Cerca:dark reality

Ils Veulent Nous Tuer is Bérurier Noir's 3rd maxi 45tours, the title of which is borrowed from the slogan of a banner unfurled by the mutineers from the roof of Fresnes prison. It was an apt title for the group, too, since at the time of its release, the political and police authorities decided to destabilise them by associating them with the Black War activists and arresting many of the Bérus' entourage.

It's a dark album, with hard-hitting lyrics rooted in the social reality of the time (1988) and tackling subjects as diverse as the problems of access to food for the precarious (On A Faim !), prison repression (Sur Les Toits), the excesses of marginal youth (Mineurs En Danger) and the omnipresence of the military and police in our daily lives (Et Hop !). The album compo

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The band's name alone evokes the epic of alternative rock: rebellious and committed.

Born by mistake on a February evening in 1983, Bérurier Noir soon found themselves the driving force behind a vast "Mouv'ment d'la Jeunesse", determined to take control of their lives in the face of a society that was ultra-conservative at the time. Times have hardly changed.

From their first self-produced records distributed by hand to the creation of self-managed labels, from concerts in squats and wild appearances at demonstrations, on the street or in the metro to endless tours, from interviews given to fanzines and free radio stations to unclassifiable appearances in the mainstream media, Bérurier Noir waged the most exciting war of independence in the history of French rock, with just a microphone, a guitar, a drum machine, a few red noses and patched-up theatre masks.

François, Loran and their 'Troupeau d'Rock' gave the last finger to this turbulent, irredeemable raia, committing hara-kiri at the height of their glory, during three final concerts in the heart of Paris in November 1989.

Forty years after its birth, Bérurier Noir's work continues to resonate, whether at demonstrations or free parties, fuelling the hopes of all those who wish to turn this world upside down and build a truly libertarian society based on solidarity and brotherhood.

For those who missed this unprecedented adventure, the Archives de la Zone Mondiale label is bringing you 8 recordings by Bérurier Noir in the form of limited-edition reissues on highly original colour vinyl ("crown" finish), distributed throughout the year.

EACH COPY Personally SIGNED BY LEN FAKI

Len Faki has always been a defining character of the techno underground. His unique approach to DJing, the consistent work as a producer and the quality output of his label Figure has all shaped the current environment.
Starting out as a clubber in the 90's, his inspirations have always reached back to the first encounters with electronic music, when new worlds opened and everything seemed possible.

While these experiences have always influenced Faki's productions and used to be released under many different aliases back in the day, they have been waiting since to be made into a proper album under the Len Faki moniker.

After quickly climbing to the top of the international DJ circuit, busy touring schedules never quite allowed for it. Finally faced with the opportunity of a long overdue creative break, Faki decided tackle the life-time venture with the necessary dedication and focus.

Excited about the new project, he also took the time and energy needed to expand his production methods. Finding new techniques allowed him to truly bring all his different influences to the surface. The process was one of following his own heart, occasionally challenging and surprising himself. Naturally the result emerged as two parallel experiences, which are now presented across two discs. Both still carry all the signature features of Faki's style but with added layers of depth and detail. There's that special contrast of dark and heady grooves, paired with dreamy melodies that transport the listener to places beyond the mind. But we also see all strains of his previous work being incorporated, mixed and molded into something new altogether.

While the first disc focuses on the kind of techno, which Faki has been brought up by and given back to for so many years of his life, the second is more loose and experimental, with forays into house, ambient and broken beats - the sounds he has always kept very passionate about.

It creates two distinct experiences, showcasing the entire breadth of Faki's cosmos. Where some ideas stay straight and kick hard, like the neon bleep opener Tor 8 or joyfully booming Astra, others take the newfound freedom to inspire a wistful broken beat ballad such as Hymn (In the Name of Fantasy) or the soulfully subdued Drum & Bass closer Voices.
Many songs even exist as pairings, with their respective counterpart on the other disc. For example, the duo of Shri Yantra/Yantra, where similar soundscapes have been looked through different lenses, making for a more straight-laced or shuffled rhythm. Also noteworthy are Faki's appearance as a veritable house producer on Hymn (In the Name of Freedom) as well as the inclusion of two very personal pieces:
The Halide tracks were made in remembrance of Faki's late mother, who passed away during the final production stage of the EP. These delicate tracks capture the intense sadness Faki was feeling at the time and helped him to process his grief and eventually to finish off the album.

By doing so Faki has given us a complete artistic statement, one that proves him to be as curious and driven now as ever, taking his sound to all-new realms.

Today, Anjimile Chithambo, better known as Anjimile, announces his new album, The King, out September 8th, his first full-length since 2020’s breakthrough Giver Taker. To herald the announcement, he shares lead single, ‘The King’, accompanied by a visualiser by Daniela Yohannes, whose striking painting takes centre stage on the album cover.

Highlighting the artistic shift from Giver Taker to now, ‘The King’ opens with a lofty, melodic choir, an intro that belies the song’s motives. Suddenly, sinister arpeggios interrupt the reverie, and the voices grow darkly serious. Deeply steeped in the confusion, grief, and rage of being Black in America, ‘The King’ pushes back against the tired adage, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” hissing, “What don ’t kill you almost killed you// What don’t fill you//pains you// drains you.”

“If Giver Taker was an album of prayers, The King is an album of curses.” In his second album, Anjimile continues exploring what it means to be a Black trans person in America. The brutally honest reflection of 2020’s deadly summer is less reminiscent of the pink cloud of early sobriety and more rooted in the reality of seeing brutality with clear eyes. Drawing from influences ranging from religion, Phillip Glass, and lived experiences, the album is a grand step forward for Anjimile. Nearly every sound you hear on The King comes from two instruments: an acoustic guitar and Anjimile’s own voice. Other than a few beautiful contributions from Justine
Bowe, Brad Allen Williams, Sam Gendel, and James Krivchenia (Big Thief), the album is the result of a year in LA working intimately with Grammy and Juno winner Shawn Everett.

