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Land of Talk is still here. That wasn’t always a guarantee. Over the multi-faceted twenty year history of their project, Lizzie Powell has drifted from and back to music, always interrogating their role as an artist. In the time since 2023’s Performances, they found themselves utterly worn down by the vicissitudes of the music industry and wracked with worry around their aging parents. Yet the music didn’t stop: Powell heard songs in traffic and in birds chirping, in their downstairs neighbor’s daily prayers and in the babble of children on the street. Melodies slowly cohered over time. “Life can become so unbearable, and music is where I go to metabolize it,” they explain. “I know the music was the only thing that was going to help me.” Soon Powell reemerged with the sixth Land of Talk album, LASTS.

LASTS is full of double meanings — both resilience and finality, acting as a noun and a verb. Though LASTS is haunted by crises including climate collapse, political upheaval, and genocide, the mangitude of global turmoil led Powell towards smaller, humane depictions of suffering and grief. As both their parents became ill, Powell reflected on the last time a person might walk, might talk to a loved one. Yet watching their parents near the other side of life’s arc also made Powell consider all they had survived across their own decades on this earth, their new songs channeling both gratitude and rage. LASTS became a phrase, honoring Land of Talk’s circuitous route and all Powell’s reckoned with through the years. “I think of this record as a love letter to life,” they say.

The end result is an album both lean and winding, allowing Powell’s words and melodies to take centerstage, uncrowded in visceral, shot-no-chaser arrangements. LASTS jumps right in with “Broken Tongue,” a wiry track built on thrumming electric guitar and ghostly synths as Powell rails against the lack of justice for victims of abuse. The trio’s interplay is readily evident in “Saffron” and “4:44,” two earworm songs that also allow themselves to unspool into extended instrumental codas. Early in the record, there are seething tracks like “Dogs” — “Just your basic instinct / Even dogs know better,” Powell growls in the chorus, before the song quiets into a plaintive plea of “Leave us alone now” — and later there are more vulnerable, wandering moments. In “Projections” and “Cedars,” Powell ventures deep into their head, inviting their co-conspirators and listeners alike to follow the songs wherever they meander.

CASSETTE VERSION

*Produced in full cooperation with Hiroshi Yoshimura's estate
*Remastered from original sources by John Baldwin
*English translations of original 1996 release liner notes
*Reproductions of Yoshimura's handwritten recording notes

"My encounter with the Hoh Rain Forest, located inside Olympic National Park across the water from Seattle, felt like seeing a whole new world for the first time in my life. Long green fronds draped along the branches, like a scene in which fairies could be heard whispering to one another. But when you try to listen, no sound can be heard. Amidst the mysterious silence, in which no birds or insects make a sound, every living thing seemed to have stopped in its place, only to start dancing when some kind of spell is cast over them.
-Hiroshi Yoshimura

Originally issued on compact disc in 1996, Quiet Forest was Hiroshi Yoshimura’s last album-length work to be released before his passing in 2003. Largely inspired by his trip to the vast forests of the North American Pacific Northwest, the album is an aural reflection of the fantastical, surreal beauty he experienced as he walked through the otherworldly wilderness for the first time. The basic tracks were recorded in the fall of 1993. After numerous revisions to the song titles and a scrapped idea to overlay the tracks with nature field recordings, Hiroshi ultimately produced a latter-day masterwork that feels like the spiritual follow-up to Green, one of his defining works from a decade earlier."

*First-ever release on vinyl
*Produced in full cooperation with Hiroshi Yoshimura's estate
*Remastered from original sources by John Baldwin
*English translations of original 1996 release liner notes
*Reproductions of Yoshimura's handwritten recording notes
*Vinyl includes 5" x 7" postcard print

"My encounter with the Hoh Rain Forest, located inside Olympic National Park across the water from Seattle, felt like seeing a whole new world for the first time in my life. Long green fronds draped along the branches, like a scene in which fairies could be heard whispering to one another. But when you try to listen, no sound can be heard. Amidst the mysterious silence, in which no birds or insects make a sound, every living thing seemed to have stopped in its place, only to start dancing when some kind of spell is cast over them.
-Hiroshi Yoshimura

Originally issued on compact disc in 1996, Quiet Forest was Hiroshi Yoshimura’s last album-length work to be released before his passing in 2003. Largely inspired by his trip to the vast forests of the North American Pacific Northwest, the album is an aural reflection of the fantastical, surreal beauty he experienced as he walked through the otherworldly wilderness for the first time. The basic tracks were recorded in the fall of 1993. After numerous revisions to the song titles and a scrapped idea to overlay the tracks with nature field recordings, Hiroshi ultimately produced a latter-day masterwork that feels like the spiritual follow-up to Green, one of his defining works from a decade earlier."

*TIP* Previously released on Low Company in 2023, now back... a weirdo lo fi gem

Naturestrip, Naarm, Australia write:

"purely physical teeny tapes perform an invaluable public service in exhuming static cleaner lost reward’s ‘breathing under honey from the heady year o’ 2023’, a slack-jawed riddle within the all-consuming enigma that is thee world of tarquin manek™.

few records command a reissue so soon after their release, the soil heaped atop the (sainted) low company corpse still remaining more than a little damp, but this one’s discreet-to-the-point-of-fury initial release justifies the flogging of the proverbial carked horse, boiled back down into glue for a fresh round of rollicking mucky. arriving as the last release on that fine imprint, ‘breathing under honey’ represents (obliquely, natch) something of a convenient summary of that aforementioned elegantly sloshed world™, condensing as it does the artist’s proclivities exercised among the sweetest of contemporary depth-dwellers, articulated alongside/within y.l. hooi, bum creek, carla dal forno, f ingers, kallista kult, under endless solo monikers…the fun never ends.

let loose here in a suitably gonzo/spellunked mood, the second full-length under the static cleaner moniker (see debut $mile$ from 2013 thru altered states) is compiled of delirious half-thoughts & riddimic gestures accumulated between 2013 & 2020, everything wet & awash with a fine sprouting of lysergic mush between its digits. the implication thereof might suggest something schlonky or amateurish, but fear not, prospective listener, for your ears are in the sticky hands of one of the finest shit-savant prodigies these times have known, crud-caked technoid shapes & blissed pop-glob nous submerged in sublime dubbed-out grog, the resulting sonar-pong shards positively chemical in their ability to simultaneously slant + seduce.

think: martin denny face-deep in a paper bag at the black ark, graciously fucked tropicalia, liquid dub techno housed in vat of spiked quaff, the skaters infiltrating urban tribe, lopsided + caked to the nines in glitter for the gutter.

utterly tranced, sumptuous/sweet & patently ill. a classique of this modern horror epoch if there ever was one."

Two mavericks, out on the weekend, trying to make it pay...

"Maverick was the word that came to mind when I listened to this music. A slightly wayward independence of spirit and outlook. The word originally referred to an unbranded male calf that had become separated from the herd (because Texan rancher Sam Maverick was so negligent in his branding - ‘if it ain’t branded, it’s a Maverick’). But Sam’s grandson Maury Maverick gave it a different twist in his short but stormy Congressional career as the only liberal member of the Southern Democratic caucus. Maury was so out of step with his own folks that he not only voted in 1937 to make lynching a federal crime, he even addressed the House to condemn the practice as barbaric. His attempt to ban racist mob murder sadly failed, but it’s that refusal to march in step which distinguishes the two ‘mavericks’ who made this record.

Who would attempt to combine cunning ethnological forgery, Scottish folk songs, claw-hammer guitar, untutored horn-tootling, elastically relaxed drumming and garage electronic fuckery? Only Greg and Stefan, high on sea, sunshine and mis-judged micro-dosing – that’s who. ‘Don’t drown’ was offered as practical advice during the self-described ‘Yellow Submarine’ phase of making this record. And while they managed to avoid literally doing so (phew), they sound here like they got pretty ‘deep in’ to an Octopus’s sound world all their own. This surprisingly clear analogue recording has just enough Bikini Bottom grit to ensure traction. The tunes are inviting, and the sonic disruptions are too good-natured and goofy to upset even the most delicate digestion.

The sessions have had a couple of years to marinate, courtesy of some pandemic, and are here offered in that most Archducal of vinyl formats, the double ten inch. What are you waiting for, a side of Crabby Patties? Get your water-wings and dive in (unless you’re tripping)!" - Bruce Russell (The Dead C)


Pumice is the long-running, endlessly inventive project of New Zealand native Stefan Neville (1974), whose shambolic music is equally reminiscent of Kiwi pop groups such as The Clean and Tall Dwarfs as well as the country's experimental noise-rock bands like the Dead C. Largely recorded solo by himself on junky equipment, his songs typically feature blown-out guitars, wheezing chord organs, and vocals disguised by tape hiss and static.

