Suche:but alive

Legendary New Zealand-born experimental composer and sound art pioneer Annea Lockwood returns to Black Truffle with On Fractured Ground / Skin Resonance, her third release for the label. Having recently celebrated her 85th birthday, Lockwood shows no sign of slowing down in her exploration of new sound sources and collaborations with an ever-growing intergenerational pool of performers – here with Vanessa Tomlinson. Her creative vibrancy is alive as ever on the two recent works presented here, which demonstrate both her engagement with the social dimensions of sound and the deeply reflective, meditative aspect of her art.

On Fractured Ground derives from material recorded with Pedro Rebelo and Georgios Varoutsos for the soundtrack of Maria Fusco and Margaret Salmon’s opera-film, History of the Present (2023). Working together in Belfast, Lockwood, Rebelo and Varoutsos made extensive recordings of the city’s ‘peace lines’, the dozens of walls erected since the beginning of the Troubles in the late 1960s to separate Catholic and Protestant areas of the city. Struck by the immensity of these barriers, ‘the brutal way they sever neighbourhoods’, Lockwood and her collaborators focused not on the sound environment of the city, but on the walls themselves, playing them as gigantic resonant instruments, using their hands and objects such as stones and leaves. Continuing to work in her studio with the material collected for the soundtrack after its completion, Lockwood composed the work presented here, occupying a space somewhere between her own extended-technique percussion music and the Cagean tradition of hyper-amplified small sounds. From deep, gong-like metallic tolling to dry scrapes and uneasy groans, the piece’s sustained attention to single sounds derived from unorthodox sources draws a line all the way back to Lockwood’s classic Glass World (1967-1970). Its spaciousness and delicacy are at odds with the dark historical background of the Troubles, creating a moving listening experience somehow haunted by the shadow of violence and conflict.

Skin Resonance is a collaboration with Australian composer and percussionist Vanessa Tomlinson. Developed through conversations in which the two discussed the idea of ‘sonic attraction’, the piece focuses on Tomlinson’s relationship to the bass drum, reflecting on the complex web of connections embodied in this seemingly simply instrument, which is at once ‘animal, wood, and metal’. Approaching the instrument in a suitably elemental fashion, Tomlinson’s performance strips away conventional technique to explore the resonance and timbral properties of skin, drum, and metal hardware, producing overlapping waves of texture that at times seem closer to wind swishing through leaves or the ocean than anything usually associated with a drum. Emphasising the symbiotic relationship between performer and instrument, Tomlinson’s voice is heard at times, exploring the field of associations and connections the bass drum suggests to her: ‘Maybe the bass drum skin is an ear as well?’

Accompanied by insightful liner notes on both pieces and photographs documenting the recording of On Fractured Ground and a performance of Skin Resonance, this LP is a moving testament to the engagement, generosity, and openness that sustain Annea Lockwood’s work, still finding new directions after more than fifty years of activity.

Purple Vinyl

House music, nightlife entertainment and DJ/Producer virtuoso Louie Vega has proven over and over again that he's a master chemist in the studio. His latest release is an uptempo and speaker-knocking remix of Funkadelic's 'Ain't That Funkin' Kind of Hard on You' (produced by George Clinton and & G Koop) from the album 'First Ya Gotta Shake the Gate'.
The original version is nothing short of a classic, but it's as if the song had never been invited to a Louie Vega post-midnight global extravaganza. Was the song not aware that spellbound dancing and high BPMs were the standard for House Music Normally, such a blaring disregard for nightlife decorum would relegate a song to the pits of sonic hell, but we're talking about George Clinton here!The original opens up with a G-funk groove that screams Westside and lowriders. The listener is then blessed with Clinton as he adds his sage, soulful and pimpadelic vocals, complemented by Funkadelic singers asking him about the pains of the funk. The semblance of a beat that could drive the dancefloor into the morning hours is there, but in no way has it blossomed into its full glory. Enter Louie Vega.
His remix immediately greets listeners with a decadent spread of instrumentation and chutzpah. The original song's DNA populates the first thirty seconds of the remix but then an explosion takes place and the song assumes a new identity. The transcendent experience is akin to taking the elevator to a rooftop party and once the doors open- boom! The remix begs you to dance, the G-funk groove is now in your face instead of being laidback and percussion takes a front seat to take you away. The song is alive, there's no other way to describe it.
Be sure to buy your vinyl at an outlet near you! the Louie Vega remix of Funkadelic's 'Ain't That Funkin' Kind of Hard on You' on Vega Records!

The Ibex Band, with Giovanni Rico and Selam Woldemariam at the creative helm, provided the musical backbone for legends like Aster Aweke, Girma Beyene, Tilahun Gessesse, Mulatu Astatke, and Mahmoud Ahmed, including the iconic album Ere Mela Mela, shaping modern Ethiopian music as we know it today. This 1976 album (Ge’ez Year 1968) played a pivotal role in that legacy and has now resurfaced to set the record straight.

There’s a tendency to talk about the seventies as a golden age of Ethiopian music. There are good reasons for that, and just as good reasons against it. However, the notion of a golden past privileges the role of Western explorers and suggests that the pinnacle of Ethiopia’s musical culture is something only a foreigner can appreciate and unearth. It downplays the complexities of Ethiopia’s culture and history, creating an artificial divide between then and now. And it underestimates the constantly evolving sound that has followed.

The legendary musical outfit The Ibex Band, later metamorphosed into The Roha Band, has played a central role in defining the sound of many of the greatest stars on the music scene of Ethiopia from the mid-seventies onwards–but their golden output has never really waned. The story of the origins of the band that provided the musical backbone for greats such as Aster Aweke, Girma Beyene, Tilahun Gessesse, backing the solo career of group member Mahmoud Ahmed as well as backing Mulatu Astatke and many others has yet to be properly told.

Two misconceptions plague the image of Ethiopian music, one is that the music is pure because it is, by some notion, unexploited, the other is that it is all traditional. To begin with, a combination of political changes between the late sixties and the mid-nineties created an environment where only the most dedicated and skilled musicians struggled on and pursued a musical career against fierce odds. The whole Ibex Band, with Giovanni Rico and Selam “Selamino” Seyoum Woldermarian at the creative helm, are arguably the origo of the vibrant scene in the mid-seventies, and the said pair are foremost responsible for not only navigating the band through troubled times, but also modernizing the 6/8 chickchicka rhythm to a contemporary form. Giovanni laid the rhythmic foundation with heavy looped basslines that reinvented traditional melodies as dance music, and with Selamino’s innovative guitar work they influenced scores of musicians from Abegaz Kibrework Shiota to Henock Temesgen. Even Giovanni’s Fender bass and Selamino’s Gibson guitar inspired younger musicians in their choice of instruments. Not only in choice of instruments but also in sound–even as the digital revolution hit Ethiopian music, a lot of popular music still took its cue from the masters from Ibex and Roha.

Ibex emerged out of the ashes of the sixties group the Soul Echos band, adding Giovanni and Selamino to their ranks and taking their cues from a slew of influences, such as Motown and The Beatles, fused with traditional music. A tighter-knit unit than most bands at the time – Ibex has remained six to seven members throughout their whole career, compared to many bands that were as large as fifteen or sixteen men strong when Ibex set out. Their playing has been viciously focused, economical yet heavy. Just a year before the recording sessions of the album in your hands, Giovanni and Selamino made a contribution to the popular musical lexicon of Ethiopia that was simply defining the popular sound: their arrangement and recording of bandmate Mahmoud Ahmed’s solo effort and real commercial breakthrough tune and eponymous album, Ere Mela Mela, from 1975.

Selamino has never limited himself to being an adroit lead guitarist, but has always been a scholar of history, and as such he has probably contributed as much to modern Ethiopian music with his guitar playing and compositions as with a deepened understanding of modern or contemporary – Zemenawi – Ethiopian music. Selamino’s contributions serve as a metaphor for those of the whole band, at one and the same time creating and defining a new, danceable and updated sound anchored in Giovanni’s bass, whilst also elevating the broader scene through their support for others on the scene and on top of that, increasing the understanding of the music.

There is an understandable desire to romanticize the musical heyday Ibex and Roha were at the forefront of, because so much of the output is sorrowfully hard to come by. Ibex creativity was nothing short of ridiculously fierce compared to many of their Western contemporaries. Based on their sheer recorded output alone they could have usurped the title “hardest working in show business” from James Brown, recording more than 250 albums or 2500 songs in the seventies and eighties. Some only surface as cassettes today, others were never given full LP release, and some are simply impossible to find today. In the light of that, it’s nothing short of a miracle that the recording Stereo Instrumental Music from 1976 (Ge’ez Year 1968) has resurfaced. Unearthed in perfect condition on a chrome cassette, this is musical history comes alive–to set the future straight. Stereo Instrumental Music was recorded in collaboration with Karl-Gustav Lundgren, a Swedish national working for the Radio Voice of the Gospel. It took two sessions at the Ras Hotel ballroom in Addis Ababa. The Ibex Band was the first band in Ethiopia to employ a four-track recorder for their recording (the first available in the country, lent by Karl-Gustav). Later the same week, Giovanni and Selamino realized that, lengthwise, the recorded material fell short of what they wished for, so they recorded four more tracks in one more session on a single-track recorder. The Ras Hotel and Ghion Hotel, where the Ibex Band held musical residencies were to Ethiopia in general and Addis Ababa in particular what Motown was to the USA and Detroit a few years earlier – a hotbed of musical creativity and showmanship.

