quête:but

Remastered Deluxe-Format zum 25-jährigen Jubiläum des legendären Debütalbums der US-Indie-Band American Football. Die Band brillierte mit einem Slowcore-Sound zwischen Math- und Post-Rock, löste sich aber kurz danach auf, um sich mit einer Reissue dieser LP 2014 wieder zu vereinen. Im Zuge der zweiten Emo-Welle entfaltete das Album eine ungeahnte Wirkung: Für Pitchfork "beste Neuauflage" und "einflussreichstes Album des Genres", für den Rolling Stone #6 der "40 besten Emo-Alben aller Zeiten". Das neue Format ist remastert und erscheint auf silberfarbigem Doppelvinyl mit 24-seitigem Booklet und Download-Card im Gatefold-Sleeve mit neuem Artwork in Silberfolienprägung.

The "Sula Bassana" project marks the fusion of two distinct but complementary musical worlds: that of 20syl, electro-hip hop producer and DJ, and that of Christophe Panzani, versatile jazz musician. The album is an ode to contemplation, an immobile voyage embodied by the Gannet, the symbol of their creativity as they fly across styles and soundscapes.

The duo affirm their complicity with the eponymous track "Sula Bassana", where 20syl's sophisticated electro production blends with Christophe Panzani's melodious instruments. The track was accompanied on its release by a remarkable interactive video that poetically retraces the journey of a gannet.

The album also features a number of enriching collaborations. On "Dreams", they invite Yael Naim with her haunting voice and poignant harmonies. "Nuevo Mundo" invites La Chica to take us into a vibrant and eclectic atmosphere, fusing electro rhythms with Latin influences. Finally, "Playtime" features jazz pianist Eric Legnini, whose subtle chords and virtuoso improvisation infuse the album with a refined energy.

"Sula Bassana" is a space where the duo asserts itself with confidence, a rich and varied musical exploration, transcending the boundaries of genres to offer a unique and captivating sonic experience.

Area Silenzio is eat-girls" debut record and it is both haunted and haunting. For the past four years, the French trio have been crafting their songs into little self-contained worlds with the patience of entomologists, taking them out all over the country and Europe to confront them with the wilderness of a live audience. The ten resulting tracks are a collection of electronic madrigals, groove-driven songs played on a mischievous multi-speed Victrola, ranging from languid dub drips to full-on drum machine cavalcades. Their live performances have that same ghostly, ephemeral quality. There is something other-worldy about the three of them, a suggestion of telepathy, their three voices blending together or going their separate ways like a flock of starlings. They secured opening slots with artists as different as Thalia Zedek, Exek and The Young Gods, just to name a few. It is the elusive essence of their music that allows them to feel at ease pretty much anywhere they find themselves: part no-wave disco rhythms, part post-punk throbbing basses, folk tunes and synthesizers in equal measures, with a perpetual attention to hooks and melodies. The album was self-recorded, a necessary measure to protect the delicate nature of the inner landscapes painted by the band. In this case "delicate" does not mean "soft" by any means: the industrial disco inferno of "A Kin", the ritualistic kraut stampede of "Para Los Pies Cansados" and the bubbly post-funk rhythms of "Trauschaft" will leave you gasping for air once you come out on the other side. "On a Crooked Swing", the opener, is all arpeggiated bass and stumbling kicks. "Unison" will dip you into a hallucinatory river where nothing is what it seems to be and rescue you at the very last second. "Canine", the first single off the record, will gently but firmly reach for your jugular with its vulpine Farfisa and deceptively nonchalant drum beat. The vocal polyphonies on "3 Omens" sound like a field recording of traditional music from a tiny country that has yet to be discovered. eat-girls exist on a slightly different plane from ours, where everything is teeming with secrets and hidden life. Area Silenzio is a precious polaroid shot from that world, or, as Tom Verlaine would have it, "a souvenir from a dream".

