Buscar:cast

A little-known tenor saxophonist deserving of wider recognition, Teddy Edwards made two Pacific Jazz albums including 1960’s Sunset Eyes, which was a showcase for his rich, powerful sound and featured a cast of musicians including pianist Joe Castro, bassist Leroy Vinnegar, drummer Billy Higgins, and others. This mono Tone Poet Vinyl Edition was produced by Joe Harley, mastered by Kevin Gray from the original analog master tapes, pressed on 180g vinyl at RTI, and packaged in a deluxe tip-on jacket.

Hyldon, Brasiliens hochverehrter Sänger, Musiker und Produzent, hat sich mit Adrian Younge zusammengetan, um ein neues psychedelisches Soul-Album, HYLDON JID023, zu kreieren. Das Duo, das sich von Hyldons bahnbrechenden Arbeiten der 60er und 70er Jahre inspirieren ließ, lässt den Geist dieser Epoche wieder aufleben und schafft gleichzeitig einen modernen Klassiker. Hyldons einzigartige Stimme und lyrische Tiefe, kombiniert mit Younge's innovativer, analoger Produktion, sorgen dafür, dass dieses Album nicht in Vergessenheit geraten wird. JID023 ist eine der letzten Aufnahmen mit Hyldons langjährigem Mitarbeiter und Freund, dem verstorbenen Schlagzeuger Ivan ,Mamao" Conti von Azymuth.

Nicolás Melmann (born in Buenos Aires and now based in Barcelona) explores sound's social and poetic dimensions through transdisciplinary projects. Drawing inspiration from Erik Satie's concept of "furniture music," Melmann's compositions transform the listening experience into havens of calm and contemplation.

Música Aperta is a fusion of acoustic and electronic sounds, rich in beautiful harmonies, where carefully soft elements interplay with delicate raspiness. Made up of three parts, the music unfolds slowly, immersing the listener in time. Música Aperta resonates with echoes of Satie, the meditative minimalism of Arvo Pärt, the roughness of Phill Niblock, and the nostalgic reflections of Richard Skelton.

Another way of listening to Música Aperta is through its digital encore – an extension of the album experience that brings the concept of open music to life – "a work that remains unfinished and open to transformation." The website features a reactive audiovisual interface where images dynamically respond to the music's behavior, translating electroacoustic frequencies into real-time cinematic landscapes. The album blends instrumental and electronic textures while allowing listeners to interact with different layers through a virtual mixer, enabling them to create unique sound combinations and personal sonic experiences.

All songs written and performed by Nicolás Melmann in Château Éphémère.
Mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri at Black Knoll Studio, NY.
Artwork by Daniel Castrejón.

Long coveted by diggers, connoisseurs and beat makers, here we have the first-ever reissue of Amedeo Tommasi's "Industria 2000", released in 1974 via RCA's "Original Cast" series under his Jarrell alias. These 12 sonic experiments - totally devoted to synthesizers - offer tense tonalities, dissonant ambiences, complex textures, white noise rides and muted rhythms that can easily be seen as cornerstones of what would become later known as Industrial Music, also anticipating the sonic landscapes found in some of the early Warp Records releases.
Comprising 12 tracks entirely devoted to synthesizers, Industria 2000 explores a range of stark, tense tonalities and dissonant atmospheres. The album’s complex textures, white noise swells, and muted rhythms can be seen as precursors to industrial music, anticipating the aggressive, abrasive soundscapes that would later come to define the genre. It is clear that Tommasi's work was not only ahead of its time, but was also laying the foundations for the sound realms explored in the early days by major electronic record labels of the 1990s and future electronic pioneers.

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.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Von seiner Arbeit in der explosiven frühen Hollywood-Punk-Musikszene mit seiner Band The Plugz über das Produzieren von Bands wie The Gun Club bis hin zur Filmmusik, seiner beachtlichen Schauspielkarriere und der Gründung von Fatima Records - Tito Larriva verdient den Titel, den ihm die LA Times einst verliehen hat, durch und durch: "Renaissance Man".

