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Sasu Ripatti's complete "Dancefloor Classics" series. Music for imaginary dancefloors, released on Ripatti's own label Rajaton.

”Look up, into the light” she said, while the camera shutter clicked. ”Like this? Does it look holy?” His neck felt stiff. Her reply: ”Yes, just like that. What do you mean holy? Like religious? ”No, more like trying to look very far, somewhere beyond what we can see.” ”Okay, stand still, I’m going to come close to you now. The light hits your face great.” click, click, click.
He noticed her fingernails. They were not polished. Natural. Even somewhat rugged, as if something wore out the fingers slightly. What had these hands held besides the camera? What made the edges of her fingernails drift off?
He thought it’s weird to look straight into the camera. The photographer had closed her left eye, the one not looking into the lens. Then it opened, she looked up, perusing the surroundings, then she closed her eye again, then looked up, closed, looking up, very quickly. It all seemed very professional. Maybe she calculated the light, making sure it’s close to perfect. ”What will these photos look like?” – the thought popped into his head briefly. It was liberating to think it wouldn’t matter.
”What’s that song playing?” he asked. ”Wait a sec, Ol’ Dirty Bastard?” she replied. ”Oh yeah, right. But the sample?” ”Hey, could you look up again, like that. No, lower.”
New directions: ”Look out from the window, turn left.” ”My left or yours?” ”Yours, I always try to think from the direction of my model.” How professional! This is a good shoot, so natural. Should I worry about how the photos look like? No, I don’t want to. His thoughts bounced around. What would the story be like? It’s a big newspaper, everyone will read it. Maybe someone drinks coffee and eats a stroopwafel while they do it. Will they place the waffle on top of the mug for a brief while, so that it gets hot and the syrup melts a little? Then it feels wet, and you can bend the cookie.
She broke his train of thought off midway through: ”Now turn right, but look left, and slightly up, but don’t turn your face right.” ”Umm, like this? Sounds like a set of pilates instructions.” she laughed ”You do pilates?” ”Yeah, it’s hard sometimes. Have you tried?” ”No”, she said. ”I’m not good for sports that are done in groups.” ”Yeah, but in pilates you can just be inside your mind, drowning in your private thoughts.”
”What are you thinking in pilates?” she asked, taking more photos. ”Well, mostly just which way is right. And which left.” click, click.

Q&A with Sasu Ripatti:

1) Tell us something about the EP series ”Dancefloor Classics”, what’s the idea and what can we expect?

I’ve been slowly writing these sort of dance music pieces and finally curated them together for a conceptual release. I like to create music for a dancefloor that exists only in my imagination and doesn’t try to suck up to the standardized reality.

2) Your vinyl format is 10” which is quite special (as opposed to LP / 12”). Why did you choose it?

It’s my favourite format, absolutely. The size is perfect, and you can make it sound really good @ 45 rpm. And you still can make great artwork.

3) You seem interested in sampling/repurposing, what does it mean to you as an artist to approach something already existing from a new angle? How does the source material inform you about the approach to take?

I guess i could flip it around and just say I’ve outgrown synths or electronic sounds to a great extend, and having gotten rid off all my synths already good while ago I’ve used samples as my main source material a lot. It’s obvious on this series that i’ve sampled existing music, but I also sample instruments and things in the studio and resample my own library that I have built over the years, it’s quite large. To me the end result matters, not so much how I get there. Once I have something on my keyboard and play around, it’s all an instrument, though with sampling other music it becomes a really interesting and complex one as you’re possibly playing rhythm, but also harmonic content and maybe hooks or whatever, all at once.
I never sample premeditadedly, like listening to records and looking for that mindblowing 3 sec part. I just throw the cards in the air and see what lands where, just full intuition and hopefully zero mind involved, playing tons of stuff, trying things, just recording hours of stuff. Then comes the interesting part to listen to hours of mostly crazy stuff and finding that mindblowing 3 sec part.

4) What is your relationship with the dancefloor (conceptually and/or in experiences / as a performer)?

Very complicated. I have never really felt comfortable on a dancefloor but have always wanted to. There’s something in club music, in theory, that really speaks to me. It has never really materialized for me – speaking mainly from a performer’s point of view who goes to check on a dancefloor for a moment after a concert. I never have DJ’d or felt much interest towards it. But again, I love the idea and concept of DJing. As well as producing music for imaginary DJs. Lately, as in the past 10+ years, I haven’t even performed in any sort of club spaces. So my relationship to the dancefloor is quite removed and reduced, but there’s quite a bit of passion and interest left.

All tracks composed and produced by Sasu Ripatti.
Artwork & photography by Marc Hohmann.
Mastering by Stephan Mathieu for Schwebung Mastering.
Vinyl cut by SST Brueggemann.
Publishing by WARP Music Ltd.

Circular patterns morphing through time, loop and ritual form the fabric of Proserpine, the latest work by Leeds-based musician, Teresa Winter. Recorded from a summer to a winter through 2021 and 2022, Proserpine is Winter's most cohesive, focused music to date: confidently revelling in space, fixating on isolated sounds and giving way to satisfying, swirling waves of vocal and electronic buzz. Proserpine is Teresa Winter's debut recording for Glasgow-based label, Night School.

