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As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

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Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

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Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

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Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

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"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

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Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

LP + 7". Indigo Sparke's majestic second full-length album Hysteria is a sweeping work, one that possesses a rare, reflective power. On it, she examines love, loss, her history, and the emotional upheaval surrounding those sensations: her words tell the stories, and the sounds act them out. It's a diary built for big stages. Hysteria arrives just a year after her striking, minimalist debut, Echo. Here, though, Sparke offers an expansive body of work_it's a complex collection that expands her sound and outlook. Work on Hysteria began at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, while Sparke was stranded in quarantine in her native Australia. After moving back to New York in the spring of 2021, Sparke finished writing the album's 14 songs and decamped upstate with producer Aaron Dessner (The National, Taylor Swift). "Originally we were going to co-write, but after he heard my demos he said, `There's so much in here already,'" Sparke recalls on how Dessner, who also contributes instrumentation along with guitarist Shahzad Izmaily and drummer Matt Barrick (The Walkmen, Muzz), got involved in bringing Hysteria to life. Centering Sparke's powerful vocals throughout, Hysteria is packed with big guitars and layered instrumentation that practically acts as the album's lungs, giving every note breath. From the pulsing immediacy of "Infinite Honey" to the soaring "God Is a Woman's Name" and "Hold On"'s towering chorus, this is music that sounds huge even as it zooms in on the trials and turmoils of one's inner life. You can hear Sparke reflecting on reconciliation, grief, hope, and the passage of time on the perpetually building "Pressure in My Chest" and the airy, Joni Mitchell-esque title track, which finds her embracing a gorgeous upper register over gently strummed guitar. "Set Your Fire on Me" builds and bursts not unlike Angel Olsen's own raw folk-rock expressionism_and then there's the stark opener and first single "Blue," which acts as a cosmic road map for Sparke's own journey in life. Sparke observes while reflecting on Hysteria's thematic bent "these songs are about being at the axis point of love - right at the edge of hysteria - and how that transformed me."

LP + 7". Indigo Sparke's majestic second full-length album Hysteria is a sweeping work, one that possesses a rare, reflective power. On it, she examines love, loss, her history, and the emotional upheaval surrounding those sensations: her words tell the stories, and the sounds act them out. It's a diary built for big stages. Hysteria arrives just a year after her striking, minimalist debut, Echo. Here, though, Sparke offers an expansive body of work_it's a complex collection that expands her sound and outlook. Work on Hysteria began at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, while Sparke was stranded in quarantine in her native Australia. After moving back to New York in the spring of 2021, Sparke finished writing the album's 14 songs and decamped upstate with producer Aaron Dessner (The National, Taylor Swift). "Originally we were going to co-write, but after he heard my demos he said, `There's so much in here already,'" Sparke recalls on how Dessner, who also contributes instrumentation along with guitarist Shahzad Izmaily and drummer Matt Barrick (The Walkmen, Muzz), got involved in bringing Hysteria to life. Centering Sparke's powerful vocals throughout, Hysteria is packed with big guitars and layered instrumentation that practically acts as the album's lungs, giving every note breath. From the pulsing immediacy of "Infinite Honey" to the soaring "God Is a Woman's Name" and "Hold On"'s towering chorus, this is music that sounds huge even as it zooms in on the trials and turmoils of one's inner life. You can hear Sparke reflecting on reconciliation, grief, hope, and the passage of time on the perpetually building "Pressure in My Chest" and the airy, Joni Mitchell-esque title track, which finds her embracing a gorgeous upper register over gently strummed guitar. "Set Your Fire on Me" builds and bursts not unlike Angel Olsen's own raw folk-rock expressionism_and then there's the stark opener and first single "Blue," which acts as a cosmic road map for Sparke's own journey in life. Sparke observes while reflecting on Hysteria's thematic bent "these songs are about being at the axis point of love - right at the edge of hysteria - and how that transformed me."