For over two decades Jonathan Katsav has used his Crave project to fray rap at its fringes, using Memphis and Houston's low-and-slow legacy to inform sounds that have as much in common with Merzbow as they do Tommy Wright III. Working under a variety of different monikers such as Lieu Noir, Sniper Bait and Soul Collector, the French producer is most prolific as Crave, and "Inner War Delirium" is a substantial and broadly cinematic addition to his canon. Katsav approaches each track as if it's a scene from a movie, using real life experiences to explore separate characters and contrasting emotions. Using different narrators and disparate vocal styles, he navigates grim, blown-out landscapes, driving neon drenched trap synths and horror choirs against overdriven kicks and waterlogged industrial atmospheres. Mangled field recordings, squealing static and gurgling synthesized bass opens 'PHYLLIS', goading the cautious with serrated, carnival synths and cacophonous vocals that sway lugubriously between rap and grindcore. The relationship between dark and light, death and rebirth, is at the heart of "Inner War Delirium", rippling through every track's oozing amalgamation of inebriated hip-hop and buzzsaw noise. Katsav's sounds are an attempt to subject us to the physicality of his own life's puzzle, and he cuts them into vignettes like a director. On the album's final track, listeners are swiped from in front of the speakers and bundled into the trunk of a car, rain rattling on the metal and the album playing on in the distance. It's a way for the producer to turn the camera back on the audience and ask them to consider their own complicated reality - it's Crave's story, but everyone's a part of it.

Today, Anjimile Chithambo, better known as Anjimile, announces his new album, The King, out September 8th, his first full-length since 2020’s breakthrough Giver Taker. To herald the announcement, he shares lead single, ‘The King’, accompanied by a visualiser by Daniela Yohannes, whose striking painting takes centre stage on the album cover.

Highlighting the artistic shift from Giver Taker to now, ‘The King’ opens with a lofty, melodic choir, an intro that belies the song’s motives. Suddenly, sinister arpeggios interrupt the reverie, and the voices grow darkly serious. Deeply steeped in the confusion, grief, and rage of being Black in America, ‘The King’ pushes back against the tired adage, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” hissing, “What don ’t kill you almost killed you// What don’t fill you//pains you// drains you.”

“If Giver Taker was an album of prayers, The King is an album of curses.” In his second album, Anjimile continues exploring what it means to be a Black trans person in America. The brutally honest reflection of 2020’s deadly summer is less reminiscent of the pink cloud of early sobriety and more rooted in the reality of seeing brutality with clear eyes. Drawing from influences ranging from religion, Phillip Glass, and lived experiences, the album is a grand step forward for Anjimile. Nearly every sound you hear on The King comes from two instruments: an acoustic guitar and Anjimile’s own voice. Other than a few beautiful contributions from Justine
Bowe, Brad Allen Williams, Sam Gendel, and James Krivchenia (Big Thief), the album is the result of a year in LA working intimately with Grammy and Juno winner Shawn Everett.

Next up in Veyl’s ever-evolving and diverse catalog comes of an experimental sonic experience from Llimbs.

The project of Hagen Ebejer, he began making music in the early 2000’s and started Llimbs in 2016, which allowed him to officially release music and perform live, making his debut at Berlin’s legendary Tresor. Now he arrives on Veyl with Midnight Amber, an 8-track album which fully realizes the Llimbs sound and vision. Inspired by dark and experimental sounds, Midnight Amber is a tour de force of genre-bending compositions, conjured using downtempo and dreamlike sounds which explore both the organic and digital.

The result is an undefinable affair which is both haunting and infectious at once. 'Unfold' commences the album with a soft yet powerful piece of melodic melancholy, inviting the listener through the gates and into the world of Llimbs. 'Divergent' picks things up with a ritual work of stirring chants which leads us to the evocative chords on 'Origin'. Finishing off side A is 'Absent', a slow burning rhythmic piece which encapsulates the listener, creating an almost nostalgic atmosphere for a time unknown.

'Phase' begins the B side with cinematic flair, creating a palpable tension which then evaporates into the ether. 'Eclipse' returns to a familiar dreamworld, traversing the skies which feel both familiar yet mysteriousbefore 'Fragment' dives deeper into a hidden universe of emotion, fusing ancient works with modern technology. Concluding the album is 'Midnight', a perfect end to a journey which exists at the intersection of the natural and mechanical, reality and surreality, marking a tremendous finale which can only lead to a new beginning.

Western Massachusetts band Landowner play abrasively clean minimalist-punk. Singer Dan Shaw began Landowner in 2016, writing and recording Impressive Almanac with a practice amp and a laptop drum machine. Those available tools would inform the band’s unapologetic sound—clean, confrontational, and absurdly stark. With a stated goal to sound like “Antelope playing Discharge”, Landowner’s diamond hard structures, repetitious instrumentals and caricatured hardcore make space for lyrics that reflect on the global systems our lives are tangled in and the dark absurdities we take for granted.

Landowner’s fourth Born Yesterday full length Escape the Compound focuses on the powerful grips manipulators and reality-deniers have on their victims, examining the social, political and interpersonal damage of cult-like influence and control. “A lot of the lyrics focus on cult manipulators and narcissists: falling victim to their toxic dynamics, and the difficulty of escaping their grip” says Shaw. From climate change deniers and conspiracy theorists to deceptive narcissists and actual cult leaders, Landowner explores the ubiquity of modern unreality through evocative imagery and a keen sense of awareness. The band’s plain instrumentation sheds and subverts hardcore punk’s noisy veil in favor of a direct, unswerving examination of these themes.

Written and recorded following the release of 2020’s Consultant, Escape the Compound finds Landowner leaning into the studio through deeper experimentation with a wider palette of sounds. The group’s lineup of Josh Owsley (bass), Elliot Hughes (guitar), Jeff Gilmartin (guitar), Josh Daniel (drums) and Dan Shaw played often since coming together in 2017. But with pandemic restrictions in place, the making of Escape the Compound became a much more insular pursuit, one where the mixing and mastering process helped turn the band’s most varied batch of material into a cohesive, thematic collection of songs.

Album opener “Witch Museum” is a collage of dark Massachusetts historical imagery. The song evokes a kind of cult dynamic travelling like a shadow through time, where dark absurdities are taken for granted, toxic behaviours are excused, and normalcy begins to shift. The line “Gail's behaviour has changed” casts fictional “Gail” as the dark manipulator, whose whim we’re at the mercy of. She sheds her toxic behaviour and the crisis finally ends - “and peace returns to the Commonwealth”- an absurdity, given that cult leaders and narcissists rarely seem to change.