The most astonishing thing about Ethiopian music of the last half century is how tradition and modernity are intertwined. Because of this feature, it’s kind of hard to tell when there ever was or when we are in a “golden age”. So much of music from the past has been criminally neglected, but because of the hardships in the past, it would be an oversimplification to say that said past was a golden age. Probably, the golden age is what we are approaching, because for the first time both the past and future are accessible, and the monumental contributions from before can lay a firm foundation for a thriving music scene today. The Ibex Band stands firmly in the past, present and the future. That, if anything, is golden.

The detailed history of Stereo Instrumental Music is in many ways unique. To begin with, it couldn’t have been recorded earlier (there were no four-track recorders available) and it really couldn’t have been recorded afterwards either, at least not in the years directly following, because of the toll the musical scene took from the unfavorable political climate that followed when the nascent Derg regime and rival groups tried to assert themselves, the musical equipment lent from The Voice of Gospel Radio simply disappeared from Ethiopia when the radio station folded in 1977. Karl-Gustav Lundgren,
the Swedish foreign national who assisted during the recording, worked with the Ethiopian Evangelical Church Mekane Yesus at the time, recalls how they only had about fifteen minutes to get the microphones in place for the recording as to not alert neither the management at Ras Hotel nor the authorities and most importantly, to complete the recording before the curfew came into effect at midnight. In leaping to the opportunity to use previously unavailable equipment to push their sound forward and improvising to meet the logistical challenges, the Ibex Band displayed the very avant-gardism and adaptability that explains their longevity as a band through the years. The recording of Stereo Instrumental Music is from a given time in history, but it sounds as beyond time.
Much of the energy that burst out of the scene that Stereo Instrumental Music came out of dissipated or got sidetracked during the societal changes Ethiopia went through in the 1970s and 80s. Whilst leaders might have professed to be revolutionary, the work ethic of the Ibex Band can truly be described as that. They never called it quits, but adapted, toured extensively abroad in Africa, Europe, and the Middle East, and found ways to work even in the face of the curfew that curtailed a lot of musical life. They even played major arenas in the nineteen eighties, despite said curfew and restrictions. The whole extent of their legacy has never been told, but their music speaks louder than words, so therefore… tune in to the Ibex Band’s Stereo Instrumental Music.

Extirpated from the crepitating bowels of the surging Death / Grind scene of the early nineties and became cult with their frst platter of splatter released in 1991 by Wimp Records (LP) & Adipocere Records (CD), PUTRID OFFAL slowly dissolved in formaldehyde by the middle of the decade ..

But that is not dead what sleeps and the thing got alive again 25 years after its inception offering a brand new vision of its art with the release of the proper PUTRID OFFAL debut, Mature Necropsy in 2015 soon followed by countless Europe tours and festivals appearances like their 2017 gig at world famous HELLFEST captured alive for a DVD release as a bonus of second full-length, Sicknesses Obsessions in 2020 again followed by a slaughter campaign on all of Europe soiled grounds.

Now that their historical label KAOTOXIN / XENOKORP is left for dead, PUTRID OFFAL come back deadlier than ever and hungry for touring and gigging like a zombie for fesh ready to turn the crowd to pieces with their most brutal, to the point and mature album to date, Obliterated Life.

SCI+TEC celebrates a pivotal moment in its history with the release of I Feel Speed (2025 Remixes), a special project revisiting one of Dubfire’s earliest solo works and one of the label’s foundational releases. Originally released in 2007, Dubfire’s cover of Love and Rockets’ “I Feel Speed” marked a bold venture into uncharted territory, with the Grammy-winning artist taking on vocal duties himself to reimagine the iconic ballad.

In Dubfire’s own words, “Throughout my career, I’ve made no secret of my love—bordering on worship—for Love and Rockets (and, of course, Bauhaus). Tackling their soft ballad ‘I Feel Speed’ in 2007 was a daunting but transformative experience. Over the years, fans and colleagues have kept their love for that cover alive, which makes this new remix package even more meaningful.”

This release brings together a stellar list of artists, each offering a distinctive interpretation of the classic. Stephan Bodzin adds his signature emotive touch, while Yulia Niko dives deep into hypnotic textures. SNYL, whose admiration for the original track sparked the project, delivers a rework that strikes a balance between reverence and reinvention. Rafael Cerato and Laherte craft a dynamic reinterpretation, and indie dance pioneer Erol Alkan offers a genre-blurring remix full of energy and innovation.

I Feel Speed (2025 Remixes) is a testament to Dubfire’s enduring legacy, the timeless influence of Love and Rockets, and SCI+TEC’s continued role as a beacon of innovation in electronic music.

This record marks not only the first-ever release of the This War of Mine original game soundtrack but also a milestone 10th anniversary of the game. With its bestselling status, cult following among players, educational usefulness and recognition as a poignant symbol of war's threat to human lives-underscored by honours such as the recent Special Award from Amnesty International-it has been a decade of remarkable success. Yet, we cannot truly celebrate while wars continue to claim lives, stripping away humanity with relentless and senseless cruelty. To mourn in silence, however, would be equally futile. Instead, we're once again using This War of Mine as a platform for change through the Forget Celebrations charity DLC, now available for the PC (Steam) version of the game. Composer Piotr Musia? is looking back at the creation process for the music of This War of Mine and points out the significance the soundtrack still has for him: "This War of Mine was one of those projects, where picking up an electric guitar and playing on it felt like a good idea, although I'd never done it before. It gave the music this unpolished character - it's rough around the edges to match the grim atmosphere of the game. Just like its characters, I felt lost at first and it took me a while to figure it all out. For this and many reasons, it was an emotional ride and the music still feels special to me."

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.

Madronas’ debut LP Erogenous Biome is an amorphous, murky, cathartic offering. A duet of modular synthesizer and winds that’s equal parts doom and ecstasy, it’s the sound of a majestic butterfly emerging from it’s slimy chrysalis just in time to catch the sun setting on the end of days, a bewitching, heavy ceremony, a power-wash of both mind and spirit.

Tracked in one continuous take at Brooklyn’s Heavy Meadow studio, individual tracks were gleaned from the purge and eschew predictable structures, making for a dense, fluid suite of improvisation, like dancing smoke ribbons in the dark. The duo's chosen sound sources are seemingly opposite - Ry Fyan’s modular’s coming from electronic oscillators, Isaiah Barr’s saxophone and various flutes originating with the breath - but the visceral, imprecise, alive quality to the sound of both lends the record a thrilling combination of rapturous harmony and gritty, intense friction.

Opening the session in ritualistic, foreboding fashion, Voluntary lurches to life with rattles and wandering, bassy arpeggios before a suona’s cry signals the seance has officially begun. Ostraca Loam spits explosive modular rhythms and eerie shrieks for the flute to float above, while Detritus Harp smudges mechanical whirring, pensive horn and wind chimes for an untethered drift. Petrified Microdot swells with menacing sci-fi sequences and breathtaking sax runs until they both run out of breath, and Negative Lingam starts out in a panic of breathy riffing before exhaling into one of the most sublime passages on the record. Rhythmic pounding and undulating flutes punctuate Lenticular Shroud, before The Preparation Of The Novel sets the winds aside for a synthesized dual fit for electric dreams. The title track dominates the B-side, it's shimmering levity slowly unfurling to reveal itself as a kind of post-apocalyptic devotional music, deep space drifting grounded by earthly flutes, and Vale Of Cashmere offers an ascetic, contemplative closure, sparse flute and chiming rhythms organic or electronic - by this time it’s hard to know, it doesn’t matter either way.

Erogenous Biome is a world of it’s own, and one Impatience is honored to offer a window into.

RIYL - Senyawa, witchcraft, Colin Stetson , Civilistjavel, Mars (the planet), Finis Africae, raga, Stephen O’Malley, modular synthesizer, Anthony Braxton, Shabaka.

Madronas is Ry Fyan and Isaiah Barr. Fyan is a painter and tattoo artist, this is his first release. Barr is a prolific instigator of the downtown New York scene, producing and playing saxophone in jazz circles with his group Onyx Collective, as a player and/or producer on records by Nick Hakim, David Byrne and Wiki, performing live with William Parker and as part of his projects Universal Space Jam and Cafe Dewanee.

Erogenous Biome was recorded and mastered by Griffin Jennings at Heavy Meadow, Brooklyn.

Vinyl was cut by Beau Thomas at Ten Eight Seven Mastering, Berlin.

Artwork is by Ry Fyan, typography and layout by Nicolas Turek.