Greg Malcolm (1965) is a guitarist from New Zealand who has played everywhere on the globe and with all most everyone, including Rosy Parlane, Toshimaru Nakamura, Tetuzi Akiyama and Bruce Russell, as well as solo releases on his own label, Corpus Hermeticum, Kraak and Celebrate Psi Phenomenon.

The world is ending, and rent is due. The empire is crumbling, and you’re late refilling your meds. War is ceaseless, pandemics go unchecked, billionaires poison the well water and cops abduct neighbors while wildfires burn… but here at the hot dog stand, relief and joy are yours for five buck ninety-nine.

This is PEASANTS REVOLT, the latest album from trans folksinger Creekbed Carter Hogan. Playing the part of court jester in the halls of a dying empire, Hogan croons, hollers, and grins in the face of despair as we feast together on one last humble supper before everything falls apart.

A rollicking medieval-Americana manuscript, Hogan’s new work anchors itself in transitions. PEASANTS REVOLT was written living and moving between the North and the South; sung by a body both pre- and post-trans affirming healthcare; and recorded during a time of genocide, federal occupation, and workers’ uprisings. Decorating its margins are influences spanning time and medium. Here, 14th century king-killer ballads sit next to Appalachian strike songs. Labor and union songs find kinship with Ethiopian jazz records. Hogan’s work echoes with historical struggle, too, from the Haitian Revolution to the struggle for trans rights to the surreal futurism of Rio Grande Valley writer Fernando A. Flores. This album takes the entwinement of the personal and the political seriously, a path often walked by everyone from Hazel Dickens and John Prine to ANOHNI. The 10 tracks of PEASANTS REVOLT are themselves endlessly transitioning, hinging on mid-song shifts and building into wildfires that crackle and sputter with the courage of momentum and catchy hooks. By centering this work so deeply in the tumult of change, Hogan illuminates all of capitalism’s attempts to isolate us — and the power that we regain when we refuse to face our lives and our selves alone.

"Graze the Bell" ist eine Sammlung von bewegenden, faszinierenden Solo-Klavierstücken und das bisher reinste Werk von David Moore. Bekannt für seine atmosphärischen Kompositionen mit Bing & Ruth sowie seine Zusammenarbeit mit dem Gitarristen Steve Gunn und Cowboy Sadness, ist dies Moores erstes weit verbreitetes Solo-Klavieralbum. Wie das Albumcover - ein Foto, das Moore von Hand bestickt hat - abstrahiert die Musik persönliche Erfahrungen zu transzendenten Eindrücken. Moore nutzt sein Klavier, um meditativ die Conditio Humana zu erforschen, und macht "Graze the Bell" zu einem Zufluchtsort des Klangs. Im Laufe ihrer zahlreichen Veröffentlichungen haben Bing & Ruth häufig ihre Form und ihren Sound verändert, sich zu einer fünfzehnköpfigen Gruppe entwickelt und sind schließlich zu einer Trio-Konfiguration gelangt. Ihr jüngstes Album ,Species" stellte Moores Farfisa-Spiel in den Vordergrund, während eine nachfolgende EP mit dem gleichen Namen seine Solointerpretationen des Albums enthielt. Dieser lange Prozess der Destillation konzentrierte sich stets auf Moores Kompositionen für das Klavier und sein Verständnis davon. Nach zwei Jahrzehnten gefeierter Ensemblearbeit ist das Erscheinen von ,Graze the Bell" ein Moment, in dem sich der Kreis schließt, eine Heimkehr - nicht einfach zu einem Ort oder einer Zeit, sondern zu einem leuchtenden Zentrum, das beides übersteigt. Einige der Stücke auf ,Graze the Bell" waren ursprünglich für ein Album von Bing & Ruth geplant, wurden aber schließlich als Soloprojekt neu konzipiert. Moore nutzte nur das Klavier und versuchte, die bewährten Methoden, die er im Laufe der Jahre entwickelt hatte, weiter auszubauen. ,Ich möchte mich weiterentwickeln", sagt er, ,und dogmatische Denkweisen hinterfragen." Er öffnete sich aktiv für Experimente und suchte nach einer tieferen Präsenz in seinem Spiel, wobei er seine Beziehung zum Klavier und zum Leben neu bewertete. Moores Musik basiert zwar auf komponierten Noten und schöpft aus Lebenserfahrungen, doch die Quelle seiner Inspiration bleibt eher unbeschreiblich. Indem er Letzteres bewusst pflegte, entwickelte er eine natürliche Fähigkeit, sich in einen tranceähnlichen Zustand zu versetzen. Moore kann sich mit dieser Absicht hinsetzen und ist ,innerhalb weniger Sekunden" ,vollkommen dort". Von der ersten bis zur letzten Note basiert das Album auf dem atemberaubenden Klang eines ,bestialischen" Steinway Model D aus Hamburg von 1987. Dies hängt zum Teil mit seinem subtilen Spielstil zusammen, der manchmal an Stille grenzt. Moores anmutige Herangehensweise gibt dem Klang Raum und offenbart Nuancen des Klaviers, die viele Spieler gewöhnlich ignorieren würden. Solche Nuancen wurden während der Aufnahmen des Albums im renommierten Oktaven Audio in Mt. Vernon, New York, gepflegt. Der Klang des Steinway-Flügels des Studios wurde unter der Produktionsleitung des Grammy-Gewinners Ben Kane mit Unterstützung von Owen Mulholland lebhaft eingefangen. Um Moores experimentellen Ansatz zu unterstreichen, setzten sie Pitch-Correcting-Software kreativ ein, um die verschiedenen Register des Klangprofils des Klaviers zu orchestrieren. Der Ausdruck ,graze the bell" (die Glocke streifen) kam Moore vor Jahren aus heiterem Himmel in den Sinn. Er fand ihn poetisch und blieb ihm im Gedächtnis haften. Moore, der lange Zeit daran geglaubt hatte, dass das Leben eine Reise ist, an deren Ende man etwas erreicht oder ankommt, und dies zunehmend in Frage gestellt hatte, fand zunehmend mehr Sicherheit darin, einfach da zu sein, wo er ist. ,Es gibt keinen Gipfel - und keinen Weg dorthin", schreibt er. ,Nur die Hoffnung, dass wir, wenn wir Glück haben, gelegentlich die Glocke streifen." Und diese Erkenntnis hat er in sein Klavierspiel einfließen lassen. Mit diesem Album hat er sich bewusst dafür entschieden, Eigenheiten, sowohl seine eigenen als auch die des Instruments, voll und ganz anzunehmen. Anmut, subtile Klänge, rohe Gesten und glückliche Zufälle werden hier geschätzt. Die Stickerei auf dem Cover zeigt seine Frau beim Drachensteigen an der Küste von North Carolina. Sie wurde während der Abmischung des Albums über zehn Monate hinweg methodisch mit Kreuzstich gestickt, und viele persönliche Lebensereignisse - traurige und hoffnungsvolle - sind in seine Handwerkskunst eingewoben. Da Moore selbst mit einer bipolaren Störung zu kämpfen hat, dienten sowohl das Album als auch die Stickerei als kathartische Mittel der Meditation für ihn. Moores Klavierspiel enthält eine versteckte Karte persönlicher Erfahrungen, die bezaubernde Wiederholung seiner Melodien navigiert seinen Weg und unseren durch die Skalen des Raums. Moores Musik weckt verborgene Gefühle, erweckt uns und erinnert uns an unser gemeinsames Zentrum. In einer Zeit, in der unsere Menschlichkeit regelmäßig abgelenkt und beeinträchtigt wird, lässt ,Graze the Bell" das Herz erklingen, das wir als unser wahres Zuhause kennen. David Moores "Graze the Bell" wird über RVNG Intl. veröffentlicht - eine spirituelle Heimkehr, wenn man so will.

