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Sunset edition - 300 copies

Driving is Sam Wilkes’ Indie Rock record. Iit is the first release on Wilkes Records, an imprint borne of the artist’s emergent need to self-release. The songs presented here exist comfortably within the ever-expanding Wilkesian cosmos, characterized as they are by virtuosity, torqued experimentalism, and collaboration with a range of talented musicians. But Driving’s influences, its sincerity, and its allegiance to a certain pop sensibility reflects a departure for an artist who has primarily staked his claim within the experimental jazz idiom.

Take the first track, “Folk Home,” which inaugurates the album’s fecundity—a bright, green, humid, summer feel. A swirling, freakout coda of reversed vocals gives way, in no short order, to a caterwaul of flute work that conjures Van Morrison’s (in)famous Astral Weeks sessions. Standing beside Morrison, the usual suspects are all present, if somewhat abstractedly. Dylan, The Dead, Joni, the Fab Four. Wilkes has developed a reputation as an experimental jazz luminary, but his deep affinity for the pop/rock/folk idiom of the latter twentieth century rings clear throughout Driving. More so than any Wilkes release to date, Driving is a collection guided by and dedicated to the man’s attention to songcraft.

Written and recorded during a period of rain-damage induced renter’s itinerance (and the attendant desire to produce a kind of therapeutic, self-soothing, home-feeling music), Driving loosely charts the trajectory/experience of “a protagonist,” both Wilkes and not, “who has figured out how to live an enlightened and fulfilled life, but is unable to do so because he thinks about it too much.” This friction is surely relatable — a symptom of our compulsively self-aware present. But Wilkes avoids the obvious pitfalls of public hand-wringing. Rather, Driving’s nine tracks evince a genuine, and mature searching-ness, both sonically and lyrically. The ending refrain of “Own” serves like something close to a thesis— “Letting go // isn’t a concept // it’s an action.” In an attempt to beat back ego, hyper-cogitation, language itself, Wilkes arrives at an axiom that feels so true and familiar, you’d swear you’d heard it one hundred times before.

Driving’s final third is, fittingly, its most emotive and cathartic. Tracks seven and eight, “Again, Again” and “And Again,” form a diptych, joined most obviously by the jangling, recursive grooves of guitarist Daryl Johns. Wilkes is said to have encouraged Johns to go “full Lindsey Buckingham” (clearly a welcome and resonant prompt), but one also catches stray Knopfler vibes, some intermittent Fripp, and (perhaps more-so in tone than technique) the spirit of DIY prophet and jangling man himself, Martin Newell (the Cleaners from Venus). Wilkes has stated that he finds joy in creating musical environments suitable to the contribution and flourishing of his favorite musicians. Throughout Driving, and in these two tracks especially, he has more than succeeded.

The record closes with the titular track: a story-song that, according to Wilkes, poured out of him (melody, composition, and lyrics) in a single sitting. The tale is told plainly, bravely, starkly; a mistake was made, regrets have been had, and all is wrapped up in the recollection of a deeply felt adolescent heartsickness—a time when the narrator was first afire with music and automotive freedom. The song captures the moment when meaning inexplicably falls into place, when a long-nagging memory suddenly assumes narrative form, and the subsequent sense of lightness and unburdening. It is fitting that Driving, a record conceived as a form of self-therapy, should culminate with a sense of humble revelation. That Wilkes is plainly eager to share the vulnerable fruits of this labor constitutes Driving’s joyful offering.

Words by Emmett Shoemaker

Like an unsent love letter to a psychedelic London where everyone is trying to find their way to a secret Television Personalities gig, Cuneiform Tabs emerge with an astounding debut of lo-fi pop and DIY experimentation. A hazy collage of joyful heartaches, twisted children's TV themes and sing-song melodies, the album echoes the sounds of '60s AM radio from a dozen narrow alleyways to the North.

Over 18 months, the Tabs' Matt Bieyle and Sterling Mackinnon traded 4-track tapes between the Bay Area and the UK. While they previously played together in indie band Violent Change, the duo's physical distance and their songwriting process of building, blurring and distorting across the Atlantic would create something no one saw coming. Grabbing any instruments at their disposal and splitting vocal duties, Bieyle and Mackinnon pushed their Tascam to its limit to make glittering, odd-shaped gems.

There is an insular feel to Cuneiform Tabs, suited for late nights after the entire city has stumbled into dreamtime or lazy afternoons when you can't quite recall where you need to be, but you know you won't make it there on time. It's like a pirate radio show where Bob Pollard alternates Swell Maps and Cleaners From Venus records while randomly unplugging various bits of gear and reading passages from a book on R.D. Laing.

Originally released in a hyper-limited artist edition, W.25TH / Superior Viaduct is thrilled to bring this kaleidoscopic LP to a wider audience.

