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Dawn Richard and Spencer Zahn share a common collaborative ethos, a genuine sense of musical curiosity, and a cosmopolitan eagerness to escape the conventions of genre. That shared vision first brought them together on 2022’s Pigments icy and warm, stripped-down and grand, familiar and otherworldly and now it has reunited them for Quiet in a World Full of Noise. By turns intimate, soul-baring, spectral, and startling, Quiet in a World Full of Noise blends atmospheric and orchestral soundscapes with mellifluous soul, jazz, and journalistic vocalizing driving it all home with stark, confessional lyricism. The new album finds Richard at her most raw and exposed. This year, Richard’s musician father experienced mini strokes while being diagnosed with cancer; and last year, her cousin Cisco was fatally shot seven times in New Orleans. Richard channels the emotional impact of these traumatic experiences of loss into her lyrics and vocal performances, which are left bare and human here, raw and unprocessed across the album. Quiet expands the definitions of what constitutes progressive, avant-garde R&B by rewriting them altogether. On paper, Richard and Zahn’s audacious, impressionistic musical collaborations feel like a surprising match. Richard, a New Orleans–reared visionary, has had an improbable journey from late 2000s reality television and mainstream pop with girl group Danity Kane to become one of the most prolific, experimental, and visible indie R&B singer-songwriters of the last decade and a half, with seven solo albums under her belt. Zahn is an East Coast–raised multi-instrumentalist and composer working at the intersections of jazz, Americana, classical, and ambient pop. His growing solo discography includes People of the Dawn, Sunday Painter, Pale Horizon, and Statues I & II, as well as the duo’s first release, Pigments. “Pigments was one of the best projects I’ve ever made,” Richard says, “and the furthest I’ve ever been pushed as an artist.” The album was a critical hit, hailed as Best New Music by Pitchfork and receiving praise from Stereogum as Album of the Week, NPR Music, Bandcamp Daily, The Fader, Bitter Southerner, and Edition, among many other publications. The making of its follow-up, Quiet in a World Full of Noise, began in 2023 in upstate New York. Fresh from a break-up, Zahn sat at his piano and poured himself into writing and recording instrumental compositions. “I wrote all these stream-of-consciousness pieces on piano, and they were eerie, spacious piano tracks,” he said. He used a piano that had been unconventionally tuned to the room rather than to standard pitch. These oddly-tuned, eerie instrumental recordings were never intended to be an album. Six months later, he listened to the recordings again and sent them to Richard who immediately recognized their potential and said, “Oh, this is the next album.” Richard went into the studio the next day and wrote and recorded melodies and lyrics to Zahn’s piano recordings. Zahn brought in gifted musicians like Bryan Senti on strings (violin, viola, and violoncello da spalla) and CJ Camerieri on brass (French horn, flugelhorn, and trumpet). In some cases, like on the track “Life in Numbers,” Zahn used only the original first-take piano recording and scratch vocal, resulting in an intimate close-up of both Richard and Zahn.

Permanent Parts is the second album released by visual artist Katharina Grosse (synthesizer) and musician Stefan Schneider (synthesizer; So Sner, To Rococo Rot). Grosse and Schneider were joined at Galerie Max Hetzler on 29 April 2023, performing as part of the Spectrum without Traces exhibition, by three artists who all generally work within improvised music – Carina Khorkhordina (trumpet), Tintin Patrone (trombone and electronics), and Billy Roisz (noise generator, piezo and mini cymbal). Permanent Parts is an extraordinary set of recordings that inhabits multiple zones at once: within its thirty-five minutes, we can hear the interactions of non-idiomatic collective music making, and the electronic glimmers of electro-acoustics, while, at the same time, the music remains untethered to genre.

This capacity to work within liminal zones makes perfect sense when thinking about both Grosse’s and Schneider’s prior work, whether the energetic diffusions and spatial explorations of Grosse’s artistic practice, or the slippery texturology of Schneider’s recent work with electronics. Khorkhordina, Patrone and Roisz all find their own ways into this dynamic, too, and Permanent Parts feels like an equal exchange of presence and contribution; there are no hierarchies here. This might explain the music’s curious sense of development, where several elements are allowed to exist alongside each other, not in direct contact but in a mode that’s somewhere between carefree layering and unconscious juxtaposition. The musicians are listening, but not just with their ears – their skin, their bodies are hearing, too.