By considering the past, Landowner sheds light on the present. The band challenges egomaniacs reluctant to accept an uncomfortable reality with both cynicism and concern. The literal landowner described in “Heat Stroke” collapses in exhaustion, cooked by a suffocating bass line and sizzling hi-hats. “You'd rather die of heat stroke than to let anybody see you change your mind,” Shaw gasps, later pleading with the character in “Floodwatch” to “please reconsider” their brazen stubbornness as they plunge through the rising waters of a flooded road.

The character in “Swimmer of Note” refuses to admit their miscalculations, instead doubling down on an ever-growing and increasingly-unsteady tower of lies. The sneering “Damning Evidence” sets a scene all too familiar: a smoking gun scenario with zero consequences. Shaw’s exaggerated vocal refrains and sarcastic inflections mock false hope: “how will they be expected to keep their minds intact, at the shock of simply hearing such damning evidence?”

“Beyond the Darkened Library” creaks open a secret passageway into a dimly lit, endless labyrinth of conspiracy theories, in which the character becomes hopelessly lost. “Aftermath” sounds the alarms: “stare so long that you start getting used to it; one glance says you should never get used to it.” The pair of “Tactics” tracks express what Shaw calls “an interpersonal microcosm of the album’s themes.”

Perhaps the most ambitious arc on Escape the Compound loosely begins with the title track. The subject in “Escape the Compound” gradually recognizes their own victimhood and plans a calculated flight from the “captivating shepherd” – hop the fence, flee, and regain autonomy. As the narrator escapes their stifling and abusive cult microcosm, a much grander existential timeline begins to appear. “Thousands of Years in Fast Forward” narrates a psychedelic surrender to the shared human experience through space and time, an ego-death adjacent to our ancestry, our own existence, and the before and after. “At the site of the crater, molecular hands unclasp molecular hands as you lose conditioning,” Shaw sings on the title track, “Your grandmother's garden. Your grandmother's kitchen. Your grandmother's primordial ocean.” It’s a profound actualizing glimpse into a true, forgotten reality and a startling reconnection with the self.

Western Massachusetts band Landowner play abrasively clean minimalist-punk. Singer Dan Shaw began Landowner in 2016, writing and recording Impressive Almanac with a practice amp and a laptop drum machine. Those available tools would inform the band’s unapologetic sound—clean, confrontational, and absurdly stark. With a stated goal to sound like “Antelope playing Discharge”, Landowner’s diamond hard structures, repetitious instrumentals and caricatured hardcore make space for lyrics that reflect on the global systems our lives are tangled in and the dark absurdities we take for granted.

Landowner’s fourth Born Yesterday full length Escape the Compound focuses on the powerful grips manipulators and reality-deniers have on their victims, examining the social, political and interpersonal damage of cult-like influence and control. “A lot of the lyrics focus on cult manipulators and narcissists: falling victim to their toxic dynamics, and the difficulty of escaping their grip” says Shaw. From climate change deniers and conspiracy theorists to deceptive narcissists and actual cult leaders, Landowner explores the ubiquity of modern unreality through evocative imagery and a keen sense of awareness. The band’s plain instrumentation sheds and subverts hardcore punk’s noisy veil in favor of a direct, unswerving examination of these themes.

Written and recorded following the release of 2020’s Consultant, Escape the Compound finds Landowner leaning into the studio through deeper experimentation with a wider palette of sounds. The group’s lineup of Josh Owsley (bass), Elliot Hughes (guitar), Jeff Gilmartin (guitar), Josh Daniel (drums) and Dan Shaw played often since coming together in 2017. But with pandemic restrictions in place, the making of Escape the Compound became a much more insular pursuit, one where the mixing and mastering process helped turn the band’s most varied batch of material into a cohesive, thematic collection of songs.

Album opener “Witch Museum” is a collage of dark Massachusetts historical imagery. The song evokes a kind of cult dynamic traveling like a shadow through time, where dark absurdities are taken for granted, toxic behaviors are excused, and normalcy begins to shift. The line “Gail's behavior has changed” casts fictional “Gail” as the dark manipulator, whose whim we’re at the mercy of. She sheds her toxic behavior and the crisis finally ends - “and peace returns to the Commonwealth”- an absurdity, given that cult leaders and narcissists rarely seem to change.

By considering the past, Landowner sheds light on the present. The band challenges egomaniacs reluctant to accept an uncomfortable reality with both cynicism and concern. The literal landowner described in “Heat Stroke” collapses in exhaustion, cooked by a suffocating bass line and sizzling hi-hats. “You'd rather die of heat stroke than to let anybody see you change your mind,” Shaw gasps, later pleading with the character in “Floodwatch” to “please reconsider” their brazen stubbornness as they plunge through the rising waters of a flooded road.

The character in “Swimmer of Note” refuses to admit their miscalculations, instead doubling down on an ever-growing and increasingly-unsteady tower of lies. The sneering “Damning Evidence” sets a scene all too familiar: a smoking gun scenario with zero consequences. Shaw’s exaggerated vocal refrains and sarcastic inflections mock false hope: “how will they be expected to keep their minds intact, at the shock of simply hearing such damning evidence?”

“Beyond the Darkened Library” creaks open a secret passageway into a dimly lit, endless labyrinth of conspiracy theories, in which the character becomes hopelessly lost. “Aftermath” sounds the alarms: “stare so long that you start getting used to it; one glance says you should never get used to it.” The pair of “Tactics” tracks express what Shaw calls “an interpersonal microcosm of the album’s themes.”

Perhaps the most ambitious arc on Escape the Compound loosely begins with the title track. The subject in “Escape the Compound” gradually recognizes their own victimhood and plans a calculated flight from the “captivating shepherd” – hop the fence, flee, and regain autonomy. As the narrator escapes their stifling and abusive cult microcosm, a much grander existential timeline begins to appear. “Thousands of Years in Fast Forward” narrates a psychedelic surrender to the shared human experience through space and time, an ego-death adjacent to our ancestry, our own existence, and the before and after. “At the site of the crater, molecular hands unclasp molecular hands as you lose conditioning,” Shaw sings on the title track, “Your grandmother's garden. Your grandmother's kitchen. Your grandmother's primordial ocean.” It’s a profound actualizing glimpse into a true, forgotten reality and a startling reconnection with the self.