On Proserpine, musical patterns revolve and intersect with each other, transmogrifying the music's narrative. Over-arching themes emerge: continual change, elusiveness. Insubstantiality emerges into concrete reality in the form of recognisable field recordings: the purring of a pet cat, the hum of a live cable. The loops and patterns are sometimes just out of sight, the click and whirl on Child Of Nature is the backdrop to hymnal vocalisations by Winter, who intones spell-like text in conversation with herself. On opener Circles, Winter's vocal is pre-linguistic, detached syllables falling into flowing streams, before Plume's field recordings seem to juxtapose nocturnal and diurnal wildlife. "You said I was a Flower Of The Mountain" sings Winter, as James Joyce's Molly Bloom does but the carpe diem desire in Ulysses is dissipated here, spread out by gauzy, droning organs. Here desire is blown up and out, changed into something undefinable but no less powerful.

Change is at the heart of the album. The Roman goddess Proserpine, herself a reimagined version of the earlier Greek goddess Persephone, is always between: between summer and winter, the land of the living and the underworld, constantly emerging into new states of being. It's a fitting metaphor for Winter's work. Like an Apple feels like it soundtracks this in-between state, long, trailing reverb smudging synth keys and Winter's achingly beautiful vocal performance. The effect is stirring but flitting in and out of perception, sometimes Winter's presence feels of this world, of musical instruments and practises and at others it feels like the music is about to phase into a different plane, a different universe.

While Proserpine references the myths and cults of the classical, pre-Christian era, Winter's restless preoccupation with the mechanics of religion informs the album in other ways. Ritual is present through out, either in the mantra-like vocalisations or even the private rituals we are invited to witness: on Fireworks the listener eave drops into the protagonist's private bonfire. On the stunning Lamento, layers of Choral vocal interlock in celestial patterns that recall catholic mass: it's an overt effect that simulates the ecstasy of religious fervour and also reminds the listener of the use of vocal that runs through Proserpine. Winter's vocals often echo with the euphoria of obliteration, of disintegrating in an awful bliss. It's an effect achieved with finality by the closer New Water as the piece begins with voice before burning up in the atmosphere of elegiac violins and enveloping undertows of whirring synth patterns and ghostly pads. Proserpine is forever turning, changing, always elusive and quietly revelatory.

Welcome to Masters Series - for people who understand that some things just can't be tamed. (Read: these are scratchy, poppy, and rough recordings from busted acetates. Click the listen tab to preview quality. These are cleaned up as best we can get them - if that's not going to work for you, don't order!)

For the third installment of our Master Series we present This Is Me by Mark Bluford. A heavy slice of early 70s Psychedelic Deep Funk from the Bay Area. Hard to miss the massive wah-wah guitar leads, but the arrangement is pretty complex with piano, bass, and strings backing the earnest vocals.

There are breaks on both sides, parts one and two. The first break is a string break, very unique to a Funk record. But, somehow this fits for a Bay Area Funk record. The break in part two is one of the heaviest drum breaks no one has heard in 50 years.

A very limited special upgrade option for this release: choose to get MS-003 in a one of a kind, hand-painted sleeve by the legendary McBoing Boing. Only 12 completely unique sleeves were hand painted by the man himself, and one of those 12 is staying right here in our HQ. So there are now only 11 out there! (Yes, the vinyl comes with the sleeve.)

Big thanks to Dr. Scott Bulleit for digging this acetate out of a flea market and contributing it to the Preservation Project! This is a sure shot, don't miss out on this limited run!

The story behind The Masters Series

In our hunt for unreleased soul, we occasionally find some incredible gems that are just a bit too beaten to restore to the ears of the general public. Rather than return them to the moldy basements from whence they came, we press them in small batches to share with those who love to share.

Welcome to Masters Series - for people who understand that some things just can't be tamed. (Read: these are scratchy, poppy, and rough recordings from busted acetates. Click the listen tab to preview quality. These are cleaned up as best we can get them - if that's not going to work for you, don't order!)

For this limited edition Masters Series release, we enlisted the help of two of the world's heaviest collectors and djs, and champions of the Preservation Project from day one, Supreme la Rock on Side-A, and Skeme Richards on the B-Side.

Both gentlemen tackled reworking and re-editing funky previously unreleased psych songs. Both songs, "Sad Country Boy" on Side A and "Your Mind" on Side B, are by unknown groups and both feature drum breaks intros - perfect for you to cut up, so you're gonna need two copies. We won't be mad at you if you feed the breaks and chop them up either. This one is for the heads.

The story behind The Masters Series

In our hunt for unreleased soul, we occasionally find some incredible gems that are just a bit too beaten to restore to the ears of the general public. Rather than return them to the moldy basements from whence they came, we press them up to share with those who love to share.