Area Silenzio is eat-girls" debut record and it is both haunted and haunting. For the past four years, the French trio have been crafting their songs into little self-contained worlds with the patience of entomologists, taking them out all over the country and Europe to confront them with the wilderness of a live audience. The ten resulting tracks are a collection of electronic madrigals, groove-driven songs played on a mischievous multi-speed Victrola, ranging from languid dub drips to full-on drum machine cavalcades. Their live performances have that same ghostly, ephemeral quality. There is something other-worldy about the three of them, a suggestion of telepathy, their three voices blending together or going their separate ways like a flock of starlings. They secured opening slots with artists as different as Thalia Zedek, Exek and The Young Gods, just to name a few. It is the elusive essence of their music that allows them to feel at ease pretty much anywhere they find themselves: part no-wave disco rhythms, part post-punk throbbing basses, folk tunes and synthesizers in equal measures, with a perpetual attention to hooks and melodies. The album was self-recorded, a necessary measure to protect the delicate nature of the inner landscapes painted by the band. In this case "delicate" does not mean "soft" by any means: the industrial disco inferno of "A Kin", the ritualistic kraut stampede of "Para Los Pies Cansados" and the bubbly post-funk rhythms of "Trauschaft" will leave you gasping for air once you come out on the other side. "On a Crooked Swing", the opener, is all arpeggiated bass and stumbling kicks. "Unison" will dip you into a hallucinatory river where nothing is what it seems to be and rescue you at the very last second. "Canine", the first single off the record, will gently but firmly reach for your jugular with its vulpine Farfisa and deceptively nonchalant drum beat. The vocal polyphonies on "3 Omens" sound like a field recording of traditional music from a tiny country that has yet to be discovered. eat-girls exist on a slightly different plane from ours, where everything is teeming with secrets and hidden life. Area Silenzio is a precious polaroid shot from that world, or, as Tom Verlaine would have it, "a souvenir from a dream".

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

Known for the monolithic force of their music and their inventive production techniques, The Body"s albums are benchmarks in the expansion and evolution of heavy music. Tightly packed with deceptively nuanced arrangements and exhilarating, challenging distortion, their compositions are possessed of an unmistakably singular sound. The Crying Out of Things is no exception; a culmination of all that The Body have done before, highlighting their mastery of dynamic and monumental music that pushes toward the unmistakable sound of oblivion The Body have produced a wealth of groundbreaking collaborations with the likes of Full of Hell, Thou, Uniform, BIG|BRAVE, OAA, and Dis Fig. The duo"s benchmark albums have, over the past 2 decades, changed the perceptions and directions of heavy music. The Crying Out of Things" embrace of noise is a comprehensive display of the multitude of expressions possible with abrasive sound, a skill that The Body have pioneered and refined. "I think for us the key to the way we use noise is, it"s not the only element," says Buford. "You"ve gotta really listen if you"re into noise. But it also has to have dynamics. Where, say, BIG|BRAVE (who have a similar ethos) expresses it in this more intellectual, minimalist way, The Body comes from an instinctual, maximalist way. We"re trying to cover it ALL." The Body stand alone in their ability to connect disparate influences and collaborators into a wholly original, potent and singular work. Alongside producer/engineer Seth Manchester, the duo"s voracious and omnivorous musical appetites have pushed the studio as an instrument into new avenues to conjure profound feelings from the music. The Crying Out of Things cements The Body"s place as a leader of heavy new music, their boundless creativity, their defining ability to convey anguish, created with a visceral clarity to devastating impact.

Known for the monolithic force of their music and their inventive production techniques, The Body"s albums are benchmarks in the expansion and evolution of heavy music. Tightly packed with deceptively nuanced arrangements and exhilarating, challenging distortion, their compositions are possessed of an unmistakably singular sound. The Crying Out of Things is no exception; a culmination of all that The Body have done before, highlighting their mastery of dynamic and monumental music that pushes toward the unmistakable sound of oblivion The Body have produced a wealth of groundbreaking collaborations with the likes of Full of Hell, Thou, Uniform, BIG|BRAVE, OAA, and Dis Fig. The duo"s benchmark albums have, over the past 2 decades, changed the perceptions and directions of heavy music. The Crying Out of Things" embrace of noise is a comprehensive display of the multitude of expressions possible with abrasive sound, a skill that The Body have pioneered and refined. "I think for us the key to the way we use noise is, it"s not the only element," says Buford. "You"ve gotta really listen if you"re into noise. But it also has to have dynamics. Where, say, BIG|BRAVE (who have a similar ethos) expresses it in this more intellectual, minimalist way, The Body comes from an instinctual, maximalist way. We"re trying to cover it ALL." The Body stand alone in their ability to connect disparate influences and collaborators into a wholly original, potent and singular work. Alongside producer/engineer Seth Manchester, the duo"s voracious and omnivorous musical appetites have pushed the studio as an instrument into new avenues to conjure profound feelings from the music. The Crying Out of Things cements The Body"s place as a leader of heavy new music, their boundless creativity, their defining ability to convey anguish, created with a visceral clarity to devastating impact.