On Chrystia Cabral's fourth album as SPELLLING, the Bay Area artist transforms her acclaimed avant-pop project into a mirror. Cabral's lyrics for Portrait of My Heart tackle love, intimacy, anxiety, and alienation, trading the allegorical approach of much of her previous work for something pointed into her human heart. The album's thematic forthrightness is echoed in its arrangements, making it the sharpest, most direct SPELLLING album to date. From the dark minimalism of her earliest music to the lavishly orchestrated prog-pop of 2021's The Turning Wheel to this newly energetic expression of her creative spirit, Cabral has proved again and again that SPELLLING can be whatever she needs it to be. The title track, with its propulsive drum groove and anthemic chorus of "I don't belong here," is the most potent embodiment of the album's turn toward emotional directness. Once the main melody emerged, Cabral used the song as a tool to process her anxiety as a performer and opted for a tighter, more rock-oriented composition. This transformation mirrors the album's broader shift toward energy and immediacy, driven by the core band of Wyatt Overson (guitar), Patrick Shelley (drums), and Giulio Xavier Cetto (bass), whose collaboration uncovers new contours of the SPELLLING sound. Cabral still writes and demos in isolation, but presenting the songs for Portrait of My Heart to her bandmates helped her discover their eventual lively, organic forms. So did working with a trio of producers_The Turning Wheel mixing engineer Drew Vandenberg, SZA collaborator Rob Bisel, and Yves Tumor producer Psymun. Key guest contributions further shape the album. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) delivers SPELLLING's first duet on "Mount Analogue," Turnstile guitarist Pat McCrory turns Cabral's original piano demo for "Alibi" into the crunchy, riff-y version that appears on the record, while Zulu's Braxton Marcellous gives "Drain" its sludgy heft. These parts aren't just incorporated seamlessly into the album; they feel like an integral part of its universe. Ultimately, though, Portrait of My Heart is nobody's record but Cabral's. She fearlessly draws the curtain back on parts of herself that she's never included in SPELLLING before_her feelings of being an outsider, her overly guarded nature, the way she can throw herself recklessly into intimate relationships and then cool on them just as quickly. "It's very much an open diary of all those sensations," she says.

Six years removed from their last release, Seattle’s Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam - an ambitious and deeply moving new album that almost didn’t happen. A decade of making music together was put on pause while each of the band’s were called indifferent directions. But as with any good relationship built on mutual love, trust, and a mountain of shared history, the quintet reunited, scrapped most ideas of songs they had put together, and started fresh to work on what would become their best album to date, due out in March on Run For Cover Records. Whereas 2019’s Four of Arrows mostly came together in the pressure cooker atmosphere of the studio with the help of an outside producer, Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous demoing process. With fewer constraints and more control, the band had the opportunity to experiment and take their time, leading to a collection that feels and sounds more fully, confidently, themselves. Built on an “open door policy” for writing and recording, Patience, Moonbeam is the result of how seamlessly all five members contributed to the creation of the album. The result is a record that swings like a pendulum from heavy to tender, playful to weighty, painting a sonic illustration of the pains and pleasures of being alive across eleven songs. What could suffer from a kitchen-sink approach instead comes together brilliantly, a testament to the band’s musical and spiritual connection. With Patience, Moonbeam, Great Grandpa has crafted a triumphant document of what happens when your collaborators become your chosen family.

Six years removed from their last release, Seattle’s Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam - an ambitious and deeply moving new album that almost didn’t happen. A decade of making music together was put on pause while each of the band’s were called indifferent directions. But as with any good relationship built on mutual love, trust, and a mountain of shared history, the quintet reunited, scrapped most ideas of songs they had put together, and started fresh to work on what would become their best album to date, due out in March on Run For Cover Records. Whereas 2019’s Four of Arrows mostly came together in the pressure cooker atmosphere of the studio with the help of an outside producer, Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous demoing process. With fewer constraints and more control, the band had the opportunity to experiment and take their time, leading to a collection that feels and sounds more fully, confidently, themselves. Built on an “open door policy” for writing and recording, Patience, Moonbeam is the result of how seamlessly all five members contributed to the creation of the album. The result is a record that swings like a pendulum from heavy to tender, playful to weighty, painting a sonic illustration of the pains and pleasures of being alive across eleven songs. What could suffer from a kitchen-sink approach instead comes together brilliantly, a testament to the band’s musical and spiritual connection. With Patience, Moonbeam, Great Grandpa has crafted a triumphant document of what happens when your collaborators become your chosen family.

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.

"If you remember Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown masterpiece you will sure be aware of Sean Penn's character stage freight when confronted with the reputation of a certain ""Belgian gypsy guitarist"". Well, that guitarist is Django Reinhardt, probably the first jazz legend to emerge from the European scene, one of the most accomplished guitarists ever, and the undisputed king of manouche guitar.
Born Jean Reinhardt in 1910 and better known by his romani name, Django's legend started as early as 1928 with his first recordings at the age of 17. Right after that a brutal fire burnt his caravan - his wife and him escaped alive but he suffered extensive burns over half of his body, losing two of his right hand fingers. Far from stopping him from playing guitar he developed his own style in order to be capable to keep his passion. And his style became the fundation of manouche guitar sounds to come.
In the carly thirties Reihardt teamed up with French violinist Stéphane Grappelli (1908-1997) and they formed the Quintette du Hot Club de France, in Paris which became the most accomplished and innovative European jazz group of the era, and which you
can enjoy now through the legendary recordings collected in the present Shellac LP."

Mesmeric, confessional alt-folk with hints of americana - weaving beautiful stories with deep and poignant lyricism and relatable storytelling, creating a sense of familiarity even in the ambiguous, leaving no choice but to feel everything with her. Mann’s debut album,

- Clara Mann’s evocative debut album Rift navigates the fractured environment of the in-between—those liminal spaces exposed between light and dark, growth and remorse, loss and reclamation. It is a record that makes a strong case for hope, those luminescent silver linings in the dark. With Rift, Clara Mann acknowledges the cracks through which both despair and hope can seep. It is a deeply personal record, yet it is universally resonant, holding the mirror up to herself and to the world around her. It is a record that reflects on embracing our fault lines, navigating the ruptures that can erupt from them and moving forwards, in motion, with a renewed sense of self and aliveness. Mann’s debut album, Rift is all of her—her past, her present, her emotions, her experiences—and now, it is for you.

- Influenced by artists like Jacques Brel, Edith Piaf, Judee Sill, and Tom Waits, Mann has a deep love and care for songwriting

- The album was primarily recorded at the 4AD Studios in London, produced and mixed by Fabian Prynn (Martha Skye Murphy, Ex:Re, Fabiana Palladino) who carefully facilitated an imaginative space for Mann to express the playful, strange and real parts of herself

- She has previously toured and collaborated with the likes of Daniel Rossen (Grizzly Bear), Billie Marten, Skullcrusher, Bill Ryder-Jones, Youth Lagoon and Willie J Healey

Demonstrating the poignant power of experience + human connection + innate musicality + operating in the present moment, Jeff Mills' Spiral Deluxe collective unveil their second album - The Love Pretender. Driven by the free expression and creativity of improvised performance, Spiral Deluxe is an electronic jazz fusion project comprised electronic music visionary Jeff, along with legendary keyboardist Gerald Mitchell (Underground Resistance/ Los Hermanos), Japanese rocker Yumiko Ohno (Buffalo Daughter/Cornelius) on Moog synthesizer and the Japanese bassist, adopted New Yorker, Kenji "Jino" Hino - son of Terumasa Hino, the world famous jazz trumpeter. Together, the four key players formed a band centred around completely improvised journeys through sound.

During their unrestrained performances, what Jeff describes as sonic "conversations" arose between the musicians, as they each contributed to full-length live shows, and studio sessions. Within the boundless parameters of freeform spontaneity, they developed an unspoken understanding of one another, finding balance and poise within the unplanned performances. The resulting recordings have been used for three releases so far: Two EPs, Kobe Session (2016) and Tathata (2017), and their debut album Voodoo Magic in 2018. With The Love Pretender, we're presented with another stunning collection of "tracks" extracted from one long improv session.

With each musician proficient in their specialism and, of course, an all-out music lover, the communication between the group members became almost telepathic. Very little preparation was needed, and their performances flowed naturally and organically. This can be heard, and felt, throughout The Love Pretender. Tracks like 'The Soloist' evolve effortlessly, each new shift subtly influenced by one of the musicians nudging the conversation into a different phase, and the rest responding accordingly, or vice versa. It's music that embodies the true nature of mindfulness and letting go of fear. In their unstructured, liberated cocoon the artists thrive and create musical moments that have, fortunately, been captured for us all to immerse ourselves in. Jazzy notes fill the air, combined with electronic bass, synthesised beats, sparkling keys and an all-round warm and welcoming atmosphere, with the slight edge you can only get from improvised performance.

Sylvain Luc's posthumous appearance on the album is of significance too. The French guitarist died in March 2024 at the age of 59. His natural flair adds another dimension to the album, bringing a touch of that laid back 1980s American California Coast feeling to tracks such as 'Society's Man'. These contributions to the LP, recorded separately, add character - a final sprinkling of humanity to complement the aliveness and presence of this body of work. Three other musicians also added their creative energy to the project. They were; TOKU, a Japanese jazz musician who specialises in wind instruments, especially the cornet, trumpet and flugel horn. And there's Masa Shimizu, who also has wide-ranging with the guitar, as well as being a producer.

Themes on the album include the optimism one can have by simply trusting the process and trusting that everything will work out in the end. By playing together in the way they do, Spiral Deluxe place their trust in the mystery of what will happen next. Getting comfortable with not knowing is key to a sense of peace with regard to the future and this energy is vital to their collective musical output. By embracing the notion of the unknown, you become an eternal optimist, living in the moment, rather than projecting into the future. This cultivates excitement, an antidote to anxiety.

Meanwhile, the title alludes to the shifts and changes that have occurred in today's society, whereby it's possible to achieve success through pretending. The superficiality, and falsehood, that can often be presented via social media, can lead to questions about what's real and what's not. From AI to the fake personas that populate the dominant platforms, The Love Pretender speaks to a process that is symbolic of the time we're living in. Behaviour that has become acceptable in today's world, which may not have been as welcomed a few decades ago. But this is part of the cycle of life...