Everything clicks on Safe to Run, the fourth album from singer, songwriter Esther Rose - It's the quiet culmination of years spent fully immersed in a developing artistry, and presents Rose's always vividly detailed emotional scenes with new levels of clarity and control As with previous work, her songwriting transfigures the chaos and uncertainty of a life in progress, but here she introduces a newfound pop element that attaches unshakably catchy hooks to even the darkest stretches of the journey. Rose takes an unblinking look at her own vulnerabilities as well as more universal concerns, somehow never taking herself too seriously in the process. This manifests as a critique of the insidious sexism of the music industry on "Dream Girl," but quickly melts into a hazy memoryscape of the dive bar drama and suspended hovering of her early 20s on "Chet Baker." The song "Safe to Run" (a gorgeous duet with Hurray for the Riff Raff's Alynda Segarra) directly merges the personal with the global, superimposing feelings of spiritual displacement onto the larger, looming dread of climate grief. Rose breathes in the ecstasy of the natural world in one line and makes fun of herself a few bars later. There are ghosts in the room for most of her songs, but she's invited them in and is cracking jokes with them over a drink or two. Ultimately all of these new advancements become twinkles of light in the background as they fold into the big picture impact of the songs themselves. Esther Rose translates her world into eleven curious and captivating scenes. While the songs are stunning one by one, absorbing Safe to Run as a whole feels like witnessing something taking shape, experiencing the headspins of the elevation and the slow return to equilibrium as the clouds start clearing

Everything clicks on Safe to Run, the fourth album from singer, songwriter Esther Rose. It’s the quiet culmination of years spent fully immersed in a developing artistry, and presents Rose’s always vividly detailed emotional scenes with new levels of clarity and control. As with previous work, her songwriting transfigures the chaos and uncertainty of a life in progress, but here she introduces a newfound pop element that attaches unshakably catchy hooks to even the darkest stretches of the journey. Rose takes an unblinking look at her own vulnerabilities as well as more universal concerns, somehow never taking herself too seriously in the process. This manifests as a critique of the insidious sexism of the music industry on “Dream Girl,” but quickly melts into a hazy memoryscape of the dive bar drama and suspended hovering of her early 20s on “Chet Baker.” The song “Safe to Run” (a gorgeous duet with Hurray for the Riff Raff’s Alynda Segarra) directly merges the personal with the global, superimposing feelings of spiritual displacement onto the larger, looming dread of climate grief. Rose breathes in the ecstasy of the natural world in one line and makes fun of herself a few bars later. There are ghosts in the room for most of her songs, but she’s invited them in and is cracking jokes with them over a drink or two. Ultimately all of these new advancements become twinkles of light in the background as they fold into the big picture impact of the songs themselves. Esther Rose translates her world into eleven curious and captivating scenes. While the songs are stunning one by one, absorbing Safe to Run as a whole feels like witnessing something taking shape, experiencing the headspins of the elevation and the slow return to equilibrium as the clouds start clearing.

This brand new EP from the Cornish improv noise / post-rock / shoegaze trio is their first release since their acclaimed second album Sleepover, which came out at the end of 2021. It features two long tracks and vocals from their Sonic Cathedral bandmate Lorena Quintanilla from Lorelle Meets The Obsolete. “One of our recording sessions resulted in a couple of tracks that had a very different energy to what we’ve recorded to date because there was less of a motif-based approach to them, which made them kind of scenic,” explains Mildred Maude guitarist Matt Ashdown. “We felt like they were the best opportunity we’ve had for doing a collaboration. We’ve played a few shows with Lorelle Meets the Obsolete and really clicked – we love what she does in that band and also as J. Zunz – so we asked her to do both tracks. It feels completely right – a natural pairing.” “I love collaborations and this one was really special,” adds Lorena. “I feel honoured to be part of this EP. I always enjoy seeing Mildred Maude, I feel that one can grasp eternity during their sets. With ‘Half The Sky’, the vocal melody and lyrics came out immediately, I felt like I was in a room jamming with them and everything was slowly flowing and growing. As for ‘Shifting’, it was another story. It is such a beautiful song, and I didn't want to mess it up. They liked one of the takes I sent, so I kept on that track for the first part and for the end I looped vocals on my DL4.” “Vocals change everything and give it a different air of completeness, but Lorena understands our music, so she was able to maintain its looseness,” concludes Matt. “We’re stunned by what Lorena has done; she’s given both tracks a different life

KOU is the new project by Apolline Schöser (half of Nina Harker) & Thomas Coquelet.

Apolline & Thomas have been performing since 2022 under the KOU guise with 24 electronic harmoniums. Producing dense layers of tones & overtones. On their debut album KOU steers in another direction. The harmonium appears occasionally, but more prominent are delicate guitar pluckings, distant vocal effects, synths, flutes, piano strokes, a touch of musical magic and Apolline’s jazz not jazz vocals.