END[GER] Die Band Wednesday aus Asheville, North Carolina errichtet im Laufe der zehn Songs von "Rat Saw God" einen Schrein voller aufregender Details: Halb lustige, halb tragische Botschaften aus den Südstaaten, die sich klanglich irgendwo zwischen dem wimmernden Skuzz von Neunzigerjahre-Shoegaze und klassischem Country-Twang entfalten - mit verzerrter Pedal Steel und Frontfrau Karly Hartzman, die mit ihrer Stimme, den Lärm durchschneidet. Ein Song von Wednesday ist wie ein Quilt. Eine Kurzgeschichtensammlung, eine verschwommene Erinnerung, ein Flickenteppich aus Porträts des amerikanischen Südens, der disparate Momente einfängt und als Ganzes doch irgendwie einen Sinn ergibt. Karly Hartzman, die Songschreiberin, Sängerin, Gitarristin und Leiterin der Band, ist eine Geschichtensammlerin als auch eine Geschichtenerzählerin: Eine aufmerksame Beobachterin von Menschen und witzigen Bemerkungen. "Rat Saw God", das neue und beste Album des Quintetts aus Asheville, ist ekphrastisch, aber ebenso autobiografisch und vor allem sehr einfühlsam. Es wurde in den Monaten unmittelbar nach der Fertigstellung von dem zweiten Album der Band, "Twin Plagues", geschrieben und innerhalb einer Woche im Drop Of Sun Studio in Asheville aufgenommen. Die Songs auf "Rat Saw God" erzählen keine Epen, sondern das Alltägliche. Sie sind lebensnah, erzählen vom wahren Leben, sie sind verschwommen und chaotisch und seltsam zugleich - was Hartzmans eigenem Ethos entspricht: "Everyone's story is worthy. Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

The promise of a Florry show, a now familiar caravan that has been honed over ambitiously trekked zig zags across America and Europe since the release of Dear Life Records debut The Holey Bible, is the redemptive promise and prodigal joy of rock and roll guitar music. Bred in the crackling warmth of the Philadelphia DIY scene, and forged with the alloys of community action, queer liberation and bedroom poetry, bandleader Francie Medosch and her absolute unit of collaborators have put in the work of sharpening their homespun tools to take up the mantle of the great lip-puckering rock and roll tradition pioneered by the likes of The Band and the Rolling Stones, but with proudly displayed Aimee Mann and Yo La Tengo bumper stickers on the rusty frame of the truck. At any second, the wheels could come off but they are steering just fine. For 'Sounds Like' Florry's sophomore effort as a fully realized band, Medosch and co. decamped to Drop of Sun studios in the nest of the Blue Ridge Mountains to record with Asheville wunderkind Colin Miller, a critical voice behind the records of MJ Lenderman, Wednesday and Merce Lemon and a powerful songwriter in his own right. Three powerhouse days in late 2023 solidified writing work done by the band earlier that summer in the now defunct Haw Creek compound under Miller's guiding suggestion. The result is a portrait of a ripping band cresting towards the height of their powers, uniquely equipped to capture a wildly loving, barn-burning camcorder clip of a turbulent trip with your best friends, without dipping into nostalgia bait. Lyrically, Medosch's utterances are both careful and excessive, the product of sifting through the rubble of classic good-time media, and finding what works for both her and her community to reach the heights of abandon. "The Jackass theme song was actually a really big influence on the new album" The expansive personnel and continent spanning footprint of Florry casts a wide net for this community. Florry the band rolls deep in the heard of North American DIY, featuring Jon Cox (Sadurn, Son of Barb) on pedal steel, John Murray on electric guitar, Collin Dennen on bass, Will Henriksen on fiddle, Katya Malison (Doll Spirit Vessel) on Vox, and Joey Sullivan (Bark Culture) on drums. Medosch's recent move to Burlington Vermont entrenches the Philly born project firmly within the ranks of fellow alt-country upstarts Lily Seabird and Greg Freeman, and gives them a vantage just outside of Pennsylvania at the thresholds of New England and the Midwest. There is a new life breathed into this music that confirms Florry as equally rooted in place work, and at home on the vast roads of America. For listeners who fell in love with Florry's infectious charm on sweeping tours with the likes of Kurt Vile, Real Estate, MJ Lenderman, Greg Freeman and Fust, 'Sounds Like', provides a refreshing memento of the band that surely left them smiling. If the support behind 'The Holey Bible' provided validation for the insistent vision of these young artists, 'Sounds Like' finds them reveling in and honing their vocabulary. Praise from outlets like Pitchfork, Stereogum, Paste, and Brooklyn Vegan touched on the potential of their wild idiosyncrasies, and accurately predicted that their next steps would see them continuing to write their own story, like a 10 car pileup that you can't take your eyes off if you tried. Florry proves that they can let the car spin just out of control whenever they want, and you are welcome to ride shotgun while Medosch does donuts in the WaWa parking lot. The ceiling, it turns out, is truly the roof.

The promise of a Florry show, a now familiar caravan that has been honed over ambitiously trekked zig zags across America and Europe since the release of Dear Life Records debut The Holey Bible, is the redemptive promise and prodigal joy of rock and roll guitar music. Bred in the crackling warmth of the Philadelphia DIY scene, and forged with the alloys of community action, queer liberation and bedroom poetry, bandleader Francie Medosch and her absolute unit of collaborators have put in the work of sharpening their homespun tools to take up the mantle of the great lip-puckering rock and roll tradition pioneered by the likes of The Band and the Rolling Stones, but with proudly displayed Aimee Mann and Yo La Tengo bumper stickers on the rusty frame of the truck. At any second, the wheels could come off but they are steering just fine. For 'Sounds Like' Florry's sophomore effort as a fully realized band, Medosch and co. decamped to Drop of Sun studios in the nest of the Blue Ridge Mountains to record with Asheville wunderkind Colin Miller, a critical voice behind the records of MJ Lenderman, Wednesday and Merce Lemon and a powerful songwriter in his own right. Three powerhouse days in late 2023 solidified writing work done by the band earlier that summer in the now defunct Haw Creek compound under Miller's guiding suggestion. The result is a portrait of a ripping band cresting towards the height of their powers, uniquely equipped to capture a wildly loving, barn-burning camcorder clip of a turbulent trip with your best friends, without dipping into nostalgia bait. Lyrically, Medosch's utterances are both careful and excessive, the product of sifting through the rubble of classic good-time media, and finding what works for both her and her community to reach the heights of abandon. "The Jackass theme song was actually a really big influence on the new album" The expansive personnel and continent spanning footprint of Florry casts a wide net for this community. Florry the band rolls deep in the heard of North American DIY, featuring Jon Cox (Sadurn, Son of Barb) on pedal steel, John Murray on electric guitar, Collin Dennen on bass, Will Henriksen on fiddle, Katya Malison (Doll Spirit Vessel) on Vox, and Joey Sullivan (Bark Culture) on drums. Medosch's recent move to Burlington Vermont entrenches the Philly born project firmly within the ranks of fellow alt-country upstarts Lily Seabird and Greg Freeman, and gives them a vantage just outside of Pennsylvania at the thresholds of New England and the Midwest. There is a new life breathed into this music that confirms Florry as equally rooted in place work, and at home on the vast roads of America. For listeners who fell in love with Florry's infectious charm on sweeping tours with the likes of Kurt Vile, Real Estate, MJ Lenderman, Greg Freeman and Fust, 'Sounds Like', provides a refreshing memento of the band that surely left them smiling. If the support behind 'The Holey Bible' provided validation for the insistent vision of these young artists, 'Sounds Like' finds them reveling in and honing their vocabulary. Praise from outlets like Pitchfork, Stereogum, Paste, and Brooklyn Vegan touched on the potential of their wild idiosyncrasies, and accurately predicted that their next steps would see them continuing to write their own story, like a 10 car pileup that you can't take your eyes off if you tried. Florry proves that they can let the car spin just out of control whenever they want, and you are welcome to ride shotgun while Medosch does donuts in the WaWa parking lot. The ceiling, it turns out, is truly the roof.

The 20th installment of Saddle Creek’s Document series features Dean Johnson, the Seattle-based singer/songwriter whose heartfelt storytelling and undeniable charm have been quietly building a devoted fanbase across the globe.

For years regulars at Al’s Tavern might murmur to each other about Dean Johnson behind the bar. There were nudges and whispers that he might just be the best songwriter in town. They spoke of his talent like a family secret –Seattle folklore. How many times, and for how many years, did Dean elusively reply to some variation of the question, “When will there be a record?”

In May of 2023, there finally was. Nothing For Me, Please, Dean Johnson’s debut album, was released on his 50th birthday.

Calling him a “hidden gem” doesn’t quite fit, because there’s nothing hidden about him—he shines in plain sight. It was only a matter of time before people stopped to take notice.

Dean’s music feels like a conversation with an old friend—warm, honest, and deeply human. His songs bridge the past and present, weaving modern sensibilities with a timeless appeal. With razor-sharp wit and an uncanny ability to make you laugh and cry in the same breath, Dean’s songwriting reminds us why music matters, offering proof that a song can be more than the sum of it’s parts. Hear just a phrase of his melody, catch even a moment of the sobering depth in his voice, and you’ll feel it—like a letter written, signed, sealed, and delivered just for you.