When talking about Permanent Parts, Schneider is careful to place it within contexts that are specific, to some degree, but which allow for difference to blossom. “Although it was recorded live, it somehow was not meant to be a documentation of a live event in the first place. The five piece line up that appears on the record had met for the first time only a few hours before the concert took place.” While it might take a leap of faith for all parties to walk together, and so willingly, into a place of such freedom, of such risk, there is clear sympathy here between the musicians, and a shared appreciation of the immediacies of the situation.

It also throws some of our preconceptions about this music out of the window. “The record does not feel like a document of a performance as the music was not pre-composed and there was no reference,” Schneider continues. “Perhaps it was not even an improvisation?” For Grosse, her musical relationship with Schneider similarly shakes free from expectation: “My sound does not exist without Stefan’s. It is neither written down nor is it improvised. It is instantaneous.” When thinking about the five-piece exploration on Permanent Parts and asked to expand on what each musician brings to the table, she continues, “We all love the thrill of an unknown encounter and we seem to have a need for building connections through the thicket of our voices.”

There’s a curious phrase on the back cover of the album, before the artists are listed: “Wir sind eine Batterie / We are a battery.” This sums up the spirit of Permanent Parts. Schneider recalls that Grosse said this phrase to the musicians at the start of the performance. Grosse explains further, “The figure of the battery referred to our placement in the space building out a small circle facing one another from where the sound could spill into the impressive volume of the gallery.” The battery as an arrangement of similar devices; but I also think of charge, and the conversion of chemical energy, and of fortification. It’s a poetic metaphor that sums up much of the febrile pleasure of the music contained on these Permanent Parts.

– Jon Dale, Melbourne

Mermaid Chunky. It's all in a name, sometimes. The danceable, costumed, curiosity rich duo of artists Freya Tate and Moina Moin are as imaginative as they profess. Or, to get more to the point, as we all need them to be. Freya and Moina are two visual artists and musicians from Stroud and South London, places where they importantly found communities (Stroud's SVA and the capital's Total Refreshment Centre) of like minded people just as willing to chase down an idea to its possibly illogical conclusion. And it is in the collective and the idea of participation that Mermaid Chunky really clicks. This is a party, a collective dance, made all the better with more: people, ideas, layers, kick drums, recorders, saxophones, frogs. To wit, the album's first track and first single, "Céilí," named after a traditional Scottish or Irish social gathering and dance, which builds from a simple recorder line into a swelling, warm burst of major chord dance music. Goosebumps or check your pulse. Further down the rabbit hole, "Chaperone" is almost boardwalk electro, like Fischerspooner on a ferris wheel; "Frogsporn" and "Nature Girl" are mucky, trippy dirges filled with stalactites of synth and squelch; "Tiny Gymnast" is a kaleidoscopic waltz into the night. Hold onto your seats, ladies and gentlemen. You might be wondering how we, DFA Records, all the way over in cynical Brooklyn, entered the picture. There was a day a few years ago, sun shining in full Springtime splendor, when James heard something while waiting for a coffee down the street from the office. It sounded simple yet deceptively complex: a dance track, but one where the one - that anchoring first beat in a measure - could be heard a thousand different ways. Frustrated and interested, he Shazamd the song, playing at the shop from an episode of Zakia's Questing show on NTS, and brought it back to the office, where we all listened to it about fifty times. (The song was "Friends," from Mermaid Chunky's VEST EP, released in 2020. It led to an invitation to open for LCD at Brixton Academy in 2022. Mermaid Chunky has also played live alongside The Comet Is Coming, Alabastair Deplume, Snapped Ankles, and many others.) Thus began our search for Mermaid Chunky. A quest it has been and a quest it will always be.

Spectres have been stirring in the shadows for years now. Dark eyes watching from pallid faces. Siren songs calling to lost souls. In the blackest corners of the UK underground, a name whispered relentlessly amongst the faithful, first with curiosity, then soul-shuddering awe: Zetra.

Zetra is also the title of their striking debut LP. Ten tracks whose indefinable blend of shimmering shoegaze and pulsating goth-metal work deep beneath the skin, it is a masterclass in intimate dark romanticism and sweeping elemental beauty. It could be seen as a reaction to the geography of a strange new world, but also to the jagged topography of the human psyche itself. Is it a manifesto? A roadmap? A riddle waiting to be solved? Profound pleasure lies in peeling back its many layers.

Travelling alone, armed only with synths, guitar and drum-machine to compose, The Wanderers’ music could sound skeletal. Instead its early metallic bones have been fleshed-out with the electronic new-wave of Gary Numan and Pet Shop Boys and dreamy, droning guitars that hark to heroes like Slowdive and Sonic Youth as well as dark contemporaries Deafheaven and Alcest. As harsh as the truths with which they deal may be, these songs deliver beguiling brilliance.