London band’s debut album (after one 7” on Prefect, and a 7-inch EP on TiM/Prefect Records (UK)). Feat. current/former mbrs of Joanna Gruesome, Ex-Void, GN, Sniffany & The Nits. London group The Tubs return to Trouble In Mind with their hotly anticipated full-length album entitled “Dead Meat”. The band were formed in 2018 from the ashes of beloved UK post-punk band Joanna Gruesome by former members Owen 'O' Williams and George 'GN' Nicholls. By incorporating elements of post-punk, traditional British folk, and guitar jangle seasoned by nonchalant Cleaners From Venus-influenced pop hooks and contemporary antipodean indie bands (Twerps/Goon Sax, et al). “Dead Meat” is resplendent in hi-fidelity strum & thrum, incorporating fleeting elements of post-punk and indie jangle, but the group’s penchant for trad British folk & Canterbury folk-rock takes a noticeable, caffeinated step forward. Echoes of Fairport Convention’s decidedly English chime cross swords with singer Owen Williams’ lyrics directing Bryan Ferry’s “thinking man’s libertine” persona into a more dolorous outlook. Many songs (like “Round The Bend” and “Duped”) soar with an urgent strum under Williams’ acerbic lyrics, recalling a younger fiery Richard Thompson. They languish in an aching, bitter resignation (of both the situations described & the protagonist’s place in it), particularly near the album’s second half. Others like the previously released “I Don’t Know How It Works”, “Two Person Love” and “Illusion” (re-presented here as “Illusion Pt. II” and all rerecorded from their original 7-inch versions) up the urgency, implying that the journey for the person described in each tune is not over & may be even more desperate than before. The band has never been tighter & more dynamic, often imperceptibly ratcheting up the tension, an extra guitar strum overdubbed, a barely audible organ/synth cranking under a chorus or bridge, or unexpected backups from current Ex-Vöid (and ex-Joanna Gruesome) vocalist Lan McArdle. The Tubs are poised to take over your stereo - there’s no point in resisting

London band’s debut album (after one 7” on Prefect, and a 7-inch EP on TiM/Prefect Records (UK)). Feat. current/former mbrs of Joanna Gruesome, Ex-Void, GN, Sniffany & The Nits. London group The Tubs return to Trouble In Mind with their hotly anticipated full-length album entitled “Dead Meat”. The band were formed in 2018 from the ashes of beloved UK post-punk band Joanna Gruesome by former members Owen 'O' Williams and George 'GN' Nicholls. By incorporating elements of post-punk, traditional British folk, and guitar jangle seasoned by nonchalant Cleaners From Venus-influenced pop hooks and contemporary antipodean indie bands (Twerps/Goon Sax, et al). “Dead Meat” is resplendent in hi-fidelity strum & thrum, incorporating fleeting elements of post-punk and indie jangle, but the group’s penchant for trad British folk & Canterbury folk-rock takes a noticeable, caffeinated step forward. Echoes of Fairport Convention’s decidedly English chime cross swords with singer Owen Williams’ lyrics directing Bryan Ferry’s “thinking man’s libertine” persona into a more dolorous outlook. Many songs (like “Round The Bend” and “Duped”) soar with an urgent strum under Williams’ acerbic lyrics, recalling a younger fiery Richard Thompson. They languish in an aching, bitter resignation (of both the situations described & the protagonist’s place in it), particularly near the album’s second half. Others like the previously released “I Don’t Know How It Works”, “Two Person Love” and “Illusion” (re-presented here as “Illusion Pt. II” and all rerecorded from their original 7-inch versions) up the urgency, implying that the journey for the person described in each tune is not over & may be even more desperate than before. The band has never been tighter & more dynamic, often imperceptibly ratcheting up the tension, an extra guitar strum overdubbed, a barely audible organ/synth cranking under a chorus or bridge, or unexpected backups from current Ex-Vöid (and ex-Joanna Gruesome) vocalist Lan McArdle. The Tubs are poised to take over your stereo - there’s no point in resisting

A cheeky riff on the Beatles’ White Album, Cleaners From Venus frontman Martin Newell’s second solo album from 1995 is a sophisticated follow-up to the critically-acclaimed The Greatest Living Englishman. Produced by él Records fixture Louis Philippe and featuring XTC’s Dave Gregory on guitar, it’s a vivid snapshot of Newell’s life with a French chanson-inspired ease.

A longtime fan of French music, Newell sought a Gallic quality on this record - with the vocal riding at the top of the mix, rather than blurred under indie rock guitars, as was common at the time. Philippe was happy to oblige. The effect is a clarity of both form and content - on “Arcadian Boys,” Newell’s impassioned voice careens over a heartbreaking string quartet (arranged by Philippe himself) as he wonders what’s become of those “too late for the sun.” It’s a much more emotional take on the song than the guitar-laden, uptempo version that appears on the Cleaners From Venus’ My Back Wages. But The Off White Album doesn’t dwell too long in solemnity - it’s still a Martin Newell record, after all. His classic wit is on full display, whether he’s putting an irreverent spin on the Smiths (“Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others”) or fondly warning a neighbor to “watch your chemicals, girl” (“The Girls In The Flat Upstairs”).