Jeff's intention with this music is to present it in high-fidelity, to be listened to over and over and over again. In post-recording he worked for hours to ensure the audio quality was as high as it could be. The goal is to create music that people can live with their entire lives, from his solo work to these masterful improvisations. Music that comes to life, music that has a voice we can replicate with our own vocals. Expressive, unstructured, and alive...

With The Love Pretender Jeff Mills continues his mission to experiment with music outside the bounds of what is typically expected. It's freeing, enlivening, vibrant and uniquely human. As ever, Jeff's visionary outlook and bold approach to musical performance and recording has produced a body of work that epitomises his often revolutionary capabilities. There's no pretending here, just pure unadulterated sonic transmissions from a wonderfully daring, inspiring and optimistic ensemble...

In late 2023, Tokyo-based musician, Daigo Sakuragi, temporarily relocated to London, where he revisited material recorded with fellow Japanese musicians in Tokyo, drawing inspiration from the city’s energy, music, and atmosphere. This new perspective culminated in Togenkyo, a 28-minute work blending early 2000s folktronica and contemporary ambient styles. Sakuragi crafts immersive sonic textures with synthesisers and spatial production, while the organic groove of drums and bass anchors the piece, subtly inviting physical movement. Floating above this foundation, the saxophone weaves through the soundscape, leading the music with an elegant yet exploratory presence.

The session took place at aLive recording studio in Tokyo, with the following personnel:

Daigo Sakuragi: synthesiser, guitar, post-production
Jinya Ichikawa: bass
Shoei Ikeda: saxophone
Kazuya Ooi: drums

The lineup reflects a network of notable Japanese artists: Ichikawa, Sakuragi’s longtime collaborator in D.A.N.; Ikeda, known for his work with Maya Ongaku; and Ooi, a drummer for yahyel.

Sakuragi is best known for his band project D.A.N., where he contributes vocals, guitar, and production alongside bassist Jinya Ichikawa and drummer Teru Kawakami. Since its formation in 2014, D.A.N. has gained recognition for their unique fusion of indie rock/pop, dub, and electronic music. Under his solo moniker Daigos, Sakuragi explores electronic dance music through DJing and production, experimenting with Eurorack modules and samples in a refined, microscopic aesthetic. Recently, his creative output has expanded into diverse fields, including advertisements, artist collaborations, and films.

The term Togenkyo resonates with the concept of utopia, yet it diverges—it does not symbolise a flawless paradise but rather an attainable state of peace within oneself. Sakuragi reflects on finding his own Togenkyo in London, far from his hometown of Tokyo. The EP brings a sense of comfort and calm, reminding listeners that such a space exists not far from reach.

After the release of their highly successful self-titled album in summer 2021 (#1 in Germany and Spain etc.), HELLOWEEN -- one of the most respectable German metal exports and pioneers of German melodic speed metal -- are finally bringing their new anthems to the packed arenas, leading them all around the globe with their »United Forces« tour. The creators of the albums »Keeper Of The Seven Keys, Pt. I & II« (87‘/88‘), which are considered to be among the most successful German metal records of all time and are reckoned internationally as absolute milestones of power metal, haven’t only cemented but even expanded their status as giants of the scene. Caused by the pumpkinheads‘ aforementioned triumphant wave of success, the group’s back catalogue albums are also more in demand than ever which is why Atomic Fire are now set to release a series of brand new vinyl editions including the following hot HELLOWEEN records: »The Dark Ride« (2000), »Rabbit Don’t Come Easy« (2003), »Keeper Of The Seven Keys - The Legacy« (2005), »Gambling With The Devil« (2007), »Straight Out Of Hell« (2013), »My God-Given Right« (2015), and last but not least their latest offering »Helloween« (2021).

After releasing SOUL FICTION in May 2023! Cosmo Klein & The Campers release a "Soul Fiction Remix"ed album with remix-management by Berlin based DJ Daniel W. Best of Best's Friends Music.

Remixers inc. Art Of Tones, Opolopo, Philippa, DJ Friction (Germany). In the past the Cosmo Klein from Berlin has dedicated himself to different genres of music such as Pop, House Music, Soul, Jazz & Funk. Numerous hits like "Beautiful Lie", "Feel Alive", "All I ever need" or the Duet with German singer Maya Saban have made Cosmo Klein one of the few internationally successful music exports from Germany.

It took a village to create Le Motel’s Odd Numbers / Số Lẻ. Beneath its pulsing, shimmering tones, the record is alive with the sounds of everyday life—purring mopeds, idle whistling, the din of kitchens and whisper of rain, voices joyful and contemplative, scenes of bustling cities and domestic intimacy.

Le Motel—who runs the Brussels-based record label Maloca—gathered sounds, photographs, and videos while traveling in Vietnam in 2023. From Hanoi he ventured to Hmong communities in the mountains near the border with China, building out a network of contacts gathered from friends and friends of friends. But Odd Numbers / Số

Lẻ—which takes its title from traditional Vietnamese numerological beliefs and customs—is wholly unlike the extractive product typical of exploitative modes of Western tourism; the album’s final shape was deeply dependent upon the participation of the people the artist met in Vietnam.

Back in Brussels after his travels, as Le Motel began working with his materials, he sent early drafts to his contacts, inviting their input. This back-and-forth eventually yielded a dynamic collective effort in which nine of the album’s 15 tracks feature multiple composer credits. Among the album’s diverse collaborators are Yvonne Quỳnh-Lan Dươn, an educator and ethnomusicologist; Chi Chi, the daughter of a Hmong shaman; and Phapxa Chan, who contributes three poems inspired by landscape and Le Motel’s own music (and, in one case, psychedelics).

The result is an album that is not about making sound, broadcasting it as a one-way communication, but instead about the empathic practice of listening—about listening as an integral and even ethical part of musical creation, even (especially!) when that music is created on a computer, rather than conjured by a group of players sharing space in real time. It’s an album that adopts many of the traditional trappings of ambient music while reminding us of the importance of intentional modes of creation. Brian Eno famously said that ambient music must be as ignorable as it is interesting, but Le Motel’s Odd Numbers / Số Lẻ suggests, to the contrary, the richness of experience available to us should we make the effort to open our ears.

Complementing the album, Le Motel’s Odd Numbers / Số Lẻ also takes the form of a multimedia exhibition including photographs, video, and text-based works created in collaboration with Belgian designer and programmer Antoine Jaunard and Vietnamese poet Phapxa Chan. The exhibition is on view from January 23 until March 2, at Brussels’ 254Forest gallery, as part of Photo Brussels Festival 2025.

Red w. Black Smoke Vinyl

After 25 years, eight albums, and countless gigs, BLEEDING THROUGH persist as a tried-and-true outlier in heavy music and culture. The Southern California stalwarts wield an enigmatic and unmistakable signature sound born at the cross roads of no-holds-barred hardcore, cutthroat thrash, and cinematic black metal.
Mastering a drastic push-and-pull, they have always occupied their own elevated realm in the extreme space, exhibiting a rare ability to not only incite a moshpit, but also invite complete immersion. It’s why they’ve endured changing tides and trends and stood strong as a force of nature with consistent critical acclaim and packed shows. However, the six-piece - Brandan Schieppati vocals, Derek Youngsma [drums], John Arnold [guitar], Ryan Wombacher [bass], Marta Peterson [keys, vocals] and Brandon Richter [guitar] - assuredly perfect this vision in 2025 on their aptly titled ninth full-length offering, NINE.

It’s written in the Agreement Terms. There’s no getting out alive in Life. And yet, mankind keeps striving for eternal life; through art, through power, through cryogenics, through singularity. In that misguided quest against the inevitable, we all fall into the category of lost travellers. No one is exempt. In that understanding, Confucius MC and producer Bastien Keb offer no misgivings about the destination on the somber “Time Will Come”: Time will come for all of us / try to take your time.

Songs For Lost Travellers is a collaborative album by Con and Bastien Keb that merges unexplored pathways between rap, folk, and jazz into a spiritual triumvirate. Each genre is a balancing force within the record. The result is an album unlike either artist have made previously, possibly unlike any record in existence. Songs For Lost Travellers opens with bedtime stories and fairytales. Both “Tell Me Lies” and “Fairytale” present the creature comforts that trick us into forgetting the truth. Con’s first words spoken are “tell me lies ‘til I swear I can’t remember” over Keb’s lo-fi plucking that feels like it was lifted from a handheld recorder capturing a nursery mobile above a crib. Third track “Time Will Come” resets the album after acknowledging on “Fairytale” there’s “no nourishment in half-truths / no sustenance in eating lies.”

Honest and direct, Con and Keb imbue Songs For Lost Travellers with knowledge and truth from their lived experiences. There is grief hidden in the notes, an inherent sadness that is balanced with an awareness that grief is a protest against the social machinery of remaining numb. The record lingers in a meditative state, unafraid of restlessness and embracing solitude, with the expectation that peace is just as imminent as death.

The production contains a complimentary authenticity. Neither Con nor Keb bothered much with the professional studio in making Songs For Lost Travellers. Instead they opted for the raw state of their home recordings and first takes, matching the intimacy of being alone and reflective in their creative energies. Room static on “Tell Me Lies” makes it feel like you’ve entered their apartments. The immediacy continues on “Gutters,” as Keb plays guitar while watching the tele and Con hums along to the vocal melody in search of the proper pocket for his verse. Someone snaps their finger to mark a cue, but the snap never returns to the mix to keep time.

