrics. After two albums with Dave Hunt on vocals, Scriptures was BENEDICTION’s first record in over a decade impressing with aggressive up-tempo attacks like ‘Iterations of I’ and ‘Rabid Carnality’ or the neck-breaking mid-tempo barrage of ‘Stormcrow’, songs that became live staples alongside ‘evergreens’ such as ‘I Bow to None’, ‘Magnificat’, ‘Subconscious Terror’ or ‘Vision in the Shroud’ in no time. With Scriptures, BENEDICTION even almost cracked Germany’s top ten by entering at a phenomenal #11 of the Official German Charts showing that the death metal veterans founded 1989 in Birmingham, England, offered an extremely well received sonic catharsis when due to the pandemic, people were locked down and pissed off.
When the shroud of Covid-19 lifted, the quintet finally could start to promote the album onstage with numerous festival gigs including Summer Breeze (DE), Copenhell (DK), Mystic Festival (PL), UK Deathfest, Alcatraz (BE), Party.San (DE), Obscene Extreme (CZ), Eindhoven Metal Meeting (NL) and Rock Hard (DE) to name but a few, played triumphant shows in South and Middle America as well as in their home country and all over Europe.
Kicking in the door without further warning, fast paced opener ‘A Carrion Harvest’ that mounts in a vicious Slayer-style break, starts with Ingram growling ‘Brace for impact, go!’ giving an unmistakable hint at what to expect during the following 47 minutes and 11 songs. With tremolo riffs and hammering grooves in spades, tracks like ‘Engines of War’, ‘Genesis Chamber’, ‘Crawling over Corpses’, ‘In the Dread of the Night’, and ‘Psychosister’ show a remarkable consistency and Scott Atkins, who produced the record at Grindstone Studio once again, ensures with a crisp and massive sound that the aforementioned impact leaves no bone unshattered. Garnered with artwork by Wolven Claws Artist, Ravage Of Empires continues BENEDICTION’s flawless discography on Premier League level and promises to become one of 2025’s undisputable old school death metal highlights!
With their brilliant new record in tow, founding members and guitarists Darren Brookes and Peter Rew, longtime vocalist Dave Ingram, drummer Giovanni Durst, and Nik Sampson (bass) will travel far and wide once more. Already confirmed are the Tales of the Triple Death Tour with Jungle Rot and Master kicking off on album release date as well as confirmed appearances at Wacken Open Air and Maryland Deathfest. More to be announced soon!

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

** Japanese Pressing **

The once thought impossible-to-reissue album a Japanese duo (Fumio Ichimura, Masao Hiruma) "Testpattern"s only album Apres-Midi (originally released on October 21, 1982) produced by Hosono Haruomi is finally set to be reissued on vinyl.

The original master was discovered in ALFA MUSIC’s warehouse, processed with top-tier digital technology, and cut for vinyl by Katsutoshi Kitamura (Warner Music Mastering).

The 55th Anniversary Project of ALFA MUSIC brings you a groundbreaking release.

If every significant artist has an underrated gem in its catalog, then Mirage is that album for Fleetwood Mac. An obvious return to relative simplicity after the dramatic tension of Rumours and experimental ambitions of Tusk, the 1982 album finds the band re-grouping after a brief hiatus and again climbing to the top of the charts. Extremely well-crafted, well-produced, and well-performed, the double-platinum effort distills the group’s hallmark strengths into a filler-free set that never runs short of addictive pop hooks or daft accents.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing in California, and housed in a Stoughton jacket, Mobile Fidelity’s numbered-edition 180g 45RPM 2LP set presents Mirage in reference sound for the first time. The efforts co-producers/engineers Ken Caillat and Richard Dashut went to capture the splintered albeit formidable band can be heard with stunning accuracy, range, depth, and detail.