Acolytes to spread the word of Zetra aren’t hard to find. British ‘contemporaries’ like Burner and Wallowing, Celestial Sanctuary and Employed To Serve have been dementedly singing their praises as far back as they can remember. Tours with the heavyweight likes of Creeper and Godflesh, VV and SKYND have taken their once-subterranean sounds into the spotlight. Unto Others’ Gabriel Franco (‘Moonfall’), Svalbard’s Serena Cherry (‘Starfall’) and Sólveig Matthildur Kristjánsdóttir from Iceland’s Kælan Mikla (‘Shatter The Mountain’) even crop up amongst these recordings, dissolving into the cult of Zetra themselves. But none are as important as the legions of fans Zetra are yet to reach with a dark gospel still unpicking all manner of psychological knots and existential truths.

On their seventh long player The Breaks - their second for Joyful Noise Recordings - SUUNS are lost in limbo. For some artists, being caught in flux may result in songs that are either naive, out of touch or both, simply as a consequence of being cut off from human civilization. But for SUUNS, a band who have grown more than comfortable in the oblique and the intermediate, it actually had the opposite effect. The Breaks marks the Montreal experimental rock outfit's most emotionally resonant and tonally rich collection of music to date. The trio of Ben Shemie, Joseph Yarmush and Liam O' Neill leans more zealously than ever into their pop instincts. Yet remarkably enough, with that same dauntless abandon, SUUNS have mined a more extreme sonic palette this time around, one that stretches far beyond their core fundamentals as a band. The Breaks finds Shemie, O'Neill and Yarmush gleefully experimenting with loops, synths, samples and MIDI-instruments like a post-millennial Tangerine Dream messing with downtempo triphop beats. O' Neill took point in the producer's chair for The Breaks, arranging, structuring and editing many of Shemie and Yarmush's ideas from sporadic rehearsal sessions into Pro Tools, reimagining the songs over and over during a two-year time frame. Forged between countless plane rides, road trips, van tours and text threads, The Breaks became a product of endurance and a lot of trial-and-error. It's a record forged in tight fissions of freedom, where spells of whispered intimacy - like on the stunning ballad "Doreen" - are allowed to branch out into the vast glacial dreamscapes of the album's majestic title track. It captures SUUNS at their most panoramic, curious and exuberant: a constant relay of being adrift and enlightened anew, geared up to eleven. And guess what: the wheels keep on spinning.

Isik Kural returns with Moon in Gemini, a luminous scrapbook of slow-flowing narratives couched in intuitive and symbolic storytelling. Bending a playful take on environmental music to the folk song form, Isik's vocals coo atop pastoral field notes, airy chamber instrumentation and archival recordings culled from a curious musical life. A tender pastiche coalesces across the suite of Moon in Gemini's fourteen pieces, and Isik invites the listener to daydream as-deep-as-possible. "The songs on Moon in Gemini don't mind being slower or taking their time to reach the listener," says Isik, who wanted the title to speak to the album's dreamy, liminal nature. "I enjoyed how the phrase could be used to describe an object, a time or a place simultaneously," he explains. Similarly and subsequently, these songs contain a multiplicity of sonic artifacts, moments and spaces that span Isik's rich musical career to date. With the bulk of the album realized between Amasya, Turkey and Isik's current home in Glasgow, in both domestic and studio recording environments, additional tracks unearthed from his personal recording archive lend their lush patina. The record emerged as a fertile space to reimagine a handful of previously unreleased songs and unfinished ideas spanning the past fifteen years of his life and work, including streetside sounds documented while growing up in Turkey and recordings made while studying music engineering in Miami, Helsinki and Glasgow. Looking to the more recent past, Isik found himself wanting to build upon some of the methodologies and textures explored on his 2022 album in february, seeking a newly intimate, vocal-forward sound. He points to the track "film festival" from that album as a door through which to enter Moon in Gemini, where sample-based arrangements are presented in the context of asymmetrical "build ups and progressions" and ambience and vocals intertwine. Inspired in part by listening to iconic, if not sometimes misunderstood, singers such as Nina Simone, Aldous Harding and Ed Droste of Grizzly Bear, Isik aimed to carve out a new space for his voice on Moon in Gemini, experimenting with novel recording and mixing techniques. Captured at his aunt's farmhouse in Amasya during an extended three week recording session, we find Isik's vocal high in the mix, front-and-center and on newly expressive terms. As a songwriter, Isik is an intuitive and playful lyricist who allows his deep love of literature to flow through his off-kilter texts. Here, echoes of Silvina Ocampo's poem "Dialogues of the Silence" reverberate from the margins of "Most Beautiful Imaginary Dialogues". Likewise, Elliott Smith and Virgina Astley shapeshift through "Behind the Flowerpots," some lines of which were based on misheard lyrics from Smith's "Stickman" and Astley's "Some Small Hope." Attuned to the magic of happy coincidences, other unexpected "themes and connections between tracks flourished" during the recording process, resulting in some songs being more "thematically and lyrically connected to each other compared to previous records." The duos "Prelude" and "Interlude" as well as "Grown One Iota" and "After a Rain" explore connected stories, while "Almost a Ghost" and "Behind the Flowerpots" serendipitously emerged out of a conversation with Stephanie "Spefy" Roxanne Ward, whose balmy vocals heard highlighting in february return and call out to Isik's in sweet dialogue. Plumbing these new potentials of structure and songwriting, Isik also developed a taste for an expanded sonic palette, one enriched by the lulling undertones of live woodwinds and strings. The resulting collaborations with flutist Tenzin Stephen, harpist Kirstin McCarlie and clarinet player Giulia Tamborino envelop the record in an altogether "dreamier sound," swaying pastel and awash in lunar light. Moon in Gemini, brimming with natural imagery and lullaby-inflected tones, tunes into states of being where the wonder filled sound of everyday is heard and felt, perfectly imperfect in its poetry; where the invisible steps forward; where dauntless ghosts wait around every corner and play enriches the soul; where bird song fills sun-soaked afternoons and carries us on its wings into each enchanted evening. Isik Kural's Moon in Gemini will be released on vinyl, Japanese import CD, and digital editions on September 6, 2024. On behalf of Isik and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit Mor Çaty Women's Shelter Foundation, whose social work at their solidarity centers and shelters supports women building lives unhindered by gender-based discrimination and male violence under free and equal conditions.