Go see him live, and you’ll understand. That’s how he won us over—one song, one story, one unforgettable moment at a time.

Fust--the lyrical powerhouse Southern rock band from Durham, North Carolina--announce their new album Big Ugly, out March 7th on Dear Life Records, the record label that launched the careers of MJ Lenderman and Florry and that has become a haven for contemporary songwriters. Big Ugly arrives after the release of 2024's Songs of the Rail--"one of the best alt-country compilations_in a long, long time" (Paste) -- and 2023's standout Genevieve, which unassumingly introduced new listeners to Fust's unmistakable blend of "small-town poetry" (Mojo) with a familiar yet probing "country-tinged folk-rock" (KEXP) that made it "one of the most fun rock records of the year" (Pitchfork). Genevieve was their studio debut, recorded with producer Alex Farrar (Manning Fireworks, Rat Saw God, Tomorrow's Fire) in Asheville, North Carolina. The reception was far better than the band expected, stirring them to immediately start working on Big Ugly, their second collaboration with Farrar. Recorded over ten days in June of 2024, Big Ugly is the explosive sound of Fust uncovering a freedom within their sincere form of loose and fried guitar rock, realizing more than ever before an intimacy within bigness. The members -- Aaron Dowdy, Avery Sullivan, Frank Meadows, John Wallace, Justin Morris, Libby Rodenbough, Oliver Child-Lanning--weave their voices alongside guests like Merce Lemon, Dave Hartley (The War on Drugs), and John James Tourville (The Deslondes) to form a music that sounds like a conversation between old friends. And that's exactly what it is. At its heart, Big Ugly is a story cycle, following tough-skinned characters who seem to inhabit a shared and fictional small town--Big Ugly--that in reality gets its name from a lowly populated and unincorporated area in southern West Virginia around where Dowdy's family has deep roots. The album cover_a mural from the Big Ugly Community Center just off the Big Ugly Creek--was painted by locals for a 2004 play performed by the children that interpreted their elders' stories. In a way, Fust's Big Ugly does something similar as it takes the same area as its backdrop and reimagines a life depicted in the mural between the bars, gas stations, general stores, and double-wides. Throughout the album, we join the characters in finding history and meaning in the banal theater of their own private jerkwater.The songs on Big Ugly are hearteningly varied, moving from beer-fisted radio country to elegiac drones to deconstructed ballads. Songs like "Spangled" take up the theme of past traumas and present desensitizations colliding, of the small and cosmic coinciding in the life of a heedless protagonist. "Bleached" finds the soul-searching narrator recalling the feeling of inner vacancy in their childhood: thoughtless, speechless, herded around like cattle in backseats. And "Mountain Language" laments the poverties of Southern life at the same time that it promotes a higher poverty, a country utopia that's just out of grasp, where we could live if we could only "make it up the mountain again." The mystical hermeticism and the dime-store everyday are two sides of every insignificant thing in the town of Big Ugly.

Portland-based ambient architect and far afield sound technician Graintable, aka James Cooke returns with his debut outing on Music To Watch Seeds Grow By and his fourth in the R$N stable; 'Blue Flax'. Following his acclaimed and sold out cassette releases 'Herons', 'Universal Ash' and ‘The Rain In The Trees’ on Ransom Note Records, this new collection sees Cooke delving deeper into the intersection of natural processes and liminal organic electronics.

'Blue Flax', the resilient flowering plant celebrated for its delicate blue blooms and medicinal applications, is native to the Pacific Northwest - the region Cooke calls home. This plant has long grown on the ancestral lands of the Wasco, Klickitat, Warm Springs, Cayuse, and Umatilla tribes. Its connection to this landscape underscores the album’s themes, weaving together ten intricate ambient pieces that reflect the plant's dual nature of part healer, part object of wonder. Recorded during the transitional hours of dawn and dusk in his Portland studio, Cooke’s soundscapes capture both the meditative aspects of watching plants grow and the gradual transformation of organic matter into usable forms. The centrepiece of the album Cerulian FIelds, reminds of the early morning light, those inspiring hours before the rest of the world wakes and the first shoots break through the soil into the new dawn. It’s a beautiful crystallisation of what is Cooke’s most comprehensive collection of meditative compositions to date.

For fans of: Steve Roach, Alessandro Cortini, Suzanne Ciani, Davis Galvin

Early support including: Courtesy, Laurent Garnier, Massimiliano Pagliara, DJ Harvey, Domenic Capello

ercury Rev take you on a swan dive into the mystic: a rapture of ballad-dreams and emotional memoir at the crossroads of The Dharma Bums, Pet Sounds and Side Three of Electric Ladyland. A profound, transcendant trip from the psychedelic explorers who brought you Deserter's Songs.
David Fricke In upstate New York, deep in the seam between the Catskills mountains and the Hudson Valley, a richly swelling, spellbound sound emerges, eddying and flowing like the local Esopus Creek, or in the slipstream of the grander Hudson river, carrying the flotsam and jetsam of our hopes, dreams, fears. A sound composed of organic and electronic; guitars, keys, brass, strings, woodwind, drums - and a voice of incantations, tapping streams of consciousness that similarly eddy and flow.
Spiritually, literally, psycho-geographically: where else does Mercury Rev’s ninth album Born Horses spring from? This cascade of gleaming, glistening psych-jazz-folk-baroque-ambient quest that searches its soul but can never truly know the answer? A sound and vision linked to their exalted past whilst quite unlike anything they have created before?
The answer is somewhere between the homes of founder members Jonathan Donahue (the hamlet of Mt Tremper) and Grasshopper (the town of Kingston), in their veins and brains of their now-legendary tapping of musical cosmology, and the vital presence of new permanent member Marion Genser (keys), plus long-term ally Jesse Chandler (keys) and guests Jeff Lipstein (drums), Martin Keith (double bass) and Jim Burgess (trumpet). A place that feeds off the levitating mood of their last album, 2019’s expansive tribute Bobbie Gentry's The Delta Sweete Revisited, and the instrumental psych explorations under the names of Harmony Rockets and Mercury Rev’s Clear Light Ensemble, and the spiritual guidance of avant-garde artist Tony Conrad and Beat poet Robert Creeley, to whom Born Horses is
dedicated.

Elf Songs und ein Klavier-Intro bieten den Hörern erstklassigen Speed/Thrash Metal, der sich locker zwischen internationalen Klassikern der 80er und 90er-Jahre, sowie aktuellsten Tipps von Heute einfügen wird.
Die Aufnahmen wirken wie ein zweiter Frühling der Band: ehrlich, direkt, frisch und ultra heavy!
Dies mag mitunter am bisher stärksten und reifsten Line-up in der Geschichte der Band liegen. Zu Beginn des Vorjahres rekrutierte man niemand geringeren als den aus Bulgarien stammenden und in Dänemark lebenden Saitenhexer Nikolay Atanasov (u.a. AGENT STEEL). Er komplementiert mit dem bereits davor dazugestoßenen Bassisten Lorenz Kandolf (u.a. TRAITOR) das Line-up. Den Kern der Gruppe bildet, seit dem mittlerweile als Klassiker gehandhabten, im "New Wave Of Thrash Metal" geltenden Debüt "Have Gun, Will Travel" (2010), Band-Gründer, Sänger, Gitarrist und Hauptkomponist Ricky Wagner, sowie der Ausnahme-Schlagzeuger Bastian "attt" Santen. Noch nie hat REZET so frisch geklungen und vor Angriffslust gestrotzt.

Produziert, gemixt und gemastert wurde das Album erneut von Eike Freese (HELLOWEEN; DEEP PURPLE; HEAVEN SHALL BURN uvm.), Hamburgs Rock & Metal-Produzenten par excellence, wobei Teile der Aufnahmen in den bandeigenen "Rad Toad Studios", im hohen Norden Schleswig-Holsteins, selbst durchgeführt wurden.
Pär Oloffsson (Exodus, Aborted, Pathology, Traitor, Finsterforst uvm.) bietet die dystopische Visualisierung der Scheibe und zeichnet das Bild einer mechanischen Landschaft, die von neuem Leben zurückerobert wird. Der "große Reset" war vermutlich noch nie so nah…

Elf Songs und ein Klavier-Intro bieten den Hörern erstklassigen Speed/Thrash Metal, der sich locker zwischen internationalen Klassikern der 80er und 90er-Jahre, sowie aktuellsten Tipps von Heute einfügen wird.
Die Aufnahmen wirken wie ein zweiter Frühling der Band: ehrlich, direkt, frisch und ultra heavy!
Dies mag mitunter am bisher stärksten und reifsten Line-up in der Geschichte der Band liegen. Zu Beginn des Vorjahres rekrutierte man niemand geringeren als den aus Bulgarien stammenden und in Dänemark lebenden Saitenhexer Nikolay Atanasov (u.a. AGENT STEEL). Er komplementiert mit dem bereits davor dazugestoßenen Bassisten Lorenz Kandolf (u.a. TRAITOR) das Line-up. Den Kern der Gruppe bildet, seit dem mittlerweile als Klassiker gehandhabten, im "New Wave Of Thrash Metal" geltenden Debüt "Have Gun, Will Travel" (2010), Band-Gründer, Sänger, Gitarrist und Hauptkomponist Ricky Wagner, sowie der Ausnahme-Schlagzeuger Bastian "attt" Santen. Noch nie hat REZET so frisch geklungen und vor Angriffslust gestrotzt.