Though Rumours understandably gets a permanent spot in the audiophile hall of fame, the smooth, clear, and dynamic sonics on Mirage confirm that the record that stood as Fleetwood Mac’s last effort for five years deserves a place in the same vaunted arena. The presence and imaging of Mick Fleetwood’s percussion alone on this reissue might have you wondering how this slice of soft-rock bliss has gone under-noticed for decades. Other prized aural aspects — separation, definition, impact, tonal balance — are also here in spades.

Like much surrounding Fleetwood Mac in the 1980s, arriving at Mirage was not easy. Caillat searched for studios located outside of Los Angeles on a mission to change up the vibe of the band’s prior recording sessions. Everyone settled on Le Chateau in France, where relations between some members remained icy — and cooperation with the producers strained. Battles with exhaustion, bitterness, and addiction further informed the proceedings at the 18th century complex in the French countryside, where even communal meals were allegedly eaten in silence.

Inevitably, the feelings that co-producer Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, Christine McVie, and company harbored — as well as the situations in which they found themselves — drifted into the songwriting. In its rapid ascent to rock-star royalty status, Fleetwood Mac drifted apart, embarked on solo pursuits, and found it was lonely at the top. Emptiness, the illusion of dreams, the longing for love, the want to escape to bygone times of innocence and happiness: Such themes inform a majority of the narratives. Even if the lyrics regularly take a back seat to easygoing arrangements that allow Mirage to come on like a refreshing breeze on a sunny summer afternoon.

Home to three Top 25 singles in the U.S. and having occupied the pole position of the Top 200 album charts for five weeks, Mirage rightfully resonated with the mainstream and attracted listeners on both sides of the pond. And how, via a smart blend of sugary melodies, warm harmonies, interlaced notes, nimble rhythms, taut structures, and passionate vocals. Not to mention the presence of what arguably remains Nicks’ signature song, the biographical “Gypsy,” a meditation on the loss of her close friend Robin Anderson that teems with majesty, mystery, and mysticism — and which gets an assist from Buckingham’s shaded tack piano and richly strummed guitar chords.

Its ranking as an all-time classic aside, that No. 12 hit has plenty of company when it comes to brilliant pop turns on Mirage. On the subject of Nicks, the raspy singer gets a little bit country on “That’s Alright.” Its clip-clopping pace and two-stepping progression complement subtle vocal swells that emerge during the final verse of a tune that is ostensibly about leaving but still conveys forgiveness and grace. And what would a Fleetwood Mac record be without Nicks drawing on the tools of the supernatural — cards, dreams, wolves, and the like — on the twirling “Straight Back.”

Despite the potency of Nicks’ primary contributions, Mirage seemingly unfolds as a tight competition between Buckingham and McVie — and one that ultimately ends in a draw. Buckingham’s salvos include the contagious “Can’t Go Back,” a yearning to time-travel back to the past that’s complete with hall-of-mirrors backing vocals; “Oh Diane,” out-of- left-field ear candy sweetened with hiccupped vocals and salt-and-pepper-shaken grooves; the chiming “Eyes of the World”; and “Empire State,” a delightfully fluttering track whose high-range vocals, lap harp notes, and ringing xylophones hint at the galaxies of sound that would erupt on Tango in the Night.

Then there’s McVie. As elegant, understated, and coolheaded as she’s ever been on record, she pours her heart out on cuts that revolve around her inevitable split with Beach Boy Dennis Wilson. In the process, she punctuates Mirage with a characteristic not always associated with catchy pop music: emotional weight, and the sense of dreaded acceptance in the face of dreams deferred.

“I wish you were here/Holding me tight,” McVie sings over a delicate melody on the album-closing piano ballad “Wish You Were Here.” Though they hoped otherwise, for the members Fleetwood Mac, distance and separation were always close at hand. Believing otherwise, inviting nostalgia, and pretending everything was fine only amounts to a mirage.

Transport yourself to the enchanting Brazilian seaside with our latest release, BOSSA LOFI COMPILATION! Each track in this collection embodies the spirit of summer, immersing you in the rhythmic sway of sambas and the soulful strumming of guitars. Picture yourself at a lively beach party, dancing beneath the stars, or relaxing with friends on sun-kissed sands, savoring each moment. This compilation promises a perfect soundtrack for unforgettable experiences, filled with warmth, joy, and the timeless charm of Brazil's musical landscape.

