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Second Sub Pop album by acclaimed UK act TV Priest finds them building on the
post-punk of their early material and maturing into a powerhouse of tense, politically
caustic, and thoughtful rock music.
Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made
their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were
established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their
political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy
on its wearer’s shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. “A lot of it did feel
like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length,” says vocalist Charlie
Drinkwater. “I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take
a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the
opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest.”
Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued
press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous
outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single ‘House of York’
followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to
Sub Pop for their debut album. When ‘Uppers’ arrived in the height of a global
pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its “dystopian doublespeak,”
but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic
Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of
tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the
personal and professional landmark of its release felt “both colossal and minuscule”
dampened by the inability to share it live. “It was a real gratification and really
cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental
health,” admits Drinkwater. “I wasn’t prepared, and I hadn’t necessarily expected it to
reach as many people as it did.”
As such, ‘My Other People’ maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking
advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using ‘Saintless’ (the closing
song from ‘Uppers’) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting
lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as
a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health.
“Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would
say, particularly well,” he says. “There was a lot of things that had happened to
myself and my family that were quite troubling moments. Despite that I do think the
record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders
for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in.”
“It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something
that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful,” agrees Bueth. “Brutality and frustration are
only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the
time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening.”
This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and
an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to ‘My Other People’, a
record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you’re
welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is
a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or
any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

"Prime Sequences" is the latest album by dj and electronic music producer GummiHz, real name Alexander Tsotsos. Alex has an ear for what he describes as elastic frequencies, thus gummi-hertz! In other words, low bass lines, airy synth phrases and shuffle rhythms, playfully arranged within loose forms. A philosophy that comes across throughout this long player. Elements fall in and out of order, time swings back and forth, all together in perfect harmony! Pushing the boundaries of what has become his signature sound, a fusion of house and techno all the way from Berlin to Detroit! This package features underground music coming straight from the heart, or the Hertz more appropriately! The story unfolds within no less than nine tracks showcasing Alex's versatility in making waves!

The opening track titled "Berlinopolis" is a sonic portrait of the city of Berlin, where Alex lives since more than a decade. A smooth soundscape produced by combining abstract melodies with field recordings of the city's ambience. "'Second Wave" follows airy jazz chords and drum parts to launch the listener into trajectory. It feels like the sort of track that would probably make it into Herbie Hancock's deep house collection! The title track "Prime sequence" is a Detroit brewed piece with some Berlin minimalism rawness in the rhythm section! Combining a mixture of drama, suspense and shaking drums to dominate the dance floor. Next up comes "Submerge", a tight and hypnotic affair carrying the right amount of subtle release. It locks in right from the start and doesn't let go! "Prime Dub" dives deeper into the frequency spectrum. Rhythm and sound stimulate the brain waves as a heavy chord phrase cycles to infinity. "Proto Sequence" follows a simple still infectious groove laced with various modulations. This track has party written all over it! Inspired by proto-house motifs pioneered by artists like Chi-town's Ron Hardy. "Metafunk" reaches out to Berlin's club culture at its core. That is, the youth and street culture! The phrase on repeat signifies the urge to reclaim the streets, while endlessly flowing within finely tuned electronics. "Mindloop" is a track written for the after hours looping state of mind. Another minimal house cut with a fair dose of psychedelic sound design. Lastly, "Descension" relaxes the mood through deep pulsating rhythms and playful arpeggios. Pushing towards a meditative state by stimulating mind, body and soul!?

"Prime Sequences" covers a wide range of styles like ambient electronics, peak time house and techno, as well as seriously effed up after hour minimalism! Made for both djs and music lovers, this is the second long player by GummiHz to come out on vinyl after his debut album "Sleepless Nights" back in 2009! While it succeeds his latest EP, "Groove is in the Hertz". What makes it even more special is that it comes out on brainchild Claap, giving the artist total freedom of expression.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Following the sublime smash debut "X17", LA-based label Elbow Grease head conductor Dave Aju continues on his righteous piece-by-piece journey toward a multi-genre multiverse, where deep musical roots come together in kaleidoscopic expression, and unfakeable funk reigns supreme.

"Spacio Tempo" picks up where we last left off, though with a notable drop in bpm as the title implies, with a rolling 4/4 textural tapestry that combines pulsating layers of soulful synth work, effervescent live percussion, and heavenly strings into a dense yet open-as-the-night-sky extended gem yet again. Just as the machine patterns of near-equator rhythms bubble over and begin to lock into a hypnotic groove, a bold left turn into a dank latin jazz noir vibraphone solo and SH-101 duet tango ensues, before landing us safely back at home base - right on time, at its own spacial pace.