As soon as the needle drops it’s clear we are jump-cutting straight to the other side of the mirror. Cats purr, a woman sings as if asleep, drum machines stutter and warp and Alvin Lucier is not 'sitting in a room that is not different to the one you are not in now’. If you’re already confused, join the club. But, it’s the good kind of confused, a bewildering experience akin to the first time hearing the Faust Tapes or watching Inland Empire. Wait though, as pigeons coo and the tape machine clunk-clicks a gorgeous weirdo version of Roger's and Hart’s Blue Moon emerges to let you know this isn’t just dada splurge, there’s a genius pop sensibility at work here too. Side two takes us further into the murk with mournful detuned brass, stoned Joan La Barbara-esque vocalese and a droning Farfisa hymn, before ending with another too-tempting snatch of DIY pop. Some of the references are recognisable. All kinds of 70s/80s European art prog - think early Battiato, Pierot Lunaire’s Gudrun, Lucia Bosè and Gregorio Paniagua's Io Pomodoro etc etc. There’s a strong whiff of 90s us goof-off surrealism too- Bongwater, Siltbreeze, Royal Trux’s Twin infinitives, the damaged folkier side of Alastair Galbraith, Half-Japanese, early Beck even all feel relevant.

Like an oddball group of friends you might meet by chance and end up weirding-out with for days, the minds behind this deliciously odd music allow you to stay for a while in their strange subcultural world. You might not want to live here forever but a short trip, while it lasts, rewires your brain for the better.

Remastered in 2022 by Bob Weston at Chicago Mastering Studio. Recorded in 1995 at Water Music in Hoboken, NJ, with producer Ted Niceley at the helm, House of GVSB captures Girls Against Boys at the zenith of their musical prowess. The album has a simmering anxiety throughout, a kind of vertigo, a taste of what the band was actually experiencing at the time. Released in 1998, on House of GVSB, Girls Against Boys hit their stride. "Super-Fire" leads off the album with more of a swagger than a bang. Follow that up with songs like "Click Click," "Zodiac Love Team," and "Disco Six Six Six," among others, and you've got the recipe for love, destiny, and straight up gin. No going awry with a song like "Crash 17 (X-Rated Car)." All together they play "TheKindaMzkYouLike." In 1998, Girls Against Boys left the Touch and Go stable for a run with major label and later with Jade Tree Records (2002). In recent years, apart from select short tours and shows in Europe, Girls Against Boys has remained on official hiatus. House of GVSB remains probably their most favorite album.

A viral phenomenon reissued. After 23 million YouTube views, multitudes of tattoos, dozens of cover versions, eight sold-out 7" pressings, comes this NINTH vinyl version.àSpread by word of mouth, click of mouse and without radio play.àThe entrancing romantic love song (murder ballad?) with guest vocalist Sparky Phillips of Demented Are Go counterpointing HME's Emanuela Hutter, hits the sweet spot for obsessive lovers“

The Hillbilly Moon Explosion continue with their gigging schedule across Europe this fall and plan a new album next year.àThe band - two Englishmen, a Frenchman and a Swiss/Italian chanteuse - reside in Switzerland and are one of the classiest exponents of rockabilly alive today, subtly mixing in swing, ska, country, Europop and more without compromising their roots.àTheir widely-sourced rock"n"roll is exciting and enduring; this song is a proven earworm and a worldwide infatuation

For new beginnings, one must sometimes look into the past. Amb.Caveti has done such thing by inviting producer Martin Abrahamsson to the label under the moniker Deltidseskapism. Originally released in 2004 on Source Records, Martin’s aptly titled ‘Nattmusik’ mimics exactly that - the long drawn out winters of Sweden.

Floating basslines and ethereal high’s leave the imagination to roam, whilst rhythmic clicks and cuts maintain focus on the journey ahead. It’s one for the drive home or late night wander, amidst the icy fog and solitary streetlights.

The last twelve months have been a whirlwind for Henry Counsell and Louis Curran, the men who make up Joy (Anonymous). Having established themselves during the Covid-19 era by playing impromptu meet-ups on London’s South Bank, they have graduated to bigger venues, travelled to far-flung locales and recorded their second album, Cult Classics, while maintaining the spontaneous energy and irrepressible joy that made their name. Their music revels in the euphoria of being alive and all the feelings, good or bad, that come with it. It invites us into a community, draws us close and promises the night of our lives.

Recorded over the course of a year, the blueprint for Cult Classics was laid down over a two-week span at Imogen Heap’s Round House in east London. Joy (Anonymous) invited friends old and new to visit - they’d record live instruments in jam sessions upstairs and then retreat to a second room to flip and loop and generally mess with the sounds, moulding them into sizzling dance tracks. “Loads of people were coming up to me like ‘I thought this was going to be a dance record?’” Louis says, remembering the quietly beautiful music they’d be recording. “I’d be like, don’t worry about that, just keep playing.” He’d send it back to people later and they’d be floored - “That was my bit and you’ve made it... jungle!”

It was an organic and creatively fulfilling approach, one that didn’t allow any of the music to get stale or stagnate. As they built the tracks from the sounds they’d collected, Joy (Anonymous) would weave the new songs into their famously improvised live sets, testing them, refining them, taking note of the audiences’ reactions. In a year punctuated by a lot of travel, they’d also incorporate the voices of people they met along the way - “Beazley’s Poem”, which opens the record, features the words of a man who was working security at a Fred Again show at New York’s Terminal Five. “He was basically doing the opposite of his job and being a hype man, climbing on the fence and ramping up the crowd - we ended up hanging out with him - like, who’s this legend?” Louis explains. “He just speaks really amazingly about his life, all these amazing thoughts and opinions - he started jumping on the mic when we were playing, preaching these amazing messages to the crowd, like that we all need to be nicer to each other. The first time we played the record in its entirety, he introduced us and that’s the recording we’ve used.”