2023 Repress

Robag Wruhme, working on the material. On the very same piece. And performing two different movements. First, thinking in category Album: who will hear it where? also: mood, position, length. Second, thinking in category Maxisingle: a spinning-tool for the club – another form of another functionality: accelerating the rhythm, lowering the harmonicmelodious, still preserving the nature of the song. And each version should make you HOT for the other!
Nata Alma, a voice loses itself in the infinite, a car brakes, a horse whinnies, the sun scorches relentless. Further, further on, towards the flickering, stoically. Water, flames on the horizon, Fata Morgana, a mirage. »And you might say, we've got no place to go?« - okay? no notokay at all!: Shuffle!
Nata Alma, melancholic Eight-minute-forty. A love song, a wave good-bye: »And you might say, that you need me no more?« sings Sidsel Endresen alongside Bugge Wesseltoft's swells and ebb-aways – metal never sounded so longing; a buzzing swing, a siren call from afar.
Robag Wruhme takes a seat at the organ and plays minor bass notes. He gets up, leaves the room and lays down a dry rock of funk: wooden kick on wooden snare, tight-cut voices, driving hi-hats and shakers, gated synth danglers and percussion loops. Relentless, stoically. »And you might say, that it's over?« – relentless, maybe, but that's how he creates the Further: keep going! dance it off! a new day rising!
And right here. Flip it and keep on moving: Venq Tolep. A summer meadow, grass-stains, a gentle breeze, an early smell of hay. Venq Tolep. Endorphins tickle under the skin. A
percussive spectacle, dance of the insects. Hopping around in flat shoes, the beat is phat and reverberated by a cluster of trees. Stabs on the e-piano set in, picturing the euphoric moment when Loving-feelings walk hand-in-hand with a Hint of Melancholy.
Robag Wruhme, Nata Alma and Venq Tolep - music for dance floors, inside and outside, music for the summer, day and night, and for convertibles on the way there.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Capturing phantom drones behind dusty beats and haunted twangs, Ellis Swan and James Schimpl return for their third album as Dead Bandit. Locked into a musical language unique to their collaboration, the duo once again put us out to pasture across broad sonic plains, drums flapping like loose fence panels in the prairie breeze and bass rumbling like distant thunder. True to their previous two records, Swan and Schimpl keep the strung out guitars at the front of what they do, whether playing a naked, desolate strum or running six strings through disruptive effects processing until they're barely recognisable.
But while there are details of disturbance when listening to Dead Bandit's self-titled record up close, the wider impression is a smoother, more direct affair that toys with post-rock complexity and matches it with the emotional weight of melodic simplicity, gentle grooves and conscious arrangements. 'Weeds' offsets its languid fuzz guitar with shimmering sustained notes before settling into a patient, heavy-hearted composition charged with heartbreak leads pealing out in the middle distance.
By comparison, 'Glass' has a smoky, half-hidden backroom quality. Its brushed whisper of a beat, lingering guitar drones and subtle sub bass come on like a dub wise flip of a sad-eyed country ballad. The mood maintains on 'Half Smoked Cigarette', which captures the grey sky sullenness of post-punk and reframes it in the seductive isolation of rural America. While there's a thickness to the sound on these most direct of tracks on the album, there's also fragility inherent to the sound world Dead Bandit have been shaping out over these past few years.
'Buttercup' swaps sadness for sinister undercurrents, once more drawing on fulsome low end to fill out the sparse threads of instrumentation up top. 'Pink' finds a steady momentum for its own brand of brooding mystery, the sharp end of the beat bringing focus to the many-layered approaches to the guitar which roundly define the Dead Bandit sound. There's an even clearer direction mapped out in the vintage drum machine pulse of 'Koyo', all the better to carry swirling effects treatments and moody melodic figures. Even in these ominous climes there's space for plaintive, endearing hooks which land as the most direct phrases in Dead Bandit's musical lexicon to date.
The fundamental sound across this album holds true, but Dead Bandit are never bound to a singular practice. 'Lucien's Bitters' strikes up a pronounced drum machine beat which comes on like 90s downtempo, and it feels like a natural vessel for the heavy, shoegaze tinted lament of the guitars. At every turn, Swan and Schimpl prove their affinity for all kinds of approaches, and yet the end product is a deeply cohesive, immediate listen that shows just how clear their creative vision really is.