As per the Elbow Grease release recipe so far, the B1 cut offers DJs a more driving flex, this time in the form of the "Acido Tempo Mix": a raw 303-driven take on the original which will undoubtedly stomp its way fiercely thru many bass bins in sweaty basements and warehouses worldwide. Finally the B2 blessing "Domingo Dub" closes things out, removing all but the highest vibes as an ambient drifting and uplifting take on the main theme, where the faintest of vocal tones, space echoes, and light percussive touches leave us elated in a West Coast, with subtle splashes from the D, sunset dream. Another solid single turned three-tracker sure-shot from EG.

Stefan Schwanders Repeat Orchestra presents “Infamous Lost Tracks”, an album appearing out of the blue, coming from spheres where time, space and Zeitgeist are nothing more than words.
With the Repeat Orchestra Schwander (who of course also is Harmonious Thelonious, A Rocket In Dub, Antonelli and a lot more) found a unique way of channeling deep House Music, a minimalistic setup and an idea of creating enjoyable music into amazing tracks that sound so effortless and natural. From first track "Call And Response" on it’s obvious that the main thing that this album is about is the groove, sometimes euphoric, sometimes quite unobtrusive but always irresistible, build from massive basslines, complex rhythms and the masterfully performed interplay of repetition and modulation. Warm harmonies, multilayered (at times quite unusual ("Nightdubbing")) melodies and subtle arrangements complete these Infamous Lost Tracks and their very own formular between Düsseldorf, Chicago and Lagos. There’s nothing harsh in this music, no aggression, still it’s far from being tame or tranquil: The pumping energy of "A Means To An End" or the sublime liquid shuffle of "Less Sensational" show the swing and kick inside these works that are made for delight but not to please.

And “Monks In A Club” is the most brilliant example of dancefloor understatement that you’ll ever hear in your life. Reduction, elegance and the right kind of mania concentrated into some minutes of pure club heaven. Handclaps, nonchalance & madness. An essential singularity and the swan song to the Repeat Orchestra, there will be no more of it. Get It And Smile.

Rising star Amy Dabbs delivers us another huge house EP, dropping as the debut release on her brand new label Dabbs Traxx. The modern take on classic house that she's become renowned for in her recent
highly acclaimed releases permeates every track on Four Track Mind EP, serving up Amy's trademark pacey rhythmic percussion, emotive melodies, and fat subby basslines.
Ghosts kicks things off with ticking clocks and haunting melodies woven throughout, creating a deeply atmospheric track. It surrounds you with thick layers of pads and strings, underpinned with tear-jerking chords and vocals, sprinkled with touches of Amy’s beloved Juno 106. This track relays a moving tale of facing the ghosts of your past which, alongside Ghosts’ powerful percussive drops, is guaranteed to give the dancefloor goosebumps in more ways than one.
Til You See takes us in an uplifting direction, with a powerful bassline blazing against a backdrop of soaring pads and delicately placed arpeggiators, leading towards a spine-tingling yet subtle vocal as the track reaches its peak. Bringing Amy's desire to create music that moves you to life, this stunning track is brimming with jubilance and optimism from beginning to end.
Last but by no means least comes the EP's title track, Four Track Mind, its nostalgic organ sounds, bouncy percussive chops and big basslines ensuring it will be a huge dancefloor moment when played out. This energetic track takes you into the heavens with its relentlessly uplifting transitions throughout, Amy's intention clearly to place you firmly in the centre of the dancefloor with a massive smile on your face.
Having recently been named as one of BBC Radio 1's Future Stars 2022, and with a string of solo EPs coming out over the next 6 months, it's quickly becoming clear that Amy Dabbs is going to be a name we'll be hearing a lot more of this year

Marc Brauner makes his return to the label, this time collaborating with fellow Berliner, Ulrich Harrison - better known by moniker Tender Games - on five summertime sweeteners.

These two producers are no stranger to working together, co-running their own imprint, Nostalgics Records in their home town of Berlin. This collaboration then came together naturally, and represents the ideal blend of Marc Brauner's syncopated rhythmic tendencies, and Tender Games' musical antecedents in soul music and penchant for instrumentation.

'Concrete Jungle' epitomises this fusion: a two-step rhythm carries a deep bassline which cruises beneath a blissed-out trumpet melody. 'You Keep Me Up' and 'Listen' are skippy old school bangers, the former complete with anthemic piano stabs a la Manix and Inner City and the latter peppered with blithe whispers of a saxophone. 'It Makes Me' follows suit, substituting hi-hats for a focus on funk-inflected low ends before the UKG-leaning 'Violation' draws things to a close with MC vocal chops and bass womp ruffage.