Joy (Anonymous) remain dedicated to the spirit of spontaneity. They shut a street down with a surprise waterside party in New York. On a trip to Copenhagen they played an impromptu set in a cafe, which turned into a house party and a night-long good time. In Lithuania, they ended up playing in a decommissioned prison. It’s harder, perhaps, to keep that spirit alive now that they are operating more within the confines of the music industry but they will keep lugging their kit to wherever the party calls for as long as they can. “I think if we lose that, we’ve kind of lost what makes us us,” Henry says.

Bursting with multi-genre reference points and disparate influences, Cult Classics is very much a dance album. The samples we made ourselves or we took from music that is quite different to dance music, but we definitely wanted to shout out a lot of the dance influences that we love,” Henry says. They listened to a lot of Daft Punk and Basement Jaxx as well as The Prodigy (“more rage stuff”), taking songwriting tips from their dance forebears, but also recording bits that felt more like jazz and motown (see: A Place I Belong and the lovely album closer, You’re In Or You’re Out). Emir Taha’s gentle classical guitar runs like a thread throughout Cult Classics, washing into the undertones of the record, tying it all together.

The album follows the beat of a night out, from frenetic, sweaty movement to the gentler winding down as the dawn breaks. At times it is euphoric, celebratory and pure, whirling fun, at others it seeks the joy in the darker emotions that life throws our way. 404 is designed to encapsulate everything about the Joy (Anonymous) journey so far. Skittering beats and ghostly vocals give way to vibrating house chords: sirens blare as we approach a dubstep drop. It’s dramatic and wild, ratcheting up, seeming to settle then hitting you with an intense and frantic breakdown before the ghostly vocal returns to lull us back into the world. It has the feel of a hungry cat playing with a mouse, toying with it before letting it get away.

What sounds like someone playing the spoons on playful, housey How We End Up Here is actually Louis’ restless habit of clicking his rings on everything, one of a myriad of calling cards and easter eggs that day one fans will recognise. They rework Miley Cyrus and Swae Lee’s Party Up The Street into a French-electro-inspired future classic, adding a note of melancholy to a tune that you can imagine hearing blaring from every car on a summer drive. The lyrics on Cult Classic are generally reassuring, inspirational, originally drawn from Henry in stream-of-consciousness freestyles. You’re fine the way you are, they seem to say - the repeated “No need to try” of A Place I Belong, the assurance that “It’s in me all the time” on In Me All The Time. Even the summery but regretful Did You Wrong hints at the growth that is possible from less than ideal behaviour. For Joy (Anonymous), joy isn’t about just being “happy” all the time - it’s about relishing every element of your being.

The name ‘Joy (Anonymous)’ is taken from the work Henry did with Alcoholics Anonymous groups: it is a way to build a community around sharing joy. Their impromptu live sets are known as ‘meetings’; they encourage fans to share moments of joy to their website. They care deeply about the scene they’ve come up in and are determined not to leave it behind. Every show is another chance to reach out and connect with people who love to come together and revel in music as loud as it can go.

Support slots for Fred Again and The Streets, wild B2Bs with Fred and Skrillex, and a set at Four Tet’s Finsbury Park all-dayer this summer have given the duo the opportunity to live out childhood dreams and introduced their infectious live shows to new audiences at huge venues.

With an album as assured and joyful as Cult Classics on the horizon (and a killer collab with The Blessed Madonna coming up), they’re only going to reach higher heights. But the essence of Joy (Anonymous) remains on the South Bank. Between shows at Ally Pally in September, they dragged their camping chairs and gear back down to the banks of the Thames: and it just felt right.

If there’s anything that defines SUDS, it’s friendship. Meeting through their love of the DIY scene currently emerging in Norwich, the band quickly found themselves gravitating towards writing songs together, and by Autumn 2021, Jack Ames (drums/vocals) joined Maisie Cater (vocals/guitar) and Dan Godfrey (guitar/vocals) to form a line-up that felt inherently natural. Stepping in on bass duties came Harry Mitchell, and things seemed to click instantaneously. Driven to keep the spark going they all upped sticks from their far flung edges of the county, pooled together to get a touring van and set to work. Just like their 2022 debut EP, In The Undergrowth, SUDS ventured down to Kent to record with producer Ian Sadler (Roam, Anavae), ready to explore the next chapter of their story. Step forth debut album The Great Overgrowth, a record brimming with addictive melodies and gorgeous moments of optimism. Their evocative and sometimes literary approach to lyrics takes inspiration from midwest emo and the 1960s Greenwich Village folk scene - Cater and Ames would regularly distract themselves while writing, gazing between the pages of books by Woody Guthrie, Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan and Brontez Purnell - which appears across their songwriting and would quickly become the foundation for their sound. Finding a delicate balance of sensitive lyricism dripping in warmth and killer guitar hooks, The Great Overgrowth follows on from the EP, telling the next part of the tale, as a tight knit group of twenty-something year old friends struggling and floating through life, to becoming more confident in their everyday lives and friendships while embracing change. The band are already off to a flying start, conquering sets at 2000 Trees Festival, The Great Escape and Truck Festival, as well as sold out shows with Spanish Love Songs, Pool Kids and Martha. Their talent for achingly intelligent, relatable lyricism and a heft for devil-may-care creative output already puts them heads above the rest. SUDS might be fresh faced but have the maturity and drive to become one of the most exciting emerging artists of 2023.