Produziert, gemixt und gemastert wurde das Album erneut von Eike Freese (HELLOWEEN; DEEP PURPLE; HEAVEN SHALL BURN uvm.), Hamburgs Rock & Metal-Produzenten par excellence, wobei Teile der Aufnahmen in den bandeigenen "Rad Toad Studios", im hohen Norden Schleswig-Holsteins, selbst durchgeführt wurden.
Pär Oloffsson (Exodus, Aborted, Pathology, Traitor, Finsterforst uvm.) bietet die dystopische Visualisierung der Scheibe und zeichnet das Bild einer mechanischen Landschaft, die von neuem Leben zurückerobert wird. Der "große Reset" war vermutlich noch nie so nah…

A bittersweet nostalgia lies at the heart of 'Imaginary People', the new
album from indie roots duo Viv & Riley
Over ten tracks, the pair applies an indie folk sheen to newly composed pop
gems, a reworking of an ancient ballad, and even an original fiddle tune, deftly
weaving together the old and new. In contrast to the sunny, lush production from
Alex Bingham of Hiss Golden Messenger, the lyrics lean melancholic. "Kygers Hill"
and "Sauvie Island" are both wistful odes to locales where these two young
master musicians spent formative years developing a penchant for songwriting.
"Is It All Over'' lampoons the futility of the billionaire space race through a darkly
comedic vision of a future music industry, while the title track expounds on the
"imaginary" versions of our idealized selves. Viv & Riley fittingly end the album
with a droning take on the traditional Ozark tale "The Blackest Crow." Both
musicians trace their original artistic inspiration to the deep roots music they
learned in their youths on opposite sides of the country. The duo's continuing
musical expansion is in part the fruition of their investment in the music scene of
their new home of Durham, NC which is known for its cross-genre collaboration
and creatively articulated roots music. However, the tracklist is still peppered with
pedal steel and the rootsy fiddle and banjo trappings the pair employed to
acclaim on their previous two releases. As much as 'Imaginary People' looks back
to nostalgic yesteryears, it importantly marks the beginning of a new direction for
these songwriting virtuosos

PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

American singer-songwriter, poet, and photographer Thomas Meluch, known musically as Benoît Pioulard, returns with his most structured and vocal release to date. Titled »Eidetic,« a word denoting the ability to recall mental images with extraordinarily rich precision, the album presents unprecedented clarity and vitality for Benoît Pioulard. To access its thematic ground, Meluch looked inward with an affinity towards the people he loves during a period marked by his move from Seattle to Brooklyn in 2019. The resulting work engages with the universe's unflinching mortality and, as he says, »the ways it has modified and improved my relationships, especially with family.« Embodied by the creek, leaves, and ferns of the cover photography — taken in Michigan’s Burchfield Park, where he and his dad used to hike and »muse on existence« — the music glistens and unfurls with the flow of life he’s come to know. »Eidetic« is the culmination of Meluch's craft both as a producer and writer. An evocative sonic vocabulary meets deft lyrical introspection, articulated with the nuance, vulnerability, and confidence of a longtime artist hitting a stride.

Meluch has continually refined, redefined, and adjusted the focus of his gentle pop project over the last 20 years. Recorded primarily with guitar, tapes, and voice — and spanning labels with albums for Kranky, Morr Music, Beacon Sound, and Past Inside the Present — his catalog flows seamlessly between ambient improvisation and pop composition. Much like the analog photos that often accompany his releases, songs can feel dreamily softened and distant, and others beautifully vivid and detailed. 2021 full-length »Bloodless« found Meluch deep in droning decay, expressive yet wordless. With »Eidetic,« he swings back to sharpened forms. Lush banks of treated guitar and synth brush against hushed percussion; there is mist in the distance, but everything up close is intricately constructed and radiant. Meluch's voice is notably forward in the mix — a warm and calming tenor, a harmonic coo more than a whisper — ever-observant and actively processing.

To record much of the album, Meluch filled a cabin in rural Maine with his usual setup of simple percussion, a couple of Fender electrics, and a parlor guitar made by his friend who does bespoke luthier work. The modest utility is what he knows best, and here he pushes the output to its most pristine potential.

»Eidetic« opens in a swirl of familiar haze; »Margaret Murie« eases listeners in, as lush and verdant as the landscapes conserved by its famed namesake. With the setting established, Meluch, the narrator, enters the foreground with »Crux,« a tender piece written about finding new motivations in a new city. »We covet this rare green hue / Here at the farthest point from home,« he sings above a reassuring pattern of strums and percussion. Meluch's prose shines on the swiftly-moving »Nameless,« inspired by the neurological effects that came with the antiquated practice of manufacturing mercury mirrors; »folks would slowly go insane while looking into their own reflections every day,« he adds. The idea informs a series of surreal abstractions before everything drops out in the final minute, and we are left free-floating in eerie nothingness.

Across the album, labyrinthine lyrical ponderings scatter with dazzling imagery, artfully blurring scenes from world history with Meluch's more personal, present-day. The propulsive and earnest »Thursday Night« catches his mind overly active and too stoned, riffing on black holes and songwriting itself. »Halve« references the splitting of the atom, what he considers »the beginning of man's downfall,« and the unrealized initiative proposed by the US government that would have created 'nuclear refuges' in its national parks. Meluch's loved ones weave throughout; »Tet« holds his father's experience in Vietnam and its lasting effects. »Lillian Isola« touches on his maternal grandmother's spinal curvature, and »Pastel Dust« navigates the wake of his cat, who died on New Year's Eve 2020.

At first blush, Meluch's atmospheric and melodic sensibilities resonate purely in their own right. Upon closer meditation, his ability to render stories — many of which surround human tragedy, misfortune, and understanding — through the prism of his poetry makes »Eidetic« even more rewarding.

Dark Green Vinyl

American singer-songwriter, poet, and photographer Thomas Meluch, known musically as Benoît Pioulard, returns with his most structured and vocal release to date. Titled »Eidetic,« a word denoting the ability to recall mental images with extraordinarily rich precision, the album presents unprecedented clarity and vitality for Benoît Pioulard. To access its thematic ground, Meluch looked inward with an affinity towards the people he loves during a period marked by his move from Seattle to Brooklyn in 2019. The resulting work engages with the universe's unflinching mortality and, as he says, »the ways it has modified and improved my relationships, especially with family.« Embodied by the creek, leaves, and ferns of the cover photography — taken in Michigan’s Burchfield Park, where he and his dad used to hike and »muse on existence« — the music glistens and unfurls with the flow of life he’s come to know. »Eidetic« is the culmination of Meluch's craft both as a producer and writer. An evocative sonic vocabulary meets deft lyrical introspection, articulated with the nuance, vulnerability, and confidence of a longtime artist hitting a stride.

Meluch has continually refined, redefined, and adjusted the focus of his gentle pop project over the last 20 years. Recorded primarily with guitar, tapes, and voice — and spanning labels with albums for Kranky, Morr Music, Beacon Sound, and Past Inside the Present — his catalog flows seamlessly between ambient improvisation and pop composition. Much like the analog photos that often accompany his releases, songs can feel dreamily softened and distant, and others beautifully vivid and detailed. 2021 full-length »Bloodless« found Meluch deep in droning decay, expressive yet wordless. With »Eidetic,« he swings back to sharpened forms. Lush banks of treated guitar and synth brush against hushed percussion; there is mist in the distance, but everything up close is intricately constructed and radiant. Meluch's voice is notably forward in the mix — a warm and calming tenor, a harmonic coo more than a whisper — ever-observant and actively processing.

To record much of the album, Meluch filled a cabin in rural Maine with his usual setup of simple percussion, a couple of Fender electrics, and a parlor guitar made by his friend who does bespoke luthier work. The modest utility is what he knows best, and here he pushes the output to its most pristine potential.