As the void stares back at me, I am consumed by the waves of this new sonic transmission. ESP's Goblin Synth reigns supreme, guiding me into the darkest corners of my mind, as the Galaxian remix shatters my being into a thousand pieces. This release is a frenzied piece of IDM, braindance, and DnB, fueled by a chemical fury that leaves my mind in a state of pure ecstasy. The relentless pace and shifting soundscapes of the A-side are the perfect conduit for the raw power of the Galaxian remix, taking me beyond the limits of what I thought was possible.

On the B-side, I am treated to a liquid dnb homage that is no less relentless in its pursuit of sonic intensity. Here, the rhythms are more organic, more fluid, but no less potent in their ability. This is music that demands a total surrender of the self.

The insidious rhythms of ESP's Goblin Synth seize my consciousness like a viral agent, rendering my being porous and open to the twitching, glitching transmissions emanating from the depths of the machine. With each stuttering break and howling, modulated synth line, I am hurled headlong into a world of ravenous, cybernetic abandon - a blackened, dystopian horizon of shattered glass and flickering neon.

As my mind is hijacked by the rushing currents of amphetamine psychosis, I realize that this is no mere exercise in genre or form, but an all-out assault on the very fabric of reality itself. The sonic textures here are hyper-real, beyond the grasp of normal human perception - this is the sound of the post-human, the sound of the inhuman, the sound of a future that is rapidly bearing down upon me, whether I am ready or not.

And yet, amidst the chaos and decay, there is a kind of perverse beauty at work - a beauty that can only be glimpsed through the shattered glass of my own shattered subjectivity. With each burst of static and each crunching bassline, I am hurled deeper into a vortex of metallic, crystalline wonder, a realm of pure, unadulterated sound that is as terrifying as it is sublime.

Tucked in the heart of Koreatown, Los Angeles, lies The Libra Hotel—the titular architecture of Nick Malkin's new album and site of his musical and psychogeographic exploration. Unlike most musical "site-specific" studies, Malkin remains wholly ambivalent to the documentarian approach, instead sharpening an auteur-like focus on the site as a conceptual and highly expressive backdrop. The Libra is musically explored as a space that houses a noir fragmentation of identity—the exhausted trope of a complicated protagonist walking through rain-soaked street corners and fumy neon lights—where an inner monologue is rendered in both miniature and at a cosmic scale. Casting aside stifling tropes around field recording, ambient, and improvised music, Malkin's work finds its own unique fidelity and emotional core through the assembly and reassembly of memory. Nearly every sound on the album—from frayed saxophones, lambent pianos, and dissected jazz drum kits—are multiplied, shattered, and reconstituted into shapes that adorn The Libra in a motion-blurred fog. The narrative of the Hotel suddenly appears as if out of the mist, with intersecting characters interacting within its walls by happenstance. Adminst the languid set pieces, wraith-like sonic grains gravitate around wide subbass beams that give structural form to The Libra, a narrative tension like when a scene is shot from hundreds of different perspectives: an image both luminous and veiled.

Much like Frank Sinatra's own spatial residency immortalized on "Live at The Sands," "At The Libra Hotel" showcases an exuberant view of entertainment, hospitality, and a form of masculinity, one that can quickly detourn into darkness. Knowing this, Malkin extracts a melancholic core out of The Libra locale. The flickering shadows of American decadence are shown in their ephemeral honesty, lines that trace how even in everyday life virtue is tested, sanity is tested, even reality is tested within the confines of desire, within the night. The album is draped in fleeting textures, carefully arranged with a trance-like microtonality, the faint inflections and articulations of a jazz band cascading into dissipated stillness. Voicemails about changed locations and covert eavesdropping on guests' whispered conversations provide an atmosphere of missed connection and voyeurism—a purloined letter of desire receding into a vanishing point. Like the music itself, The Hotel, a chapel perilous at the intersection of desolation row, the center of it all, yet simultaneously at the edge of town, becomes a structure between libidinous virtuality and actuality—our inevitable half-light.

Ultimately, the pensive atmosphere of "At The Libra Hotel," powerfully asserts a plea for the kinds of intimacy only possible in transient spaces. Here, memory cascades into a force that feels like something supernatural, perhaps even religious, yet always subject to the infidelity of our imagination. Here, the album opens into its primary psychodrama, the transient nature of subjectivity itself and how this becomes fractured in the tumult between our commitments and desires. Within this nocturnal space, to quote Louise Bourgeois, "you pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture."

Repress!

Montreal’s eclectic producer CFCF (aka Mike Silver) follows 2019’s effusive corporate jungle opus Liquid Colours with a kaleidoscopic capital-E Electronica album that takes a range of styles from his earliest formative listening years (1997-2000) and throws them in a blender. Elements of jungle, house, UK garage, trance, pop and post-grunge are blended to form a glossy picture of restless youth in an
identity crisis: memoryland.

Inspired as much by Sonic Youth and Smashing Pumpkins as the Chemical Brothers and Basement Jaxx; as much by films like Millennium Mambo, Demonlover, Morvern Callar, Safe and Perfect Blue as late 90’s Prada — CFCF jumps across genres as a means of portraying a breadth of overlapping milieus and identities in this hyperactive Y2K period-piece that both explores and criticizes our own nostalgic impulses. From the opening intro’s announcement of arrival to the final credits, it’s an album as film as RPG, with the listener as its protagonist.

Opener “welcome.WAV” functions as a start-up sound file for the journey ahead: from “Life is Perfecto”, a propulsive breakbeat-dreampop hybrid, to a grotesquely-remixed ultra-French-house version of previously released single “Self Service”, and the recursive, metaphysical garage of “After the After”. Two guest vocalists lend their talents: Montreal neo-shoegaze icons No Joy, fresh off their own genre-defying Y2K exploration Motherhood, laconically lists off advice for aspiring fashion ingenues with bite in the alt-rock-IDM “Model Castings”, while Kero Kero Bonito’s Sarah Bonito sweetly delivers the penultimate “Heaven”, grunge-pop paean to the myth of Icarus.