Concrete Jungle EP drops 17th June 2022 via Shall Not Fade

For more than twelve years, Morphology have been re-writing the rules of electronics. Michael Diekmann and Matti Turunen have melted electro, IDM and techno into their own unique sound. To celebrate their achievements, FireScope has sifted through the impressive discography of this Finnish pairing to bring long out of print tracks to a life.

Twelve 1 collects music released between 2009 and 2016, a dozen works that span labels like Abstract Forms, AC Records, Cultivated Electronics, diametric., Semantica, Stilleben and Vortex Traks. Opening with the cold love affair of “Manmade Woman,” this collection brings together frosted floor funk, cerebral armchair electronics and a quality of composition that only Morphology can provide. Embedded in the album are outposts of electro menace, tracks with that extra bit of bite such as “Dementia” and “Dalek Invasion. Deep and thought-provoking pieces abound, such as the otherworldly dreamscapes of “Magellan Probe” and “Moebius Strip” which were first heard on Arne Weinberg’s diametric. An understated balance permeates the record, broad concepts are interwoven with subtle shifts to bring a timeless quality to pieces like “Spacetime Interval”, “Europa” and “Plankton.” A perfect expression of over a decade of work.

Not only does this double LP gather rare tracks never before heard together, but also each piece has been lovingly remastered to breath new life into these wonderful works. Twelve 1 celebrates the music of Morphology in all its glory, two masters of modern electronic music who continue to re-define and re-design genres.

Delayed...

Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever return in 2022 with Endless Rooms, the Melbourne quintet's third album proper. Described by the band - comprised of Fran Keaney, Joe White, Marcel Tussie and brothers Tom Russo and Joe Russo - as them "Doing what we do best: chasing down songs in a room together", Endless Rooms stands as a testament to the collaborative spirit and live power of RBCF. While initial ideas were traded online during long spells spent separated by lockdowns, the album was truly born during small windows of freedom in which the band would decamp to a mud-brick house in the bush around 2hrs north of Melbourne built by the extended Russo family in the 1970s. There, its 12 tracks took shape, informed to such an extent by the acoustics and ambience of the rambling lakeside house that they decided to record the album there. The house also features on the album cover. For the first time, the band self-produced the record (alongside engineer, collaborator and old friend, Matt Duffy), creating their most naturalistic and expansive document yet. The result is a collection of songs permeated by the spirit of the place; punctuated by field recordings of rain, fire, birds, and wind. "It's almost an anti-concept album," say the band. "The 'endless rooms' of the title reflects our love of creating worlds in our songs. We treat each of them as a bare room to be built up with infinite possibilities."

40-plus years since its original release, the pop-punk-new wave inventions of Anthony
Moore’s ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’ are freshly remastered, blasting the sparkling, angular
sounds into today with perfect vitality.
 After spending the early years of the 1970s making experimental music first as a solo
artist, then with Slapp Happy and Henry Cow, 1976’s ‘OUT’ sessions had reinvigorated
Anthony’s youthful love of the naive pop melodies of pop radio, the undeniable excitement
of songs. While ‘OUT’ ultimately went unreleased at the time, the iconoclasm clouding the
late ’70s air was addictive and transformative for Anthony. England seemed to be roiled
as violently as it had been in counter-cultural days a decade earlier; the UK pop charts
breathlessly reflected the changing spectrum with equal parts aging hippie and prog
delicacies alongside new ascendant sounds: rough-hewn pub and punk rock, plus dub
reggae and disco and ska and Stiff and Krautrock. This proved to be an ideal environment
for Anthony to make records by exploring, as he puts it, the “deep connection between
minimalism, repetition, working with tape and celluloid and forming the modules of a
three-minute pop song.”
 Caught up in a no-holds-barred era, Anthony was more than happy to play the out-of-hishead madman, raving through outrageous exchanges with the press, while ‘Judy Get
Down’ received Single Of The Week honours from the NME (with review penned by Brian
Eno). Represented by Blackhill Enterprises, Anthony did production work throughout
1978-1979, on Kevin Ayers’ ‘Rainbow Takeaway’, Manfred Mann’s Earth Band’s ‘Angel
Station’ and the first This Heat album, meanwhile cutting his own songs on a dead time
deal at Workhouse Studio with engineer / producer Laurie Latham. Through the wee
hours of countless nights, the two pieced together ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’, with a little help
from friends (an inspired bunch, including Bob Shilling, Charles Hayward, Chris Slade,
Robert Vogel, Festus, Matt Irving, Sam Harley, Bernie Clark, Edwin Cross and Martine
Moore on the telephone).
 Building upon the axis of pop and experimental impulses that distinguished ‘OUT’, and
informed further by the raw sensibilities exploding everywhere, ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’
blasts out of the speakers with its own unique blend of sophistication and aggression,
Anthony’s keyboard flashes between arpeggiations and outright stabs among the noise of
slicing guitars, funk basslines and the reverbed blare of the drumkit. Opening with
Anthony’s greatest hit, ‘Judy Get Down’, and containing a noise-laden remake of the
Slapp Happy/Henry Cow number, ‘War’, among other delightful sweet-and-salty
confections, ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’ never stops moving, fuelled with raw outrage and dark
satirical intent, churning with the energy of next-gen types like Tubeway Army and DEVO,
while shimmering with the elegance of the still-challenging old guard types, like Cale and
Bowie.
 Clearly, ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’ was steeped in the time, and the original release reflected a
deep mistrust of the corporation mindset. Information was a dubious concept, and
connections to any recognizable organization were seen as untrustworthy, so facts like
musician credits were left out of the package, and even Anthony’s name was altered (he
was credited as A. More on the album and Tony More on a single release). The label
name QUANGO was conceptual as well, standing for ‘Quasi Autonomous NonGovernmental Organization’; each record was sealed with red tape that the listener was
required to cut through in order to get to the music. Rather than recreate the conditions of
the original release of ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’, this reissue instead embraces the changed
environment of the current time and place: instead of no credits, now they are complete,
with Anthony’s full name restored and even the artwork subtly ‘relocated’ to reflect a new
set of relationships. All of which brings the forward-looking sounds of ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’
into the more independent-minded 21st Century syntax where it belongs.