If the sanguine cedar scent of Cosmic Americana and the bright jingle jangle of Neo-Psych Rock has led you through the last couple of years, then chances are good you’ve had a brush with Silver Synthetic. The members of the New Orleans band ditched the dirtier riffs of their past projects (Jeff The Brotherhood, Bottomfeeders) for a West Coast curl that balanced country twang and honeyed harmonies with a rhythmic stomp that fishtailed through the speakers with glee.

An eponymous full length on Third Man fully distilled the scope of their sound, turning stage-battered ballads and barroom burners into one of 2021’s most promising debuts. They return for a second salvo, honed with a tour-tight symbiosis and some ace drop-ins from southern slingers Luke Schneider (pedal steel) and Rex Gregory (sax, flute). Rosalie finds Silver Synthetic refining their sound, softening their approach, and letting a breeze of ‘70s AOR weave among the country swagger. Between the tanned riffs, the band also balances societal burnout with sunshine, transforming scoffs and sneers into smoke-curled sighs draped in a windows-down aura.

They make their way to Curation Records for the new outing, a welcome home for the band’s sun-streaked Americana, turning ‘Preflyte’ Byrds, JJ grooves, beach-bound Neil, and ‘Water of Love’-era Dire Straits into an album that smooths the seams and steers the listener towards new horizons.

If the sanguine cedar scent of Cosmic Americana and the bright jingle jangle of Neo-Psych Rock has led you through the last couple of years, then chances are good you’ve had a brush with Silver Synthetic. The members of the New Orleans band ditched the dirtier riffs of their past projects (Jeff The Brotherhood, Bottomfeeders) for a West Coast curl that balanced country twang and honeyed harmonies with a rhythmic stomp that fishtailed through the speakers with glee.

An eponymous full length on Third Man fully distilled the scope of their sound, turning stage-battered ballads and barroom burners into one of 2021’s most promising debuts. They return for a second salvo, honed with a tour-tight symbiosis and some ace drop-ins from southern slingers Luke Schneider (pedal steel) and Rex Gregory (sax, flute). Rosalie finds Silver Synthetic refining their sound, softening their approach, and letting a breeze of ‘70s AOR weave among the country swagger. Between the tanned riffs, the band also balances societal burnout with sunshine, transforming scoffs and sneers into smoke-curled sighs draped in a windows-down aura.

They make their way to Curation Records for the new outing, a welcome home for the band’s sun-streaked Americana, turning ‘Preflyte’ Byrds, JJ grooves, beach-bound Neil, and ‘Water of Love’-era Dire Straits into an album that smooths the seams and steers the listener towards new horizons.

Patchwork Inc. is a multi genre music collective based in Chicago. Inspired by the intricate and repetitive patterns on a quilt, deep grooves are stitched together with vibrant threads of analog synths, fat bass, Fender Rhodes, and a plethora of percussion to form a uniquely personal piece of art. "Whatever Makes You Happy," comes on like one of those unseasonably warm days in late fall. Flute, synth, and congas flutter like a cool breeze before giving way to a sunny and sultry hook. North Carolina native Taylor Williams brings a D'angeloesque vocal to a Roy Ayers style instrumental resulting in a mosaic of neo-soul and jazz-funk. The record's flipside evokes more of an idyllic fall day. The kind of day where you can throw on your favorite jacket and endlessly stroll down a tree-lined path as amber leaves fall to the ground. Chicago journeyman and musical prodigy Wyatt Waddell effortlessly layers his voice over the backbeat of "Last Forever," resulting in a medium-fidelity banger that could be confused for a I Want You-era Marvin demo.