More drawn to Keb’s recent folk recordings on the Songs For Lilla EP than his funk roots circa Dinking In The Shadows of Zizou or the cinematic soul of The Killing of Eugene Peeps, Con leaned into the spacial freedom he heard in Keb’s lo-fi production cobbled from field recordings and voice notes. Both artists placed their families into the tableau. Con wrote “Little Man” for his son, hoping to add a positive contribution to the canon of parental rap songs. Later, his son appears at the end of “Paramount” to deliver a passage from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet. Keb secretly recorded his mum playing saxophone and sampled his cousin playing sax as well. The result is a near-drumless album (save for “Toulouse” and light tapping on “It Would Speak”) in which Keb’s raw production (plus a few sessions with Kofi Flexxx) gave Con a liminal zone, unencumbered by beats per minute, to craft melodies that turn his philosophical rhymes into mantras.

Perhaps there’s a message in the presence of family? It would be one of many. Con and Keb’s reflective, somber approach to Songs For Lost Travellers does not wallow in the mire. Music is action and it’s taking them through a portal to the other side of grief. We are welcome to join (which is also in the fine print of the Agreement Terms), but first there’s a password in the final song, a single request to answer: Tell me what you care about.

Biography by Blake Gillespie
credits

After Martin Hederos gathered his dream band, Hederosgruppen has become one of Sweden’s most hyped jazz acts, both live and on record. Yes, they are often placed in the jazz category, but they seem primarily focused on making fun music. Hederosgruppen made their debut with Storstrejk (2020) which was followed by Ståplats (2022), the only album thus far to win the Gyllene Skivan, Grammis and Manifest awards. Expectations for the third album may be high, but the group acts colly, calls their new creation Stilbrott (Breach of style) and puts three ski jumpers on the cover. As before, all five band members contribute ideas and compositions. The result could have been fragmented, but this quintet has created their style out of eclecticism. As before, they mix the riotous with the romantic in any number of styles. The common thread is the joy of being alive and playing live.

Seattle's Chastity Belt and Austin's Holy Wave split a dreamy 7-inch for Suicide Squeeze Records. Chastity Belt's offering, "That Guy," rings with the band's signature laid-back-yet-precise style. Jangly, intricate guitarwork plays off easy rhythms; an upbeat tranquility buoys wistful riffs. The lyrics are honest and introspective as Julia Shapiro admits to being "that kind of guy"_the type who just wants to feel alive, despite the pull of screentime, and the tendency to hold onto something until the life has been sucked out of it. "Maybe quitting is okay, but I don't like giving things away," she sings, backed by warm vocal harmonies. "I'd rather hold on for too long, until all the feeling's gone." For their side, Holy Wave contribute the lush and hypnotic slow burner "Time Crisis Too." Smears of warped synth over meticulous percussion and guitar form a dense tapestry of sound; melodic vibraphone perfects the cinematic nostalgia while the lyrics lament the too-hurried passage of time. Microdoses of experimentation tucked into the layers_seaside waves, swells of distortion, a disembodied second vocal_add intrigue and enhance the vibe.

Back in December 2016, Jeshi fell asleep whilst driving home from a party at 5am, and he crashed into a park car, only to be woken up by the airbag exploding in his face. This is the inspiration for album two. The new album is a statement of waking up and levelling up from the last period of his life. This is a new era, and full of energy.

SHORT BIOG

Jeshi doesn't run away from fire; he runs with it. The East London artist is on a quest to feel alive in every sense. To him, feeling alive means being present in each experience, no matter how challenging. For Jeshi - who has spent the last few years establishing himself as one of the most exciting voices of his generation - this is what life and art are all about. Chaos, then, is not something to shy away from, but where great ideas are born.
Jeshi's electrifying second album, AIRBAG WOKE ME UP is a collection of moment-capturing songs built to ignite reactions and start conversations. His scene-stealing jaunts to stages worldwide clearly influence its live-wire sound, as Jeshi and his cohorts smash through moods and tempos like kids let loose on funfair dodgems. "I want to make things that have intent and feel like statements," Jeshi declares. His versatile voice is the conductive thread that pulls everything together. "On Universal Credit, my voice was used in one way, whereas on this it's used in ten ways," he notes.
AIRBAG WOKE ME UP is an exploration into what happens when you emerge from tough times, and how they encourage you to view the world a little differently. It's bolder in ambition and built from renewed energy. Chaotic, but in the very best way. "In my head, this is the real arrival chapter," states Jeshi. "The 'I am here, I've arrived' moment."

Keziah Jones is back with a new concept album entitled "Alive & Kicking" , recorded live in Lagos at Clout Africa Studio. Not only all his classics revisited 'live in studio" but including 2 brand new singles (studio) "Melissa" & "Rainy Saturday" , his first ones since 2013. And as bonus 2 covers (of Ricky James 'Below The Funk (Pass The J) & Police's 'The Bed's Too Big Without You).

Keziah Jones was born and raised in Lagos, Nigeria. Then has been living between Paris - he's been an established & cult musical brand in France - , London and Lagos. He is since the early 90's the creator of the blufunk movement, "a fusion between raw blues elements and hard, edgy funk rhythms. His catalog includes iconic songs such as Rhythm Is Love, Million Miles from Home… Keziah is known for his distinctive style of guitar playing, including his percussive right-hand technique.

Studio, the influential project of Swedish musicians Dan Lissvik and Rasmus Hägg, presents their legendary 2006 debut in remastered form, in partnership with Ghostly International. Available in limited edition "Fog Machine Vinyl", CD, and cassette. "One of the finest pieces of electronic music you'll hear this year.” - The Guardian (2006). Included in year-end best-of write-ups by Pitchfork, FACT Magazine, and Rough Trade. Physical copies have long been out of print for West Coast, and the album has also been notably absent from most streaming services until now.

“Somehow, I knew I wanted to make a conceptual record that, although only imaginary at that point, could represent or define how our city sounded,” says Lissvik of Gothenburg's influence on West Coast. Some called Studio, the project of Swedish musicians Dan Lissvik and Rasmus Hägg, “the missing link between The Cure and Lindstrøm,” Pitchfork heard Durutti Column and Can, as the duo’s story became swept up in a loosely developing scene — adjacent first to the label Service (Jens Lekman, The Whitest Boy Alive) and later Sincerely Yours (The Tough Alliance, jj) — and a precursor to the 2010s boom at the axis of electronic and psychedelic music guided by indie greats like Caribou, Four Tet, and Darkside.

West Coast, their seminal 2006 debut, captured a faraway romanticism of Balearic brushed up against Krautrock, disco, dub, and afrobeat, with pop lyricism lifted from new wave, all made modern by two art school grads in Gothenburg. First pressed in a small vinyl-only run via their own Information label, the album has been notably absent from most streaming services, and the internet’s record of its initial impact is all but fossilized from a bygone blog era, while its sound is simply untraceable to any one moment in music.

Outside of three 7” releases, they’d keep the music to themselves for several more years. In 2005, Hägg remembers, “We got our degrees and were kicked out of our studio spaces so all these recordings were just piled up. A year later we dusted them off and started to deconstruct and assemble them in a more drawn-out fashion.” In the same breadth, they cite DJ Screw, J Dilla, and Joy Division, along with early ‘80s European live DJ sets from the likes of Beppe Loda, Dj Mozart, and Baldelli as reference points.

“The anything-goes mentality was very encouraging and was a big cornerstone to the Studio sound,” says Hägg. “But there’s so much more to the picture, we were not that young then and had lots of musical baggage in our suitcases, the new thing was that we finally let it all come through, not bound by any borders that was often the case with music identity in Sweden during the 90s.” In the afterglow of the record’s 2007 reception, Studio receded from view, clouded behind a mountain of remix requests (including one for Kylie Minogue that saw release) and label bureaucracy. “It’s easy to wish we would have done some proper recordings of our own instead,” Hägg reflects. But both artists, now well into respective careers beyond Studio, have come to peace with West Coast as their most enduring effort together. Lissvik adds, “It serves as a good reminder for me to keep to that decision and promise and to continue exploring and growing

"Wanted Dread & Alive" released in 1981 is now available on 1LP Yellow Recycled, is an album that underscores Peter Tosh's status as a reggae icon and a vocal critic of social injustices. The album's title reflects Tosh's rebellious spirit and his fight against systemic oppression. Tracks like "Coming in Hot" and "Rastafari Is" showcase his fiery lyricism and commitment to Rastafarian principles.

“My introduction to “noise” came from a record shop in Lake Worth, Florida ran by a musician named Kenny 5. Kenny had left Detroit sometime in the mid nineties and had begun selling used records and CD’s from the downtown strip of this tiny southern Florida city in a humble shop sandwiched between a deli and a dog grooming business. Kenny previously was on labels like Amphetamine Reptile and timeSTEREO, and the records and videotapes that would be on repeat at his shop were a vast sonic expanse that spoke to the eclecticism of his experience as a touring musician participating and adjacent to American noise culture through the early to late 90’s. In 1998, I was eleven years old and I would order a pizza with him and watch VHS tapes of Japanese noise and deathmatch bootlegs, as well as any other sonic and subcultural rarities that far outstripped my age to comprehend (notably the RRR “Journey Into Pain” compilation and various Vanilla Tapes videos). This widecast net of information formed an introduction to a reality that did not fall deaf on me, but it took many years later for me to reorient the specific freedoms of what this dense and cathartic sound culture had imparted on my life and would continue onward to.