In CFCF’s words:
“I was feeling fatigued by an overabundance of ‘calming’, productivity-oriented music, and wanted to explore something angsty, messy, and dark, while also applying a pop sheen. I see a loose narrative across the album: your early 20’s, a new city, new people, new temptations and new traps. Losing your sense of self to the whims of your surroundings and trends in music and fashion; the wrong people, and trying to dig yourself out of that hole. There’s a hope of moving forward that glimmers in the last quarter of the album, but it’s out of reach and seems to come at a price. And then the looking back on it later with perspective; or the looking forward to it before with anticipation. As a kid I couldn’t wait to be in my 20’s; in my 30’s it’s bittersweet to look back. That’s the core of memoryland: the gulf between the fantasy, the reality, and the memory, and how we live inside each of those at different points.”

In the digital age, words are no longer just symbols of communication, but a powerful tool that gives rise to meaningful interconnections between different universes.

Words have the power to transcend time and space, connecting two souls destined to meet.

Il Significato delle Parole (the meaning of words) is Adiel's new effort on her DanzaTribale, a crossover of two minds, generated together with musician Flavio Accorinti: techno sounds like the restless soul that pervades our days, deconstructed atmospheres like shattered generational dreams. The fusion of two cosmic currents, two ways of thinking and creating, characterized by an immanent power, pushing us to imagine new urban primitivism. Two creative processes, transcending individual boundaries to connect into a single overarching vision, to explore new forms of art and storytelling.

The EP, mixed by Donato Dozzy and mastered at Rome's Enisslab Studio by Giuseppe Tillieci, starts with Nulla Resta, a defragmented, dreamlike, ascending climax markedly cyberpunk: dense with references to 90s Progressive Dream, Nulla Resta, with its dulcet melodies, transports us to an artificial reality, a spiritual reality albeit dominated by technology. A reality suspended between fantasy and materialism.
Suspended, like the second track (Sospesa): dark trip-hop's echoes adorned by the voice of Jordie Devlin Mcmorrow. "Shadows on the walls orchestrate our downfall." Dystopian futures intertwine with mysteriously dreamy pasts in a fatal spiral of redemption.
But words remain the catalysing element of this EP.
Parole(words) represents a communicative rare faction that embraces tribes near and far. Black drums echo in the distance in an intimate ballad, in an epic ride, in an ethereal metaphysical journey to the dissolution of the boundary between time and space, between memory and perception.
Notturna, on the other hand, is the epilogue we all deserve; a solemn twilight, a lysergic, dragging escape from the objectivity of the real world.

The images of life do not simply exist in a vacuum. They are defined by the energy that surrounds them, and it is the explanation behind each of these words that we must find if weare to truly understand them. Thanks to the meaning of words, sooner or later, we will be all united again.

Lost soul phenomenon Lewis Taylor's Numb finally arrives on double vinyl! One of UK soul’s most fascinating artists, most enigmatic figures and most under-appreciated talents, Andrew Lewis Taylor is a prodigious multi-instrumentalist and eclectic polymath. He enjoys a fiercely loyal following which, over the years, has included celebrity champions like Bowie, Elton and D'Angelo. Numb is Taylor's sixth album, initially released on his own label Slow Reality (an anagram of his name) and licensed to Be With for this long-awaited physical edition. It captures Taylor's wholly unique, intoxicating take on lush, late-night psychedelic soul music.

Lewis wrote and recorded these 10 brand new tracks after a 17 year break from making music, although the album came together over a two-year period. The years away have done nothing to dull Taylor's unique musical vision. He still astounds. The lyrical themes, however, have shifted. Understandably, more than a decade and a half of soul searching and unflinching self-examination cannot fail to influence this most honest of songwriters, and boy does it show. Numb marks a return to the darker, more mysterious side of his output: "Brian Wilson-channels-Smokey Robinson atmospheres", as Mojo put it recently.

After playing a rapturously received gig at the Bowery Ballroom in NYC in 2006, Lewis unceremoniously walked away from music and disappeared completely. An interview in 2016 shed light on some of the reasons for Taylor’s withdrawal from the business, but there was no hint of a return anytime soon. Then in June 2021, news emerged out of the blue that he was readying new music alongside Sabina Smyth with whom he had worked first time around.

On Numb, Lewis deftly balances stark, soul-bearing lyrics with moody mid-tempo pop-soul sheen. He deals candidly with depression, mental turmoil, even thoughts of suicide - clearly more personal than Taylor's earlier songs. The music is rich, warm and layered, with infectious melodies and hooks that stick with you. A true grower of an LP, it really does reward repeated listens. As Jim Irvin in Mojo reflected, "despite the depths these plumb, it's a curiously uplifting experience, unfurling like a concept album about life's challenges with an optimistic beauty at its heart."

Triumphant dubwise horns ring out yet, almost instantly, “Final Hour” takes on a dark, downbeat vibe. With lyrics that confront (and, seemingly, confound) death head-on, Lewis ensures the groove is still there, the beats still swing and your head still nods, strings glissade. Woven around delicate yet insistent piano and subtle strings over a killer bassline, the title track “Numb” is a good example of the lyrical themes throughout the album. As Taylor reflects, "So removed I feel no pain / And for all I know I could be having the time of my life" with a coda that feels very much in conversation with Brian Wilson's finest harmonies. "Feels So Good" is sophisticated 90s-sounding soul of the highest order. The music and vocals feel simultaneously optimistic and despondent. Downlifting. A neat trick, and one Lewis has been so adept at over the years. "Apathy" is a mini-epic, a symphonic-soul gem which builds and glides and, eventually, soars. “Worried Mind" is another slow-builder, creeping out the gate in a sketchy, discordant fashion before climbing to half-crescendo but never quite breaking free of its disorientating restraint.