The Plugz, 1978 in Los Angeles von Tito Larriva gegründet, waren inspirierend für die frühe Latino/Latinx-Punk-Gemeinschaft und ihr "West Coast Punk" hatte einen anhaltenden Einfluss auf ganze Generationen von Rockbands.
Kenner der Latino-Kultur würdigten die Band für ihre unkonventionelle Version von "La Bamba" und ihren Einfluss auf die Chicano/Xicanx-Rocker in Südkalifornien.

Mit "Hombre Secreto", einer spanischen Version des 60er-Jahre-Klassikers "Secret Agent Man", brachte Larriva seine einzigartige Handschrift in die Filmmusik des Kult-Klassikers "Repo Man" ein. Seine Karriere ging von hier aus kontinuierlich und vielfältig weiter; zu den wichtigsten Etappen zählen seine Arbeit als Produzent des Cast-Albums der "Pee-Wee Herman Show" und des Debüts "Fire of Love" von The Gun Club, sein Einsatz als Schauspieler in David Byrnes "True Stories" und die von ihm 1984 gegründeten The Cruzados. 1992 entwickelte sich aus The Cruzados die Band Tito & Tarantula, mit der Larrivas intensive Arbeitsbeziehung zu Robert Rodriguez und Quentin Tarantino begann. Er spielte in einem halben Dutzend ihrer Filme mit, unter anderem auch in "From Dusk Till Dawn", wo sein Song "After Dark" und sein musikalischer Auftritt im legendären "Titty Twister Club" eine legendäre Rolle spielt.

Nun veröffentlichen Tito & Tarantula ihr mit Spannung erwartetes Album "!Brincamos!". Das neue Werk ist eine Soundreise, die die Tiefen der menschlichen Seele erforscht, durchsetzt von der rohen Kraft des Rock und dem reichen Erbe des Latino/Latinx-Punkrock. Jeder Track ist ein Beweis für die Fähigkeit Larrivas, Grenzen, Genres und Sprache zu überwinden und einen Sound zu kreieren, der bei Fans auf der ganzen Welt Anklang findet. Mit rohen Balladen und emotionalen Rock-Hymnen ist Larriva mit "!Brincamos!" ein musikalisches Meisterwerk gelungen, das die Geschichte von Tito & Tarantula mehr als würdig fortschreibt.

Neben der Veröffentlichung dieses Albums bereiten sich Tito & Tarantula derzeit auf ihre "!Brincamos!"-Europatournee vor, um ihre berüchtigten Live-Performances auf die Bühnen des europäischen Kontinents zu bringen. Die Fans werden eine Verschmelzung von Rock'n'Roll und cineastischen Welten erleben und Teil unvergesslicher Konzerte sein. Mit Titos intensivem Gesang und der unvergleichlichen Bühnenpräsenz der Band schickt diese Tournee sich an, eines der großen Highlights des Jahres für Musik-Enthusiasten zu werden.

Mit der Veröffentlichung von "!Brincamos!" und dem Beginn ihrer Europatournee im März 2025 laden Tito & Tarantula alte und neue Fans ein, sie auf dieser aufregenden Reise zu begleiten. Die Musik dieser Band ist ein Zeugnis für die Energie des Rock und den vereinenden, kulturellen Stolz der Latinos.

"!Brincamos!" erscheint am 14.03.2025 als Vinyl (aufgrund der Spiellänge des Albums fallen 2 Live Tracks weg), limitierte Vinyl mit einer separaten 10" incl. der Livetracks, CD und digital auf allen gängigen Streaming Plattformen

A once shocking 1962 LP of love songs…by men, for men. A long lost treasure featuring the cool & sophisticated vocals of Gene Howard and a cast of prime studio jazz musicians, performing a set of standards sung to a male suitor. Ahead of its time in every way. Decades ago, JD Doyle, renowned LGBT music historian and archivist, happened upon a copy of Love Is A Drag. Doyle would often play cuts from it on his radio show, Queer Music Heritage. He remained intrigued by the lack of either artist or producer credited on the album. A vague line of jacket text ambiguously announced, “For Adult Listeners Only - Sultry Stylings by a Most Unusual Vocalist.” And, the facts behind the album would have most likely remained unclear if it were not for one Murray Garrett Out of the blue, Murray Garrett contacted JD Doyle and wanted to talk about the album. According to Garrett, through his photography career, he had forged a friendship and partnership with prolific big band vocalist, Gene Howard. The two worked together on projects, eventually teaming with Jack Ames, founder of Edison International Records. When queried for ideas for a potential Edison International release, Garrett recalled a performance he had once seen in Greenwich Village - a performance of a man singing love songs to another man, in serious fashion, i.e., not at all campy or overly-dramatic. Gene Howard (straight and happily married!) agreed to sing on the record, accompanied by a who’s-who of Los Angeles A-list session men. Upon release, the record sold well in Hollywood, with Frank Sinatra, Liberace, and Bob Hope among its biggest advocates.