Label favourites Balearic Ensemble return to the fore following last summer's spectacular 'Cachonda' EP, this time with a 12" treasury of wonderful, eclectic dancing music of the highest balearic order. They're joined by Das Komplex, notable for recent excursions on DJ Harvey's Mercury Rising, to round out their five-track excursion for the label: this is the Mediterráneo EP.

Opener 'Pitiusas First' sets the tone with dizzy, downbeat percussions as a bass guitar skates and glissades underfoot; soaring, starry-eyed synth work and Latin organ stabs in concerto. This homage to the islands and islets of Ibiza comes with a note of melancholy, or nostalgia: waking up to find that your best years might have evaded you - and celebrating the fact. It's a maturing of the Residentes sound in a way we haven't heard before; a gorgeous moonlight serenade, the last tango on Formentera, and a tip for orange-tinted sunsets all summer long.

Second track 'Almendros y Drones' takes us deeper into the throes of that distinctive Mediterranean sound with dizzying arpeggios and analogue bass over teetering hihats and fizzing synths; it's an eruptive, volcanic beast of a track that will take liberties with your dancefloor. Over-the-top filter action and driving piano perforations, crashing snares and resonant howls, Almendros, Drones.

The third offering is 'Mojada', taking cues from classic deep house with its deep-set bassline and modular squeaks. It's a slow burner, an aquaplane on Eivissa, cueing 303 squelches and 90s drum machine riffing before its eventual, explosive peak.

After Mojada we enter the chugging, gritty realm of Das Komplex's remixes. He refashions the heady throes of 'Mojada' into a driving, churning unit; percussions, distorted into infinity; basslines bent and buckled into submission; slabs of piano lathered with space echo delay. Wonky late-nite dancing music at its very best.

Extra treat: Das Komplex also left us his 'Pineapple Bonus Mix' of Mojada, which is a more sunset-suited affair altogether. This special mix lasers in on that exuberant piano part, then plays with percussions and dynamics to create a full-on dub version of the original track.

Ted K. Kaczynski is notorious for both tragically murdering three people (and wounding an additional 23) via bombs sent in the mail and for his numerous writings on the evils of technology he composed during his primitive residency in the woods of Montana. Film director Tony Stone's choice to have the renowned electronic artist Blanck Mass score the film is somewhat ironic and creates an obvious tension perfect for the controversial and complex subject matter. 2020 saw the first Blanck Mass movie score, for the soundtrack to Nick Rowland's acclaimed cinematic debut Calm with Horses. This expansion into new areas of melodic composition and textural exploration won Blanck Mass many new fans, with the BBC's acknowledged number one film buff Mark Kermode proclaiming the work the soundtrack of the year. In 2021, Blanck Mass won the prestigious Ivor Novello Award for Best Original Film Score and has firmly established himself at the forefront of the latest wave of experimental soundscape wizards. Recording during lockdown at his studio in Edinburgh, Scotland, Blanck Mass's Ben Power was in the perfect setting for a musical piece intended to capture the isolation central to Kaczynski's story. Power was also working with a director in a time zone 10 hours behind and thus many sessions required working in the middle of the night, which added a fitting intensity to the composition process. He said of the project "I wanted it to feel like an `epic'" and drew on the legends Sergio Leone and Ennio Morricone for inspiration in encapsulating the energy of the perceived good vs. evil. The gentle madness of sound achieved is exquisite and slowly builds in intensity and desperation as the score moves along. Power is able to perfectly capture the complexity, the terror and the deep emotionality of the film while presenting an often breathtakingly beautiful and always masterful album that stands on its own as a work of art. For Fans of Tim Hecker, Oneohtrix Point Never, DJ Shadow, Coil, Arca, Andy Stott, Fuck Buttons.