Lukas de Clerck brings us the ancient greek instrument, the aulos, of which his new interpretation of long form expression is coaxed forth on this tremendous recording. Lukas de Clerck explores a niche of archaeological research in music; the aulos is a historical Greek instrument that Lukas analyzed and reinterpreted by a luthier in modern times_navigating this impression as an artwork or living sculptural object, as there is an absence of historical partitions or written information about how to recreate technique on the instrument. Lukas de Clerck has interpreted information from the rare archaeological resources and visual art of the classical Greek period to recreate both playing technique and possible sound timbres with the instrument. With his contemporary approach to drone, post-minimalist music, and contemporary folk, we find a deeply satisfying and compelling, even playful set of songs, timbral exercises and compositions. An important document of new music meets contemporary archaemusicological research via Stephen O'Malley of SUNN O)))'s label Ideologic Organ. _ The telescopic aulos is speculative: might it have existed? It takes on features from the historical aulos, a double-reed instrument of which we know how it looked but little about what music was played on it or how it would have really sounded. It's an instrument without the limitations of canon or manual, providing creative freedom and awakening curiosity. The new instrument featured on this album is ancient and futuristic at once. The aulos has no tone holes; instead, each of the two tubes consists of three parts that can slide into each other. In this sense, the metal pipes bear a certain resemblance to the principle of a trombone. However, since both hands are already in use to hold both tubes, the sliding has to be done by way of gravity and the help of a «phorbeia», a leather mask which helps keep the reeds in place. The aulos's material is metal (instead of wood), which gives it a certain electronic allure and intensity, as well as a variety of sonic possibilities and textures. It produces overtones efficiently and allows them to play with their microtonality. The aulos Lukas plays on this recording was developed at Brasserie Atlas, a temporary occupation of a former brewery in the heart of Brussels where Lukas lives. It is quite a poetic coincidence that the birthplace of the instrument is named after the Greek titan condemned to carry the sky, while this instrument needs to be turned skywards to lower its pitch with the help of gravity. At Brasserie Atlas, Lukas has found collaborators who have shared in the process of building this new instrument: the collective Noir Métal has constructed the tubes, in this way becoming instrument builders; the phorbeia has been manufactured by Jot Fau; a former water reservoir in the vast cellar of the building carried the instruments' resonance for its first sounds. The place has left an imprint on this new instrument. With all of the telescopic aulos' layers, its sonic, musical and extra-musical components are still unfolding their potential as a medium for discovery and research, next to being an instrument of great musical potential. The music on The Telescopic Aulos of Atlas reflects this spirit. In several miniature pieces, it presents an encyclopaedia of musical possibilities that the instrument offers while keeping an intense and corporeal sonic specificity. The short pieces are studies that reflect on the sonic possibilities of this instrument that are yet to be explored. It meanders, searches and interacts with itself and the space. It needs to answer common expectations of old instruments being harmonious or pleasing. It transports a kind of experimental archaeology that, by formulating hypotheses in the present, allows us to reflect on what might have been in the past and simultaneously questions concepts of beauty, harmony or virtuosity. However, in the end, this instrument might have never existed before. -Julia Eckhardt