LP + 7". Indigo Sparke's majestic second full-length album Hysteria is a sweeping work, one that possesses a rare, reflective power. On it, she examines love, loss, her history, and the emotional upheaval surrounding those sensations: her words tell the stories, and the sounds act them out. It's a diary built for big stages. Hysteria arrives just a year after her striking, minimalist debut, Echo. Here, though, Sparke offers an expansive body of work_it's a complex collection that expands her sound and outlook. Work on Hysteria began at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, while Sparke was stranded in quarantine in her native Australia. After moving back to New York in the spring of 2021, Sparke finished writing the album's 14 songs and decamped upstate with producer Aaron Dessner (The National, Taylor Swift). "Originally we were going to co-write, but after he heard my demos he said, `There's so much in here already,'" Sparke recalls on how Dessner, who also contributes instrumentation along with guitarist Shahzad Izmaily and drummer Matt Barrick (The Walkmen, Muzz), got involved in bringing Hysteria to life. Centering Sparke's powerful vocals throughout, Hysteria is packed with big guitars and layered instrumentation that practically acts as the album's lungs, giving every note breath. From the pulsing immediacy of "Infinite Honey" to the soaring "God Is a Woman's Name" and "Hold On"'s towering chorus, this is music that sounds huge even as it zooms in on the trials and turmoils of one's inner life. You can hear Sparke reflecting on reconciliation, grief, hope, and the passage of time on the perpetually building "Pressure in My Chest" and the airy, Joni Mitchell-esque title track, which finds her embracing a gorgeous upper register over gently strummed guitar. "Set Your Fire on Me" builds and bursts not unlike Angel Olsen's own raw folk-rock expressionism_and then there's the stark opener and first single "Blue," which acts as a cosmic road map for Sparke's own journey in life. Sparke observes while reflecting on Hysteria's thematic bent "these songs are about being at the axis point of love - right at the edge of hysteria - and how that transformed me."

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Ryuichi Sakamoto, Daniel Lanois, Loscil, K Leimer, Deaf Center, Tangerine Dream, Arvo Pärt Wake is a distillation and reflection of the work of three Portland musicians thrown, like the rest of the world, into forced isolation by the continually-mutating curse of a natural world in disequilibrium. The product of involuntarily inward-looking emotional landscapes, Wake emerged sounding surprisingly expansive and confident. The trio uses a variety of instruments –including harp, fretless bass, piano, and a variety of synthesizers– to conjure sparkling panoramas of the imagination that are deep-pooled and impressionistic, bracing yet comforting. Mike Grabarak and Joshua Ward have performed together for years as a duo under the moniker of Location Services, while Derek Hunter Wilson has primarily worked as a solo composer in the classical realm. For the Points Of No Return compilation, Beacon Sound's 50th release and a benefit for the Beirut Musicians Fund, they recorded a collaborative piece entitled "Interdependence In Solitude" that was so promising the label offered to release an album if they continued down the path they had started upon. The resulting eight songs are simply mesmerizing. Made during a period of change and upheaval in the world and society where many people were disconnected from others, the album is the product of a collage-like dialogue built on trust and patience. While the musicians couldn’t physically be together for much of this time, they began sending musical ideas to one another in a conversational back-and-forth that acted as an anchor of stability – something they found they could turn to and depend on when things felt uncertain elsewhere. This comfort zone led to some transcendent moments of experimentation. “Delicate Need”, for example, features recordings of exaggerated pizzicato that were sampled and then run back through processing effects, which were then subsequently performed live over the original track. As things became less risky on the Covid front, they would occasionally meet for backyard rehearsals. Indeed, a recording of one of these rehearsals became the basis for the opening track “Photo Aware”. Wake will be available later this summer as a limited edition LP, with design work by Berlin-based Studio Bernhardt. The cover painting was created by Portland artist Nate Ethington. Highlights: – Derek was invited by the artist Gregory Euclide (Bon Iver, Erased Tapes) to participate in his label project, Thesis, along with artists such as Benoit Pioulard, Loscil, and Julianna Barwick. – Derek‘s first and second albums as a solo artist were released by Beacon Sound (Travelogue, 2017; Steel, Wood, & Air, 2019). – Location Services likewise released their 2019 album Reincorporate on the label. – The artists plan to tour together in 2023. Cascadia release shows TBA. Bios: Location Services is the Portland-based project of multi-instrumentalist Mike Grabarek (Magic Fades) and harpist Joshua Ward. They’ve released music on Beacon Sound and Beer On The Rug. They perform both written and improvised music. Derek Hunter Wilson is a composer and multi-instrumentalist based in Portland. He has released two solo albums on Beacon Sound and has also collaborated with visual artist Gregory Euclide for his Thesis Project label, resulting in a split 10" with Spanish musician Rauelsson. He has additionally collaborated with poets Zachary Schomburg and Brandi Katherine Herrera for several sound and performance pieces. He has performed live on the West Coast and in Berlin, sharing the stage with artists such as Colleen, Amulets, and Liima.