The brighter "Please" presents a more hopeful mood, with the refrain "I still believe" ringing out as Lewis harmonises with himself. "Brave Heart" quietly struts from step one, as Lewis's falsetto swaggers over a downtempo backdrop with ace echoey drums, beautiful strings and serene electric guitar. Closing out Side C, "Is It Cool" answers its own (non-) question with a spellbinding five and a half minutes of swoonsome deep soul that oscillates between a restrained, barely-there backdrop and a lushly full musical accompaniment of acoustic and electric guitar and organ over bass and slick drums. The penultimate track "Nearer" is a magical, soul-stirring ballad in which Lewis sings of reaching a sweet salvation and achieving a peace of mind. If the hairs on the back of your neck aren't standing up by the midway point, you might need to check your pulse. Album closer and true tear-jerker "Being Broken" places Lewis's gorgeous voice high in the mix and the wordless falsetto and melodies invite you to ponder what Pet Sounds might sound like if it were refashioned as a dubby 21st Century electronic soul album. Astonishing.

Simon Francis’s vinyl mastering spreads out the ten tracks over a double LP so, as ever, nothing is compromised. And as usual, the records have been cut by Cicely Balston at Air Studios and pressed at Record Industry. Turn it up and let the Lewis Taylor sound envelop you.

Dry Tears is the latest release from the Bruto Industries label and their first release in 12" format. On this occasion, xKukum, one of the founding members of the label, presents his first EP.

The record, which was recorded in late 2020, traces an emotional journey from the distortion of reality caused by melancholy to the determination to move away from it. The EP consists of four original tracks that guide the listener through this journey, with influences from EBM, Dark Wave, Techno, and more. On side A, we find more introspective and melodic tracks, while side B offers sounds more focused on the dance floor. As a special addition, Colombian artist Filmmaker contributes a remix of the track "No More Dramas," complementing the atmosphere of the album with his characteristic powerful sound.

Like previous releases from the label, this work has been mastered by Dan Böhler, who has provided the EP with a sound quality that will not disappoint genre lovers. The artwork is done by Marcos Abella, who completes the concept with an imagery influenced by manga and cyberpunk aesthetics.

Myriad Path takes us down JUNO's many roads of style, texture, and mercurial sonic (r)evolution, where catchy chaos meets elaborate compositions in the band's trademark uncompromising style. The record is a biting and fiercer sequel to the debut album “Young Star” (Jazzland Recordings, 2020), with the band becoming more conceptual and showing a darker side of JUNO than we have heard before.

The album ranges from dissonant sounds in the face of fierce drum grooves and explosive rap to big, dreamy pop choruses, floating improvisation, and beautiful harmonies. Surrealism, caricatured over-the-top scenarios, vulnerability and inner turmoil create a zig-zag pattern of textual and musical revelation, which integrates the listener into JUNO's multifaceted reality.

On Myriad Path, the band members' individual voices are displayed more clearly than ever before, and the music takes inspiration from, among others, the experimental and progressive Rock in Opposition scene, pop stars Charli XCX and Caroline Polacheck, hip-hop legends such as The Notorious B.I.G. and Kendrick Lamar, as well as the groundbreaking poet and musician Moor Mother.

When JUNO debuted with the single "Mike" in 2020, they were already one of the country's most sought-after live bands, and since their inception they have played over a hundred concerts at festivals and venues across Europe. The band made waves at both By:Larm and Trondheim Calling, and was also selected to represent Norway in the showcase festival Nordic Jazz Comets in 2022. The unusual line-up with two vocalists, tenor saxophone, double bass and drums gives the music an unmistakable and immediately identifiable sound.

The debut album "Young Star" (Jazzland Recordings, 2020) received uniformly excellent reviews from the Norwegian and foreign press. In the same year, they also received the Subjekt award for "Artist of the Year".

Eric Emm and Jesse Cohen of Tanlines are indie-rock lifers turned reasonable, happy middle-aged fathers of two, figuring out their place in a chaotic culture and industry that can no longer command their full attention. They are emblematic of a particular time and place that doesn't really exist anymore, yet here they are existing, and thriving, in 2023. The Big Mess came together when Emm and his family moved from Brooklyn to rural Connecticut, while Cohen launched a marketing career and a successful podcast and stayed in the city. Emm continued writing songs_hundreds of them _ through all the weirdness of the past few years, but he wasn't exactly sure who he was writing them for. "I spent years figuring out in my mind, `What is my musical life going to look like?'" he says. "I just kept writing." Cohen gave Emm his blessing to continue Tanlines, even if his own contributions would be limited due to his own non-musical obligations. "I'm like, `Whatever you can do to keep this thing going, do it,'" Cohen says. And with that, Tanlines was reborn. By January 2022 Emm felt he had a body of work that made sense as a Tanlines album. Cohen spent ten days with Emm at his Connecticut studio, along with unofficial third Tanline Patrick Ford (!!!). This was tied together with a sleek final mix from Peter Katis (The National, Interpol) at his famed Tarquin Studios, resulting in a clear vision of what Emm's musical life was going to look like: The Big Mess. The first sounds on The Big Mess are the title track's coiled guitars and thumping drums, building into the kind of outsize, choral rock anthem artists like Tanlines were almost a reaction to. It is warm and nostalgic, and Cohen likens a lot of the prevailing mood to "a sepia filter on a digital photo." He continues, "we were pretty intentional about making this the first song on the album, underlining the way that this is a new phase of the band." Cohen says. The moody, scintillating "Burns Effect" serves as one of the biggest pushes forward for the Tanlines sound, and for Emm as a lyricist. He says that the song is "deep and dark and dangerous, but in a fun way. It's one of the more personal tracks on the album where this ungrounded part of my personality surfaces, but with an over-the-top machismo, almost an ironic character." Other tracks like "New Reality" and closer "The Age of Innocence" are also demonstrably guitar-forward in ways that wouldn't seem obvious for Tanlines (despite Emm's pedigree in austere avant-garde math-rock outfits Storm & Stress and Don Caballero), but Emm is less sure The Big Mess is a total departure. "I'm trying to make these absolutely simple things," he says. "I think of these songs as Rothko paintings: They're big and they're bold and they're seemingly straightforward, but they have a lot of depth and they engage with you and make you feel something."

The Other Maria represents the character trait each of us has inside within ourselves. The silent part of us that we try to regulate, keep restrained from others and managed just beyond reach from the rest of the World. It represents the compartmentalized potential to do, say and respond with great chaotic harm, despite all unfortunate consequences. It is a full release feeling that we sometimes quietly envy as we witness with disgust and disapproval.