After a health-induced hiatus, Popa Chubby, the legendary blues-rock guitarist, roars back with "I Love Freddie King," a heartfelt tribute album to the late great Texas Cannonball himself. Produced by Popa Chubby and Gulf Coast Records' executive producer Mike Zito, this 11-track masterpiece was recorded at G.B.'s Juke Joint and features contributions from an all-star roster of modern guitar heroes: Joe Bonamassa, Mike Zito, Christone "Kingfish" Ingram, Eric Gales, Albert Castiglia, Arthur Neilson, and V.D. King. Reflecting on the album, Popa Chubby calls Freddie King his lifelong muse, whose music "changed my soul forever." The album brings King's legacy roaring back to life, spanning his early instrumental hits, Shelter Records era, and more. With a core band of Mike Merritt (bass), Andrei Koribanics III (drums), and Mike DiMeo (keyboards), this record captures the sweat, soul, and unrelenting energy of Freddie King. Tracks like "I'm Going Down" (ft. Joe Bonamassa) and "Big Legged Woman" (ft. Christone 'Kingfish' Ingram) explode with fiery guitar work and passionate vocals. Other standouts include "She's A Burglar" (ft. Mike Zito) and "Hideaway" (ft. Arthur Neilson). Each collaboration brings something special to the table, making this album a must-listen for blues fans and guitar lovers alike. Despite battling a rare spinal disorder during production, Popa Chubby pressed on to create what he calls "a journey of love and homage." His raw determination, combined with the extraordinary talent of his guest musicians, resulted in a fitting tribute to Freddie King--the bridge between blues and rock, who forever altered the genre's course. The Texas Cannonball's legacy brought to life, grab your copy of "I Love Freddie King" today and let the blues thunder on!

An air of ancient ritualism cloaks Modern Love’s midnight meeting between UK producer MOBBS and French-Egyptian spellcaster Susu Laroche, carving out a channel between hexed trip hop and shoegaze that’s one part DJ Screw, one part MBV, operating within a long shadow of influence cast by Curve, Leila, Cocteau Twins, Nearly God.

Clasping chiral energies on their debut collab, MOBBS brings a history spanning shadowy production work for big name artists to the grimly stylised vein of performance art and musick explored by Susu Laroche, an Egyptian-French with strong binds to chthonic contemporary London.

Their maiden sacrifice heightens the senses to blends of monotonic, sandalwood scented incantations and carpet-burned downbeats swept in slurred dub. Songs are subtly variegated in tone to spell out shifting plays of light evoking bedsit antechambers and warehouse innards lit by iPhone candle or extractor hood and emergency light bulbs on their last lumens.

It's music that's as elaborately serrated and blemished as early MBV, but positioned in a vastly different cultural landscape, drawing from hip-hop, drone, psych and basement noise. The pair’s range of cultural obsessions maintains a precarious balance between shadowy histories and an asphyxiating present; all too often, when the past is projected it's thru a mollifying, nostalgic lens, so their critical, prudent hybrid sound is a vital, chilling corrective.

From the bell-ringing, chain-rattle jag of ‘Throne’ thru the sleepwalker drift of ‘Roam’, and concrete plangency of ‘Forest’, the marriage of MOBBS’ illusive textures with Laroche’s feel for analog image and film (as evinced in her art for the likes of Blackhaine and Mica Levi) imprints their sound in gauzy layers that leave fleeting impressions on the mind’s eye. At their heaviest, Laroche’s arcane declarations descend in impressive enactments, undressing the excesses of over-glossed trip hop to reveal and revel in the sound at its starkest, sexiest, for new waves of washed up souls.