What does this have to do with this selection of choice recordings from the Secret Boyfriend catalog for the enmossed label? For the uninitiated, Secret Boyfriend is the long running moniker of Ryan Martin, North Carolina musician and label proprietor of the Hot Releases imprint. For over a decade from this writing I have watched Secret Boyfriend, and Hot Releases by extension as a curatorial and archival effort, embodying the multiplanal capacity that noise loosely functions from as an umbrella ideology and formalist avenue for sound creation. For anecdotal purposes, from (before) 2006 until roughly 2023 the East Coast of the United States showcased a vibrant network of eclectic regional festivals that saw wide swaths of artists addressing and negotiating the notion of what qualified “noise” from a conceptual and ideological perspective. Some festivals honed in on particularities in aesthetics and tropes, and others had a kind of “catch-all” implementation that allowed for a salvation of the sort of alienated and singular artistry that was amassing throughout these territories. While clear guidelines had been set from regional predecessors as to how noise with a capital “N” should maneuver, Secret Boyfriend is emblematic in the spirit of fluidity that was either implicitly coupled to the notion of the genre, or grew to evolve towards or devolve from.

Within Secret Boyfriend performances, I have seen and admired a mirroring from a ravenous appreciator of this culture at large back towards itself. Typical of a Secret Boyfriend set is an interchangeable narrative arc wherein blistering feedback laden scrap metal improvisations are forayed into naive ambient or “pop” songs, or skipping CDs, or mixer feedback play, or delayed Roland 707 drum workouts all at once and in a unique hegemony. Secret Boyfriend's stylistic mastery of each endeavor is at once an homage to a history of loving listening and enacting, while a brave step into the realm of actualizing the unique fluidity of his own practice. In performance and the action of network engagement, Secret Boyfriend operates a survey of that which he sought to hear and that which he cultivates around his work. His operations are mirrors, and the project (alongside his other peers) is a reflection on the ethos of his time.

Conversely his recording practice narrows in on these moments and allows for a different kind of intimacy or alienation for the non live listener. This record of selected “pop songs” (let's call them that) is particularly poignant at a time when the culture Martin mirrors is at a strange crossroads with itself. The aforementioned festival networks necessarily change and shift. The onlookers become the artists, the artists find new horizons, and the spaces for these cycles fade into locales of a distant memory. It seems, from my perspective, that audiences currently yearn for a more bottlenecked experience, searching for some ontologically vetted manifestation of an idea, of a sound and less for an experience that functions in opposition to our collective banalities. This makes sense in the face of general global catastrophism that plagues us. We need certainty of what something is somewhere, don’t we? Noise as an idea has expanded and contracted to so many iterations of itself it is hard to tell what it even is, and it is particularly difficult to identify in the absence of solid network activations a moment to reflect on its own complexities and nuances. In the face of so much change, I argue that the language of noise culture at large has on one hand become increasingly didactic and predictable, and laughably inclusive and non linear on the other. Probably has always been this way, but now we are in the midst of a moment of extreme access and indexicality, which somehow cauterizes expansion and naivety and chance.

This record highlights the Secret Boyfriend that obscures didacticism by highlighting output that opens up for more challenging catharsis and emotive signal processing. It provides an entry to the materialism of a cultural field full of ecstatic complexity and beautiful inconsistency. In these muted moments Secret Boyfriend has given us over his career we have an argument for evolving languages that further challenge our notions of what is supposed to happen and how it is supposed to be presented. In his more song oriented expansiveness, we can punctuate the ability to think in new modalities. Listening to these recordings reminds me of the polarity of sitting in the record store as a kid and understanding that His Name Is Alive is on 4AD and (gasp!) timeSTEREO. This trite early impression that nothing is really as different as our imaginations might want them to be, and that we can do whatever we want mostly within the creative realms we work through is an important filter to look through Secret Boyfriend as a project and a vessel. If we can achieve abandon and vulnerability through our artistic endeavors, then we have a sound model for, maybe, new potentialities. If that’s too much projection, or just complete liberal bullshit, I am fine with that. Secret Boyfriend's oeuvre at best offers us moments of reprieve to ponder these complexities, or at least a moment to zone out on a drive through North Carolina Highway 54.

You have one pocket of life that you must do whatever you want to inside of. Secret Boyfriend does it affectionately, in a variety of forms, and always with deep sentimentality. These recordings are a wonderful set of songs to begin further investigation from. Thank you Ryan for allowing as many avenues as possible to continue a broad cultural exchange and conversation that intersect and refract while being the kind of artist that is brave enough to not phone in the effort.”

- Nick Klein , May 2024

Horrible Occurrences is the title of the new Advance Base album, and there is truth in advertising. In these songs_all centered around a fictional town called Richmond and featuring an interlinked cast of characters_you will hear stories of death and disappearance, climactic confrontations and unsolved mysteries. "Richmond is just this place where all the bad memories live," Owen Ashworth explains, and nearly 30 years into his songwriting career, none of his records have packed quite the emotional intensity of this one. And yet something alchemical happens in the telling of these tales. Like a masterful short story collection, Horrible Occurrences is inspiring and alive, idiosyncratic and electric, pulling you closer with each word. In the six years since his last full-length collection of originals, 2018's Animal Companionship, Ashworth gathered ideas from performing live and traveling around the country, returning to cities that he once called home and revisiting old ghosts, memories, and fragments of unfinished ideas. Blending truth and fiction into a dreamlike composite, the songs convey the winding path our memory takes as the years go by, giving voice to a subconscious that is still unpacking old memories for new wisdom. Drawing inspiration from the otherworldly loneliness depicted on '80s masterpieces like Arthur Russell's World of Echo and Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska, the music never crowds Ashworth's detailed storytelling but it also never feels auxiliary. These are beautiful songs, but they stick with you for their ability to strike dissonant, unforgettable emotional chords. It is this pervasive empathy in Ashworth's songwriting_along with his writerly gift for clear settings and complex characters_that has made him a guiding light for so many independent artists. The things that happen throughout Horrible Occurrences are what we tend to call "unspeakable"_events that draw gut-level responses just from acknowledging that they could happen. But part of the triumph of the record is how simply and generously Ashworth finds the language to share them. For the characters in these songs who make it out okay, these are the types of memories they will be tossing and turning their whole lives, waiting for quiet moments to confide them among the people they trust. For the rest of us, they are signs of life along the highway on a dark, snowy night: reminders that, as isolated as we may feel, we are not alone on the road.

This band, and this album, function as critical missing links that takes one from The Fall to Yard Act, from Television and The Minutemen to Parquet Courts and Sleaford Mods, from punk as a sound to punk purely as an ethos. While any Van Pelt album is a stand alone album, the unique approach they take begs one to enter their world and dig deep in.

RELATED TO: The Lapse, Native Nod, St Vincent, Blonde Redhead, Enon, Jets to Brazil, Vague Angels, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, American Football, Texas is the Reason.

‘The lines between post-hardcore, indie rock, and emo blurred on the two mid-’90s full-lengths from the Van Pelt.’ Pitchfork

‘New York City’s The Van Pelt are an influential, but too often overlooked indie rock band -- cult favorites for many an emo-inclined crate digger.’ Consequence of Sound

‘...should be mentioned a lot more than they are when you talk about the history of emo.’
Washed Up Emo

Back in the day there was this thing called an A&R guy. They would hang out at small venues looking to throw money at the next big thing. In the early 90s, everyone was looking for the next Nirvana of course. NYC's The Van Pelt had just released an album of anthems called "Stealing From Our Favorite Thieves" that seemed to be just that. The only thing is, they didn't want to sign. Legend has it $2 million was turned down over pierogies and coffee one Monday morning because The Van Pelt didn't want to risk crashing and burning. Instead, they were gunning for a long and stable stride even if that meant they would largely remain out of the public's eye forever.

Lack of willingness to play the game didn't mean people weren't waiting with baited breath for their follow up album though. In 1997 The Van Pelt released "Sultans of Sentiment", an album nearly devoid of the anthems and licks people were expecting. In fact, it's a complete bummer of an album that subjects the listener to the point on life's curve where the hubris of youth gives way to a cresting crashing defeat no kid with heart could ever have seen coming. Seeing as humanity are sick fuckers who revel in the misery of both themselves and others, the popularity of Sultans grew and grew and continues to win new loyal fans even today. It's for this classic album The Van Pelt has never fallen off the radar.

That being said, their swan song "The Speeding Train" was recorded while they were working on their third album. In any other age, in any other way, this song would have been a hit. The Van Pelt broke up mid-recording, released Speeding Train as a single, and the rest of the songs from that session didn't see the light of day until they were released in 2014 as the "Imaginary Third" lp.

Why are we here talking about them today in 2023? Because in preparation for the release of "Imaginary Third" The Van Pelt started playing some reunion shows. Soundchecks revealed to them that this band has a voice that was prematurely muted by their inability to see clearly in the thick of it. Returning to explore just what that is 25 years later has led to this first collection of 9 songs, "Artisans & Merchants". This is not a reunion album. This is vindication for that decision made over pierogies and coffee decades ago. The Van Pelt is a band in it for the long haul, free from whatever trappings the mayflies of trends and markets may bring.