»Eidetic« opens in a swirl of familiar haze; »Margaret Murie« eases listeners in, as lush and verdant as the landscapes conserved by its famed namesake. With the setting established, Meluch, the narrator, enters the foreground with »Crux,« a tender piece written about finding new motivations in a new city. »We covet this rare green hue / Here at the farthest point from home,« he sings above a reassuring pattern of strums and percussion. Meluch's prose shines on the swiftly-moving »Nameless,« inspired by the neurological effects that came with the antiquated practice of manufacturing mercury mirrors; »folks would slowly go insane while looking into their own reflections every day,« he adds. The idea informs a series of surreal abstractions before everything drops out in the final minute, and we are left free-floating in eerie nothingness.

Across the album, labyrinthine lyrical ponderings scatter with dazzling imagery, artfully blurring scenes from world history with Meluch's more personal, present-day. The propulsive and earnest »Thursday Night« catches his mind overly active and too stoned, riffing on black holes and songwriting itself. »Halve« references the splitting of the atom, what he considers »the beginning of man's downfall,« and the unrealized initiative proposed by the US government that would have created 'nuclear refuges' in its national parks. Meluch's loved ones weave throughout; »Tet« holds his father's experience in Vietnam and its lasting effects. »Lillian Isola« touches on his maternal grandmother's spinal curvature, and »Pastel Dust« navigates the wake of his cat, who died on New Year's Eve 2020.

At first blush, Meluch's atmospheric and melodic sensibilities resonate purely in their own right. Upon closer meditation, his ability to render stories — many of which surround human tragedy, misfortune, and understanding — through the prism of his poetry makes »Eidetic« even more rewarding.

This land runs through Katherine Paul’s blood. And it called to her. In dreams she saw the river, her ancestors, and her home. When the land calls, you listen. And KP found herself far from her ancestral lands during a time of collective trauma, when the world was wounded and in need of healing. In 2020 she made the journey from Portland back to the Skagit River, back to the cedar
trees that stand tall and shrouded in fog, back to the tide flats and the mountains, back to Swinomish.

It is a powerful thing to return to our ancestral lands and often times the journey is not easy. Like the salmon through the currents, like the tide as it crawls to shore this is a story of return. It is the call and response. It is the outstretched arms of the people who came before, welcoming her home. The Land, The Water, The Sky is a celebration of lineage and strength. Even in its deepest moments of loneliness and grief, of frustration over a world wrought with colonial violence and pain, the songs remind us that if we slow down, if we listen to the waves and the wind through the trees, we will remember to breathe.

There is a throughline of story in every song, a remembrance of knowledge and teachings, a gratitude of wisdom passed down and carried. There is a reimagining of Sedna who was offered to the sea, and a beautiful rumination on sacrifice and humanity, and what it means to hold the stories that work to teach us something.

Chord progressions born out of moments of sadness and solitude transform into the islands that sit blue along the horizon. The Salish Sea curves along her homelands, and when the singer is close to this water she is reminded of her grandmother, how she looked out at these same islands, and she’s held by spirit and memory.

The Land, The Water, The Sky rises and falls, in darkness and in light, but even in its most melancholy moments it is never despairing. That is the beauty of returning home. When you stand on ancestral lands it is impossible to be alone. You feel the arms and hands that hold you up, unwilling to let you fall into sorrow or abandonment. In her songs Katherine Paul has channeled that feeling of being held. In every note she has written a love letter to indigenous strength and healing.

There is a joy present here, a fierce blissfulness that comes with walking the trails along the river, feeling the sand and th stones beneath her feet. It is the pride and the certainty that comes with knowing her ancestors walked along the same land, dipped their hands into the water, and ran their fingertips along the same bark of cedar trees.

This is a story of hope, as it details the joy of returning. Katherine Paul’s journey home wasn’t made alone, and the songs are crowded with loved ones and relatives, like a really good party. And as the songs walk us through the land it is important we hover over the images and the beauty, the moments that mark this album as site specific. The power of this land is woven throughout, telling the story of narrow waterways, brush strokes, salmon stinta, and above all healing.

Let it take you. Move through the story and see the land through her eyes, because it is a gift, a welcomed sʔabadəb.*

*The word “gift” in Lushootseed, the language of the Coast Salish people“

NEW 45 BY DEEP-FUNK PIONEER LUCKY BROWN RECORDED DURING THE MYSTERY ROAD SESSIONS!

"Funk is a living, breathing, creative and generative entity and The New Lucky Seven celebrate its life with a mysterious and authentic sonic snapshot from the iconic Mystery Road sessions: WOODHEAD!"

Woodhead is a steady medium groover built around an acute chanky guitar part that Joel Ricci aka Lucky Brown composed while living in the "Woodhood" district of Bellingham Washington, USA in the fallout shadow of an industrial area on the outskirts of town. The Woodhood was so named because the streets were all named after different kinds of trees; Cottonwood, Alderwood, Birchwood, etc. Though members of the band had been performing Woodhead since as early as 2004, it had never been officially committed to tape. So during the 2013-2014 span of living room "Magik Carpet" sessions at drummer, Oliver Klomp's house in West Seattle, the combo dubbed by Lucky as "The New Lucky Seven" casually hit the head a couple times before calling it a night as Lucky rolled tape.

Opening with the now world-famous guitar player, Jabrille "Jimmy James" Williams dropping deftly into his rhythmic part, Lucky chants in the background the words "don't stop" as the tension builds up into the moment the whole band comes in. With Bob Heinemann on bass, Marc Hager on Rhodes and Oliver Klomp on drums, the thick but honest groove is instantly palpable. Trombone player Mars Lindgren and Sax player Thomas Deakin, along with Lucky on Trumpet lay down the 'head' to the tune right off the bat with everyone in the band giving that hard hit on the 4 count of the last bar of the repeated figure. This 'hit' returns again to form the breakpoint between soloists Jimmy James, Marc Hager, and on side B, Thomas Deakin, and Lucky Brown on the flute. The horn section microphone was situated on the dining room table and Lucky just had to lean over to reach it with his instrument! Michael Iris of Bell Creek Studio transferred and mixed these two tunes from Lucky Brown's cassette machine.

This tune was left off of the Mystery Road compilation album but comprises one of the last tracks created during those sessions therefore the concept, vibe, style, and intention should resonate and be interchangeable with the rest of the 45s from that epic Box Set TR-9043 released by Tramp Records on May 4, 2015.

As you spin and interact with the Mystery Road recordings, you are invited to allow Woodhead to take its rightful place specifically alongside the other "The New Lucky Seven" recordings and generally as a part of the suite of crude and naive living-room "Magik Carpet" funk of the rest of the Mystery Road.

As illuminated before in Lucky's artist statement regarding the Mystery Road sessions, the music contained therein was always intended to put emotion, vibe, feeling, and spirit before technical, spatial, or even performance constraints and to serve as a gift of discovery to lovers and aficionados of the deep funk idiom and the rare 45rpm format. Funk is a living, breathing, creative and generative entity and The New Lucky Seven celebrate its life with a mysterious and authentic sonic snapshot from the iconic Mystery Road sessions: WOODHEAD!

The classic second Big Thief LP originally released in 2017, limited repress at a decent price! Gatefold LP & download code, don’t miss out.

The trails that Brooklyn's Big Thief -- Adrianne Lenker (guitar, vocals), Buck Meek (guitar), Max Oleartchik (bass), and James Krivchenia (drums) -- take us down on Capacity, the band's highly anticipated second record out 6/9 on Saddle Creek, are overgrown with the wilderness of pumping souls. After last year's stunning Masterpiece, Capacity was recorded in a snowy winter nest in upstate New York at Outlier Studio with producer Andrew Sarlo. The album jumps right into lives marked up and nipped in surprisingly swift fashion. They are peopled and unpeopled, spooked and soothed, regenerating back into a state where they can once again be vulnerable. Lenker's songs introduce us to a gallery of multifacted women and deal with the complicated matters of identity — at once dangerous and curious, though never unbelievable. Lenker shows us the gentle side of being ripped open. Tricked into love, done in and then witnessing the second act of pulling oneself back together to prepare for it to all happen again, but this time to a sturdier soul, one who is going to take the punches better than ever before and deal some jabs and roundhouses of their own. The album is thick with raw, un-doctored beauty: most of the songs on Capacity were played for the first time in the studio and were recorded the same day. There is a darker darkness and a lighter light on this album,' Lenker explains. The songs search for a deeper level of self-acceptance, to embrace the world within and without. I think Masterpiece began that process, as a reaction from inside the pain, whereas I feel Capacity examines the pain from the outside.'

