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For polymath artist Wesley Joseph, writing a song is like shooting a film. He sees in terms of scenes and colors, lighting the proper mood, drawing the right emotional arc_far beyond just getting a catchy melody down on tape. Music and filmmaking are Joseph's two great loves. Film came first_he started making DIY videos at age 12 to entertain himself and his friends growing up in a small UK community_but when he moved to London to study it, the energy he discovered in the city demanded to be captured in song, resulting in his 2021 debut ULTRAMARINE, a distinctly cinematic collection of avant-R&B and soulful future-pop shot through with moments of surprising aggression and an intriguingly complex postmillennial aura. Since collaborating with the likes of Jorja Smith and Loyle Carner, he returns with GLOW, eight more songs of love, loss, anxiety, and joy about coming of age at a time of unprecedented change. Showcasing his range across songwriting, performing, and production_not to mention his flawless transitions between singing and rapping, between character studies and raw emotional honesty_it's a stunningly beautiful work that makes it clear Joseph's on the path to becoming a worldchanging talent. As on previous projects, Joseph is providing his own visual accompaniments for GLOW, creative directing its artwork and directing its first video. "COLD SUMMER" finds Joseph singing from a supervillain's perspective over woozy film-score strings, and the concept bleeds over into its video accompaniment, a cryptic post-post-Tarantino gangster comedy shot in Kazakhstan. It's usually hyperbole to call an artist as young and new as Joseph "visionary," but it's undeniable that he has a vision, one that transcends old ideas of genre and medium, one that seems to get bigger and richer every time he steps into a studio or behind a camera. GLOW is one of the deepest and most satisfyingly cinematic listening experiences of the year_and Wesley Joseph is just getting started.

New York painter and musician exploratory industrialist Tor Lundvall initially envisioned his 14th album, Beautiful Illusions, as an entirely instrumental affair, "inspired by memories of sitting in a church or cathedral watching the shifting sunlight through stained glass." Although he ultimately chose to wreath the majority of the tracks with hushed, poetic vocals, his original muse still resonates. These are certainly songs of shadowplay and vaulted skies, the quiet grandeur of dusk deepening on the horizon. Lundvall characterizes the lyrical subject matter, too, in ways both specific and surreal, exploring "the doubts, the anxieties and even the bleak fantasies the mind spirals into during moments of isolation, separation and distance." Tricks of the eye, mind, and ear, magnified by silence and the looming long winter. Shivering pulses and muted bass lines tread the twilight while icicle synths and wiry guitar map the melody until the voice enters, narrating oblique moods of essence and absence, tenderness and truth. Glimpses of dark humor flicker in the wordplay but the greater sonic landscape is one of falling leaves and failing light, small gestures rendered as revelation, cloaked in reverb and spatial fog. Lundvall's mastery of nuance and negative space continues to heighten, whispered brushstrokes of the invisible and the unsaid, what lies beneath and what lies beyond: "Behind the shields and false fronts is usually a sadness. The heartbreaking reflections of what might have been."

Spatial & Co Vol. 2 may well be the best album in the Spatial & Co series. It's absolutely flawless. Again created by French disco lord and Arpadys maestro Sauveur Mallia for French library label Tele Music in 1979, it leans far more into the space disco sound than the clean cosmic funk of its predecessor. And it's all the more thrilling for it.

Wide-eyed opener "Discomax" is starts as pure piano-disco brilliance with a bassline to die for before heading off into wigged out territory, all acidic squelches and jaw-dropping percussive breakdowns. Perfection. "Space People" follows, an eerie, half-beatless sci-fi synth workout played out against a hauntingly metronomic pulse for the first half - proper slow-mo space disco business - before the beat kicks in, the electric guitar solo wails beautifully and the bassline that emerges at its conclusion rides in on some other shit.

Closing out the A-Side, the six minute long "Bass Power" is, unsurprisingly, a deep, low-end roller with head-nod drums, whizzing synths, blissed out ambient vibes and Mallia's otherworldly bass playing super high in the mix. It's white hot funk, make no mistake, and it sounds like a re-geared library version of Roxy Music. Yes, *that* good.

Side B is laced firstly by "Holidays Morning", an emotional disco-pop groover, all electric guitars, skipping drums and synthy bleeps with more than a few moments of pure driving funk.
One for the deep heads, longtime favourite "Electric Maneges" follows, a bleepy, haunted dancehall gem, uncut tropical balearic-funk from another dimension. The sophisticated digi-soul of "Loving Discovery" comes on like a weird, interplanetary Sade instrumental, all swelling synths, warm keys and syrupy guitar rhythms. Hearing is believing.