For lovers of The Van Pelt, listening to "Artisans & Merchants" is like hearing the voice of a dear friend you haven't seen in years, a friend you used to share countless beers with over banter that went nowhere other than delivering a solid night. Your friend is older, they've changed. In some ways you're worried for them, looks like they might be teetering on the brink of something. In other ways it's the same old them, a nugget of a soul too unique to ever be altered. It's for those unfamiliar with The Van Pelt though for whom we should be truly jealous. This is a stand alone album, incredible vital song writing in and of itself regardless of the long history this band has. The climax of the single "Image of Health" perhaps describes the beautiful desperation best: "And you never felt more alive / Than when the priest came to read you your rites!"

8/10 FULL-PAGE LEAD REVIEW IN UNCUT: “TALENTED ARTISTS SUCH AS ALDOUS HARDING , DELANEY DAVIDSON, IVY ROSSITER AND MARLON WILLIAMS REPRESENT A FRESH COUNTRY-FOLK/AMERICANA MOVEMENT IN AND AROUND CHRISTCHURCH AND DUNEDIN. NADIA REID'S IMPECCABLE DEBUT WILL MAYBE SET A WIDER ORBIT IN MOTION.”
4/5 LEAD REVIEW IN MOJO: “INSPIRED DEBUT BY A YOUNG NEW ZEALAND SINGER-SONGWRITER YOU'LL FEEL YOU'VE KNOWN FOREVER. A WONDERFUL ALBUM"

SUNDAY TIMES DEBUT OF THE WEEK: "SHE RANKS ALONGSIDE LOW AND THE COWBOY JUNKIES FOR DELIVERING SLOW-BURN EMOTION"
"It has all that well-smoked wisdom, that mingling of strength and yearning that seems to charge the work of all my favourite female artists – Laura Marling, The Weather Station, Sharon Van Etten and Tift Merritt, to name but four. Reid is just 23, and since I am loathe to run that “old beyond her years” line, let us simply say that when I hear a young artist making an album as soulful and rich and self-possessed as Listen to Formation, Look for the Signs, I feel so thrilled not only for the existence of that record but for all the music they will make over all the years to come.” THE GUARDIAN PLAYLIST
6MUSIC ALBUM OF THE WEEK
A richness of voice; a depth of emotion; and wise beyond her years; with Listen To Formation, Look For the Signs, 23-year-old New Zealand native Nadia Reid has claimed her place as one of the country’s most evocative and profound young songwriters. Her music traces the sharp mountain peaks, azure coastline, and mirrored images of the land and sky that pinpoint her home country’s vast open landscapes.
Whether nerding about with friends, stunning audiences into silence with her spellbinding live shows or unwinding in the tranquillity of her favourite hometown spot overlooking Port Chalmers’ harbour through her large-rimmed spectacles, Nadia Reid has achieved a gloriously fresh and eloquent new folk sound. “I’ve been in New Zealand my whole life and guess at times I take for granted the serene beauty that I live so closely with,” she says of her music’s majestic affiliation with nature. Mapping out tales of change and loss, whilst drawing inspiration from reading, writing, the human condition, falling in and out of love, death, and birth - it all lends to a superbly balanced album that moves surreptitiously between sparse and fragile melancholia to beautifully brutal lyricism with a philosophical maturity that bellies her years.
Born in Auckland, Nadia’s acoustic roots stem from an upbringing in a musical household where attending folk clubs and festivals were regular occurrences on the family calendar. “I was lucky to witness a lot of live music and theatre performances because my mum was an actress. I was encouraged to learn piano and guitar, and attended a Steiner school where we spent a lot of time in nature, singing songs.” Before long Nadia was listening to The Be Good Tanyas with friend and fellow recording artist Aldous Harding, which spurred her chosen career path. “There was something spiritual about the Tanyas’ records - I vividly remember the goose-bump feelings up my arms, a true connection to the lyrics and vocals,” she recalls. “Aldous was the first person who told me I had a good voice and I thank her for that. I admire her as an artist and writer, and we like to keep up with what each other is up to.”
Creating her own enchanting wonderworld, each of Nadia’s songs explores the elements; truly organic, her vocals ebb, flow and soar but are always ignited with fire from the gut. Her lyrics clearly reference lush landscapes but equally reflect alienation provided by the surrounding Pacific Ocean and mortality of living in such close proximity to Mother Nature’s wrath, as experienced whilst living in Christchurch at the time of 2011’s devastating earthquake. “It shook the city to its core,” Nadia recalls. “I’m sure living through it has shaped my personality and writing. My first EP was recorded just months afterwards, it was a strange time. We were all quite fragile, but I was braver somehow.”
Boldly infusing folk with full flavour, Listen To Formation, Look For The Signs was produced by Ben Edwards, owner of Lyttelton Records in his Sitting Room studios with Nadia’s band consisting bassist Richie Pickard, guitarist Sam Taylor and percussionist Joe McCallum. Whilst 'Reaching Through’s rich but unhurried nature evokes She Hangs Brightly -era Mazzy Star and intricate nuances of Beth Orton are recalled on lead single ‘Call The Days’ which talks of moving to a new town and was the first song penned after Nadia moved from Christchurch to Wellington; spurred on by a “panic attack” and being “worried about making the right choices in life”. Elsewhere ‘Runway’ and ‘Some Are Lucky’ immediately channel Nadia’s love of TBGT’s Jolie Holland and appreciation for New Zealand’s Maori music by Maisey Rika and Anika Moa, plus the inspirational narratives of Kenyan-born Somali poet Warsan Shire.

'We are thrilled to be able to bring you Yara Asmar's first two cassette releases in a deluxe remastered double vinyl gatefold package featuring all new art and design from Yara herself.

Both albums were originally released on Hive Mind Records in 2022 and 2023 and received critical acclaim around the world':

“Melancholic drifts sound through the overcast skies of synth waltzes and accordion laments, infusing ageless melodies with a sense of falling backward through time. History is stitched through gilded aural silhouettes and elegiac drones. Asmar’s music is visceral. While electronics beckon beyond the sunrise stretched through a metallic shimmer, synth waltzes and accordion laments sticks with us while we remain lost in the hazy doldrums, always crawling forward tethered to our past lives. Highest recommendation.”
Brad Rose, Foxy Digitalis

"...these tracks are a cushion against reality. Asmar creates music that unfurls in evanescent bliss, an invitation to a safe space both isolated and welcoming."
Daryl Worthington, The Quietus

"...a set that transmutes the instrument’s droning tones into a sweep of introspective, breath-catching moments of beauty"
Eric Torres, Pitchfork Best Jazz & Experimental Albums of 2023

"The combination and contrast of highly familiar and highly alien elements give Asmar's music a quality not quite like anything else I can name. The way she channels found voices into her surreal mix of sounds is particularly striking."
Byron Coley, The Wire

The Three Corpses EP is a heavier, fresh take on HAGGUS traditional brand of mincegore, debuting their new drummer and lowest tuning yet (drop G) to the world. Expanding on the classic HAGGUS approach, they’ve made it the heaviest and nastiest it’s ever been without straying too far from the traditional HAGGUS sound. In traditional fashion this was recorded in the HAGGUS practice space by Hambone but professionally mixed and mastered by Chris Revill of the now defunct band Shitlife. Limited Neon Green Vinyl for retail. Haggus was formed in 2014 by guitarist / vocalist, Hambone, as an outlet to merge the traditional sound and politics of Mincecore with the sonic barbarity of old school Goregrind. Obsessed with pitch shifters but finding a lack of bands using them that were not labeled misogynistic porno-grind, Hambone set out on an unstoppable quest to put his brand of “Mincegore” on the map. Solely influenced by the mighty Agathocles, Hambone was determined to keep the spirit of true Mincecore alive (encompassing everything from their relentless release schedule to their uncompromising political agenda speaking out against misogyny, sexism and homophobia in the scene) while adding his own style of gore infused vocals into the mix. Coming from a purely crust and punk background, Hambone has taken a strictly DIY approach with Haggus since inception. With a tireless work ethic, the band dropped close to 100 songs within the first 6 months of existence followed by self-releasing over 60 splits, 10 EPs and 3 full length albums while touring over 20 countries since 2014. In traditional Mincecore fashion (just like Jan is to Agathocles), Hambone is the sole founder and only remaining original member of the band. After a decade of DIY, Hambone is proud to announce the partnership with the now legendary Bay Area label, Tankcrimes, and wants any Haggus fans to know that this is only the beginning… gore freaks and mince mongers commence - for worldwide Mincecore domination is upon us!!!

The No End In Suffering EP is a compilation of songs that are a bit more outside the box of traditional HAGGUS material. On this record HAGGUS experiments with brand new riff territories, added previously unused tempos and left no stone unturned when it came to delivering this slab of horror-inducing sonic butchery. Production-wise the band purposely went for a more raw 90’s goregrind sound while still adhering to the downtuned, heavy theme of the Three Cadavers EP. Limited Blood Red Vinyl for retail. Haggus was formed in 2014 by guitarist / vocalist, Hambone, as an outlet to merge the traditional sound and politics of Mincecore with the sonic barbarity of old school Goregrind. Obsessed with pitch shifters but finding a lack of bands using them that were not labeled misogynistic porno-grind, Hambone set out on an unstoppable quest to put his brand of “Mincegore” on the map. Solely influenced by the mighty Agathocles, Hambone was determined to keep the spirit of true Mincecore alive (encompassing everything from their relentless release schedule to their uncompromising political agenda speaking out against misogyny, sexism and homophobia in the scene) while adding his own style of gore infused vocals into the mix. Coming from a purely crust and punk background, Hambone has taken a strictly DIY approach with Haggus since inception. With a tireless work ethic, the band dropped close to 100 songs within the first 6 months of existence followed by self-releasing over 60 splits, 10 EPs and 3 full length albums while touring over 20 countries since 2014. In traditional Mincecore fashion (just like Jan is to Agathocles), Hambone is the sole founder and only remaining original member of the band. After a decade of DIY, Hambone is proud to announce the partnership with the now legendary Bay Area label, Tankcrimes, and wants any Haggus fans to know that this is only the beginning… gore freaks and mince mongers commence - for worldwide Mincecore domination is upon us!!!