Recorded predominantly in Orlando’s studio in Los Angeles, ‘When the Lights Go’ is his first album since 2012’s critically acclaimed ‘Trouble’. The new album marks a departure in sound, defined, of course, by the events of the last few years. Encompassing songwriting, ballads and a pop-centered aesthetic, it’s full of depth, feeling, storytelling and woe - presented in a compelling manner, as only he can.

When the Lights Go is a substantial body of work, containing 17 tracks, representative of the duration between albums, “I feel grateful to know that there are people who are interested in more music from me. So I want to give them something significant in length”, he says. When the Lights Go also marks a shift into the pop domain, Orlando’s vocals take center stage with arrangements that complement the sadness in the songwriting.

Standout favorites of RidingEasy Records’ Brown Acid compilation series, White Lightning’s stellar discography of rare and under-appreciated heavy psych, proto-metal rock gets a vital revival for new generations to learn how swinging, swaggering and often blazingly fast rock’n’roll is done.White Lightning was formed in Minneapolis, MN in 1968 by guitarist Tom “Zippy” Caplan and bassist Woody Woodrich after leaving garage psych band The Litter (themselves popular standouts from the Nuggets and Pebbles series of garage rock rarities.) Originally a power trio, the band later expanded to a 5-piece in 1969 while shortening its name to Lightning. The quintet’s brilliant and rare 1970 self-titled album on Pickwick International’s P.I.P. imprint provides 6 of the 10 tracks on Thunderbolts of Fuzz.The original White Lightning trio only released one 45-rpm single “Of Paupers and Poets” during their existence (on local Hexagon label in 1968, later reissued by major label ATCO Records in 1969.) A long out-of-print posthumous album released in 1995 gathered unreleased recordings, 3 of which are found here. This rounds out this collection of recorded highlights from the band’s rocky history.
Taking their name from a particularly potent type of LSD, White Lightning laid out from the start that it was not cute and cuddly 70s rock. In fact, the band’s aggressive tempos are like punk rock way before punk. However, their dirty blues groove and musical prowess shows the band was more than unrefined ne’er-do-wells, they had true versatility.
Drummer/lead vocalist Mick Stanhope later relinquished his drum throne to take center stage as lead singer of the expanded lineup. Throughout its initial 1968-1974 run, the band had 10 different lineups, with Caplan, Woodrich and Stanhope the most consistent members — though the band points out that no one member has played in all 11 incarnations of the group. For more facts and information visit thelitter-lightning.
Album opener “Prelude to Opus IV” is a wailing rocker with blazing double-kick drum, sizzling melodic riffs and Jim Dandy howls jam packed into an epic 4 minutes that serves enough testament to the band’s greatness, nothing more need be heard or said. However, the would-be hits keep coming as the Led Zeppelin meets Black Oak Arkansas thwack of “Hideaway” and “Born Too Rich” come screaming out of the speakers. “When A Man Could Be Free” shows the band could also reign in the fury, at least a little bit, for a warm Southern rock style ballad. “Borrowed and Blue” echoes the stately poetry of Electric Ladyland-era Hendrix with a dash of The Who’s rollicking psychedelia. “1930” is, quite simply, insane. Searing twin guitars with incredible fuzz-drenched tone, a warm and buzzing bass line bounce atop drummer Bernie Pershey’s unrelenting bass drum triplets while Stanhope ravages his lungs with soulful abandon. The album closes with the aptly titled “Before My Time” a barnstorming boogie rock instrumental the proves the band vanished long before receiving their due.

On High Flying Man, the third LP by Matt Berry’s pseudo-eponymous project The Berries, loss and desire take center stage. Berry delves deep into 21st century malaise, crafting densely layered songs which project an unshakable yearning for deliverance from the world’s shortcomings. Each track extends an outstretched palm towards universal connection, blending a complex of mix of pop hooks, rock swagger, and psychedelia into dejected populist anthems. Faced with the perils of an isolating world, High Flying Man reignites the tradition of great American songwriting, speaking in the voice of the longing masses. At heart, Berry demands more life, rejecting both arty cynicism and nostalgic escapism.