Opaque yellow vinyl in reverse board jacket.
A full four years after Chicago organ maestro Jimmy Lacy’s legendary maiden voyage as SiP, Leos Naturals, he returns with its lush, layered, long-awaited sequel: Leos Ultras.

Conceived and recorded in a corner of a large floorplan warehouse-turned-sound lab called Homan Gardens, the album radiates a rare joy and colour, projected through a technicolor slideshow of cosmic keys, clarinet, kalimba, sax, melodica, flute, tambourine, and drumbox. The songs feel warm and weathered, like familiar garments treasured through passing seasons.

Many seasons did pass while these songs took shape, spiked with seismic changes – Lacy’s first daughter was born, followed 17 months by a second. Daily routines grew denser, but he never lost faith in the melodies simmering in the periphery of his thoughts: “I knew the music would be there whenever I had the time. It felt good to stay calm about it.” Patience paid off; Leos Ultras is indeed the ultimate SiP statement to date, rich with detail, discovery, beauty, lofted improvisation, and shades of spiritual jazz. It’s music both casual and cosmic, playful and poignant, channelled from long shadows and wordless hours in celebration of life, love, and Leo.

In the eternal city of Rome, where the whispers of cryptic ecclesiastical hierarchies still linger, FELDSPAR emerges as a musical enigma, delving into the shadows to unravel, with a certain dose of irony and creativity, the clandestine threads of power. Named after a mineral purportedly worn by a covert Roman clergy, this entity consists of six eclectic souls working tirelessly to expose the elusive puppeteers who have shaped the lives of millions of people since the beginning of time. Formed in late 2023 and based just a stone's throw from the Vatican, the Godless folk two blocks from the Pope, FELDSPAR's journey begins with the legendary Andrew Mecoli, founder of the iconic Growing Concern, Mecoli's guitar riffs echo the peculiar spirit of Italian hardcore. Joining him is Stefano Casanica, a prolific songwriter and producer, whose musical odyssey spans decades with undertakings in Undertakers, Craiving, Crude, and collaborations that transcend genres. Casanica's production magic is immortalized in Noyz Narcos cult classic 'Non dormire', a cornerstone of Italian hardcore rap with millions of streamings so far. Old City, New Ruins," the debut album of Feldspar, takes its title from Rome, the city where the band is based. It depicts the contemporary ruins of the capital, yet it's merely a pretext to expose the complexities of everyday life common to Western societies and their major cities, foremost among them.

"""Many Tribe fans consider the band’s next album, 1993’s Midnight Marauders, to be its magnum opus. But you don’t arrive at the perfect nocturnal LP without first releasing a focused work like The Low End Theory, which winnowed the colorful expanse of People’s Instinctive Travels into a seamless listen. The Low End sounds minimal in comparison and is a mostly drum’n’bass record of subtle bells and whistles. Tribe represented freedom, and some 30 years after The Low End Theory, it’s still a sonic marvel and one of the best hip-hop albums of all-time."" "

Released in December 2007, The Big Doe Rehab was a technical commercial success at the time, but it endures spiritually as an essential title in Ghostface Killah's own expansive, 13-album discography, let alone his larger body of work with other artists. While every Wu member’s solo project inevitably serves as a stage for the Clan, with The Big Doe Rehab, the spotlight never leaves Ghostface Killah in the dark, even with so many other big-name players entering and exiting — a level of artistry that could only be achieved by one of hip-hop’s top dart spitters.