This is going to be the scariest spoken word record you’ve ever heard. We’re not joking…and neither is Vincent Price. The star of such horror classics as House of Wax, The Abominable Dr. Phibes, and Theatre of Blood (and, of course, narrator of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video) can barely hide his delight while he takes his audience through a graphic and occasionally grisly history lesson in witchcraft from the Bible through the Middle Ages, the Spanish Inquisition, and Nazi Germany. Then, accompanied by occasional eerie, abstract electronic music, Price’s sinister satisfaction only mounts as he provides instruction in the dark arts, with such tracks as “How to Make a Pact with the Devil” and “Curses, Spells, Charms.” It’s all in good fun, of course…or is it? The mysterious writer of the script, one Terry d’Oberoff, has only one other credit to his name: as the “mascot” of an early ‘70s band called…wait for it…Black Magic. This 1969 double-LP release has long been coveted by collectors of the curious and macabre, and for its first reissue in over 50 years, we are giving it the Real Gone treatment, reproducing the gatefold jacket and the full-size, 8-page booklet that accompanied some copies. It’s a combination history textbook and how-to manual in witchcraft, with a title page depicting a particularly unsettling spell called “The Hand of Glory” involving the severed, salted, and dried hand of a convicted felon. We are releasing this one-of-a-kind album on clear with orange “pumpkin” swirl vinyl…Happy Halloween.

Carving an unlikely and elaborate niche in the stoney academic landscape
which she once shared with the likes of Phill Niblock, John Cage and Sorel
Hayes, the excitable proto-punk poèmes sonores of the linguistic loose
cannon known as Beth Anderson first rolled through New York in the mid-
1970s (from Kentucky via San Francisco) like a jumbled tumbleweed of lost
Letterism, face paint and threadbare drummy funk to astonish gallery floors,
lecture theatres and loft apartment stages.
One thousand leagues under the radar of the commercial music industry,
with a sense of humour that elevated way above her highbrow peer group,
the music of Beth Anderson has successfully evaded the pressing plant for
most of her creative career, and not unlike fellow New York gallery actionist
Suzanne Ciani, it has taken decades to successfully collect and contextualise
these early recordings - expanding her elusive discography beyond the rare
and mysterious solo single entry in the process.
When uttered amongst the type of vinyl vampires that haplessly gravitate
between both art school vintage vanity pressings and family funded plunder
funk, there’s an outside chance that the name Beth Anderson might muster
some vague recognition on account of her one and only solo wax sojourn
into the expansive DIY market. In 1980 the 45rpm single, ‘I Can’t Stand It’,
combusted into the consciousness of adventurous participants with its deep
rhythmic backbeat (courtesy of future Sonic Youth / Dinosaur Jr producer
Wharton Tiers, member of the new wave band Theoretical Girls), climaxing
with two colourful and commanding linguistic tantrums before disappearing in
a puff of smoke leaving would-be fans dumbstruck without so much as a
label name or distribution contact to explain what they had just heard.
For those who have spent the subsequent years on the edge of that same
seat, it might come as some comfort knowing that somewhere out there,
there is also a contrasting world of gallery patrons and experimental sound
poetry enthusiasts that similarly didn’t know that their regular performance
poet Beth Anderson even made the ambitious pop record. For the uninitiated,
the enigmatic Beth Anderson has straddled both sides of the art / rock fence
placed between two equally niche pastures.
Hopefully this first ever vinyl compendium will succeed in joining the dots,
loops, yelps, squeaks, beats and repeats. Let us follow Beth’s lineage, along
her magnetic tape highways crossing multiple boundaries in a hope to bridge
unlikely anti-genres like ‘yoga punk’, ‘ramble rap’, ‘combustion pop’ and
‘formroom funk’… all of which were officially neatly bracketed under the
curious Text-Sound movement where Beth garnered utmost respect as a key
practitioner.

With extensive practical and academic understanding of the ‘remix’ process, Stian Balducci takes on the role of audio architect in this refined and redesigned remix album.