Berry cut his teeth at a young age playing in the bands Happy Diving (Topshelf Records) and Big Bite (Pop Wig), and has since regularly served as a touring member for bands like Angel Dust and Dark Tea. His early work with Happy Diving and Big Bite solidified his position as an upcoming star in the world of fuzzed-out indie rock, earning him tours and opening slots with the likes of Turnstile, Dinosaur Jr., Nothing, The Swirlies, and The Coathangers. With The Berries, however, Berry turns the Big Muffs down (although not off), creating sonic space to stretch his wings as a burgeoning pop songwriter. The psychedelic-surrealist textures of his earlier output are not gone, per say, but rather find themselves folded into more expansive, rock-oriented arrangements, becoming accoutrements as opposed to the driving force of each song itself.

High Flying Man follows The Berries’ previous releases, 2018’s Start All Over Again and 2019’s Berryland. While longtime listeners will undoubtedly recognize Berry’s disaffected drawl and melodic sensibility, High Flying Man’s complex arrangements and expansive sonic landscape place it well apart from its predecessors. Berry enlisted live band members Danny Paul (drums), Emma Danner (backing vocals), and Lance Umble (bass) during the recording of High Flying Man, as well as the mixing talents of Rob Schnapf (Elliott Smith, Beck, Guided by Voices), breaking from the self-produced home recording ethos of the previous Berries LPs. The collaborative nature of High Flying Man’s recording process is reflected in the quality of each song’s arrangement. Freed from the pressure of being individually responsible for every detail committed to tape, Berry was able to focus his attention more fully on the creative demands of constructing a dynamic and cohesive record. High Flying Man pivots away from any sort of obvious nod to Americana tropes, baggy British attitude, or Neil Young-esque riffing, leaning head on into a lush, idiosyncratic grandeur.

Each track evokes the irreverent and flashy style of a songwriting voice finding itself for the first time. Berry’s guitar heroics extend towards new heights, channeling the simple pop mastery of Lindsay Buckingham (“Prime”) and the wicked emotion of a 21st century “November Rain” (“High Flying Man”). Unusual stylistic juxtapositions give certain songs an almost timeless quality: Bert Jansch-esque crooning finds its counterpoint in sweeping, distortion-soaked riffs (“A Drop of Rain”), the primitive rhythms of Amon Duul are given an arena-sized, Britpop facelift (“Life’s Blood”). On High Flying Man, however, the ballad reigns supreme. “Down That Road Again” drips with sentimentality, powered by soft, undeniable pop melodies and pared-down chord progressions. Album-centerpiece “Eagle Eye” teeters between pure grace and extreme sorrow, unfolding into a massive, immediately memorable tide of melancholic beauty.

Lyrically, High Flying Man is both simple and direct. Although often bitter about the state of the world, Berry has no overtly political axe to grind. In some instances, he takes jabs at the moral laziness of aging millennials, expressing his yearning for a return to vitality and conviction (“Prime”). In other instances, Berry turns his criticism inwards, examining his longing for a better life and his repeated tendency to self-sabotage (“Down That Road Again”). These two poles balance each other out, creating a thematic tenor which is more so self-implicating and empathetic than critical. If anyone is to blame, it is the world we have been saddled with, not the people left to pick up its pieces. Although often personal, Berry’s words evoke a universal experience of continued belief in the face of loss. “High Flying Man” chronicles the growing distance between Berry and an old friend who has been shipwrecked by the weight of trauma, evoking the sorrow of trying to love someone who is no longer able to keep up with reality. Even the most somber passages of “Eagle Eye” (“long before I become aware of it, my friend/it’s 6 AM and I’m gonna die”) find their redemption in a burning devotion towards something worth living for (“If there’s one thing I can depend on/it’s my old friend/my shining light/my eagle eye”).

With High Flying Man, Matt Berry embraces undying love in the face of isolation. Daring to want more life becomes a spiritual rallying cry against a world that has failed to make life either meaningful or beautiful. At their core, these songs are not about revolution, but they are about the faith that gives something like revolution a purpose in the first place.