Patchwork Inc. is a multi genre music collective based in Chicago. Inspired by the intricate and repetitive patterns on a quilt, deep grooves are stitched together with vibrant threads of analog synths, fat bass, Fender Rhodes, and a plethora of percussion to form a uniquely personal piece of art. "Whatever Makes You Happy," comes on like one of those unseasonably warm days in late fall. Flute, synth, and congas flutter like a cool breeze before giving way to a sunny and sultry hook. North Carolina native Taylor Williams brings a D'angeloesque vocal to a Roy Ayers style instrumental resulting in a mosaic of neo-soul and jazz-funk. The record's flipside evokes more of an idyllic fall day. The kind of day where you can throw on your favorite jacket and endlessly stroll down a tree-lined path as amber leaves fall to the ground. Chicago journeyman and musical prodigy Wyatt Waddell effortlessly layers his voice over the backbeat of "Last Forever," resulting in a medium-fidelity banger that could be confused for a I Want You-era Marvin demo.

Southern-bred, alternative R&B singer-songwriter Mereba artistically embodies self-understanding on The Breeze Grew a Fire, her grandest work and first release on Secretly Canadian. To hone in on this latest album, it was necessary for Mereba to reconnect with her whole many-sided self, from her inner child to her inseparable relationships. Mereba peacefully transmutes her beginnings, looking upon her closest kinships and friendships with a keen understanding of their steadying, inspirational force. Surrounded by the gentle Breeze of these relationships and recollections, Mereba is empowered as both an artist and mother, while also being reminded to nurture her childlike wonder. Mereba gracefully shines on the follow-up to her bounteous 2019 debut, The Jungle Is the Only Way Out. In escaping the Jungle, Mereba faced the paradigm shift of birthing a son in 2021 and getting accustomed to a rapidly changing self-outlook. Mereba's creative output has always relied on her innermost reflections and ideas on whatever was happening around her; but in motherhood, the singer's perspective widened while her inspiration became more focused, and more individually powerful. "Even though I'm fully an adult, I had to grow up in a way overnight when he my son came," Mereba explains. "The process of watching him open up to the world, learn how to engage with the world, it is very tender. I feel like it's the most reminded I've ever been of when I was a child and the first memories I have of life." The transformation brought Mereba to the intimacy of DIY recording sessions, providing an honest and organic foundation to Breeze. Mereba tapped her longtime production collaborator Sam Hoffman to co-assemble the album's rich production, which parallels its folk-like warmth. Although Mereba is a true double Earth sign-Virgo and Virgo rising-the development of Breeze was anchored by experiences and memories that span from Atlanta to L.A., Addis Ababa to Greensboro, an intention that speaks to the album's fluid nature. While nowhere near the end of her musical trek, The Breeze Grew a Fire is a loving, inspiring return to origin, one where Mereba frees a painful past, eases into future possibilities, and goes with life's flow.

Southern-bred, alternative R&B singer-songwriter Mereba artistically embodies self-understanding on The Breeze Grew a Fire, her grandest work and first release on Secretly Canadian. To hone in on this latest album, it was necessary for Mereba to reconnect with her whole many-sided self, from her inner child to her inseparable relationships. Mereba peacefully transmutes her beginnings, looking upon her closest kinships and friendships with a keen understanding of their steadying, inspirational force. Surrounded by the gentle Breeze of these relationships and recollections, Mereba is empowered as both an artist and mother, while also being reminded to nurture her childlike wonder. Mereba gracefully shines on the follow-up to her bounteous 2019 debut, The Jungle Is the Only Way Out. In escaping the Jungle, Mereba faced the paradigm shift of birthing a son in 2021 and getting accustomed to a rapidly changing self-outlook. Mereba's creative output has always relied on her innermost reflections and ideas on whatever was happening around her; but in motherhood, the singer's perspective widened while her inspiration became more focused, and more individually powerful. "Even though I'm fully an adult, I had to grow up in a way overnight when he my son came," Mereba explains. "The process of watching him open up to the world, learn how to engage with the world, it is very tender. I feel like it's the most reminded I've ever been of when I was a child and the first memories I have of life." The transformation brought Mereba to the intimacy of DIY recording sessions, providing an honest and organic foundation to Breeze. Mereba tapped her longtime production collaborator Sam Hoffman to co-assemble the album's rich production, which parallels its folk-like warmth. Although Mereba is a true double Earth sign-Virgo and Virgo rising-the development of Breeze was anchored by experiences and memories that span from Atlanta to L.A., Addis Ababa to Greensboro, an intention that speaks to the album's fluid nature. While nowhere near the end of her musical trek, The Breeze Grew a Fire is a loving, inspiring return to origin, one where Mereba frees a painful past, eases into future possibilities, and goes with life's flow.