Folksongs and Ballads by Tia Blake & Her Folk-Group, is more than just a “lost classic”. As clear and honest as can be, Folksongs and Ballads is a magnetic record, a refuge like only Nick Drake, Nico, and a few others have been able to create. A graceful, delicately minimalist approach to classic Appalachian and British folk songs.The perfect balance between melancholy and daydream. Originally released only in France in 1971, Ici Bientôt is very pleased to present the first-ever reissue on vinyl.

When she recorded her only album, Tia Blake was nineteen years old and had just arrived in Paris a year and a half beforehand. She spent most of her time at Disco’Thé, a record shop in the Latin Quarter, a free space, peaceful and inspiring, a hub for students as well as the local artistic community.

There, Tia would occasionally sing—when she managed to overcome her shyness. Two young guitarists who were passionate fans of folk music and regulars at the shop began to accompany her, forming “Her Folk Group.” One year later, they cut 11 tracks at Pierre Barouh’s Studios Saravah.

Folksongs and Ballads is composed of traditional tunes that have been covered many times, but they’re not the best-known folk standards. A collection of stories ranging from the Middle Ages to the 1960s, bringing together sublimely doleful ballads, lamentations for a lost lover, and an unexpected, brilliant version of the road anthem “Plastic Jesus.”

Tia Blake's haunting, unaffected voice captivates and comforts us, wrapping us in its cool embrace. Meanwhile, the tasteful, stripped-down, mellow acoustic arrangements provided by the guitarists, reminiscent of Bert Jansch and John Renbourn, occasionally supported by a kena flute, have created the space Tia Blake needed to reinvent these traditional songs.

Folksongs and Ballads is a timeless record, deep and unique, a longtime companion for repeated listening, in the vein of works by Sibylle Baier, Bridget St. John and Vashti Bunyan.

Black Truffle is pleased to present Landscape and Voice, a radical new work (and rare vinyl release) from major Japanese sound artist Toshiya Tsunoda. Undoubtedly one of the most influential artists working with location recordings since the 1990s, Tsunoda’s work possesses a rigorously searching quality that sets him apart from his contemporaries. Tsunoda is known to many listeners for the subtle atmospheric poetry of his early Extract from Field Recording Archive series, which focussed on vibrations recorded in various indoor and outdoor environments in his native Miura Peninsula, often inside pipes, bottles and other vessels. In more recent years, his work has explored the implications of his claim that field recording should be seen as ‘depiction’ rather than ‘documentation’. He has explored disorienting editing and processing in his works with Taku Unami, and, perhaps most radically, represented Maguchi Bay as a kind of kinetic sculpture for shaking speakers by removing all but the inaudible low frequencies from a field recording (Low Frequency Observed at Maguchi Bay).

One of the recurrent concerns of Tsunoda’s recent work, as he explains in the crystalline liner notes accompanying this release, is ‘exploring how I can establish a subjective relationship with an environment, rather than seeing it merely as an object to be recorded’. This has taken various forms, from documenting simultaneously an outdoor environment and the blood flowing through the listener/recorder’s body (captured with a stethoscope) on The Temple Recordings, to representing his own experience of the landscape as made up of ‘grains of space and time’ by inserting looped fragments into field recordings in Grains of Spring.

On Landscape and Voice, this meeting between subject and object becomes an almost mystical union between the natural and the human. As with all of Tsunoda’s work, a relatively simple concept leads to compelling, thought-provoking results. Landscape and Voice combines vowel sounds spoken by six voices with short, looped fragments of field recordings, their noise character suggesting consonants: voice and landscape thus join together in something like words. The record consists of three pieces, each using a different, richly evocative field recording, which periodically freezes, catching on a looped fragment to which is synchronised an abruptly looped spoken vowel sound. The lengths between these interruptions vary, as do the tempi of the loops. The interruption of these lushly immersive recordings of the world – bristling with bird song, rushing water, distant traffic, and clinking metal – only serves to intensify them, as if the depicted environment itself had been returned to the listener each time it abruptly reappears. At the same time, the constant interruption creates an uncannily frozen effect, as if the recorded environment were an object rather than a stretch of recorded time. When combined with the bare human presence of the vowel sounds, the result is both austere and magical. Pressed on 45RPM for maximum fidelity, in a gorgeous sleeve designed by Lasse Marhaug with liner notes from the composer, Landscape and Voice is a radical proposition from one of the deepest thinkers in contemporary sound.