His meticulous approach has not replaced, but built upon Kjetil Jerve’s piano material and boasts a thorough dedication to mood and timbre through-out. The outcome combines new strokes of colour and delicately layered textures, offering fresh perspectives to an old canvas. The aural landscape takes shape in progressive, parabolic pulsations, coupled with sparse, rhythmic heart-throbs that embody the faint silhouettes of drum reverberations. This atmospheric landscape is complimented with subtle, pensive keys from Kjetil’s piano recordings that add emotional depth to the work and pay diligent tribute to the free structures of jazz.

The final project may be understood as a window, giving view to life’s sentient and evocative themes, without ever infringing on their delicacy. The sonic progressions tap into nature’s cycles through meditative repetition and offer the listener some brief respite from innate human habits of over-thinking.

As the contents of the album unfold, we are taken reassuringly by the hand to familiar, foreign lands, filled with curious sonorous tales and subtle insights that shed light on a world of deeper perception.

In keeping with the communal ethos of Dugnad Rec, ‘Tokyo Tapes: Piano Recycle’ reflects a thoughtful exchange between Stian and Kjetil. Stian professed that the project went ahead with just one rule: “to work only with the original source material, no external samples or sound sources”. This puritan approach spotlights a shared characteristic between them; namely, a unified desire to explore vibrations and a wholistic dedication to sound experimentation.

This is the repeated call and the rallying chorus of the nearly 40-minute centerpiece to composer and percussionist Asher Gamedze’s new album Constitution. The expansive double album, a minoritarian fellowship in breath, is Gamedze’s follow-up to 2023’s Turbulence and Pulse (IARC0057), and his first with The Black Lungs. The album – recorded in one day at Cape Town’s Sound and Motion Studios – is an elaboration of the possibilities of autonomous constitution in and through polyrhythmic, modal, large ensemble music.
On Constitution, the power of the question, the possibility of an improvised answer and the celebration of being together exists not in the solo but in the group, the ensemble. Here The Black Lungs collectively explore and deconstruct the conceptual, tonal, and atonal possibilities of themes which are at once of old and new dreams - curious and instantiative, melancholic and emergent.

“The Black Lungs is inspired by the revolutionary thought and practice of the Black Consciousness Movement. In particular, the relationship between antagonism – constituting a united front of all the oppressed against white supremacy and racial capitalism – and the possibilities for resistance and elaboration - the creative militant capacities of those assembled – enabled and unleashed by that process of constitution.”

Kompakt is proud to announce, finally, a reissue of the first, self-titled GAS album. Originally released on electronica imprint Mille Plateaux back in 1996, it’s been unavailable in its original form ever since – the version of GAS included in 2008’s Nah Und Fern box featured several different tracks. Here, however, GAS is restored in all its glory, the debut full-length from Wolfgang Voigt’s most enigmatic, quixotic project.

There had, of course, been signs of what was to come. Back in 1995, Voigt essayed the first GAS release, a slender, yet remarkable four-track EP, Modern. Its centre label featured a reduced symbol – an overhead or lamp light, switched on, its glow radiating outwards in four bold black lines – a perfect representation of the tight, stylised ambient electronic pop contained on that 12”. A few curious compilation tracks were floating around, too, for Mille Plateaux’s Modulation & Transformation and Electric Ladyland series. If you were attentive enough, you could tell something was up.

But nothing quite prepared us for the languorous, effervescing loops and regular-like-clockwork beats that Voigt folded together on GAS. Its six long tracks, all untitled, neither begin nor end but hazily fade into earshot, vibrate majestically in your cochlea for fifteen-or-so minutes – some a bit shorter, some longer – and then meander away, reading the mise-en-scène for the next example of Voigt’s drift and dream logic to unfold. The material is referential in the most distant way, and you can sense only the most evanescent of ghostly presences, haunting these six compositions.

GAS feels, also, like a more pliable hint at what’s to come, as the GAS concept really solidified on its successor, 1997’s Zauberberg, and reach its apotheosis on Königsforst and Pop. Those three albums share a very similar palette – blurred, hazy samples, often of classical music, stacked and cross-thatched across a muted 4/4 thud. GAS, then, is an outlier of sorts: it’s more expansive in its remit, lighter in its mood, perhaps more fleet of foot. This, of course, is part of its charm.

In clearing space for Voigt, by preparing the terrain, GAS sits both at the edge of the forest, and at the verge of an expansive, wide-eyed future; one where GAS would become truly eternal.