Norwegian magic with style and enchanting voice! In 2021 LIV KRISTINE‘s EP „Have Courage Dear Heart“ was released and now the
re-release „Enter My Religion“. The album will be released for the first time as a vinyl with an extra single, as a cassette with two bonus tracks and as a double CD with unreleased tracks and demo recordings. The songs were also adorned with universal influences. Sitar sounds introduce the title track, which comfortably gets under your skin with its insinuating melody arcs and LIV KRISTINE‘s delicate voice. The opener „Over the Moon“ (PETER TÄGTGREN) hints at powerful metal, but then develops into a driving pop song. „Fake a Smile“ is an airy ballad, with LIV KRISTINE‘s voice charmingly taking center stage and setting the tone for most of the songs on the album. The title track „Enter my Religion“ is a mid-tempo anthem with a wise appeal to your inner self, your self-esteem, happiness and creativity. The pace continues with „All the Time in the World“. Straighter and more guitar-driven is „My Revelation“. Pleasing harmonies are in the foreground in the warm and soothing composition „Coming Home“. ‚Streets of Philadelphia‘ - BRUCE
SPRINGSTEEN‘s theme song to the Oscar-winning movie was interpreted as a tribute. The arrangements being technically based on the original, LIV KRISTINE adds new and softer accents to the track. „You Take Me Higher“ is extraordinarily different and more dance-oriented, with a subtle drum‘n‘bass overlay. With „Trapped in Your Labyrinth“ and „Fake a Smile“ LIV KRISTINE spoils her listeners
with profoundly sensual ballads and rock songs. The fairy-like singing, accentuated by piano sounds, envelops music lovers in a web of security, melancholy and longing.

„Enter My Religion“ convinces as a spicy and varied album. The blond Norwegian succeeds in creating a fine album with romantic touches, which never slips into kitsch. Simply authentic, profoundly philosophical, surprising and absolutely LIV KRISTINE - luminous and enlightening.

Norwegian magic with style and enchanting voice! In 2021 LIV KRISTINE‘s EP „Have Courage Dear Heart“ was released and now the
re-release „Enter My Religion“. The album will be released for the first time as a vinyl with an extra single, as a cassette with two bonus tracks and as a double CD with unreleased tracks and demo recordings. The songs were also adorned with universal influences. Sitar sounds introduce the title track, which comfortably gets under your skin with its insinuating melody arcs and LIV KRISTINE‘s delicate voice. The opener „Over the Moon“ (PETER TÄGTGREN) hints at powerful metal, but then develops into a driving pop song. „Fake a Smile“ is an airy ballad, with LIV KRISTINE‘s voice charmingly taking center stage and setting the tone for most of the songs on the album. The title track „Enter my Religion“ is a mid-tempo anthem with a wise appeal to your inner self, your self-esteem, happiness and creativity. The pace continues with „All the Time in the World“. Straighter and more guitar-driven is „My Revelation“. Pleasing harmonies are in the foreground in the warm and soothing composition „Coming Home“. ‚Streets of Philadelphia‘ - BRUCE
SPRINGSTEEN‘s theme song to the Oscar-winning movie was interpreted as a tribute. The arrangements being technically based on the original, LIV KRISTINE adds new and softer accents to the track. „You Take Me Higher“ is extraordinarily different and more dance-oriented, with a subtle drum‘n‘bass overlay. With „Trapped in Your Labyrinth“ and „Fake a Smile“ LIV KRISTINE spoils her listeners
with profoundly sensual ballads and rock songs. The fairy-like singing, accentuated by piano sounds, envelops music lovers in a web of security, melancholy and longing.

„Enter My Religion“ convinces as a spicy and varied album. The blond Norwegian succeeds in creating a fine album with romantic touches, which never slips into kitsch. Simply authentic, profoundly philosophical, surprising and absolutely LIV KRISTINE - luminous and enlightening.