Tresor Records is proud to announce 333 Mirrors from Torus, the artist alias of Joeri Woudstra. Coupled with its catalogue number
333, it indicates the large-scale conceptual thoughts behind the record, typical of Woudstra's practice. As an artist, he sets out to
frame re-interpretable references that trigger some subconscious recognition in listeners, with no set way to interpret them but leading to singular feelings and thought processes. The eect, a combination of static electronic sounds and looser field recordings, speaks to each listener differently.

333 Mirrors is, in part, the continuation of a project called These Cars Do Not Exist, made with videographer Mark Prendergast during the Covid-19 limbo. The live performed short film sold out selected popup cinemas in 2020 in a short sprint of shows. Two of the tracks on that project, Sound of the Drums and Chroniko, are re-imagined on 333 Mirrors, emanating as versions created in live performances. Set to be released as a single, Chroniko VIP will be accompanied by an enduring theme from that project, the three-winged bird, this time deceased. On 333 Mirrors, in exploring the ambient, stretched sonic universe of this project more, Woudstra moves from these three winged birds to the phoenix, finding a rebirth on the b-side with tracks that inhabit a similar sound as Deep Mid, Torus's inclusion on the recent Tresor 30 compilation. The sound of Torus places importance on the multi-faceted approach to sampling, pushing the idea behind the practice beyond usual boundaries. How to break the unwritten rules? Woudstra looks within by resampling previous Torus releases and reverse-engineering the sounds of the most revered pop and electronic musicians alive today, references that trigger recognition, melancholy and nostalgia in the listener.

3000 Mirrors features a staccato arpeggiating rigid pattern, the sonic eect of standing in front of a strobe until it becomes the anchor. Silence and interruption are used as a device to explore the physically uncomfortable, more the central compositional tool than the disrupted harmonic structures. Woudstra has never stepped foot in Tresor, so when writing this record, an enduring question spoke to him, what is Tresor when you have never been? How do you sample the essence of an unknown location? The closing track, Omnia, is the sound of anticipation, where the rave beckons. This imagined industrial space is calling for you.

Limited Edition 180g Vinyl LP! All-Analogue Mastering by Kevin Gray!
Pressed at RTI!

This mid-period masterwork from jazz piano's most uncommon voice finds Monk and his quartet (Charlie Rouse on tenor, Ben Riley on drums and Larry Gales on bass) exploring every texture, tone and melodic turn of seven expansive tracks. This group was subtle, mature and confident, easily supporting Monk's more idiosyncratic side-tracks (check out the solo on "Locomotive" or the restless exposition on "Japanese Folk Song") while allowing listeners freedom to move through or contemplate all the sublime subtexts Monk conjures from the endless well of his inspiration.

This emphasis on laid back and mature presentation aided the recording as well. These master tapes sound amazing and getting them to disc was a pure pleasure. Subtle changes in atmosphere, tone and melody fill the space between the speakers, a wide soundstage and expansive dynamics the gift of music indelibly played. This is one sonic powerhouse for the ages.

Available for the first time on 180-gram 2-LP with the full performances of the original tracks and including two bonus tracks, this new Impex release gets you closer to Monk's genius than ever before. Kevin Gray and Robert Pincus used analogue master tapes and minimal processing to great effect, while original session and jacket images were culled to create the deluxe gatefold jacket. Add in the sound-of-silence pressings from RTI and you have a can't miss jazz disc ready to delight and inspire every time it spins on your turntable. Impex has pulled out all the stops on this mesmerizing Monk classic. All you have to do is get one and enjoy before they're all gone.