Classic RootsReggae is the definitive influence on the music of Vibronics .. so it has been a true labour of love to bring together the powerful voice of Jospeh Lalibela, the intricate playing of the Mafia & Fluxy Band and the deep production skills of Vibronics to make this homage to classic Jamaican Roots Dub Reggae music.
This 7” is the first release .. soon to be followed but the full album ‘Ancient Breeze’


Vibronics is one of the most established names in UK Dub/Reggae music achieving millions of views on YouTube, millions of Spotify streams and many tens of thousands of vinyl record sales. Collaborators include Michael prophet, Macka B, Iration Steppas, Soom T, Aba-Shanti and more.
Joseph Lalibela is a Birmingham born UK vocalist who found fame through his work with OBF & King Earthquake
Mafia & Fluxy are the UK’s leading Reggae riddim section and recording artists working with Eek-A-Mouse, Jah Shaka, Luciano and the cream of worldwide Reggae artists.

Writing music, for singer-songwriter and producer Fine, “feels like being entrusted with a secret.” On Rocky Top Ballads, the Copenhagen-based musician’s debut album, these secrets take the form of minimalist compositions that search for glimpses of beauty in the everyday. Recorded, produced, and mixed by Fine, the album is a mystical soundtrack to a captivating songwriter’s explorations of process and intuition.

“The whole album is about the moments when you see a crack in something,” Fine explains, “where you briefly see another side of yourself or of someone you've known forever.”

Fine grew up in Denmark’s rural Northern Jutland; there, her father’s guitar and banjo playing formed the sonic backdrop of her childhood. In the years since, her musical curiosity has led her to work across a range of styles and sounds. In her early twenties, she became part of Danish electronic trio Chinah, which released three albums. You might also have caught her sampled vocals on the joyfully rollicking Two Shell song “Home,” from 2021. Then, last year, she — along with Erika de Casier and Smerz — co-wrote three songs for the massive, critically lauded K-pop group New Jeans. Fine is also a part of Clarissa Connelly Canons group back home in Denmark, and writes music under the moniker Coined with composer and songwriter Astrid Sonne.

But Rocky Top Ballads is a turn back towards a more personal, stream-of-consciousness songwriting style. Fine wrote and recorded these songs sporadically over the course of the last few years. In light of Chinah’s collaborative, piecemeal production style, Fine craved a more organic, intuitive process for these songs. Her work on the record combines sample-based production with the sounds of instruments she and her collaborators could hold in their hands, ones that inspired free-flowing improvisation: electric and acoustic guitar, even the Ensoniq keyboard that was in her childhood home. The resulting songs are equally inspired by the country and folk of her childhood, the hazy beauty of Mazzy Star, the avant-garde pop of Dean Blunt, and the songwriting of ’90s singer-songwriters like Suzanne Vega.