Six months on from the release of their critically-acclaimed fourth album, ENTERTAINMENT, DEATH, Philadelphia trio SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE closeout 2021 with brand new 7” THE DOOR, comprising two previously-heard but never physically released songs in “THE DOOR IS OPEN” and “THE DOOR IS CLOSING”.

A special and limited release, 500 copies of the single have been pressed on cloudy teal vinyl. The 7” is led by “THE DOOR IS OPEN”, a 2020 single that marked a new chapter for the band ahead of the release of ENTERTAINMENT, DEATH. The song “continues to defy definition”, Stereogum said upon its initial release, before adding: “It’s amazing that they made such a short track feel like such a dreamy journey.”

It’s backed by “THE DOOR IS CLOSING”, a bright and skewed gem of a track that was originally released earlier this year via Through The Soil, a charity compilation that benefited the NAMI COVID-19 Mental Health Support Fund.

Whether opened or closed, THE DOOR is a bold reminder of SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE’S many layered and colourful ideas. It also ribbon-ties a brilliant 2021 for the band, one which saw ENTERTAINMENT, DEATH labelled as “an intensely beautiful, intensely difficult record” by Pitchfork, a “sprawling odyssey of haunting dissonance and blissful euphoria” by Flood Magazine, and a "storm of sound with a deep humanity coming through” by Fader.

SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE is Zack Schwartz, Rivka Ravede and Corey Wichlin.

John Prine’s Grammy Award-winning album, Fair & Square, is available on vinyl for the first time in over sixteen years. There are three special double LPs: standard black, opaque green and a limited amount of “Irish Edition”—green and orange vinyl with a matte jacket featuring embossed lettering.
Originally released in 2005, Fair & Square won Best Contemporary Folk Album at the 48th Grammy Awards and achieved the fastest rise to number one in the history of Americana radio. The record marked Prine’s first album in nine years, following 1995’s Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings. Rolling Stone declared Fair & Square “an excellent set of songs full of rootsy warmth and unpretentious wit,” while The Washington Post praised its relatability: “this low-key masterpiece arrives not just as a reminder of Prine’s cleverness and mischievous wit but also as a confirmation of his deeply human values. These are values rooted in the enduring mystery and majesty of everyday, ordinary lives.”
Prine is a four-time Grammy winner and Lifetime Achievement Award honoree, a seven-time Americana Music Award-winner, a PEN New England Lyrics Award recipient and member of both the Songwriters Hall of Fame and the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. Since his debut in 1971, Prine released over 18 albums and has had his songs recorded by Johnny Cash, Carly Simon, Bette Midler, Bonnie Raitt, Norah Jones, George Strait, Miranda Lambert, Zac Brown Band and many others, while drawing effusive praise from Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, Bonnie Raitt, Roger Waters, Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen and more.

Originally released on cassette by Good Person Recordings in 2016, Impressive Almanac is the culmination of Dan Shaw's bedroom experiments making minimalist post-punk. The entire album was tracked by himself at home shortly after moving from Seattle to his hometown of Holyoke, Massachusetts. Dan did not yet have any backing band at the time. The album shines with his raw and unfettered creativity, repetitive DI'ed guitars, and disaffected yet deeply personal lyrics about the banality of modern life.

Shaw says of the record: "Sharing this tape with friends in the Western Mass DIY scene soon led to the formation of Landowner as a full band. Even though we're a real band now with a real drummer and everything, the drum machines and repetitive riffs of these songs still serve as an important reference point for the vibe we strive to attain in our music today."

The album was quite formative for Born Yesterday Records. Co-owner and now Deeper bass player Kevin Fairbairn met Dan at a show in Western Massachusetts. Dan gave him a cassette of Impressive Almanac. When Kevin returned from tour, he was eager to show it to me and I quickly became obsessed with it. A year or so later when we were discussing starting a record label, we both knew that Landowner had to be one of the bands we talked to first. This release will roughly mark the three year anniversary of Born Yesterday's first release, Landowner's Blatant.

Finland’s Nightwish have always stood for virtuoso perfection. They are able to evoke fantastic dream worlds, fade out time and space, and touch you deep inside with their symphonic majestic compositions. Since their formation in July 1996, they have risen long ago to become the most successful Symphonic Metal band.’Once’ is their 2004 breakthrough (5th studio album, Silver in the U.K.) featuring the hits ‘Nemo’ and ‘Wish I Had An Angel’.

Almost all records are a snapshot, a musical ribbon bow that documents a very specific moment in time or simply ties-off everything up to that point. Indigo De Souza’s I Love My Mom, her debut LP initially released in 2018, was the latter; a collection of the best songs she’d written in the few years that preceded it, recorded quickly and breathlessly and thrown out into the world.

Consisting of ten songs, I Love My Mom feels both raw and unabashed. Indigo pulled a band together for the first time, and was quickly encouraged to commit her songs to tape. Recorded at her friend’s house, they played almost everything live in just a few days, and released the record naturally, with little fanfare. That the record quickly took on a life of its own, deeply resonating with those who heard it, is a testament to Indigo’s songwriting which took inspiration from the unique worlds created by Arthur Russel, Sparklehorse, The Microphones, as well as contemporaries such as LVL UP and Happyness.

Two of the songs have racked up more than a million streams each on Spotify: “Take O Ur Pants” and “How I Get Myself Killed.” The former balances an often breezy lead vocal with gnarly undercurrents of guitar before the whole thing lets rip in its punchy chorus, while the latter, the album’s opening track, finds a different mood entirely, a slacker rock gem that repeats its chorus as a chest-beating mantra. Elsewhere, “Good Heart” furthers the dichotomy which sits at the record’s core, each moment of quiet introspection soon met by a cacophonous burst of energy.

Over the last three decades, singer, songwriter guitarist and composer Gary Louris has built a deeply compelling body of music whose artists and integrity has won the loyalty of an international audience and the respect of both critics and his peers. Best known for his seminal work with The Jayhawks, he is one of the most acclaimed musicians to come out of Minnesota's teeming rock scene. Along the way, Louris has produced records by various artists, contributed songs to Grammy Award-winning albums by Tedeschi/Trucks Band and The Dixie Chicks; and recored with acts as diverse as the Black Crowes, Uncle Tupelo, Lucinda Williams, Nickel Creek, Tift Merritt and more. Jump For Joy is Gary's long awaited 2nd solo album and follow up to the 2008 release of Vagabonds. Along

What hides in the fog that keeps people apart, and what does it take to cut through it? These questions hang heavily over
Sarah Beth Tomberlin's music, whose hushed and intimate tones orbit answers as much as they savor the unanswerable.
To be in relation to another human being is to engage with a deep mystery: We are all fundamentally alone, siloed into
confusing bodies, and yet occasionally we ¬nd someone who lets us feel as if we weren't. Tomberlin, the Louisville native
who recently relocated to Los Angeles, delights in articulating and amplifying that mystery, picking out its details and
marveling at its scale. In singing her aloneness she soothes it, and extends a hand to others reckoning with their own
solitude--a paradox that warms her spectral songs.

Tomberlin's new Projections EP continues the arc of her critically acclaimed 2018 debut At Weddings, weaving new collaborators and new techniques into her signature dusky milieu. Since the LP's release, Tomberlin has toured with Pedro the
Lion, Andy Shauf, American Football, and Alex G, played a Tiny Desk concert for NPR, and given a riveting performance on
Jimmy Kimmel Live! The ¬ve-song EP, capped with a cover of Casiotone for the Painfully Alone's stunning "Natural Light,"
re ects this period of intensive growth and self-discovery. "I wrote these songs while getting to know myself outside of
people's perceived notions of who I was," says Tomberlin. "I just started being like, What am I interested in? What do I want
out of relationships and friendships? What am I looking for that I don't have in myself already?"

Production duo Computa Games take the most slamming synth bass, the crispest drum machine hits, and the overall classic vibes of 80's dance-funk tunes to new aural heights. Sculpted using the best modern studio techniques, the 'Cosmic Dispatch' EP fuses funk, disco, soul and electro to various combinations, fitting the feel of the classiest nightclub or the grittiest backyard party. Each individual tune on the EP pairs with a unique vocalist or collaborator, as the project features guests Lovechild, B Bravo, Jackie Rain, NATALITA, and E. Live. There is something killer and personalized on this EP for every type of dancer, funkster, and headnodder around.