Hailing from Ancaster, Ontario, Carl Didur has been an enigmatic fixture of Toronto’s underground music community for close to two decades. Originally traversing the Golden Horseshoe with The Battleship, Ethel, a band which sprung from his first outfit CEDRUMATIC, Didur soon moved to Toronto. Throughout the mid-2000’s he could be spotted playing his trademark ace-tone organ as a member of No Dynamics and Rozasia in the city’s crammed rogue venues, such as The Bagel and the infamous and transient Extermination Music Night. During these years The Battleship, Ethel continued to tour, often performing as backup band for Damo Suzuki, while at other shows inviting Dave Byers (Simply Saucer) and Bob Bryden (Spirit Of Christmas) to perform alongside the band. Perhaps the most enduring legacy of "The Battleship, Ethel", which dissolved in 2009, is that it laid the creative foundation for Carl and bandmate Michael McLean's next project, the prolific, studio focused, Zacht Automaat. As Zacht Automaat released music at a frantic pace, Carl continued to collaborate with members of a tight-knit group of Toronto’s downtown scene including touring with U.S. Girls and Slim Twig, performing and recording with Colin Fisher as Fake Humans, guesting on Absolutely Free’s Currency EP and producing New Fries’ most recent album The Idea of Us. Throughout the last decade Didur’s purely solo output has served to document his unimpeachably singular approach to music making. I Cannot See You Too Well (2011), Nothing is the Secret to Anything (2014) and Is It Yesterday? (2020) all released on cassette were followed by a digital album of gentle minimalism called Natural Feelings Vol I (2020). His solo shows consist of multiple tape machines running loops through various analog devices (a Certified Electronics Technician Didur now spends his non-piano playing hours of the day repairing all manner of tape echoes and synthesizers) or solo Wurlitzer electric piano improvisations, his performances gracing both stage and gallery. With his latest release Maybe Next Time, Didur further establishes himself as a singular artist with a unique methodology honed from years of music-making and listening. The album’s compositions swing from lush Axelrod-ish affairs filled with Mellotron strings to the album’s spiritual jazz influenced centerpiece The River Meets The Sea. “I was inspired by Eno's Here Come the Warm Jets, Crazy Horse but only when they are sad, Alice Coltrane, Jessica Pratt, McDonald and Giles, and so many others…” states Didur. Infused with a melancholic tone throughout, tracks such as Close My Eyes and Autumn’s Here invoke cinematic memories with tape echo and reverb applying a softened focus to the proceedings. Carl explains the context for the tone and the setting for the record’s gestation: “Maybe Next Time is a record I made after the world lost a sweet person that many in our community loved. Unlike most of my albums this one never seeks to shock or surprise you. It is about sadness, confusion, dissolution, transformation and ultimately a deeply forgiving sense of love. It is a concept record about being a human being!”

Tortoise has spent nearly 30 years making music that defies description. While the Chicago-based instrumental quintet has nodded to dub, rock, jazz, electronica, and minimalism throughout its revered and influential discography, the resulting sounds have always been distinctly, even stubbornly, their own. There is a always the pervasive element of group play, or ensemble?mindedness, as opposed to emphasis on a virtuoso soloist or frontman, despite the fact Tortoise is composed of members who could each easily have taken center stage in another group. In their debut, Tortoise is composed of Douglas McCombs, John Herndon, Dan Bitney, John McEntire, and Bundy K. Brown. This self-titled, incorporates many musical styles and influences, but no one style alone is sufficient to fully describe the distinct sound they craft. This unique blending of styles caused them to be recognized as the leaders of a new musical movement. Tortoise utilize the recording studio, not only to put their music to wax, but in a way that their recording process becomes a compostional tool described at times as the "sixth member", thus creating a boundless parameter in which to create and manipulate music. Tortoise's self-titled debut was originally released in 1994. This re-issue is re-mastered by Roger Seibel at SAE Mastering, in jacket with art insert, both designed by Sam Prekop as well as a free download card. 2022 version is available on limited edition white with hi-melt black vinyl

First ever retrospective of Phương Tâm, the groundbreaking Saigon teenager who became one of the first singers to perform and record rock and roll (known in Vietnam as nhạc kích động, or, action music) | 25 tracks spanning Phương Tâm’s recording career: early rock and roll, surf, twist, soul, blues and jazz ballads recorded in Saigon between 1964-1966, featuring electric guitars, contrabass, lush brass, saxophone, drums and organ, and rich backing vocal arrangements. | Produced by Mark Gergis (compiler of Sublime Frequencies’ 2010 compilation Saigon Rock and Soul) and Hannah Hà (daughter of Phương Tâm). | Audio restored and remastered from original records and reel tapes. | A family story – as told by Hannah Hà, whose dedication to discovering and sharing her mother’s musical legacy, is helping to put Phương Tâm back on center stage after 55 years | Adds critical context to the fragmented understanding of Vietnamese popular culture at the time.

The co-curated Air Texture Compilation series returns with two Brooklyn based selectors.