Text by Jonathan Dale

Kompakt ist stolz, endlich eine Neuauflage des ersten, selbstbetitelten GAS-Albums ankündigen zu können. Ursprünglich im Jahr 1996 auf dem Electronica-Label Mille Plateaux veröffentlicht, ist es seitdem nicht mehr in seiner ursprünglichen Form erhältlich – die gleichnamige Version von GAS, die 2008 in der Nah Und Fern Box enthalten war, enthielt verschiedene andere Titel. Nun liegt das 3er Album in seinem naturbelassenen Originalzustand wieder vor.

Bereits 1995 zeichnete sich mit der Maxi GAS - Modern auf Profan, sowie einigen Kompilation-Beiträgen auf Modulation & Transformation und Electric Ladyland auf Mille Plateaux dieser frühe, weltentrückte, rätselhafte GAS Sound ab, der sich erst in den sechs scheinbar endlosen, majestätisch-sprudelnden Tracks des Albums voll entfaltete. Die Musik ist von ätherischer Leichtigkeit, in der wie aus einer anderen Sphäre abstrakte Referenzen aus weiter Ferne nur andeutungsweise herüberzuwehen scheinen.

Dieser frühe, eher sphärisch-leichte, gleich einer sonnendurchfluteten (Wald-)Lichtung anmutende GAS Sound, stellt gewissermaßen den Ausgangspunkt der audiovisuellen „Welt“-Reise in den düster-romantischen Acid-Wald dar, in den sich GAS ab 1997 mit den Alben Zauberberg, Königsforst, Oktember und ab 2000 mit Pop an anderer Stelle wieder hinaus und in seine ganz eigene Ewigkeit begeben hat.

Numero's Hottest Sounds Around trio gathers castaway late-'70s grooves from across the Greater Antilles. Stan Chaman's Trinidadian Semp concern delivered Wilfred Luckie's wobbly "My Thing" and the Hamilton Brothers' calypso-disco smash "Music Makes The World Go `Round" in 1978. Across the sea, Frank Penn's G.B.I studio tracked Stephen Colebrook's Doobies-inspired "Stay Away From Music" for the cruise ship curious. All three are housed in a custom Numero sleeve inspired by Edward Seaga's Caribbean music manufacturing and distribution powerhouse WIRL (West Indies Records Ltd.)

Repress

Songs ’94-’98 is a smart selection of material from The Cat’s Miaow, an Australian indie-pop group that gifted their decade with some of its finest songs. Released on World Of Echo, the album draws from the group’s string of excellent seven-inch singles, a small clutch of compilation contributions, and features one previously unreleased song, “I Take It That We’re Through”, recorded in 1998. Part of the burgeoning international pop underground of the nineties, The Cat’s Miaow’s legend has only built over subsequent decades, as more people discover this most quixotic and curious of groups: a recent appearance on A Colourful Storm’s compilation of Australian indie-pop, I Won’t Have To Think About You, is testament to their enduring influence. In part emulating the selection of tracks on the 1997 CD-only compilation, Songs For Girls To Sing, Songs ’94-’98 is also the group’s first ever full-length 12” vinyl collection. The Cat’s Miaow started out in 1992 as a home-recording duo, Bart Cummings (guitar, bass, vocals) and Andrew Withycombe (bass, guitar) taking time out from duties with Girl Of The World and The Ampersands (respectively), knocking out songs on Withycombe’s four-track. Soon joined by Kerrie Bolton (vocals) and Cam Smith (drums), the quartet spent the next five years quietly, slowly working away in the suburbs of Melbourne, recording gem after gem of independent pop. Like many of their Australian precursors or peers – The Particles, Even As We Speak, The Cannanes – The Cat’s Miaow were more successful overseas, a sadly typical phenomenon within the Australian musical landscape. The Cat’s Miaow were always worldly and stylish, anyway, each seven-inch single a refined artifact, each song a peaceable jewel. You could hear some relationships with other music – someone (if not everyone) in The Cat’s Miaow was a Galaxie 500 fan; there’s a minimalism to the playing and melodies that recalls Young Marble Giants, Marine Girls, Beat Happening – but the spirit in these songs is endearingly individualised, the result of a hermetic vision, an ideal of what a simple, unadorned pop song could be. They had a winning way with simplicity, songs like “Autumn”, “Crying” and “I Can’t Sleep Thinking You Hate Me” passing by in the blink of a moistened eye, and when they stretched out, as on “Firefly”, you can hear hints of the drifting ambience they’d perfect in their other band, Hydroplane. It’s not much of a surprise that The Cat’s Miaow found a receptive audience, and no small amount of support, from the networked communities of indie-pop labels and fanatics that developed in the nineties – they released records on imprints like Drive-In, Darla, Bus Stop and Quiddity, shared a flexi-disc with Stereolab, and appeared on countless compilations over the years. But they also understood the importance of the local: their first few cassettes reached the world’s mail routes via Wayne Davidson’s legendary Melbourne tape label, Toytown; they turned up on a split single with Davidson’s group, Stinky Fire Engine; they appeared on a tribute cassette for one of Australia’s finest, The Sugargliders, and indeed that’s Josh Meadows of said group playing wah guitar on “Stay”. The Cat’s Miaow also rarely played live – one launch gig, for the Munch video compilation, and a few parties – which is a great way to maintain mystique. Cosmopolitan yet homely, dedicated to their craft, The Cat’s Miaow always felt a little like a group moving in slow motion, using that pace and focus fully to embrace the art of the perfectly stated pop song – every element in place, no flash and no fuss, no excess, just the core of the thing. Few managed to tease such fierce poetry from such understated, elegant means. From Australia or anywhere.