The Computa Games project is the product of the combined efforts of Martin Arceneaux and Chris Arenas. Joining their deep roots of live funk, electronic/live production and DJing, they formed in the fall of 2012, and quickly released two singles on the Supermart Produce label. The two debuted their live set at Monarch in San Francisco, with follow up performances at SXSW in Austin, and Tipitina's New Orleans. The group's third single "Rock Creek (Revenge)" was released exclusively on Beatport, where it was a featured track on the site's Funk/R&B page and stayed in the Funk/R&B Top100 for nearly 2 months, peaking in the top15. The group then released the "Grand Design" EP in September 2013 on Super Mart Records, followed quickly by a remix of The Pendletons single "Let Me Turn You On" featuring K-Maxx, and then a remix of New Orleans based funk band Galactic's "Heart Of Steel', featuring the legendary Irma Thomas. In October of 2015 Computa Games released their first vinyl 7' on ABC records with 'Do Your Thing' featuring K-Maxx b/w 'Feel Right 2Nite' which promptly established them in the burgeoning modern funk scene. Their follow up 7' was released in January 2017 with the single 'Computer Rock' b/w 'Computer Rock (West Coast Remix) on the New Orleans label Super Jock Records. Computer Rock garnered the duo more accolades with critics and fans alike.

On her deeply moving debut album At Weddings, Sarah Beth Tomberlin writes with the clarity and wisdom of an artist well beyond her years. Immeasurable space circulates within the album's ten songs, which set Tomberlin's searching voice against lush backdrops of piano and guitar. Like Julien Baker and Sufjan Stevens, she has a knack for transforming the personal into parable. Like Grouper, she has a feel for the transcendent within the ordinary.

Born in Jacksonville, Florida, and now based in Louisville, Kentucky, Tomberlin wrote most of At Weddings while living with her family in southern Illinois during her late teens and early twenties. At 16, she finished her homeschooling curriculum and went to college at a private Christian school she describes, only half-jokingly, as a "cult." By 17, she had dropped out of school, returned home, and begun to face a period of difficult transition in her life. The daughter of a Baptist pastor, Tomberlin found herself questioning not only her faith, but her identity, her purpose, and her place in the world.

"I was working, going to school, and experiencing heavy isolation," Tomberlin says of the time when she first began writing the songs on At Weddings. "It felt monotonous, like endless nothingness. It was a means to get through to the next step of life." In songwriting, Tomberlin found relief and lucidity she had trouble articulating otherwise. When she was 19, she wrote "Tornado" on her parents' piano, and began to develop confidence in her music. A year later, she had written enough songs to fill an album.

Throughout At Weddings, Tomberlin's lyrics yearn for stability and belonging, a near-universal desire among young people learning to define themselves on their own terms for the first time. "I am a tornado with big green eyes and a heartbeat," she sings on "Tornado," her voice stretching to the top of her range. Rich, idiosyncratic imagery — a fly killed with a self-help book, brown paper bags slashed violently open, clouds that weep over a lost love — sidle up to profound realizations about learning to be alive in this world. "To be a woman is to be in pain," Tomberlin notes on "I'm Not Scared." On "A Video Game," she muses, "I wish I was a hero with something beautiful to say."

Tomberlin cites the hymns she grew up singing in church as her greatest musical influence, and while At Weddings in many ways documents the unlearning of her childhood faith, it's easy to hear the reverential quality of sacred music in her songs. "A lot of hymns talk about really crazy stuff — being saved from the depths and the mire, judgment. When you actually realize what you're singing, it becomes really overwhelming," Tomberlin says. "I grew up singing in church. I was still helping to lead worship when I started coming to terms with the realization that I didn't know if I believed. I felt nauseous and shaky reading these words I was singing and feeling their intensity. If I did believe this, how could I sing these words without being scared out of my mind That's what's influenced how I write."

At Weddings is laden with reverence for music itself, for the power it has to heal others and help people navigate their lives. It is a record about learning to love oneself and others without reservation, from a place of deep sincerity — a lifelong challenge whose tribulations Tomberlin articulates beautifully. "My number one goal with my music is for honesty and transparency that helps other people find ways to exist," she says. With At Weddings, this remarkable young songwriter offers up comfort and wonder in equal measure.

a1 | Any Other Way
a2 | Untitled 1
a3 | Tornado
a4 | You Are Here
a5 | A Video Game
b1 | I'm Not Scared
b2 | Seventeen
b3 | Self Help
b4 | Untitled 2
b5 | February

Music and Poetry of the Kesh is the documentation of an invented Pacific Coast peoples from a far distant time, and the soundtrack of famed science fiction author, Ursula K. Le Guin's Always Coming Home In the novel, the story of Stone Telling, a young woman of the Kesh, is woven within a larger anthropological folklore and fantasy. The ways of the Kesh were originally presented in 1985 as a five hundred plus page book accompanied with illustrations of instruments and tools, maps, a glossary of terms, recipes, poems, an alphabet (Le Guin's conlang, so she could write non-English lyrics), and with early editions, a cassette of field recordings' and indigenous song. Le Guin wanted to hear the people she'd imagined, she embarked on an elaborate process with her friend Todd Barton to invoke their spirit and tradition.

For Music and Poetry of the Kesh, the words and lyrics are attributed to Le Guin as composed by Barton, an Oregon-based musician, composer and Buchla synthesist (the two worked together previously on public radio projects). But the cassette notes credit the sounds and voices to the world of the Kesh, making origins ambiguous. For instance, The River Song' description reads, The prominent rhythm instrument is the doubure binga, a set of nine brass bowls struck with cloth-covered wooden mallets, here played by Ready.' According to writer and long-time friend of LeGuin, Moe Bowstern (who pens the liners for the Freedom To Spend edition of Kesh), Barton built and then taught himself to play several instruments of Le Guin's design, among them the seven-foot horn known to the Kesh as the Houmbúta and the Wéosai Medoud Teyahi bone flute.' Barton's crafting of original instruments lends an other-worldly texture to the recordings of the Kesh, not unlike fellow builders Bobby Brown and Lonnie Holley. Bowstern notes, Other musician / makers have crafted their own Kesh instruments after encountering the earlier cassette recordings that accompanied some editions of the book.' Both Barton and Le Guin are sensitive to the sovereignty of indigenous Californians and were careful not to trample the traditions of the Tolowa people who lived in the valley long before the Kesh. You research deeply, and then you bring your own voice to the table,' said Barton. Within the Kesh culture, the numbers four and five shape the lives, society and rituals. Barton composed loosely around these numbers, patiently listening to the land of Napa Valley for signs and audio signals from the natural elements. Todd incorporated ambient sounds of the creek by Le Guin's house and a campfire they built together. The songs of Kesh are joyful, soothing and meditative, while the instrumental works drift far past the imaginary lands. Heron Dance' is an uplifting first track, featuring a Wéosai Medoud Teyahi (made from a deer or lamb thigh bone with a cattail reed) and the great Houmbúta (used for theatre and ceremony). A Music of the Eighth House' sends gossamer waves of the faintest sounds to float on the wind.' Like the languages invented in the vocal work of Anna Homler, Meredith Monk, and Elizabeth Fraser, the Kesh songs and poems play with the shape of voice.

The Music and Poetry of the Kesh cassette was meant to accompany and enhance the experience of reading Always Coming Home. Presented in this edition as a long-playing album, where only traces of the book linger (the jacket offers some of Le Guin's illustration, and a letterpressed bookmark featuring the the narrative modes of western civilization and the Kesh valley is included), the music alone breaking the silence of what might be. It can transport—offering a landscape for imagining a future homecoming. One in which we are balanced, peaceful, and tend to the earth and its creatures. A line from the Sun Dance poem reminds us, We are nothing much without one another.' Freedom To Spend gives new life to the recordings of the Kesh people in the first ever vinyl edition of Music and Poetry of the Kesh, out on LP, and digital formats on March 23, 2018. The LP will include a deluxe spot printed jacket with illustrations from Always Coming Home, a facsimile of the original lyric sheet, liner notes by Moe Bowstern, multi-format digital download code and a limited edition bookmark letter pressed by Stumptown Printers in Portland, OR.

This past Monday, January 22, Ursula passed from this realm to another leaving a life spent building and exploring other worlds while challenging social concepts of the real word she inhabited.

Freedom To Spend had been working under Ursula's enthusiastic endorsement and with Todd Barton, her musical collaborator on Kesh, to give the music that accompanied her 1985 epoch a new life. With the Le Guin family's encouragement to move forward with our planned release, we are humbled to play this small role in sharing Ursula's work.

As Pete Swanson, one third of Freedom To Spend, stated, Ursula's legacy is her work which transformed the world, and this is another piece of the universe that her imagination birthed becoming real.' Listen to A Teaching Poem / Heron Dance' below.