Widely considered a character flaw to many, yet, some would relish in the opportunity that could summon such an unpredictable internal animal. Every life has two parallel parts. The one for "them", the version of yourself that abides by all the acceptable and expected rules of engagement - often a side that is given credit on face value. The side that achieves progress through peaceful and less confrontational means. The one you use to survive.

And the other side, the one for you. An uncompromising, unthinkably ruthless version that knows no limit. That knows no fear. The side of yourself that tells you yes, when you know that "no" is the better answer.

The Other Maria isn't about comfort. It is about hard truth, but also recognizing raw emotions that stem from feeling undeniably free.

And what could one do with such a dark, yet wonderworking ability - when the absence of fear and consequence presides over the judicious process leading to an enviable fate - convinced that all actions are pure, justified, direct, but conniving. The feeling of relieved of all guilt and accountability?


But as diabolical as it can be and appear. Along with the negative static, there can be progress. As true imposes are exposed, so does the transparency of reality. A precious truth that's needed to fully understand the severity of the situation.
And with this, comes a valuable knowledge from a low level in which one once descended. Dreadfulness is softened to predictability.

- Jeff Mills, April, 2023

A co-op coalition of Laced Records, Fatshark, and Games Workshop has summoned forth a deluxe triple vinyl for Jesper Kyd’s incredible new Warhammer 40,000: Darktide score.

48 tracks have been specially mastered for vinyl and will be pressed onto heavyweight galaxy-effect discs in yellow & black, blue & black, and red & black. The widespined outer sleeve features a spot gloss logo on the front cover; while the three spined inner sleeves sport artwork by the Fatshark team.

Darktide succeeds Fatshark’s much beloved Vermintide series with brutal co-op action set in the dystopian future of Warhammer 40,000. Composer Jesper Kyd’s many challenges included capturing the pomp and propaganda of the Imperium’s Inquisition; finding a way to represent ‘living machines’ the size of city blocks and thousands of years old in the lore of the game, but still tens of thousands of years more advanced than our own; and finding the sound of the dangerous lower levels of the Underhive.

He spectacularly achieves this with characterful choral and folk instrumental performances layered among all manner of vintage analog synths, giving the whole soundtrack a rusty, mechanical but not robotic feel — all dusty data and grinding grooves. It’s a unique score that sheds the orchestral and electric guitar palettes of other Warhammer titles.

‘Where is Agartha? What is the specific region in which it lies? Along what road, through what civilizations, must one walk in order to reach it?.’ Saint-Yves d’Alveydre in 1886

Agartha, the debut full-length album by Japanese producer Wata Igarashi, is a mysterious, divine thing. Named for the mythical secret kingdom, understood as a complex maze of underground tunnels, perhaps designed by Martians who colonised the Earth tens of thousands of years ago, it’s a similarly mystical, perhaps even cosmic trip – but this time, exploring an inner, deeply personal cosmos. Beautifully detailed and bustling with rich incident, it takes Igarashi’s music to new places, which still retaining his unique sonic imprimatur; in this respect, it’s perfectly at home with Kompakt, a label that’s always encouraged artists to make the visionary music they need to create, to take risks and make sideways steps into uncharted territory.

An eloquent producer and DJ, Igarashi has been releasing techno for eleven years now, appearing on such imprints as The Bunker NY, Delsin, Midgar, and Time To Express; he has also self-released his productions via his WIP net label. Throughout, Igarashi has consistently explored his unique approach to techno and electronic music, one that’s eloquent and poised, even when it shifts into more psychedelic terrain; he’s a master at balancing the sensual and the functional, and he has an unerring ear for the right texture, the right tone, at the right time. He brings all of this into Agartha, his most thorough-going expression of self to date.

For Agartha, Igarashi had a strong concept he wanted to explore. Visualising specific scenes from an imaginary film based on the titular secret kingdom, he created soundtracks for those scenes, spending time during the pandemic in his studio, working away carefully at the ten tracks here. Given his background in creating music for television and advertisements, Igarashi is well-placed to explore the marriage of the sonic and the visual in such intimate ways, but freed from commercial concerns, he let his imagination run riot. He also drew on a rich palette of musical influences – techno is in there, of course, but you can also hear the smoky, improvised jazz of the likes of Miles Davis (to whom the album’s title is an indirect nod), and the minimalism and systems music of Steve Reich.

The latter is particularly pronounced on the gorgeous, beatless drift of “Floating Against Time”, where an arpeggiated sequence lingers, lovingly, around your ears for nine blissful minutes, coasting across swooning drones and waves of ambient noise. “Ceremony Of The Dead”, originally composed as part of a Sony 360 Reality Audio spatial sound concert, is a deep pass into systems composition, with various patterns overlaid and interlocking, before a wordless vocal rises from the depths, a gorgeous counterpoint to the swarming textures that gather across the track. On the other hand, tracks like “Burning” and “Subterranean Life” nudge toward Fourth World territory, painting deluxe dreamscapes of uncertain provenance; the title cut is an abstract drift-world, Igarashi painting an alien tableau dotted by shape-shifting creatures.

Agartha’s conceptual framework means that everything on the album sits perfectly together; listening to it in one sitting is a dizzying, lush experience. Its imaginings of inner landscapes recall, in some respects, the nautical, aqueous mythologies of the Drexciyan universe, though from different perspectives. But the result is Igarashi’s own creation, a deluxe, enchanting trip through the visionary Agartha of this unique producer’s cinematic mind’s-eye.

Wo liegt Agartha? In welcher spezifischen Region liegt es? Auf welchem Weg, durch welche Zivilisationen muss man gehen, um dorthin zu gelangen?'

Saint-Yves d'Alveydre im Jahr 1886

Agartha, das Debütalbum des japanischen Produzenten Wata Igarashi, ist ein geheimnisvolles, göttliches Ding. Benannt nach dem mythischen, geheimen Königreich, das als ein komplexes Labyrinth unterirdischer Tunnel verstanden wird, die vielleicht von Marsmenschen angelegt wurden, die vor Zehntausenden von Jahren die Erde kolonisierten, ist es eine ähnlich mystische, vielleicht sogar kosmische Reise - aber dieses Mal erforscht es einen inneren, zutiefst persönlichen Kosmos. Wunderschön detailliert und voller reichhaltiger Begebenheiten, führt es Igarashis Musik an neue Orte, die dennoch seine einzigartige klangliche Handschrift bewahren. In dieser Hinsicht hat es bei Kompakt ein perfektes Zuhause gefunden - einem Label, das Künstler immer ermutigt hat, jene visionäre Musik zu machen, Risiken einzugehen und seitwärts Schritte in unbekanntes Terrain zu tun.