A rich cast of characters make up The Off White Album, via both the process of its recording and the subjects of its songs. It’s a record born on the road, inspired by Newell’s experiences travelling through Europe and Asia the year of its inception. Perhaps the clearest portrait that emerges as the album draws to a close, however, is one of Newell himself: as poet, coffee shop customer, bandleader, lover and neighbor. By his own admission, The Off White Album is “a more intimate portrait of my life at that time than I’d intended.”

'Garage bands suddenly obtain cult status and become the antithesis of their initial appeal'

Garage Class were a group of reluctant outliers who produced one of the finest contributions to the wave of UK DIY music that emerged during the late 70s and early to mid-80s.

Hailing from Alsager in North West England and comprised of Tim Shutt (vocals) Phil Murphy (lead guitar) Clive Williams (guitar) Lynne Sanders (bass) and Phil Bourne (drums / bass on studio recordings) Garage Class originally went by the name of The Pits before their then manager Steve Hurt imposed an alias which, though unpopular within their ranks, would nevertheless reflect the shambolic art they would eventually capture on their first and only single.

As The Pits the group offered a loutish inflection on glam-punk flamboyance, evoking Johnny Thunder hitting the north and remaining disowned yet undeterred in a dreary old boozer. But as Garage Class the group distilled a roughcast and homespun primitivism that felt quintessentially their own. In this they proved too unruly to be assimilated into any wider scene. Early gigs descended into acrimony and recognition proved elusive. Yet what they managed to make back then now sounds like an extraordinary article of underdog ambition.

Released in 1984, four years after it was originally recorded, the Terminal Tokyo single is an unlikely triumph of exceptional messthetic punk. Though raw and unpolished the songs here are precariously pop-minded and indisputably anthemic. The titular A-side reveals the dry and detached drawl of Shutt aka The Subliminal Kid, a sharp, jaded and poetic voice that has some of the most iconic lines never heard in punk. Accompanied by second-hand guitars, on-the-fly handclaps and a chorus like a terrace chant this is the cult hit that never was, a heroically artless masterpiece that has all the ragged character and misfit euphoria of Swell Maps and The Buzzcocks if they were more impulsive and boisterous, and left to their own devices in the remote margins of a Cheshire town. The original B-side is here substituted for I Got Standards, a track that, until now, has somehow remained unreleased. An ideal twin to Terminal Tokyo there's the same brusque and dog-eared quality to the band's delivery, as well as the same upfront emphasis on strong hooks and insistent momentum. Yet again, Shutt is on impeccable form, perfecting an inflated, adolescent antagonism that has all the sardonic, malcontented charm of similarly 'shirty' buggers like Dan Treacy (Television Personalities), Patrik Fitzgerald and Mark Perry (Alternative TV).

Although never accepted in their own time both tracks represent a brief but inspired moment of fervent imperfection, one that epitomized the best of a diffuse and autonomous underground movement spearheaded by The Desperate Bicycles and built upon by the likes of Amos & Sara, The Homosexuals, The Cleaners From Venus and Family Fodder. Like them Garage Class were situated at a point where punk, art, humour and a sense of stubborn independence all intersected.

In the years since Terminal Tokyo has accumulated a retrospective appeal among certain trusted circles, with Jon Dale celebrating the single in his exhaustive and essential Story of UK DIY for Fact Magazine, and original copies regularly changing hands for a foolish forty quid or so. With this inaugural release on the Outer Reaches label Terminal Tokyo is not only restored for the very first time but given a worthy expansion courtesy of JD Twitch (Optimo).

Continuing his own fascination with the fringe history of UK DIY - documented on his own outstanding compilation Cease & Desist: DIY! (Cult Classics From The Post Punk Era 1978-1982) and in his re-edits of Crass Records classics for an early release on RVNG INTL - Twitch reinterprets I Got Standards as an incisive, dubwise outing that pictures Jaki Liebezeit and Muslimgauze on a bender in England's provinces, tasked with remixing the raw product of local punks. A new slant on Garage Class' crude magnificence, built to play loud on contemporary soundsystems.

Although the latter part of 1980 spelled the end for Garage Class with members moving on to other projects (Bourne fell in with The Colours Out of Time, Murphy went on to front The Regular Guys and Shutt eventually left to form Happy Refugees) this reissue attempts to give their fleeting time together and the unique single statement they made the treatment it deserves. If this means Garage Class have obtained cult status, their initial appeal remains. Just listen for yourself.