I Talk To Water, the fifth album for Kompakt by Danish producer Kölsch, is the artist’s most personal statement yet. While all the trademarks that make his music so popular and powerful are still present – lush, melodic techno; swooping, trance-like figures; sensuous, shivery texturology – I Talk To Water is also a deep and intimate rapprochement with family and history, a beautiful, finely detailed document of loss and memory, and a tracing of the long, unbroken thread of grief that runs through our lives once we’ve lost those we loved.

The emotional core of I Talk To Water, then, is a cache of recordings by Kölsch’s father, Patrick Reilly, who passed away in 2003 from brain cancer. With time rendered elastic by the pandemic and its associated lockdowns, its sudden, alienating shifts in everyday living, Kölsch found himself reflecting on his father’s passing and ongoing spiritual presence, thinking about how best to memorialise such a significant figure in his own life. Those recordings opened a gateway, of sorts, for Kölsch to move through – a way to bring past and present together and entwine them in a sensitive, poetic manner.

Kölsch’s father was a musician – “touring in the sixties and seventies, in the Middle East especially, he was doing the whole hippy trail, playing guitar, and wrote some songs over the years,” he recalls. “But all in all, he decided to focus on family rather than pursue a musical career.” Reilly kept playing and writing music over the years, though Kölsch hadn’t listened to the material for some time: “I’d never had the guts to listen to it, because I just felt too fragile listening to his voice. It’s such a tough thing to go through.”

During the pandemic, though, Kölsch listened through the fragmented body of work that his father had produced over the years. “I decided I’m gonna finally release my dad’s music twenty years after his passing,” he reflects. “This whole album is about the process of loss, and for me it’s been one of my main driving forces in my musical life, the whole emotional aspect of whatever I’ve done has been based in that feeling that he’s not there anymore.”

Recordings of Reilly appear on three songs across I Talk To Water. His guitars drift pensively across “Grape”, offering a lush thread of melody that Kölsch wraps with clicking, driftwood rhythms and droning, melancholy bass. “Tell Me” is a lovely three-minute art song, a sadly beautiful reflection, minimally adorned with gentle keys and a muted pulse. And on the closing “It Ends Where It Began”, Kölsch lets his father’s acoustic guitar take centre stage for a lament that’s unexpectedly folksy, a guitar soli dream, which Reilly originally recorded in 1996. “He actually recorded it for my first album that never came out,” Kölsch reveals, “and I had it sitting around forever. That is purely him.”

These three imagined collaborations between father and son are poised and delicate. But their relationship also marks the gorgeous music Kölsch has made across the rest of I Talk To Water, from the itchy yet lush “Pet Sound” (titled in tribute to one of Reilly’s favourite albums), the flickering synths and yearning vocal samples that slide through “Khenpo”, the ecstatic shuddering that marks “Only Get Better”, or “Implant”’s slow-motion pans and subtle reveals.

There’s also the title song, where Kölsch is joined by guest Perry Farrell (Jane’s Addiction, Porno For Pyros), singing a mantra for internal reflection: “I talk to water / Searching for myself / Looking for answers / Oceans of you.” Farrell’s appearance brings another timbre, another spirit to the album, aligning neatly with his recent interest in electronic music. “He was completely taken by this idea of talking to water,” Kölsch says, thinking about the ways we collectively lean towards the natural world as a comfort and a listener, a guide through mourning, a way to map out the terrain of the heart. This mapping is something that Kölsch has proven remarkably adept at through the years; dance music for both body and mind, but also both for the here-and-now, and for the hereafter.

“I Talk To Water”, das fünfte Album des dänischen Produzenten Kölsch für Kompakt, ist zweifellos das persönlichste Statement des Künstlers bislang. Während alle Markenzeichen, die seine Musik so beliebt und kraftvoll machen, immer noch präsent sind – üppige, melodische Techno-Tracks; schwebende, tranceartige Elemente; sinnliche, fiebrige Texturen – ist “I Talk To Water” auch eine tiefe und intime Annäherung an Familie und Geschichte. Es ist ein wunderschönes, fein ausgearbeitetes Dokument des Verlusts und der Erinnerung, und es verfolgt den langen, ungebrochenen Faden der Trauer, der durch unser Leben läuft, sobald wir diejenigen verloren haben, die wir liebten.