Solo bedroom-pop project of Michael Ramos (Flowertown, April Magazine, Hectorine). Mostly recorded between last Christmas and New Year's during a window of isolation at home, “Hey There Flower” preserves Tony Jay’s prowess at making beautifully eerie lo-fi pop; like a hazy memory where your favorite Sixties girl-group melody is perpetually slowed down. Without a band to practice with, Tony Jay recorded the music alone, but recruited a slew of friends to remotely record backing vocals: Karina Gill (Cindy), Griffin Jones (Galore), Kati Mashikian (Mister Baby), Alexis Harper (Al Harper), & Hannah Lew (Cold Beat). "Hey There Flower", the most recent release from the prolific and mysterious Tony Jay delivers real melodies -- both lacey with vocal harmonies and dusty with layered guitars -- as fans have come to expect. This release also carries forward and elaborates on Tony Jay's tradition of songs that express a kind of naked honesty about things we all know -- love and loneliness and all that -- while communicating at the same time a wry edge of skepticism, so that the songs are like coins spinning on edge before landing heads, tails, or lost under the couch. Tony Jay brings us into a nostalgia where we recognize moods from music of the past -- Marc Boland definitely comes to mind, as well as Velvet Underground of the Nico era, and Tony Jay even covers Francoise Hardy on this collection -- but the songs create a three dimensional space with what feels like a thousand layers so that instead of being thrown back in time, it's like stepping into a little world with its own laws of nature, of which the listener gets just a few hints. - Karina Gill, Cindy/Flowertown. “Hey There Flower” is introduced by thudding snare beats eliciting reverb-stained tattered noisy guitar scrapes, to weave abrasive shimmery emotive vibrations, imbued with shattered nostalgic dreams, lit by brittle yet dazzling forsaken keyboard flows, over submerged and distorted male vocal’s whispery deluge of obsessive longing, lonely melancholy, and dark desire to exude a hazy gritty concoction of awkward sadness and brooding unrest.” White Light // White Heat // “What Tony sketches are concise commentaries on love, loneliness and a few things in between. His mode of expression is sparse, intense, and captivating. The arrangements are invariably lo-fi and slow tempo, blanketed with a fuzzy hiss. And it only took one listen to decide that it is a very special album. It has a '60s feel, albeit washed in an eerie slowcore machine. An ace example is "September Skies", which could be the 1965 'last dance' at the prom for the introverted students.” - When You Motor Away

Having initially met more than a decade ago at a local community radio station, sometimes doing guest slots on each other’s live, improvised noise shows, Cormac Culkeen and Dave Grenon knew they had a mutual interest in working with sonic textures. They listened to each other’s bands for a handful of years, and in 2017, “made good on a threat” that they’d been making for quite a long time: to start a band. At Cormac’s gentle but clear urging—declaring that they’d gone ahead and booked a space in which to record a video—the two wrote their first song, “Sebaldus,” an ambitious 12-minute trip, which also serves as the fireworks finale to their self-titled debut album. With surges of pathos that smooth out into something more soothing in turn, Cormac goes: “The hunter, you’ve seen him / The archer, his arrows are strong / And hunger, you’ve known her / I know the winter is long.” The track is as much about enduring a Canadian winter as it is about the eponymous 8th century hermit, shot through with sublimated desire. As Cormac put it, Joyful Joyful’s songs are “a little bit outside of time.” But while the lyrics beg close, oblique reading unto themselves, there’s also a distinct sense that they’re only one of many more ways that the duo shapes sound. Cormac, whose voice is like a sea with irregular tides, lights up about an idea in traditional sean-nós Irish music that songs already exist and are out there; it’s up to the singer to become the conduit. This belief in music as something to be channelled, and something more than sound, resonates with the singer’s fundamentalist religious past. To paraphrase: lots of group singing, harmonies, no instrumentation, totally unmediated, no priest, congregational—not choral, not a performance, not about talent, the spirit moves through people. “Of course that informs how I think about singing,” Cormac says. So, when they were exiled from the church because of their queerness, they took the music with them, dislocating it from its dogmatic bounds but not from its transcendent potential. This record might be thought of, then, as a kind of queering of sacred, devotional traditions—or at the very least, a space where all of these things can be held at once. Perhaps perceivable by some as contradictions, these intersecting influences create the conditions for an incredibly singular sound. Dave is steady and exploratory in his handling of this multiplicity, arranging sounds as they’re revealed, corralling them, coaxing them into form. “Because Dave is there,” Cormac says, “I get to sing three times higher, and three times lower, and faster, and backwards, and all of these sounds! That are there. They’re all there.” When asked about early musical memories, Cormac recalled an immediate fascination with harmony: from demanding that the first person they ever heard singing it explain what they were doing, to always (still, to this day) singing in harmony with their twin sister around the house, to being part of a children’s choir that sang soprano in Handel’s Messiah—not realizing until they entered the room with all the other ranges that their learned melody was but one part of the whole. Just as tellingly, Dave reflects on his early attraction to “abstraction and becoming abstract,” describing childhood afternoons messing with microphone and speaker feedback loops, producing long, enduring sounds with almost undetectable variations. In a way unique to the coalescing of these two listeners, notions of harmony are central to their output. Dave samples field recordings, old keyboards and synths, and vocal drones, running the live singing through four or five parallel effects chains, sampling and treating everything again in the moment. “Another way to put it is that Cormac’s voice comes into the board and then comes back out shifted, delayed, and shattered; Cormac and I hear it, live with it, and respond,” Dave says. This work is contingent not only on a deep intuition (neither of them read sheet music) of polyphony and due proportion (something St Thomas Aquinas famously listed as an attribute of beauty) but also on their connection to each other and ability to read subtle cues. Dave says they’d hold each other’s hands while performing if it was more convenient to do so, riffing on something else Cormac mentioned about traditional Irish singing: that someone would always hold the singer’s hand, for fear that without a tether to the ground they might find themselves utterly lost, unsure how to return. Joyful Joyful doesn’t shy away from offering such experiences of departure; they’re willing to unsettle their audiences because they themselves are unsettled. Their shared penchant for spooky, heavy music, and self-described “omnivorous” listening practices equip them with an array of sonic concepts that support this effort; Diamanda Galás, The Rankin Family, Pan Sonic, Pauline Oliveros, Keith Fullerton Whitman, Yma Sumac, and Catholic hymnody were just a few that came up. Observing their audience gives them insight about the effect of each song—something they considered while arranging the album. Its arc is marked by soft, sometimes sudden oscillations between cacophony and euphony, day and night (listen for insects), and from sexual, visceral entanglements to more ephemeral, celestial ones. Front to back, it arouses expansion, unraveling. Of lightning, Vicki Kirby writes: “quite curious initiation rites precede these electrical encounters. An intriguing communication, a sort of stuttering chatter between the ground and the sky, appears to anticipate the actual stroke.” By all accounts, something similar seems to happen at Joyful Joyful shows, between those on the stage and those off it, between what’s earthly and what’s beyond. “A lightning bolt is not a straightforward resolution of the buildup of a charge difference between the earth and a cloud … there is, as it were, some kind of nonlocal communication effected between the two,” writes Karen Barad, extrapolating on Kirby’s thought. Cormac acknowledges that while they and Dave play a role in this mysterious charge that comes about, they’re not solely responsible. However ineffable it may be, it’s undoubtedly a form of communion—and a sensuously shocking one at that