"‘One of the most exciting composers alive.’ – Daily Telegraph

Nonesuch will release the original score for Ken Burns’s new two-part documentary, LEONARDO da VINCI, with new compositions by Caroline Shaw; the documentary airs on November 18 and 19 on PBS. The album features performances by the composer’s longtime collaborators Attacca Quartet, Sō Percussion, and Roomful of Teeth as well as John Patitucci. Shaw wrote and recorded new music for LEONARDO da VINCI, marking the first time a Ken Burns film has featured an entirely original score.

In celebration of LEONARDO da VINCI, New York City’s historic venue The Town Hall presents an evening of performances from Shaw’s score by Attacca Quartet, Sō Percussion, and Roomful of Teeth on October 29. The filmmakers will also preview excerpts from the four-hour film..

LEONARDO da VINCI is directed by Ken Burns, Sarah Burns, and David McMahon. The film, which explores the life and work of the fifteenth century polymath Leonardo da Vinci, is Burns’s first non-American subject. It also marks a significant change in the team’s filmmaking style, which includes using split screens with images, video, and sound from different periods to further contextualize Leonardo’s art and scientific explorations. LEONARDO da VINCI looks at how the artist influenced and inspired future generations, and it finds in his soaring imagination and profound intellect the foundation for a conversation we are still having today: what is our relationship with nature and what does it mean to be human?

“No single person can speak to our collective effort to understand the world and ourselves,” said Ken Burns. “But Leonardo had a unique genius for inquiry, aided by his extraordinary skills as an artist and scientist, that helps us better understand the natural world that we are part of and to appreciate more fully what it means to be alive and human.”

“To help give depth and dimension to Leonardo’s inner life, and to carry our viewers on his personal journey, we enlisted the composer Caroline Shaw,” McMahon says in the album’s liner note. “Caroline’s existing body of music—joyful, daring, at times transcendent, and wholly unique—seemed to speak directly to Leonardo, a seeking soul who, 500 years after his death, can come across as strikingly modern. A fully original score, we believed, would add crucial connective tissue to areas where the record of Leonardo’s life is thin and it’s possible to briefly lose his trail. The music Caroline created is dynamic, enthralling and filled with wonder.

“This soundtrack is a testament to the inspired efforts of Jennifer Dunnington, who marshaled it into being, the brilliant musicians and vocalists who, with the help of Alex Venguer, Neal Shaw, Colton Dodd and Tim Marchiafava, made it soar, and most of all Caroline Shaw, who might be Leonardo’s soulmate from across time,” he continues. “With her help, the Leonardo who emerges is no wizard shrouded in mystery, but a prideful, obsessive, at times lonely or flustered, occasionally ecstatic, and, in the end, content man who is in ways both modern and thoroughly of his time.”

“As we set out to explore Leonardo’s life, we realized that while he was very much a man of his time, he was also interested in something more universal,” said Sarah Burns. “Leonardo was uniquely focused on finding connections throughout nature, something that strikes us as very modern today, but which of course has a long history.”

Caroline Shaw is a musician who moves among roles, genres, and mediums, trying to imagine a world of sound that has never been heard before but has always existed. She is the recipient of the 2013 Pulitzer Prize in Music, several Grammy awards, an honorary doctorate from Yale, and a Thomas J. Watson Fellowship. She has worked with a range of artists including Rosalía, Renée Fleming, and Yo-Yo Ma, and she has contributed music to films and TV series including Fleishman Is in Trouble, Bombshell, Yellowjackets, Maid, Dark, and Beyoncé’s Homecoming. In addition to three albums with Sō Percussion, Narrow Sea, Let the Soil Play Its Simple Part, and Rectangles and Circumstance, Nonesuch has released her two Grammy-winning albums Orange and Evergreen, both of which feature Attacca Quartet. “Two-Step” and “Ghost,” Shaw’s songs with Ringdown, her duo with Danni Lee Parpan, are available now on Nonesuch. Caroline Shaw is Wigmore Hall’s 2024-25 Composer in Residence."

On alene et, Michaela Turcerová, a Copenhagen-based, Slovakia born musician, takes minutiae — the tiniest scrapes and breathiest hums — and distorts them into sprawling, collaged webs that barely resemble the instrument in its natural state. Each shard, when pieced together, makes a rhythmic, undulating sound born from the subtlest motions.

Alene et marks Turcerová’s debut as a soloist, putting a spotlight on the exploratory approach she has developed on her own and across a variety of collaborations. She has long studied the quiet excavation of her instrument, pulling it apart to find a new vocabulary. To develop this language, she unearths shards of sound from the instrument, muting it or bringing out its scratchiness and grittiness. Primarily working with open-ended scores and improvisation, she is inspired by various percussive music, looking to deep sonic awareness to guide her. As a soloist, her music harkens to the abstracted electronics present across the Editions Mego catalog or the distorted ruminations of Nyege Nyege tapes. And no matter where she goes, she is constantly in the pursuit of the unknown — the hidden elements of music that come to life through experimentation and listening.

With alene et, Turcerová presents her singular language on the saxophone to the fullest. To make this music, she placed many microphones close to her instrument, zeroing in to each sound and examining it from multiple different angles. She emphasizes the percussive possibilities of her instrument, puzzle-piecing each note into pulsating webs. Each track highlights a different side of the saxophone — the bristling distortion and amplification of a column of air as it blows through her saxophone’s body, the trickling tapping of the keys as she places her fingers onto them.

At its core, alene et presents Turcerová’s curiosity. The saxophone lives many different lives within her hands, shapeshifting through the uncovering of its possibilities. She shows us how the instrument is an ever-changing entity, a distorted and blown out drone with a thousand shards poking out from inside of it. But more than just a showcase of an individual instrument, alene et feels like a statement of the act of exploration. Turcerová is an excavator, always looking for new worlds hidden within her saxophone, and leaving room for more to come alive with each listen.

This soundtrack LP features songs that were all included in the 1986
coming-of-age film "Stand By Me", which was directed by Rob
Reiner. The film is based on Stephen King's novella The Body, with
the title deriving from the song of the same name by Ben E. King.
The film is set in the fictional town of Castle Rock, Oregon, in 1959,
and stars Wil Wheaton, River Phoenix, Corey Feldman, and Jerry
O'Connell, as four boys who go on a hike to find the dead body of a
missing boy. The movie's success sparked a renewed interest in
Ben E. King's song "Stand by Me", with the song re-entering the US
Billboard Top 10 chart in 1986. The soundtrack is crammed with
great, early rock & roll hits. The movie may have been nostalgic, but
the music on this soundtrack still sounds alive, decades after it was
originally recorded.

You Never End is the third album from Valentina Magaletti, Tom Halstead and Joe Andrews (Moin) out via AD 93 on the 25th October. Its title alone expresses the teetering and shifting nature of both the album and band. This record marks the Moin’s shift into a new phase with vocal collaborations across the album from Olan Monk, james K, Coby Sey and Sophia Al-Maria.

The album’s collaborators all have voices that are alluring in their own right whilst hard to pin down: from james K’s ethereal, reverb drenched vocals, Coby Sey’s words that bounce and echo across London’s concrete streets and Olan Monk’s emotive songwriting, while artist Sophie Al-Maria’s voice and thoughts are known to stretch across her multidisciplinary practice as an artist, filmmaker and writer. The unique mystique of each collaborator is maintained throughout the record while simultaneously opening Moin up to new possibilities, in a gentle shifting alchemy.

Continuing their enigmatic re-configuring of the traditional band, Moin use a mix of conventional and unique production and compositional techniques. Subtly re-framing the current conversation about what band in 2024 needs to be, Moin walk the line between what's reassuringly familiar and what's unsettling and inquisitive. You Never End is a more sensitive record in sentiment, it re-contextualises grunge, shoegaze and indie rock with a weirdly comforting melancholy while still sounding direct and alive.

Showing Moin at their most accessible, the vocal collaborations bring the most articulate moments and lucid emotion while still remaining uniquely within Moin's established world. Alongside this, the record fine tunes the elements of electronic production that have always been a feature of the band's unique sound in a deeply subtle way. Elements are simpler and more direct, offering robust functional support as well as textural and emotional resonance. Together they show the potential for both practices to intertwine.

You Never End is both produced and mixed by Tom and Joe, demonstrating the extended range of control the pair have over the band's sound, and their ability to truly hold together Moin’s intricate world.

Wajeed's brilliant Dirt Tech Reck brings some Latin flair to this new 12" from Michele Manzo. 'NiNos Del Mar' is bright and sunny and hella lively from the off with opener 'Liquida' layering up warm, soulful chords and percussive drums with an exotic vocal loop. It's a great mix of organic and synthetic sounds and it radiates warmth and energy for any dance floor. 'Quasi' is a house shuffler with more minimal drums but still a sun-kissed sound thanks to the steamy vocals and tropical percussion which flutters over the relentless groove. Summer may be nearly over, but this one keeps the vibes well and truly alive.