Arguably saving the best til last, the fierce, proto-techno of "Exotic Guide" closes out this extraordinary set. The intro genuinely sounds like Detroit would a good few years later - just wild - before it glides into a driving percussive funk break complete with both stabbing, insistent synths and those of a more winding, laconic variety. The one complaint? It's over far too soon. Remarkable.

Sauveur Mallia is a crucial figure in the history of electronic and dance music and a hugely underrated French library bass player and composer from the Arpadys / Voyage crew. This is just the beginning of Be With's Mallia - Tele Music reissue campaign!

The audio for Spatial & Co Vol. 2 has been remastered by Be With regular Simon Francis, ensuring the punch of Sauveur's bass and those sick drums come through to the fullest. Pete Norman’s expert skills has made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the original and iconic sleeve has been restored here at Be With HQ as the finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue.

Swing Family's Music Force is dramatic mid-80s synth-funk. From the maverick mind of Sauveur Mallia, it's a thrilling and uniquely brilliant album from start to finish. It's undoubtedly known and revered for its unbelievable standout track, "Mission Africa". Those that know, know. And if you don't know, get to know. It's the reason this record has been hugely sought-after for the best part of two decades. Originally released on Tele Music in France in 1985 but now tear-inducingly rare, this is the definition of "a welcome reissue."

Swing Family is basically a supergroup of French Funk royalty. Led by French disco lord and Arpadys maestro Sauveur Mallia, they were augmented by trombonist Alex Perdigon from legendary French funk rock collective Godchild, trumpeter Kako Bessot from funky fusion group Synthesis and saxophonist Pierre Holassian, a member of Giant, Janko Nilovic's French jazz orchestra. So, about as heavyweight as it gets for funky French goodness. Mallia handles, of course, bass duties throughout, as well as utilising his arsenal of synths including his E-mu, Yamaha Dx7, Roland MSQ 700, Mini Moog and Oberheimm.

The maximalist disco fusion of "Exorcistor" is perhaps a bit too 80s French cheese for most tastes, so either linger on its singular style or head straight to the soundtracky typo-funk of "Greewich Boulevard". A deep, swaggering powerhouse, it comes on like mid-80s Chic jamming on the set of Beverly Hills Cop with Kashif. Yes, *that* good. It's followed by the vital "Music Force", a synthy, sleazy instrumental full of sax and flute and those 80s drum fills. Just the right side of acceptable.

OR! You can even choose to forget all the rest and just stick "Mission Africa" straight on. A rumbling, strutting, afro-cosmic low-profile banger. The slick drums hit hard, the synth strings warm things up, overlapping horns add swagger whilst electric guitar flourishes and a chanted refrain sit in the mix quite perfectly. A track that's almost impossible to describe and do justice to. You just need to hear it. Preferably as you saunter into your favourite after-hours club, after spotting all your friends at once, as you cut a swathe to the bubbling dance floor. A track quite like no other, it makes you sit up within its first bars and, to us at least, sound like something you'd have heard on a Print Thomas mix from the mid 00s. Basically, it's cosmo-galactic.

The B Side opens with "Musical Stars", an oh-so-80s funk-lite track which, at times, sounds like something Daft Punk may have left on the cutting room floor during their Discovery sessions. Another unimpeachable favourite of ours is the druggy brilliance of "Gentleman & Musician". You can almost hear the white powder through the speakers, as soaring, acidy synths, slick, heavy beats and the irresistible interplay of the primo horn players create a real sleazy wonder. "Film Action" follows, a galloping horn-heavy synth romp with moments of extreme bass breakdown brilliance before the drama-synths of "Episode Double" take things up another notch as it oscillates between gorgeous funky horns and urgent bleepy magic. Super tense, super funky and super stylish. Just ace. The elctro-tinged horn workout "Fatal Lady" closes things out majestically.

The audio for Music Force has been remastered by Be With regular Simon Francis, ensuring the punch of Sauveur's bass and those sick drums come through to the fullest. Pete Norman’s expert skills has made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the original and iconic sleeve - complete with perky Liberty Belle - has been restored here at Be With HQ as the finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue.

The fifth transmission on BRUK comes from Chewlie, a breakthrough artist from Switzerland adept at sculpting tense, sharply defined atmospheres with eerie amounts of space and dreadful amounts of bass. Following up on her 2022 Creature LP for YUKU, this eight-track deep dive explores nervous hallways of dislocated rhythm with a UK soundsystem attitude and a subtle but striking approach to sound design.