Der eloquente Produzent und DJ Igarashi veröffentlicht seit elf Jahren Techno auf Labels wie The Bunker NY, Delsin, Figure und Time To Express; außerdem hat er einige Produktionen über sein Label WIP net selbst veröffentlicht. Dabei hat Igarashi stets seinen einzigartigen Ansatz für Techno und elektronische Musik verfolgt, der kontrolliert und ausgeglichen ist, selbst wenn er sich in psychedelisches Terrain begibt; er ist ein Meister der Balance zwischen dem Sinnlichen und dem Funktionalen und hat ein untrügliches Gespür für die richtige Textur, den richtigen Ton zur richtigen Zeit. All das bringt er in Agartha ein, dem bisher umfangreichsten Ausdruck seiner selbst.

Für Agartha hatte Igarashi ein starkes Konzept, das er erforschen wollte. Er stellte sich bestimmte Szenen eines imaginären Films vor, der auf dem titelgebenden geheimen Königreich basiert, und schuf Soundtracks für diese Szenen. Während der Pandemie verbrachte er Zeit in seinem Studio und arbeitete sorgfältig an den zehn Tracks. Mit seinem Hintergrund als Komponist von Fernseh- und Werbemusik ist Igarashi prädestiniert dafür, die Verbindung von Klang und Bild auf solch intime Weise zu erforschen, aber frei von kommerziellem Dünkel ließ er seiner Fantasie freien Lauf. Er schöpfte auch aus einer reichen Palette musikalischer Einflüsse - Techno ist natürlich dabei, aber man hört auch den rauchigen, improvisierten Jazz von Miles Davis (an den der Titel des Albums eine indirekte Anspielung ist) und den Minimalismus und die Systemmusik von Steve Reich.

Letzteres ist besonders ausgeprägt in dem wunderschönen, beatlosen "Floating Against Time", wo eine arpeggierte Sequenz neun Minuten lang liebevoll um die Ohren fliegt und über schwelende Drones und Wellen von Umgebungsgeräuschen gleitet. "Ceremony Of The Dead", ursprünglich als Teil eines Sony 360 Reality Audio-Raumklangkonzerts komponiert, ist ein tiefes Eintauchen in eine Systemkomposition, bei der sich verschiedene Muster überlagern und ineinander greifen, bevor sich ein wortloser Gesang aus der Tiefe erhebt, ein wunderschöner Kontrapunkt zu den wimmelnden Texturen, die sich über den Track legen. Andererseits bewegen sich Tracks wie "Burning" und "Subterranean Life" in Richtung der Vierten Welt und malen luxuriöse Traumlandschaften ungewisser Herkunft; der Titeltrack ist eine abstrakte Scheinwelt, in der Igarashi ein außerirdisches Tableau malt, das von formwandelnden Kreaturen übersät ist.

Der konzeptionelle Rahmen von Agartha ermöglicht, dass alles auf dem Album perfekt zusammenpasst; es in einem Zug durchzuhören ist eine schwindelerregende, opulente Erfahrung. Wata's Vorstellungen von inneren Landschaften erinnern in gewisser Hinsicht an die nautischen, wässrigen Mythologien des drexciyanischen Universums, wenn auch aus einer anderen Perspektiven betrachtet. Aber das Ergebnis ist Igarashis ureigene Schöpfung, ein luxuriöser, bezaubernder Trip durch das visionäre Agartha dieses einzigartigen Produzenten mit seinem cineastischen Blick.

Bristol multi-instrumentalist, producer and nature freak Will Yates offers a new record from his Memotone alias, an expansive, hypothetical revue titled How Was Your Life?

Launching from terrains recognizable to fans of Will’s extensive, restless discography, How Was Your Life? packs up his penchant for baroque druid folk, homespun electronics and weightless woodwinds and explodes them into glistening, fractal star dust.

Instigated by the purchase of an antiquated Y2K era guitar synthesizer, the record was produced over the first half of 2022, in a large part a result of in-studio improvisation and carved by equipment that offered both possibilities and parameters that Will relished and explored to the nth degree. The Roland GR33 not only provided sublime guitar sounds but also empowered the guitar to convincingly mimic fretless bass, tabla and a vast percussive array, also summoning an artillery of uniquely outre atmospheres over the course of the record. The resulting concoction sounds familiar yet subtly, unshakeably otherworldly, shaping up as perhaps the most honed, energized and beatific Memotone album to date.

Paradise Drips gently lifts off with wobbly guitar, randomized sequences and unidentifiable percussive elements situating us somewhere in an unearthly realm, before Open World zaps the serotonin receptors and gushes with ecstatic warmth, it’s quietly insistent soft disco shuffle and levitational fretless driving towards a totally blissed and very soft “drop”. Forest Zone sees Memotone deep in the green, with a loose, propulsive groove and dancing flutes stumbling into a medieval ritual in the clearing halfway through, and Glow In The Dark deftly bounces between spacey ambience and an undulating no wave vamp. Carved By The Moon is a delightfully melted classical cut, while Canteen Sandwich offers the record’s most explicitly nod to modernity in the form of a nimble drum workout with samurai synths and melodic percussion that heaves towards a genuine peak. Lonehead immediately backs right off, viscerally melancholic clarinet and bubbling fx making for the records most hefty introspective moment, before Walking Backwards simmers all the way down on an wistful arpeggio, rooting back in earthly reality with charmed rhythms and jazzy tunings. Catharsis complete, Memotone is onto the next incarnation.

Will Yates has been making music as Memotone since 2010, releasing music on labels like Black Acre, Disktopia and Accidental Meetings, also releasing music as O.G. Jigg and Half Nelson. He’s worked as a producer, session musician and live performer on a broad spectrum of projects, and recently provided source sounds that made up Batu’s “Opal” on Timedance.

How Was Your Life? was written, produced and mixed by Will Yates. It was mastered by Chris Wang. Art and design by Hugo Bernier.