2024 repress.


Repress Back in March 2003 Claro Intelecto announced his arrival in the electronic world with his Peace Of Mind EP on Ai Records. Now, a decade later, Delsin, the label on which he released his latest LP, is re-releasing it in all its glory. Across four perfectly formed tracks the EP proved Manchester's Mark Stewart to have a fine grasp on techno, electro and dub, and that he was able to do his own unique things with each.

Arguably the most well known cut from the EP is 'Peace of Mind (Electrosoul)', a busy bit of chattery house-come-electro that is wired up with many zithering melody lines and Claro's trademark lush strings. 'Tone' is then a much more frazzled and aggressive bit of techno with raw, slapping percussion, gurgling synth lines and plenty of dystopian electro vibes. 'Contact' then settles into a deep, dubby, spacious groove with airy hi hats and a delightful bassline and carries you along effortlessly, and final track 'Signifier' closes things out in beautifully serene style with ambient swirling pads, organic synths and a curious bassline that rises and falls like the tide. Seminal stuff that still fetches a high price on Discogs, it was the start of a remarkable career for Claro Intelecto.

Maritime Blue Colored Vinyl. Numero's Hottest Sounds Around trio gathers castaway late-'70s grooves from across the Greater Antilles. Stan Chaman's Trinidadian Semp concern delivered Wilfred Luckie's wobbly "My Thing" and the Hamilton Brothers' calypso-disco smash "Music Makes The World Go `Round" in 1978. Across the sea, Frank Penn's G.B.I studio tracked Stephen Colebrook's Doobies-inspired "Stay Away From Music" for the cruise ship curious. All three are housed in a custom Numero sleeve inspired by Edward Seaga's Caribbean music manufacturing and distribution powerhouse WIRL (West Indies Records Ltd.)

In February of this year, Armand Hammer surprised everyone by dropping a surprise single “Doves” along with an accompanying short film. The song was a 9+ minute epic, produced by Kenny Segal and Benjamin Booker, while also prominently featuring the latter on vocals. Lauded as some of the duo’s best work, “Doves” was also added to the digital version of Armand Hammer’s We Buy Diabetic Test Strips album as the closing track. However, the song was not made available in any physical media, and that was no accident. We had plans. Now those plans have come to fruition. Armand Hammer and Kenny Segal have given us a Doves maxi-single that features the below tracklist (please don’t sleep on the ELUCID remix either!)

Numero's Hottest Sounds Around trio gathers castaway late-'70s grooves from across the Greater Antilles. Stan Chaman's Trinidadian Semp concern delivered Wilfred Luckie's wobbly "My Thing" and the Hamilton Brothers' calypso-disco smash "Music Makes The World Go `Round" in 1978. Across the sea, Frank Penn's G.B.I studio tracked Stephen Colebrook's Doobies-inspired "Stay Away From Music" for the cruise ship curious. All three are housed in a custom Numero sleeve inspired by Edward Seaga's Caribbean music manufacturing and distribution powerhouse WIRL (West Indies Records Ltd.)

Tropics Green Colored Vinyl. Numero's Hottest Sounds Around trio gathers castaway late-'70s grooves from across the Greater Antilles. Stan Chaman's Trinidadian Semp concern delivered Wilfred Luckie's wobbly "My Thing" and the Hamilton Brothers' calypso-disco smash "Music Makes The World Go `Round" in 1978. Across the sea, Frank Penn's G.B.I studio tracked Stephen Colebrook's Doobies-inspired "Stay Away From Music" for the cruise ship curious. All three are housed in a custom Numero sleeve inspired by Edward Seaga's Caribbean music manufacturing and distribution powerhouse WIRL (West Indies Records Ltd.)