While fighting through label limbo and placing his budding film career on freeze, Antwan “Big Boi” Patton spent a couple years readying the artillery for his solo close-up. Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty is both a testament to the maturation of Big Boi and a tribute to his late father; underneath, it’s a speakeasy at breakneck speed, sittin’ on 32s. Where many other formidable MCs would be eaten alive, Big Boi shapeshifts across every mood and landscape with his trademark tenacity. He’s an effortless showboat who can portray sleaze with ease, but he’s a true class act who’s got nothing left to prove, yet will never let it show. Flanked by his known co-conspirators and many more, Big Boi blesses the senses the way only an East Point playboy can; it’s an intergenerational time warp, and another funky ride in HD. The final product is a natural progression of his Organized Noize lineage, sent across dimensions to return with an assemblage of time-tested potent Black grooves, then pressure-cooked in the kitchen of thefinest booty club in Georgia.

“For fans old and new, they can expect to be reintroduced to some raw, authentic, classic Detroit Hip-Hop from beginning to end.”-Phat Kat on the Deluxe Edition re-release of “Carte Blanche”.

Phat Kat’s phenomenal sophomore solo LP, “Carte Blanche”, first released in ’07 via Look Records, is the sound of Detroit. It’s gritty, soulful, and raw, three key ingredients in bringing the blue-collar city’s vibe to life in music form. It’s also a modern classic that is getting the deluxe edition re-release it deserves, Below System Records is adding two rare bonus tracks produced by late Detroit legend, J Dilla.

Anyone familiar with Kat or Dilla’s work knows the two shared a special bond. In fact, Dilla would often go to the gruff-voiced emcee whenever he was looking to create a particularly tough track. This friendship led to them forming the group 1st Down, and this re-release’s two bonus cuts, “World Premiere” and “It Don’t Get No Liver Than This (feat. La Peace),” which were recording in 1996 and ’97, respectively. Despite 1st Down never taking off due to label issues, Kat and Dilla remained close and recorded a number of underground classics. Those include several joints off “Carte Blanche”, such as the stirring “Don’t Nobody Care About Us”, “Game Time”, and the Elzhi-featured “Cold Steel”. It’s actually that last track that Kat picks as his favorite cut off the record.

“If I gotta choose one, it would have to be ‘Cold Steel’ because it makes you wanna wild out as soon as the beat drops”, he says, adding that this was the first time he got to choose a Dilla beat to rap over. “He would never let me rock over beat tape beats-he use to say ‘Nah Kat, just write to them cause I’m gonna make all ya shit from scratch.’ ”

The album also boasts collaborations with other Detroit rap heavy-hitters, such as Black Milk, Guilty Simpson, Nick Speed, and T3 & Young RJ (of Slum Village). With Kat as their host, they were able to not only capture the sound of the Motor city in 2007 (when the album was originally released), but also cement its place in the greater canon of hip-hop as we know it today.

Ten years after the first chapter, Smoke DZA is back with the 2nd instalment of "The Hustler's Catalog". The Bronx native teams up with heavyweights such as Westside Gunn, Benny The Butcher, Dave Easy, Curren$y, Dom Kennedy and his RFC team with Nym Lo, Jayy Grams and OT The Real among others.

Tiny Mouse Tales was released in 2018. At the time, Evgeny was living in a house surrounded by forest. One night he noticed movement in his kitchen and saw a mouse. The mouse kept coming back but seemed to have different features each time! Eventually Evgeny understood that it was a family of mice, and the title of his new record was evident. On Tiny Mouse Tales Evgeny tells the musical story of the family of mice living in his home, expanding his palate to include the trumpet to great effect on tracks such as “Hunter In Love” and “Prologue.” The blog Spellbinding Music sums it up perfectly: “With short pieces such as “Prologue”, “Epilogue” or “Carousel”, the Tiny Mouse Tales EP sketches wonderful cinematic themes begging to be expanded and heard on the big screen.” Naive Album was released in 2019. Album opener “Where Art Thou” announces the arrival of a masterpiece. More than ever, Evgeny’s compositional voice is fully formed. Each track feels like a journey in itself, and the album has several crescendos that make the listener feel as if there is an entire orchestra backing Evgeny. The album closer, “Unexpected Finale Somewhere in Lisbon,” perfectly encapsulates this masterpiece. Running through three separate, repeating themes, the track is at times mournful, intense, epic and humorous. Witness the picked / improvised violin notes on top of the relaxed accordion theme that makes up the second half of the track. Although the record was recorded in Lisbon, this track has the feeling of a stroll down the Seine in Paris, a silhouette dancing with heels clicking left and right. Now, these treasured recordings and pieces of Evgeny Grinko’s creative world will be available in physical format for the first time.