As the cost of living in Manhattan proper moved artist minded migration patterns further afield, places like East Williamsburg, Bushwick, and Ridgewood became post-cultural centers in a way, with producer after producer gaining international recognition in the last 10+ years. New clubs such as Nowadays, Knockdown Center, and Elsewhere furthered the momentum, anchored by first mover Bossa Nova, and important festivals like Mutual Dreaming and Dweller came soon after.

Collectively, the stage was set for a beautiful moment in electronic music history, still unfolding, and maybe something that could only happen in the States in a place like Brooklyn.

ft Alton Miller Mix

Razor-N-Tape co-founder JKriv delivers a trio of all-original cuts on his Something Else EP, bringing together a cast of featured hometown Brooklyn talent to center dynamic songwriting with club-ready vibes.

On the A1 title track, a playful funk-laden bassline lays the foundation for an explosive hook and soaring vocal performance from Brandon Markell Holmes. Dynamic live instrumentation take center stage in the soulful Try Again, which builds to an anthemic peak as guests Nic Hanson and Phenomenal Handclap Band intone the song’s hopeful message.

On the flip, the laid-back boogie groover Shoulda Been Me slow-burns with heavy bass, percussive rhythms, and serene synth-work to support the layered vocal textures by Toribio (of Conclave). Detroit legend Alton Miller takes the tune in a classic soulful deep house direction, with a bouncing rhodes pattern revolving over solid drums, and showcasing Toribio’s vocal prowess in a new light.

Roscoe is a road dog - The 14-year-old Boston Terrier has been there for
the whole ride of Mapache, Clay Finch and Sam Blasucci's band, which
has grown from being the casual project of two longtime buds to one of
the most formidable cosmic-folk acts around
"Roscoe's been through a lot of shit," says Blasucci, the dog's formal owner. "He's
been all around the country, come on tour a little bit." With some bemused pride,
Finch points out that, for a few years, he and Blasucci bunked together in a room
in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles that was just big enough to fit two
twin beds. "It was the two of us and the dog," he laughs. Naturally, Roscoe has
found himself the subject of a good handful of Mapache songs in the past - and
on Roscoe's Dream, the band's upcoming third LP of originals, he takes center
stage.

Pharis and Jason Romero are pure craftspeople
A renowned banjo builder, Jason spent years developing his own personal
designs, and on 'Tell 'Em You Were Gold', his handmade instruments take center
stage. Over a half dozen uniquely crafted banjos are played by the duo in the
course of the album. There's conviction and delicacy in this music, which ranges
from duets that showcase the pair's deep psychic and artistic connection to solo
banjo meditations and full band romps. Recorded over six days in an old barn in
Horsefly, British Columbia, the album displays the multiple Juno Award-winning
duo playing music that is honest, direct, and reflective of life's beauty and
knottiness.

"The past 5 years we have taken our music all over the world: Europe, Asia, Africa besides our homeland Denmark, and even though we cannot speak with many of the people we meet, our music is a universal language that transcends borders. The meetings we have had (and continue to have) all over inspire us to create new music. But of course we are the composers of the music, so this is our representation of those meetings.

Our 3rd album is called AFROTROPISM. Tropism is a biological phenomenon that indicates growth of a plant in response to the environment; so when you see a plant turning for the sunlight, this is tropism. In other words, this is not so much about the plant's roots but more about how it reacts when it touches the air, feels sunlight or rain - in other words the outside world. So AFROTROPISM refers to the fact that we are drawn towards the African traditions, but we are "growing" our own music.

On our first two albums we have recorded extensively with African musicians, and AFROTROPISM is centered around The KutiMangoes (TKM) as a band. We are developing our artistic direction by going more in depth with how we can mix our inspirations with our own musical heritage. Our musical mission is (and has always been) to mix cultures and create our own sound.

With our background in jazz music, TKM counts virtuoso instrumentalists with a heartfelt intent and sound innovators with our horns, effect pedals, synthesizers, drums and percussion from all over the world. AFROTROPISM is a further and deeper development of our trademark bold sound that experiments with synthesizers, soundscapes and a bit of electronic effects without losing it's focus on groove, melody, atmosphere and musicianship."