Der emotionale Kern von “I Talk To Water” besteht aus Aufnahmen von Kölschs Vater, Patrick Reilly, der 2003 an Hirnkrebs verstarb. Durch die Pandemie und ihre damit verbundenen Lockdowns, die plötzlichen, entfremdenden Veränderungen im Alltag, fand Kölsch sich in Gedanken an den Tod seines Vaters und seine fortwährende spirituelle Präsenz wieder. Er überlegte, wie er eine so bedeutende Figur in seinem eigenen Leben am besten verewigen könnte. Diese Aufnahmen öffneten ihm sozusagen ein Portal, um Vergangenheit und Gegenwart miteinander zu verbinden und sie auf sensible und poetische Weise zu verweben.

Kölschs Vater war Musiker – “er tourte in den sechziger und siebziger Jahren, vor allem im Nahen Osten, auf dem Hippie Trail, spielte Gitarre und schrieb im Laufe der Jahre einige Songs”, erinnert sich Kölsch. “Aber alles in allem entschied er sich, sich auf die Familie zu konzentrieren, anstatt eine musikalische Karriere zu verfolgen.” Reilly spielte und schrieb jedoch im Laufe der Jahre weiterhin Musik, obwohl Kölsch das Material lange Zeit nicht angehört hatte: “Ich hatte nie den Mut, es anzuhören, weil ich mich einfach zu zerbrechlich fühlte, seine Stimme anzuhören. Es ist so schwer, das durchzustehen.”

Während der Pandemie hörte sich Kölsch jedoch durch das fragmentierte Werk, das sein Vater im Laufe der Jahre produziert hatte. “Ich beschloss, die Musik meines Vaters zwanzig Jahre nach seinem Tod endlich zu veröffentlichen”, reflektiert er. “Dieses ganze Album handelt von dem Verlustprozess, welcher für mich generell eine der Hauptantriebskräfte in meinem musikalischen Leben ist. Der ganze emotionale Aspekt von dem, was ich getan habe, basierte auf dem Gefühl, dass er nicht mehr da ist.”

Auf “I Talk To Water” sind Aufnahmen von Reilly in drei Songs zu hören. Seine Gitarren ziehen nachdenklich durch “Grape”, bieten einen üppigen Melodiefaden, den Kölsch mit klickenden, treibenden Rhythmen und dröhnendem, melancholischem Bass umwickelt. “Tell Me” ist ein schönes dreiminütiges Kunstlied, eine traurig-schöne Reflexion, minimal geschmückt mit sanften Tasten und einem gedämpften Puls. Und auf dem Abschlusstrack “It Ends Where It Began” lässt Kölsch die akustische Gitarre seines Vaters im Mittelpunkt stehen, ein überraschend folkiger Klagegesang, den Reilly ursprünglich 1996 aufgenommen hatte. “Er hat es tatsächlich für mein erstes Album aufgenommen, das nie veröffentlicht wurde”, enthüllt Kölsch, “und ich hatte es ewig liegen.”

Diese drei erdachten Kollaborationen zwischen Vater und Sohn sind ausgewogen und zart. Aber ihre Beziehung prägt auch die wunderschöne Musik, die Kölsch im Rest von “I Talk To Water” geschaffen hat, angefangen bei dem nervösen, aber üppigen “Pet Sound” (benannt als Hommage an eines von Reillys Lieblingsalben), den flimmernden Synthesizern und sehnsüchtigen Vocal-Samples in “Khenpo”, den ekstatischen Erschütterungen in “Only Get Better” oder den langsamen Schwenks und subtilen Enthüllungen in “Implant”.

Es gibt auch den Titelsong, in dem Kölsch von Gast Perry Farrell (Jane’s Addiction, Porno For Pyros) begleitet wird, der ein Mantra für die innere Reflexion singt: “I talk to water / Searching for myself / Looking for answers / Oceans of you.” Farrells Auftritt bringt eine weitere Klangfarbe, einen weiteren Geist in das Album, der gut zu seinem jüngsten Interesse an elektronischer Musik passt. “Er war völlig fasziniert von der Idee, mit Wasser zu sprechen”, sagt Kölsch und denkt darüber nach, wie wir kollektiv zur Natur als Trost, Zuhörer, Führer durch die Trauer neigen, um die Gelände des Herzens zu kartieren. Diese Kartierung ist etwas, in dem Kölsch im Laufe der Jahre erstaunlich geschickt war; Tanzmusik für Körper und Geist, sowohl für das Hier und Jetzt, als auch für das Leben danach.

TPG long term friend and homeboy Ben Oyefeso pulls out a trio of double-jointed cuts for the club and not, the German producer's debut EP ‘Lagerfeuer’ packs that left-of-centre house punch that’s come to define the label throughout the previous ten releases and certainly more than just that. Cutting his lane at the junction of oddball party music and deconstructionist boogie, Oyefeso’s maiden sortie floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee. A weird, buzzing slab of body-jacking electronics that doesn’t play by the book.

An off-road bouncer of a track, the opening number ‘Matt’ has us nodding our heads to a high-in-vitamin mix of jacking house programming and erratic acid patterns gone astray. Knee deep in 303-marinated puddles of psychedelic squelch, Oyefeso keeps swinging the pendulum between a proper syncopated 4x4 motif’d framework and frantic digressions into an abstract-leaning headspace.