In contrast with the strident melodic tones of Creature, Chewlie demonstrates her versatility as a sonic artist (alongside her established work as a graphic designer). Understated moodiness is the key here, resulting in powerful heads-down immersion heaters with stand-out moments to make the floor fall in line amidst meditative, patient pauses in between. In the field of leftfield dubwise club music, Chewlie's voice strikes out with purpose and poise, slotting into the firmament of BRUK as another natural misfit in the many-sided bassweight landscape.

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
"And we"re coming out of dreams / And we"re coming back to dreams" is the first thing you hear Bill say as you remake your acquaintance on YTILAER. Right out the gate, he"s standing in two places at once: meeting up with old friends behind the scenes and encountering them on the record, finding himself coming round the bend and then again as someone else on down the line. Like the character actor he played on Gold Record, writing stories about other people, telling jokes about everyone, and in singing them, becoming the songs. "You do what you"ve got to do / To see the picture" Bill"s got a full band sound going on this one, with him and Matt Kinsey on guitars, Emmett Kelly on bass and backing vocals, Sarah Ann Phillips on B3, piano and backing vocals and Jim White on drums. Jim and Matt sing on one song, too, and some other singers come in, too. Bill plays some synth here and there, and Carl Smith drifts in and out of the picture with his contra alto clarinet, as do Mike St. Clair and Derek Phelps on brass. Somehow in between them all, you might think you hear the distant sound of a steel guitar. And you might - but you might not, too. In this company, Bill continues his journey, tunneling underneath the weathered exterior of what seems to be and into the more nuanced life everything takes on in the dark. With Bill"s voice making the extraordinary leaps and bounds that measure the lives of the songs, the band follow him through passages that seem to invent themselves; other times playing with deeply soulful grooves and/or desperate intensity, as these moments come and go. There"s nothing they can"t do. "I wrote this song in five and forever / I"m writing it right now" Bill sings on "Natural Information" - an admission of the everyday alchemy he"s forever trafficking in. Time passes, triangulating the encounters that went into any one record with two out of any three others, all of it made flesh, new constitution, in our stereo speakers. If every album is its own life, it stands to reason that they"re invariably passing in the night. Cascading images flowing from the stream of consciousness. Turning like pages from the journal, unspeakably personal, then suddenly become tall tales, like a book pulled off the shelf, completely unbound. Headlines flow through. Mirror images, mirthful ones. Bill"s lyrics strain at the lines on the page, not content to separate the printing of the fact from the myth or be confined to ink on paper. They want to fly free. And they do. "I realize now that dreams are real" On YTILAER"s inner sleeve, alongside his lyrics, Bill celebrates the "exhilaration and dread" of cover artist Paul Ryan"s paintings. Paul"s another one met up with again down the road, his indelible cover imagery on Apocalypse and Dream River now an axis of meaning in the Callahanian world - and in the bright colors found in these new images, a parallel to Bill"s recognitions here. "A breath of exquisite air as we come up from drowning", sounds like the desired hope for those hearing the songs of YTILAER.

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.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

The sun sets over the ranch, a can of beer cracks, and an acoustic guitar
wrangles the day's thoughts and memories into a semblance of orderDuring moments like these, California-born and Nashville-based singer
and songwriter Emily Nenni chronicles her life through delicate songcraft
rife with honky-tonk spirit and spiked with just the right amount of soul
In possession of a deep understanding of music stoked by a lifelong passion and
sharp chops shaped by endless sets in smoky bars and sizzling doublewides, she
asserts herself as the consummate country storyteller on her full- length debut
album, On The Ranch.

Hot on the heels of last year’s Mermaids reissue retrospective, Hull’s deep listening house forerunners return: this time revisiting a pair of originals as well as previously unreleased versions.

It’s testament to the depth of feeling that Steve Cobby and David McSherry can conjure, that these tracks sound as potent and impactful as they did when they first came out - and not just for the dance. Throughout their 30+ years, the Yorkshire duo have produced ten albums amid many more collaborations, and transformed the remix into an artform, putting their fingerprints on everyone from Busta Rhymes to The Orb to Radiohead.

This EP collection finds them at the full scope of their powers: from disembodied mood music, to tripped-out dubby beats and raw house sessions for the club. The title track Subtle Body sounds like it drifted in through the window in the middle of a snowy night. Its layered chimes, looped delay feedback and floaty chords (played on a Wurlitzer Electronic Piano that Steve bought from Bill Nelson), mark it out as an enduring piece of ambient music, and a favorite for film-makers, able to soundtrack both haunted memories and afterparty comedowns with finesse. It precedes an unreleased instrumental version of Nightfall from Fila Brazillia’s 2002 album Jump Leads (named Mixmag’s chill album of the year), and as an instrumental, the chunky electro bass and mix of ephemeral tones and bird-like chirrups are brought clearly into focus. The attention to detail is what makes Fila Brazillia’s sound palette so rich, and Nightfall a certified smokers’ anthem.

