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The Boysnoize Records catalogue contains more than a decade of milestones in the life of Angeleno DJ and producer PILO. His signatures—a focus on sound design, and a digital crunch evocative of hardware rather than software—are present from the very beginning, but the evolution of Pilo’s skill and sophistication is clear as he stretches from electro to experimental to techno and back again in a slowly oscillating gradient. Yet despite his dozen or so releases in just as many years, G.L.A.M. (dropping November 8th, 2024 from BNR) is Pilo’s first proper album. That the record embraces the cyclical nature of time is apropos; the artist’s journey towards self-actualized mastery always ends with a new beginning.



Over the eight tracks of G.L.A.M., Pilo reaches deep into the dream that first ignited the passion that has driven him since. For a chosen few internet-connected American teens in the aughts, the sounds of European electro (and electroclash) trickled down their ethernet cables and instilled a fantasy of exotic, sartorial, sexually-fluid hedonism that felt a world away from the hard-edged masculinity of the hip-hop and skate cultures dominant at home. Pilo opens G.L.A.M. expressing this idealized fantasy with the track “Superstar DJ,” channeling the tongue-in-cheek self-celebritizing of Miss Kitten and The Hacker’s seminal work. “I’m a superstar, come meet me at the bar,” hiss Pilo’s heavily effected vocals, over a bassline of chopped mentasm synths driven by a swift, club-ready rhythm. The fingerprint of 2000’s electro a la International Deejay Gigolo Records is recognizably present, yet Pilo is too adept, too confident in his studio abilities to let his tracks rely on the retro. A great joy of this album is the future-facing richness of its production, always nodding to its spiritual guide of the past, while constantly breaking new sonic ground.



G.L.A.M. continues with “Girls Rule The World,” its vicious, droning bassline and sticky, titular hook making it the perfect electroclash soundtrack for a revenge plot on an ex-boyfriend. “What you Want” offers an instrumental exercise in “synthesizers are the new guitars,” and Pilo’s FX chops really shine as he warps and distorts his sounds into an undiscovered dimension existing somewhere between both. “Loverboy” enters the more melodic, Legowelt-inspired realm of electro, pushing above and beyond the foundation of analogue minimalism with flourishes of impressive sound design to construct something both climactic and cathartic. Scopa lends her perfect coldwave sprechgesang to titular track “G.L.A.M.,” with Pilo’s vocal processing offering surprises throughout and his FX chains wielded as instruments unto themselves.



On the track “A Slow Thinning Halo,” Pilo might be conjuring the haunting vocal chops and chiptune simplicity of early Crystal Castles, but the whiplash snap of his drums and sizzling production are all his own. “Spend the Night” is G.L.A.M.’s least nostalgic—and most unashamedly pop—offering, with the mic being passed between Sana and DEEVIOUS (previously featured on Pilo and Boys Noize’s 2023 track “Pvssy.”) DEEVIOUS’ sultry singing rides atop the bassline as it hypnotically struts across the floor, while Pilo’s skillful arrangement, deft rhythm programming, and atmospheric control elevate the songcraft into full-spectrum worldbuilding.



As the penultimate track, the contemporaneity of “Spend the Night” serves as transition away from the album’s previous, past-leaning exercises, allowing Pilo to step fully into the future with “One Last Embrace.” The closing track still references aughts sounds, but it borrows so widely and prolifically that Pilo’s reassemblage can only be described as singular. Here, Pilo pushes his engineering into psychoacoustic territory, as the eerie, beautiful melancholy of “One Last Embrace” explodes into a thrashing bassline that warbles like a drowning memory, struggling against the sinking weight of time. Pilo allows it to survive for 16 electrifying, gut-wrenching bars before letting go. In G.L.A.M., as in Pilo’s career, as in life, every ending can only be a new beginning.

Computer Future is the sprawling and ambitious third album by amorphous Brisbane, Australia garage rock outfit Velociraptor! The 14-song opus is the best recorded capture yet of everything that makes the ‘Raptors so beloved, a stream of addictively catchy rockers characterised by stupidly infectious melodies, an overabundance of earworm hooks, guitars aplenty plus of course their trademark gang vocals and harmonies. The shadowy cabal behind Velociraptor have returned from a spell away from the spotlight with renewed vigour and focus, more committed to and appreciative of their combined talents and chemistry than their younger selves, who were perhaps more about concerned about chasing good times rather than long ones. These days there are more cooks in the ‘Raptors kitchen than before but that’s only allowed them to expand the palette of the Computer Future menu without compromising on quality. Their distinctively melodic take on the garage rock form is still entirely evident, only it’s now augmented by quirkily compelling sonic detours into psych and new wave realms, the band all the while sounding wholly like themselves and nobody but themselves (apart from perhaps the Devo-indebted title tracks). In their halcyon days Velociraptor were a force to be reckoned with, an amorphous collective sometimes up to 12 members strong - many of them wielding guitars of some description - who partied hard and played even harder, attacking their live shows with unbridled glee and genuine gusto. They toured Europe/UK, and staged with bands the calibre of Black Lips, New York Dolls, OFF!, Radio Birdman and Violent Soho. The unparalleled camaraderie of their renowned live blitzes - plus sheer size of the band - at times threatened to overshadow the genuine strength of their songwriting and recorded output, but now with Computer Future those concerns are firmly in the past!