In 1991 Coil released the third of their early classic full-length albums “Love’s Secret Domain”, seemingly casting aside the gloom
and funereal beauty of its predecessors in favour of a painstakingly multi-layered hallucinogenic electronic beast, which unlike
some of their fellow ex-industrial contemporaries’ releases of the time wasn’t an attempt at easy accessibility or (the-godsforbid) danceability, but a vibrating psychedelic masterpiece unrivalled in their discography and still a landmark album.
To mark its 30 year anniversary Infinite Fog are beyond proud to present an expanded, fully remastered re-release of this fan
favourite available for the first time ever in its entirety on vinyl with 10 rare and mostly unreleased tracks and alternative
versions from the period added as a bonus to a luxurious 3LP/2CD set.
Love’s Secret Domain contains among its many highlights the Lynchian William Blake tribute of its title track and the
intoxicating single “Windowpane”, original versions of the later Coil live staple “Teenage Lightning” and the majestically warped
classicisms of “Chaostrophy”. Marc Almond guests on the typhonian “Titan Arch” and This Heat’s Charles Hayward provides
some amazing drum stylings.
This album is Coil pushing their sound ideas and probably their sanity to their very limits. Beyond the iconic Steven Stapleton
cover art here reproduced in unseen definition the doors of perception still open wide for both long-term Coil aficionados and
new-comers to this supremely innovative release to explore unknown depths. The long-overdue re-release illustrates how far
ahead of the curve Coil were with the sounds on this album, which still sounds as fresh and mind-blowing as it did back in the
early 90s.

Take Five - Great Jazz Instrumentals by Various Artists, released 21 March 2025, includes the following tracks: "My Funny Valentine", "Cast Your Fate To The Wind", "Desafinado" and more.

This version of Take Five - Great Jazz Instrumentals comes as a 2xLP in a(n) Gatefold Sleeve packaging.

Midan’s new album pays homage to the beautiful music of Brasil. The young producer, DJ and digger from Cologne channels his deep love for Bossa Nova, Samba and MPB (Música Popular Brasileira) into a 17 track strong album entitled “Letter To Brasil”. Accompanied by his good friends FloFilz, Saib, Mr.Käfer and Lesky. Artwork by Sao Palo-based illustrator André Cast.
Born and raised in Paris, the half German-half Algerian producer is one the most exciting new jacks on the German beatmaker scene. At the age of 23 Midan has already released a bunch of albums for renowned labels like Casual Low Grind, Mutombo Recods and Beat Jazz International.

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.