On the B side, the tempo and temperature rises, and we’re treated to The Light Of Jesus, a favorite from Fila Brazillia’s 1994 debut LP Old Codes: New Chaos. Atop a bumping house groove, the song weaves together smooth organ pads and electrified guitar licks with syrupy bass and gospel-tinged exaltations from Charles Bukowski. The EP rounds out with Room ‘96, a live house jam from Hull’s Room nightclub, and a veritable time capsule back to the halcyon ‘90s rave days, when the lights were still on, everyone was home, and anything seemed possible.

The songs here on Subtle Body might be a window into a time long past, but they remain in the present: and as long as bodies seek pleasure, and dancers want to keep going til sunrise, Fila Brazillia will endure, and soundtrack those moments for us all to get lost in.

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.

Heels & Souls Recordings’ fifth reissue sees them reach across the Atlantic to Vancouver, pressing up Pilgrims Of The Mind’s 'What’s Your Shrine?' for the first time ever on vinyl, 25 years since its CD-only release on Map Music. A departure from the label’s previous releases, the LP is a beautiful smorgasbord of styles - progressive house, downtempo, ambient, tech house and trance all nestle together, a wiggling journey of sonic delight from the mind of Stéphane Novak.

Turn the dial back to ‘97 and Vancouver's underground had a distinctive buzz to its rumblings, an amalgamation of scenes and styles gave rise to a cohort of producers that were unconstrained by genre, offering up a heady mix of sounds to expand the mind. ‘Welcome To Lotus Land’ the key 1996 compilation on Robert Shea’s seminal Map Music, championed much of this output including two cuts from POTM. Stéphane then released his first and only full-length album, ‘What’s Your Shrine?’ on the same label the following year.

Picking out choice moments from an album as considered and complete as this is tough. Those horizontally inclined will be drawn to the ambient dwellings of ‘Sandcastle’ & ‘Following the Sofuto Kuriimo’, tracks like ‘Nothing Can Pull Us Apart’ and ‘L’Amour? Encore?!’ are perfectly suited to warming up limbs on the dancefloor, ‘My Baby Likes Rum’ and ‘Loosejaw’ prime for one in full swing. Yet to pick individual tracks misses the stunning sum of its parts that this 70+ minute cruise is, surely one of the finest albums from the American West Coast during its halcyon days of the ‘90s.

Digging deep in his vaults, Stéphane managed to uncover the original unmastered DATs that have been given a fresh mastering by Justin Drake at the Bakehouse Studios. This beautiful, double-disc gatefold comes complete with liner notes from Ciel, words from Stéphane himself, plus never-before-seen photography - the complete package this music always deserved.

The endlessly prolific and unpredictable Richard Youngs returns to Black Truffle with Modern Sorrow. As any Youngs fan knows, one of the great pleasures of following his career comes from not being able to predict what the next entry in his inexhaustible string of releases will bring: Unaccompanied voice? Country songs? Shakuhachi? Guitar pieces played with his feet? Shredding fuzz bass over the top of hyper-speed distorted drum machine beats? Continuing in the grand Youngs tradition of exploring new techniques, instrumentation and approaches while bringing to all of them his idiosyncratic touch, Modern Sorrow serves up two sides of twistedly elegiac, radically stark takes on contemporary pop production. The side-long title track is built from a piano sample, synthetic bass notes and organ swells, and an iterative blurt that seems to have wandered out of a 90s jungle track. Eventually joined by a shuffling drum machine, the track moves very slowly through a series of chords, each delayed long enough that its arrival comes as a major event. Over the top, Youngs’ heavily pitch-corrected voice is heard. The processing paints his signature wandering melodic improvisations with shades of contemporary R&B; at the same time, it cuts the natural swoops and glides of Youngs’ melodies into rapid microtonal trills, giving his voice a quavering, middle eastern feel. Unfolding languorously over more than 17 minutes, the piece’s final minutes make room for an extended drumless coda, returning to the stark palette of its opening moments. On the second side, the two parts of ‘Benevolence’ push this minimalism ever further, its first half consisting of nothing more than a remarkably slow drum machine hit, bass-heavy chords and pitch-corrected voice, here so heavily processed that it starts to resemble a shawn solo. In its second part, the harmonic foundation drops out from under the piece while two more voices join; at some moments the voices pause, leaving nothing more than isolated, metronomic drum hits. Though Youngs has explored the sound worlds associated with dance music and contemporary pop in previous work, here these elements are radically reduced, foregrounding a meditative bed of silence with a boldness equal to any more academically inclined contemporary composer. Embracing the accessible digital tools of contemporary music production just as at another moment he would pick up a kazoo, like much of Youngs’ work Modern Sorrow uses simple DIY tools to generous ends, producing formally radical music that remains both free from pretension and deeply moving.