Throughout the 1960s, Canadian composer Bruce Haack was as ubiquitous on children’s and variety shows as were exotic animals from the San Diego Zoo. But he wasn’t there to perform so much as demonstrate. In his formative compositions for theatre and ballet, he had experimented with tape loops and musique concrète techniques; by the early ’60s, he wasn’t just playing around with electronic sounds, but also making the very gizmos that generated them. By day, Haack would eke out a living as a composer for commercials and a series of instructive, interactive children’s records made with collaborator Esther Nelson.

But by night, Haack was making music that was decidedly adults-only.

Originally released in 1970, The Electric Lucifer was Haack’s first work pitched to a contemporary rock audience, released by Columbia Records in the dying days of a post-hippie moment when bizarro outsider-psych could still find a home on a major label. If it was not the first rock record to feature electronics, it was certainly among the first to give them a starring role—both musically and conceptually.

Before you ancients out there turn your heads and scoff at the premise of a twenty-something rock-and-roll goofball calling himself an old-anything, consider this: Mac DeMarco has spent the better part of his time thus far writing, recording, and releasing an album of his own music pretty much every calendar flip. This Old Dog makes for his fifth in just over half a decade_bringing the total to 3 LPs and 2 EPs. According to the DMV, DeMarco is 26. But in working-dog years, ol' Mac here could easily qualify for social security. To stay gold, turns out all he needed was some new tricks. It was a little space_in time, location, and method_that inspired DeMarco while making the record. Moving from his isolated Queens home to a house in Los Angeles helped give the somewhat transient Canada-native a base, and a few more months on his calendar to create did their job as well. Arriving in California with a grip of demos he'd written in New York, he realized after a few months of setting up his new shop_complete with a few new toys_that the gap was giving him perspective (insert tooth joke here). Right off the bat, from the pops and clicks of the CR-78 drum machine and acoustic strums on the album-opening "My Old Man," the synth-drenched beauty of the second track, "This Old Dog," it's clear that DeMarco's bag is filled with new tricks indeed. This Old Dog is rooted more in a synth-base than any of his previous releases, but he is careful not to let that tactic overshadow the other instruments and overall "unplugged" mood of the work: "This is my acoustic album, but it's not really an acoustic album at all. That's just what it feels like, mostly," says DeMarco. Despite the changes considered during the creation of This Old Dog, Mac DeMarco's mid-twenties masterpiece, it's clear that the engine that motors him is in no danger of slowing down.

2024 Repress

Re-mastered from the original Mono Master Tapes. Limited repress 1000 copies.

180 gr vinyl pressed by Pallas in Germany.

Deluxe high-gloss flipback album jacket.

Essay written by Brian Priestley.

Double insert using an original photo by JP Leloir from the concert.

Artwork by Jean-Louis Duralek.

Each record has been visually checked to prevent defects.

A never-before released Art Blakey 1965 live recordings.

First official release with the full permission and cooperation of the Art Blakey Estate & INA (Institut National de l’Audiovisuel).

Art Blakey, Live in ’65 boasts an exceptional one-hour concert from Paris in 1965. This performance showcases one of the few undocumented Blakey bands, the New Jazzmen, featuring Freddie Hubbard on trumpet, Jaki Byard on piano, Reggie Workman on bass, Nathan Davis on sax, and, of course, Blakey on drums.
Freddie Hubbard’s incendiary playing on “Blue Moon” and the blistering 24-minute version of his own “Crisis” shows that he was one of the most innovative trumpeters in jazz history.

On this live session, the audiences seem to have been enthusiastic and appreciative. “Everywhere we’d go people would say, This is the best Jazz Messengers we’ve heard!”, according to Davis. “And because of the way Jaki would play and Reggie would go, it was like a semi-freedom thing – with Messengers heads, you know, but when we got to soloing…! And Blakey was ridin’ and floatin’ the time…but he would always be loose enough to follow, to keep it going. He’s one helluva musician.”

Recorded at Palais de la Mutualité, Paris, France, November 3, 1965.