"‘I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You’ runs the stylistic gambit without feeling Franklin is doing things just for show. The album isn’t trying to function as a resumé of her skills. Genre shifts feel organic and natural. “Don’t Let Me Lose This Dream” is built on a bossa nova groove, while “Do Right Woman Do Right Man” has a little country ballad flavor. “Dr Feelgood (Love Is A Serious Business)”—one of four songs penned by Franklin herself—is a bluesy belter. She might have been Queen of the genre, but pigeonholing Franklin in soul is like calling Sugar Ray Leonard just a welterweight. She could shuffle through styles as smooth as velvet. Everything is stamped with her own distinct character."

Comparing Miracle Debt to bands like the Replacements or Husker Du is a cheap shortcut. It’s not totally wrong; the three piece are a band making melodic punk and their songs do have distinct hardcore influences. But it's mostly just a geographically reference since Miracle Debt are from Minneapolis. The songs on their new LP, Under the Shadow are at their core short, DIY punk songs with riffs and twang that bleed through each and every one of the thirteen tracks.

Since forming in 2019, the band played locally, and toured regularly. By the time they were ready to record their second LP, Under the Shadow. In those years since the band started, Minneapolis and its punk scene have endured profound tragedy. As singer and guitarist Forrest Jedediah said of the record, “It's about moving forward, to keep some love in the face of horrible odds and traumatic loss. Holding on to what's good despite a spinning compass.”

Where would a painter paint if it were not on a white canvas? Where would a composer compose if it were not on the stave and the spaces in between the lines? How would a musician play his instrument if there were no melodies composed, written down, painted for him to follow?

The magic of art needs a frame, a somewhat solid container to hold the freedom that can only be found once we integrate some form of structure. And that also holds in every other area of life. We all need a frame, a structure, a rhythm, or else, we fall apart. This human form needs the body, and yet it transcends the limitations of the body - through art.

Consistency being one of them seems oftentimes less tangible, for it resides more in the act of doing, and showing up for the practice, for devoting energy and presence. Strangely, if we consistently show up for our practice, regardless of its form, the solid frame of the hour we devote to playing the instrument, learning a language, doing the sport, sitting silently for that meditation: It feels different every single time. It feels new every single time.

The repetitive consistency in being present again and again allows for nothing short of magic to happen. Magic feeds consistency. Consistency feeds magic. Consistency sets a foundation that strengthens over time. It allows us to slowly but surely develop any kind of skill, to find and hence to embody expertise. On the fertile grounds of such a solid foundation, creativity fosters, and innovation blossoms.

Establishing consistent rituals and routines can bring a sense of comfort and safety into every-day-life. For routine beholds repetition and its frame enables our experience within to change. In the familiar, we dare to explore, maybe even experiment, merely because a part of us remembers we depart from, and always return to, a safe space. We do not get lost. We do not fall apart. As we practice, again and again, we build resilience in overcoming obstacles or literally persevering through challenging situations and stretches of time.

While consistency gifts steadiness and stability, its overdose risks to result in what may appear as uniformity. It feels like constantly - consistently - dancing on the fine line of freedom within a structure. Life is filled with unexpected twists and turns, adjustments need to be made to accommodate change and avoid rigidity. By striking a balance between consistency and flexibility, we can create harmony in our lives, just like a beautiful melody that flows smoothly from one note to the next.

Within the magical waves of music, skills are needed, too. Consistency is key to show up and do the work. It frames the freedom of magic that resides beyond and only beyond effort. Learning to play an instrument, learning to sing, does never happen within the blink of the eye. It takes time. Time to show up for the practice, to do precisely that: practice. Again and again, every single time, again and again. Precision feeds perfection that falls apart inside the structure of a song, a line, a rhythm, dissolving into magic.

Consistency in practicing, in composing and sharing music with the world regardless of the form allows any musician to refine his style, to carve out his uniqueness. For any artistic expression is, after all: Unique. And this uniqueness is born inside the vessel of any structure, over and over again. Sharing music in the form of new releases and public performances nourishes the bond between artist and audience. And for that to unfold, both parties need to show up - while the underlying beat of this never-ending practice is presence fuelled by consistency.