The KutiMangoes, July 2019


About each track:

STRETCH TOWARDS THE SUN
This track opens up with a synthesizer groove that is inspired by the polyrhythmic grooves played by the balafon (a predecessor of the piano) from West Africa. Our rolling sequence could not be played on the balafon because of the key changes, but the basic idea comes from that instrument. Quick and light, we wanted to write a song where you can feel the sun coming out and feel the energy it's rays give. The combination of the programmed groove, the horn-arrangement, the huge percussion section and the live instruments makes for a sound that we have not heard before, and it illustrates what this album is all about (and what the track's title refers to): that we stretch towards the things that give us energy – and that although our roots are in Denmark, when we encounter a musical tradition as rich as in West Africa, it changes us and our music.

A SNAKE IS JUST A STRING
The first time we saw Mali-bluesman extraordinaire Vieux Farka Touré on stage was just after we had played at a huge festival in Burkina Faso, and we almost literally caught on fire. Their groove was so strong and insistent that we were mesmerized, and it inspired us to come up with the opening guitar part of this song. Basically a bluesy tune with some unusual chord changes and a crazy synthesizer solo by Johannes Buhl Andresen reminiscent of that fuzzy guitar-sound we love so much in the Mali blues. The title is an homage to the Nigerian writer Chinua Acheba, who in his masterpiece novel "Things Fall Apart" tells that in the village during the night, to ward off the fear of darkness, people would call dangerous animals by a different name: don't be afraid, a snake is just a string.

KEEP YOU SAFE
It is a basic human necessity to have a place where you can feel safe. But there are far too many people in our world that fear for their safety, their livelihood, their children, their relatives – and this is surely not a feeling that helps us to flourish as humans. With this song we are saying that we all need to make it a priority to help our fellow humans to feel safe. And of course, if our song can offer a feeling of safety and comfort for a short time to those who listen, we are truly thankful.

MONEY IS THE CURSE
This track is directly inspired by Fela Kuti's ability to create music that is both physical and political. Dance music with a serious message about our times. For the solo part we wanted a more melancholy, pensive feel (than the full-on baritone-trombone melody) and also wanted to experiment with some choppy, stuttering effects to make the horns sound desperate. Money is the curse because it can become the objective of our life; money is the curse because it changes the relationships we have with our fellow humans. Money is the curse.

THORNS TO FRUIT
This melody is inspired by the scales and developments of a traditional Bambara folk-song. We love the way these melodies constantly evolve with small developments and changes. We felt like an accompaniment that is really dry, sparse and earthy would fit well and then made a contrasting solo part. As a group we are interested in how to develop our improvisations together and create sonic landscapes that evoke a distinctive atmosphere – so here, we have no soloist, but a collection of synthesizer parts, saxophone lines and guitar-sounds that together create a dreamy and lush ambience.

SAND TO SOIL
We started out with a short ngoni riff played by our good friend and master musician Aboubacar Konaté. We then sampled it, built soundscapes and our own both meditative and pumping groove around it. We created a melody with both melancholy and joy, with afterthought and impulse and then the brilliant Aske Drasbæk added an emotive and blistering saxophone solo. The title refers to the contrasts in our humanism. As part of our human nature, we have a dark side that drives us (and each other) towards destruction – making the fertile soil into barren sand. The title is an encouragement to emphasize the opposite movement in our nature: to create life and help it flourish. We keep ourselves human by insisting that we must never forget this side of our nature no matter how tough, tiresome or trying it might be. Let's keep our focus on the light, the warmth, the positive energy – that can turn the cold stone into fertile ground.

Known for her lengthy tenure touring and busking with beloved New
Orleans jazz band Tuba Skinny, prolific songwriter and singer Erika Lewis has been churning out American originals all her own for the past several years

From classic country to cosmic Americana to dreamy indie folk, Lewis continues to dip her toes more deeply into an ever- expanding pool of roots music styles. Her new record 'A Walk Around the Sun' is a testament to Lewis' songwriting prowess and exceptional vocal ability. Produced by John James Tourville (The Deslondes), 'A Walk Around the Sun' features 11 all-original songs exploring the gray areas between love and loss, joy and grief, longing and contentment. Though her songwriting shines brightly, it's never at the cost of melody or arrangement; complete with sweeping strings, pedal steel, and even the occasional fuzz of a psych-rock guitar solo, Lewis' voice soars with emotion and texture throughout. Beautifully balanced, adroitly performed, and masterfully produced, 'A Walk Around the Sun' brings Lewis' solo work out from the wings to center stage,
beneath a spotlight nearly impossible to ignore.