Freddie Hubbard (Trumpet)
Nathan Davis (Tenor saxophone)
Jacki Byard (Piano)
Reggie Workman (Bass)
Art Blakey (Drums)

In the heart of Offenbach, where the city's pulse synchronizes with the beat of the night, stands the illustrious Robert Johnson Club. For a quarter of a century, it has stood as a bastion of sonic exploration, a sanctuary for those who seek solace in the rhythm, and a beacon of inspiration for the global electronic music community. As it proudly raises its glass to toast 25 years of unrivaled musical excellence, the echoes of countless memories reverberate through its storied halls. To honor this landmark anniversary, „Live at Robert Johnson“ presents a kinda like masters blueprint of sound: "Tell Me Something Good - 25 Years of Famous When Dead!" This compilation, aptly named after the club's mantra, serves not only as a celebration of its rich history but also as a testament to the enduring legacy of the artists who have graced its stage. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail, each track on the compilation is a sonic journey unto itself—a symphony of beats and melodies that weave together to tell the story of Robert Johnson's evolution over the past quarter-century. From the pulsating rhythms of underground techno to the ethereal melodies of deep house, the compilation encapsulates the club's eclectic spirit and unwavering commitment to pushing the boundaries of electronic music. But beyond the music lies something deeper—an intangible energy that permeates every aspect of Robert Johnson's existence. It's the sense of camaraderie that binds together the club's patrons and artists alike, the shared experience of losing oneself in the music, and the profound sense of belonging that transcends language and culture. As the compilation reverberates through the speakers, it serves as a rallying cry—a call to arms for all who have ever felt the transformative power of music. It's a reminder that, even in the darkest of times, there is beauty to be found in the simple act of coming together and losing oneself in the rhythm of the night. So let us raise our voices in celebration of Robert Johnson Club and the indelible mark it has left on the world of electronic music. Here's to 25 years of passion, of creativity, and of "something good" that will echo through the ages for generations to come.

Over the last few years upstate NY has been breeding some stone-cold killers in the rap game, and the mysterious natural-born storyteller GREA8GAWD is one of the standout names, turning people’s heads with his cold-blooded rhymes and catching the attention of many legends in the game getting co-signs from the likes of Roc Marciano and Benny The Butcher among many others. Gritty tales of street life viciously delivered over productions by Merc Betz, who curated the entire album with GREA8GAWD himself, as well as Whip Beats, Thanos Beats, Inkwelltwowords, Sypooda, Alcatracks, Agallah, Nomass, Big Skoon, and guest appearances by Hell Rell, Joey Majors and Rellion.

Human existence in digital times is accompanied by a constant noise of language, words and opinions. It"s a cacophony, it"s all too much. The more is said and written, the less is said at times. The Berlin band neànder has no words. Guitarists Jan Korbach, Michael Zolkiewicz and Patrick Zahn and drummer Flo Häuser rather speak through their instruments. This is not a cliché, but can be heard and felt on the new album "III". Everything is in motion here, one thinks of endless landscapes and unknown worlds. And by the way, if we have refrained from categorizing genres in this text so far, it is because neànder cannot be assigned to any genre in a meaningful way. Of course, this music is somehow post-rock, grunge, metal, prog, ambient and even pop - but at the same time it"s not. You might have to imagine it a bit like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Prong, Mogwai, Black Sabbath, Faith No More and Venom would play a session together in 2024 and the result would be "III".

Mac DeMarco, formerly Makeout Videotape, is the anti-thesis to your stereotypical singer-songwriter. Disregarding the seriously somber moments, he replaces them with whimsical and youthful spontaneity, whilst retaining the endearing and subtle commentaries that exude his familiarity. Promptly after leaving his Edmonton garage for Vancouver he embarked on a North American tour accompanying fellow Canadians Japandroids on a grand voyage of enlightenment and alcoholic debauchery. DeMarco's a weird cat cultivating an affinity for occult imagery, nudity and social satire. But his most impressive trait is his undeniable and instinctual ability to compose magical pop jangles, of which he'll likely refer to as "jizz jazz". His dusted jams have garnished him accolades that are as ever-increasing as his song writing abilities; his sound rendering comparisons, but in a nomadic fashion alluding no distinct origin. DeMarco's debut solo EP entitled "Rock And Roll Night Club" will ramble into the great unknown guided by Captured Tracks, DeMarco's inner Elvis a tow.