Cross Record's new album, Crush Me, is steeped in the pressures and wonders of existence—a profound statement, especially coming from artist and death doula Emily Cross. A two-and-a-half-year gestation period offered challenges, disappointments, and joys reflected in the cramped space of the album, which explores how we handle the weights we carry. Emily Cross had held hundreds of Living Funerals and was as many episodes deep into her podcast, What I’m Looking At. She was five years into serving clients as a death doula and fresh off a tour with Loma, her band with Jonathan Meiburg (Shearwater) and Dan Duszynski, when she began work on her fourth album. After moving from Austin, TX to Dorset, UK, she established the Steady Waves Center for Contemplation (named after a track from her second record, Wabi-Sabi ), where she hosted Living Funerals, met clients, scheduled mindful tea sessions, and showcased experimental music nights. All the while, she was scribbling down song ideas. Cross’s Tascam four-track demos finally reached readiness, and she sent them to an interested major independent label. She was encouraged to push her imagination to the limits of what a record could be. So, unlike her usual process of recording as inexpensively as possible, she prepared a two-week recording session in Germany with a group of skilled musicians from around the world. True to her previous work, Cross left plenty of room in her demos for experimentation, collaboration, chance, improvisation, and complete obliteration, then resurrection when necessary. Comfort and traditional structure were eschewed in favor of unaccountable magic, prayers whispered into The Void. Cross is comfortable with the chaotic and unpredictable, a perspective demanded by her work and writing style. The Berlin Airbnb was packed with people, instruments and luggage. During a ride down in a tiny elevator to the studio, Cross realized how central the sense of being crushed was to the album. “I thought of it later and it dawned on me that ‘Crush Me’ perfectly embodied the record,” says Cross. Yes, the weight of a body laying limply atop yours, or the tight squeeze of a hug, can be pleasant. Go too far, and you’re in the hands of a cruel, adolescent god. Upon leaving Germany, the record was unfinished, and without a roadmap. As passages were recorded as isolated parts, Cross and musician Marcin Sulewski collaborated, facing a haphazard brick pile, waiting to be assembled. Work dipped in and out of view like a buoy bobbing in a violent sea over many months. During that time, the aforementioned interested label went radio silent, suddenly not seeming so sure of a thing. Collaborators disappeared, continuing the themes of abandonment, surrender, and disarray that followed the project. Cross physically felt her entire body go numb: In a twist of fate, the record was rescued by long-time friend and supporter Ben Goldberg at Ba Da Bing Records who was eager to help realize the project. Cross worked for months on the album, all the while nursing a pregnancy and continuing her full-time funeral work. The last minute participation of Seth Manchester of Machines with Magnets, who mixed and mastered, was an essential liferaft. He gave true final form to the abstracted songs. Crush Me has the effect of a spell being cast, with songs balancing heaviness and levity. Vocals, guitars, and keyboards float above, as drums and upright bass (often bowed) lurch beneath. On “Rolling Backwards” percussion wanders about while feedback squeals and persists in the distance. “Dorset Area Of Natural Beauty” starts with a thick, unhinged church organ progression punctuated by the disquieting sounds of laughter reaching the point of hysteria. “God Fax” is a slow-moving panic attack, with shallow breaths in and out framing a guttural cacophony like a wooden freighter encountering increasingly turbulent waters and vocals struck emotionless by autotune. The album ends with “Twisted Up Fence,” a reflection on life from outside the wall--wistful, warm, and comforting. Cross, likely with a smile on her face, sings: “You say it’s an endless abyss” “And I say the abyss is the best”

45 Pounds is a record of thrilling cacophony: whirring drums meet the sound of instruments which have been twisted and bent into new shapes, all of which are paired with the arresting growls of Zack Borzone. Across the record the four-piece re-imagine what is possible within the confines of a band set up, creating music that perfectly encapsulates the information overload of our times.

The band have become known for their stellar live performances and now with 45 Pounds they have set that electrifying feeling to record. With 45 Pounds YHWH Nailgun have created a statement that is short to cut through the modern day post-algorithmic sludge. Stay tuned for more news.

Armagedda’s “Ond spiritism” (2004) is held in the same regard as the iconic releases by black metal contemporaries such as Funeral Mist, Watain, and Deathspell Omega. Boasting one of the best productions ever to emerge from Necromorbus Studio, the unique tonal quality of the guitars casts a hollow, haunting resonance – impeccably conveying the wistful, folk-infused dissonance. Creative basslines weave through sinister melodies, seamlessly integrated with the minimalist yet masterful percussion.

Artwork by E. Danielsson (Watain)

"The Most Famous Sports Team in History ON RECORD...
Inspired by the smash hit “Sugar Sugar”, by the cartoon pop band The Archies, CBS TV were only too keen to sign-up Don Kirshner’s Globetrotters recordings as the soundtrack to the all-new Saturday morning Harlem Globe Trotters cartoon series that ran from 1971-72.
The TV series – the album and companion singles – were a huge commercial success and 22 episodes were produced by Hanna-Barbera. It was the first Saturday morning show to feature an African-American cast and the soundtrack was suitably soulful, upbeat and funky. One of the main writers, James Ralph Bailey, was a former member of the Cadillacs and famed for penning songs for Main Ingredient and Isaac Hayes. Bailey is also none other than Chuck Wood, writer and singer, of the Northern Soul anthem “Seven Days Too Long”.
With guest vocals by Globetrotter legend Meadowlark Lemon this exclusive vinyl reissue will certainly set the ball rollin’!
* Produced by Brill Building legend 
* JEFF BARRY (writer of ten U.S. #1’s) 
* Written by Barry, Neil Sedaka, Howard Greenfield and James R Bailey 
* Soundtrack to the Hanna-Barbera hit TV series with a global audience 
* The most famous team in sports history
* First Release since 1971"