Fine describes her songwriting process as a “magical thinking method”: being in contact with the present moment and pretending as if she already knows the song she’s about to write. Many of the songs on Rocky Top Ballads use the original takes of Fine’s vocals, an attempt to capture a song’s initial essence and avoid disturbing the song’s generative idea as much as possible. You can hear that well-preserved spark on songs like “Losing Tennessee,” a minimalist and wistful reflection on the inherent loss and change of growing older. She wrote other tracks, like the piano-led “Whys” and the woozy “Coasting,” through a process of cutting and layering her improvisations, carefully merging multiple musical snippets into newly seamless compositions. And the stunning closing track “A Star” is the product of a slow process of evolution: beginning as an understated expression of sincerity before dissolving into a rich, distorted guitar-driven exploration.

As a songwriter and producer, Fine’s work often peers into the universes of experience that can be hidden inside a fragmentary moment. Sometimes she explores this literally — as in “Days Incomplete,” which she built off a short sample from “A Star.” This impulse — to zoom in, to recontextualize, to excavate — threads throughout her lyrics, too. What happens, her songs ask, when we pay close attention to those everyday images and physical realities we might otherwise ignore: the sky, the rain, the sun, the sea? On the spacious and swoony “Big Muzzy,” with its gentle sway and Cocteau Twins-inflected vocals, Fine sings about watching the “summer turn blue”; the grooving, propulsive “Remember The Heart” is a love letter to the sea where she grew up. In her airy voice, Fine traces meandering melodies that continually unspool with fresh insights.

A particular mantra guided Fine’s songwriting throughout the creation of Rocky Top Ballads: “Everything has potential.” In these songs, small moments are worthy of deep contemplation, and gentleness can evoke worlds of emotion. The resulting songs offer a gift of momentary pleasure, flowing and unhurried as a gentle breeze.

Marissa Lorusso

Formed in 2020 in Silkeborg, Denmark, NECKBREAKKER, consists of Christoffer Kofoed (Vocals), Sebastian Knoblauch (Bass), Anton ’Hajn’ Bregendorf (Drums), Joakim Kaspersen (Guitar) and Johan Lundvig (Guitar). Despite not having released a single song up until this point, NECKBREAKKER have found themselves at the forefront of the underground metal scene, thanks to their growing reputation of delivering blistering live shows. The young death metal band have already found themselves touring alongside the likes of Crypta, BAEST and Left To Die, as well as claiming slots on festivals such as Hellfest, Resurrection Fest, Bloodstock Open Air, Summer Breeze, Copenhell, Mystic Festival, Dynamo Metal Fest, Roskilde, Sweden Rock Festival, Tuska Festival and Inferno festival, as they rip and tear their way across the continent. Now, having caught the eye of metal titan Nuclear Blast Records, NECKBREAKKER are gearing up to release their hotly anticipated debut album, Within The Viscera, on December 6th. On the release of their debut album and their signing to Nuclear Blast Records, the band comments: “As we were creating Within The Viscera it is fair to say we felt a certain amount of pressure. A pressure to deliver an album that could live up to the hype this band has been building since we started playing shows, a pressure to not lessen the raw impact of the songs by finally putting them in a studio setting, and most importantly to make a debut album we could be proud of. We had the vision set, and we know we wanted to do it right. And we believe we have. Produced by Andreas Linnemann and mixed/mastered by Josh Middleton, Within The Viscera is our strongest material, and we hope the joy we had creating it shines through.

A masterpiece by George and Sleepy with the new Big Four! A veteran talks about the fun of "those days" and the fun of "now". Jazz is so fascinating!

1950s. The Big Four led by George Kawaguchi gained overwhelming popularity as a pioneering group of modern jazz in Japan. They were active for a long time with changing members and left a big mark on the Japanese jazz scene. This work "George & Sleepy" was released in 1969 as one of Victor's "Japanese Jazz" series. The commentary at the time said "A record that attempts to reproduce the nostalgic George Kawaguchi Big Four", but that is by no means a simple nostalgic work. "Lover" and "Charade" are reminiscent of the Big Four of those days and are undoubtedly fun, and the songs that skillfully incorporate modern techniques and musicality, such as the sophisticated groove of "Tuesday Samba" and the exotic beat of "Vietnam", are also attractive. This is a thrilling piece that conveys the charm of jazz, past and present, with a deep performance that only a veteran can have.