There is NO LIGHT at the end of this tunnel! BROWN ACID: The Nineteenth Trip fires ten more savage nails deep into the coffin of ‘60s psychedelic idealism. This series is THE premier top dog journey into the rarest and most wasted early local eruptions of heavy rock, unleashed at a time when harsh reality, human nature and disillusionment drove prevailing underground rock glimpses of a ‘better’ world into ever darker selfabsorbed comedowns. Mind expanding ’60s love energies transform into toxic aggression right before your ears! The great thing is that these moves are totally justified, ‘we are all one’ is cosmically good in theory but ‘get it while you can’ ends up perhaps better advice in the light of human history. Both of those angles of awareness can coexist, some of these bands deliver unrelenting sideways positive energy but they aren’t over-thinking it, they are youthfully driven by hunger for life and satisfying the undeniable urges their DNA thrusts upon them. Sonically, the results in the BROWN ACID series never fail to breathe hot and heavy, the guitars kill it every time, the variety of approaches these tracks take keep the scenery shifting into new places. The key element that makes this stuff so potent is that THEY (the bands) are in control. Captured genuinely with no compromise, right out of the gate. No doubt they had ambition with high hopes for the future when they laid down these primal efforts, the fact that they captured their energy so vividly at a moment in time when the only direction imaginable was UP creates a hard hitting life affirming subtext to the proceedings. That is the core energy of blues and rock and roll, dealing with the struggles of existence by flipping a gigantic ‘what the fuck’ high energy bird right in the face of the moronic defective reality these bands were born into. If you take this stuff too ‘seriously’ you are utterly missing the point, it is beyond analysis, it is life itself! No amount of thinking will get you there quicker! BROWN ACID: The Nineteenth Trip is scary... the bottomless pit of deranged vintage heavy rock the series presents continually expands over time... one deadly dose too many and you might be trapped in the bad trip loop forever... enjoy it or lose your mind!

Repress! There are very few albums across any genre that stand the test of time better than 93 ‘Til Infinity, the classic debut record from the Hieroglyphics crew’s very own Souls of Mischief. In an era where Gangsta Rap and G-Funk dominated the West Coast Rap scene, Souls broke ground on a completely unique and thoroughly west coast sound. While the Dr. Dre’s and the Snoop Doggs were garnering much of the mainstream attention, Souls were quietly forging a charismatic, critically acclaimed, and cohesively shaped record that when categorized, sounded much closer to A Tribe Called Quest than N.W.A. The sound of their debut is characteristic of the distinct style explored by the collective, including a rhyme scheme based on internal rhyme and beats centered around a live bass and obscure jazz and funk samples.

93 ‘Til Infinity was propelled into success by its title track and lead single, which reached #32 on the Billboard Hot 100. It also featured singles “That’s When Ya Lost” and “Never No More” which also reached the Hot Rap Singles. In 1998, the album was selected as one of The Source’s 100 Best Rap Albums of All Time. Considered by many to be a text book “slept-on” classic Rap record, 93 ‘Til Infinity has only grown better with age. The album simply defines the Hiero golden age with a sound that would later be fine tuned with strong releases from MCs Del The Funkee Homosapien, Casual and Pep Love.

It takes some serious bravado to name your album 93 ‘Til Infinity, but certainly the goal of creating a Hip Hop “classic” must have been on the collective minds of group members A-Plus, Tajai, Opio, and Phesto when recording this landmark moment in Hip Hop history. It’s true, even seventeen years after the album’s initial release many people are still discovering it, and with this re-mastered reissue on double vinyl, fans all over the world will once again discover the brilliance that 93 ‘Til Infinity delivers and will continue to deliver beyond infinity.

Recorded at the Studio Acousti, Paris, September 23, 1965.

Original LP issue: International Polydor Production – 46.871.

This self-titled album is a testimony of the short lived-band led by New-York drummer Ron Jefferson during his stay in Paris in the mid-60s. After a first album under his name on Pacific Jazz in 1962, the founding member of The Jazz Modes and the Les McCann trio made the trip overseas.

Here, he made his living by playing with the popular pianists Errol Parker or Hazel Scott but his main drive was this trio that he formed with two other US expats, bassist Roland Haynes (the same musician who recorded an album on Black Jazz as a pianist, as confirmed by Kirk Lightsey) and guitarist Buz Saviano. After a highly successful show at ‘Palais de Chaillot’ in 1965, they were invited for a series of concerts in Dakar Sénégal. On their return, Polydor International proposed them this session. You can hear the deep impact their stay in the Motherland had on their music on the stand-out track ‘Africa the Beautiful’. On pair with the best of Yusef Lateef’s afro-eastern explorations from the time, it showcases Ron on flute and Senegalese percussion. The album release nonetheless was a commercial failure that prompted the band’s separation and Ron’s return to New-York where he performed until his passing in 2007.

Only a few copies of this record ever made it to the shops at the time and very few have had the chance to listen to it before this legit reissue remastered from the original MONO master tapes.

– Antoine Rajon –

Ron Jefferson (Drums & Flute)
Buz Saviano (Guitar)
Roland Haynes (Bass)
Jackie Robinson (Vocal on The Speaker)

Free The Robots unveils the second instalment of his tribute project to his Filipino roots.

The veteran member of L.A.'s Low End Theory collective (alongside Flying Lotus, Gaslamp Killer, Daedelus, Nosaj Thing) keeps his trademark punchy drum breaks and deep bass, but this time adds 100% samples from his archipelago (percussion, tribal voices, field recordings...).

Screen-printed sleeve

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?