Woke rhythms and high-spirited grooves from the vaults of two seminal Italian jazz labels, between the 70s and 80s. Intensely curated by Khalab.

Hyperituals is a philological investigation that deeply delves into the possibilities of sound, rhythm, remix, and endless sampling. Inspiring listening, interpretation, and reinterpretation.
This volume is dedicated to the catalogue of the Italian Black Saint. Thanks to a constant, cutting-edge, and meticulous commitment, Black Saint & Soul Note established themself as two of the most important imprints for international jazz. They always placed the artists, their visions, and their music at the centre, giving them total freedom of creative expression. By combining jazz tradition with the political vanguard sentiment of the time, the two labels were able to press and produce more than five hundred records, many of which are by some of the brightest names in creative jazz or the ‘avant-garde’ of the era.
Curated by Khalab, the selection - focused on rhythms, grooves, and Afrocentric traditions - blends moments in which the rhythmic aspect is powerfully explicit, with others in which the kinetic aspect dialogues on different levels with African American cultural contexts.

New year, new energy, new music...

We’re all waiting for that tune to land in our lap, reach up and slap us simultaneously in the ears, feels, souls and feet. That big sonic blast of emotion and inspiration that sets the tone and gets us excited about a new season of shows.

Hard Times Records present ‘All I Need’, a powerful, slab of house music positivity that smacks of ‘first anthem of the year’ vibes and comes courtesy of one of house music’s biggest pioneers AND a certified UK House music institution that permanently changed the face of global club culture over 30 years ago... Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley and Hard Times.

Neither Hurley or Hard Times need any introductions, but both have histories that deserve so much more than this hype-fuelled promo blurb. Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley is a certified legend. As one of the pioneering House music artists to emerge from Chicago’s primordial 80s phenomenon and the first ever to score a UK number one Hit with ‘Jack Your Body’, the multiple Grammy nominated artist has been a powerful source of energy and inspiration ever since as one of the most consistent forefathers of this scene.

Hard Times have played an equally influential role and are arguably responsible for some of the most defining moments in uk House Music. One of the first club nights to import the US titans to UK dancefloors, the Yorkshire brand were instrumental in creating a blueprint in international DJ culture as they invited the biggest pioneers and legends to their events that began in the sleepy town of Mirfield, but eventually sprawled across the UK with line-ups that ranged from Todd Terry to Masters at Work to Deep Dish and every titan in between. A dominant force throughout the 90s, Hard Times wound down in the 2000s as its founder Steve Raine took a break from the industry to become a sheep farmer, which he still does to this day... Safe in the knowledge that he helped to create an ethos for uncompromising underground House Music that remains steadfast to this Day.

The Hard Times label originated back in 1994 And ran alongside the club night, boasting a small but elite catalogue. It’s about to thrive on a whole new level as Hard Times returns as a label with its first new material for over 20 years with ‘All I Need’.

Timeless yet forward-thinking, loaded to the brim with precision groovemanship, glazed with a strong Latin twist and sprinkled with the gorgeous vocals of Sara Garvey, who many will instantly recognise from her Nightmares On Wax collaborations, ‘All I Need’ is a pedigree house anthem-in-waiting. Universal in vibe and spirit, fully transcending trend or flavour-of-the-month fickleness, this taps into the source and has full potential to be the first big boundary-breaking house hit of 2023... 36 years after Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley topped the charts with ‘Jack Your Body’!

It comes complete with a rainbow of remixes from some equally eye-opening heavyweights: Alex Arnout, Eddie Leader, Terry Farley & Kevin Swain and DJ Skip (who runs S&S Records with ‘Hurley) all provide different perspectives on ‘All I Need’, giving it even more scope and depth to slap us simultaneously.

On his debut LP 'Impromptu', Julian Klaas presents a stunning work of sonic ambivalence inspired by the beauty and potential of the Wurlitzer piano. "I didn't attempt to pursue grand feelings like ultimate happiness or deep sadness, I'm much more fascinated in the in-between: the moments you might not otherwise write down, and that you might have forgotten if you hadn't recorded them." With 'Impromptu' Klaas has found a way to honour these moments, revealing the depth and richness that underpins the present.