"bit by bit" is the first full-length release from Toronto-based singer-songwriter Evan J Cartwright. This self produced album from the go-to drummer/collaborator (The Weather Station, U.S. Girls, Brodie West) presents a highly singular songwriting vision that combines existential lyrics with masterful musicianship. Steeped in jazz melodicism, Cartwright’s trumpet-like phrasing mixed with contemporary composition presents an eclectic art song performed by an artist that could perhaps be best described as a post-modern Chet Baker. Deep poetic observations on love and time paint an affecting picture of an artist reflecting on life’s universal truths. Visual in nature, "bit by bit" places its audience within a world of musical leitmotifs extracted from field recordings of bells and birdsong. Collected during years of touring, these sounds evoke extant spaces beyond that which the music inhabits. The use of this source material in its unaltered form evokes the feeling of a technicolour European film at one moment and then, as the extrapolated melodies are meticulously translated into electronic tone bank sequences, a modernist setting the next. One carillon melody is used as the basis for a wealth of the album’s musical material before its origin is finally revealed by the chiming of bells in the last seconds of the album. The result is a fragment of space between the constructed world of the musical compositions and the candid world of documentation, inviting the listener to ponder whether those two worlds are distinct or whether the songs and music are not simply “field recordings” themselves. Throughout "bit by bit" Cartwright drops staggering revelations hiding in plain prose that often involve the contemplation of time. In I Don’t Know he states “if I only trusted time / then I would wish it all away” and nearing the album’s end he opens impossibly blue with the phrase “the impossible truth of time”, playfully inserting a pregnant pause before the word time. A drummer’s fixation, to be certain, the album’s recurring theme of time is eclipsed only by Cartwright’s contemplation of human relationships. Here he elaborates on some of the album’s subjects: “Many of the lyrics circle, and try to give a name to the illegible space between human beings. “i DON’t know” celebrates the fact that we will never truly understand what love is. Its message is one of assurance. It says that we can never really touch love, and that is ok. “and you’ve got nobuddy” refers to life’s great tragedy: that we are unable to read each others’ experiences, and in reaction to this, we separate ourselves.” The entirety of "bit by bit" is a continuous work. There is seldom a clear demarcation of where one piece ends and another begins and when this does occur, it is done crudely, as if someone is flipping through a series of broadcasted channels. At times words are sliced right out of their lines and replaced by pure tones. This is both a comical interpretation of censorship and a reminder that there are things in life that will forever remain unseen and illegible. In fact, this statement lies at the centre of the LP and although hidden beauty does reveal itself through repeated listenings, "bit by bit’s" eccentric world remains just out of reach — an imaginary second story room viewed from a crowded city street.