A2 ‘Kool’ opts for a further sliced-and-diced rhythmic line of action, generously infused with twisted Rephlexian phrases and sustained waves of micro-house clicking. Topping off that strange journey, the title-track ‘Lagerfeuer’ merges polyrhythmic intricacies with a forward-moving, earwormy kind of linear groove, all laced with a spooky baseline that stretches out into a purgatory of frankly eerie dissonances. Enough with the words, just jump on board Ben Oyefeso’s ghost train for a seriously tortuous, nonconformist ride across dance music’s jagged ridges and most secret crevasses.

'Nothing left but silence' is Erik K Skodvin’s third solo album for Sonic Pieces and his most quiet to date. Subtitled as "Musical improvisations and quiet collages from the subconscious”, Skodvin reduces his instruments to guitar, reverb and amp - and creates a skeleton of eight hypnotic ragas that meanders in an eternal loop between ephemeral and singular.

Only on the horizon it’s possible to sense that Skodvin has also touched the neoclassical terrain in earlier productions - on Nothing left but silence, however, he acts as a twilight player who is not afraid of the coldness of endless space and who knows how to subjugate the shadowiness of the visible world. Carried by the noise of the amp and the occasional click of the effects pedals, a monolithic, reduced blues emerges, whose mediumistic quality nevertheless reveals that Skodvin's music always comes from the body - and as such is always searching for space. A space that - in this case - blends the vastness of the Norwegian steppe with the brittleness of American wasteland (as if Deathprod and Loren Connors were one and the same person), creating a persistent state between deceleration and absence of presence - that leads Skodvin ever closer to the inner essence of sound.

Initially recorded at Saal 3, Funkhaus, Berlin by Nils Frahm in 2015, the album has itself been subjected to silence as a forgotten relic, re-found and now released in a time where it might connect more with the contemporary state of mind. Welcome to the entrance to the periphery.

From the intricate fictional details packed into the cover art (cocreated by Palomo and designer Robert Beatty), to the lyrical collage
of pop culture and political references, to the music’s early-digital
sheen, the album evokes the 80s golden age of rock stars like Bryan
Ferry and Sting leaving their own breakthrough projects to strike out
as jazzy solo musicians. It’s parody, sure - of rock star ego trips, the
mall-ification of America, and our own self-obsession, even on the
brink of apocalypse - but it’s also dead serious, the sound of history
repeating itself as the Doomsday Clock clicks past its Reagan-era
maximum and nuclear anxiety comes back into style along with digital
synthesizers and sax solos. The deeper it pulls you into its own
uncanny reality, the clearer it becomes how thin the borders are
between Alan Palomo’s ‘World of Hassle’ and our own.

Earlier this year, Subwax Bcn made an important contribution to the electronic music community by having the timeless dub techno compilation Vibrant Forms II by Fluxion remastered and reissued. First released in the year 2000 on Chain Reaction, Earlier this year, Subwax Bcn made an important contribution to the electronic music community by having the timeless dub techno compilation Vibrant Forms II by Fluxion remastered and reissued. First released in the year 2000 on Chain Reaction, Vibrant Forms II is widely considered to be one of the greatest achievements in the genre. As it turned out, Vibrant Forms II became one of the last records to be released on Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald's classic label - a suitable swan song if there ever was one. And that's it, right

Well not quite.

If one would search for Fluxion - Vibrant Forms III, Discogs would come up empty and Google would treat it as a misspelling. Until now.
Konstantinos Soublis, aka Fluxion, and Subwax Bcn have decided to pick up the banner and release Vibrant Forms III as a CD as well as four individual 12" records under 2016. It contains everything you could hope for and more: The massive, booming basses, the clicks and hisses, the atmospheric thunderstorms, the opium smoke-scented streaks of reverb and dub echoes. The warmth. Yes, above all else the warmth: Sometimes moist and dripping as in Safe Harbour, sometimes blisteringly dry as in Variant. It's no easy task, giving cold, dead machines warm breaths. And no-one quite does it like Fluxion.

The Reissue of Vibrant Forms II was an act of cultural preservation. It reminded us about the legacy of the Basic Channel label family, in which Chain Reaction played an important part. Without this legacy, the contemporary body of electronic music would look different and make very different sounds. With the Release of Vibrant Forms III, Subwax Bcn takes it one step further. Fluxion's Vibrant Forms III album remind us of the timelessness of truly great music, never mind the genre.

"Empath Live In America", der dritte Teil der Devolution-Serie, ist ein Dokument der Tour, die Anfang 2020 abgebrochen wurde. Wie Devin erklärt: "Diese Tour markierte eine 'Freiform'-Version des Materials. Es gab keine Backing Tracks, Click Tracks oder gar eine Setlist, so dass jeder Abend einzigartig und anders war. Das Publikum rief uns Wünsche zu und wir machten einfach mit. Das Material wurde daher auf einzigartige Weise interpretiert, und das Erlebnis war ein ganz besonderer musikalischer Abend". Mit einer reduzierten Version der "Order of Magnitude"-Band fängt diese Veröffentlichung eine rohe und verrückte Performance ein.