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Of the many great talents of the classic Nigerian highlife scene, none contained the existential depth, transcendence and grace of Celestine Ukwu. During his brief time in this world, he pursued education, music, and philosophy; first as a school teacher, then ultimately a singer, lyricist and musician, first as a member of Gentleman Mike Ejeagha's Premier Dance Band, and eventually fronting his own groups, The Music Royals and The Philosophers National. Beginning in the early 1970s, The Philosophers National established a radical shift in the possibilities of Nigerian highlife by moving away from the typical mid-century style and cutting a new path with a distinctly hypnotic and cerebral atmosphere. This sense of depth was apparent in the lilting, multi-layered and pulsing music of The Philosophers National, as well as the concise and clear-eyed lyrics sung so beautifully by Celestine Ukwu. The arrangements establish a living, breathing environment for each song; muted trumpet solos, hypnotic guitar runs, driving percussion; every instrument gracefully following a tide of patience, tranquility, wonder, climax, knowing and unknowing. "Celestine ditched the jaunty dance rhythms and relatively facile lyrics typical of the reigning highlife tunes, and ignoring the soul music tropes most of the highlife bandleaders were appropriating in an effort to inject new life to their ailing format. Instead Celestine concocted a new highlife style that was more contemplative and lumbering; with the layering of Afro-Cuban ostinato basslines and repetitive rhythm patterns that interlocked to create an effect that was hypnotic, virtually transcendental. Meanwhile, Celestine himself sang as he stood coolly onstage in a black turtleneck and a sportscoat, looking like a university professor. The message was clear: this was not necessarily music for dancing_even though the rhythms were compelling enough. This was music for the thinkers." - Uchenna Ikonne This LP compiles some of Celestine Ukwu's deepest and most affecting songs from the 1970s, which have been gorgeously restored and remastered by Tim Stollenwerk to highlight the brilliant details of Celestine and the entire Philosopher's National. Pressed on 160 gram black vinyl at Smashed Plastic in Chicago, and comes in heavy 3 spot-color jacket, with fold-over insert with bilingual lyrics and notes by Uchenna Ikonne (Comb & Razor Sound).

In March 2020, Tahiti 80 had a plan to start recording their new album in the studio. That plan, of course, along with everything else in the world, got derailed. But the five-piece group was resilient and resourceful. They quickly shifted to a socially distanced plan B that included file swapping and virtual sessions, all refereed by producer Julien Vignon. The result, due for release in March 2022, is the buoyant Here With You, a collection of eleven upbeat songs that unfold like a prescription for a post-pandemic panacea.

“When lockdown in France happened, we said, 'We're not going to stay at home not doing anything,'” says singer-guitarist Xavier Boyer. “And our new plan became a hopeful thing, waking up every morning and seeing what the other guys had worked on. It wasn't always easy, but this new method allowed a freer approach where we could really go all the way with an idea without being influenced by each other’s suggestions. It must've been overwhelming for Julien, who ended up selecting all our arrangements. But he stayed positive all the way through.”

To help stay inspired and focused during their time in isolation, the band created a mood board, with the centerpiece a photo of an early '90s rave in the UK.

Boyer says, “Whenever you see pictures from this era, people seem very innocent. There are no cell phones and everybody is in to what they are experiencing. We kept that picture in mind as a kind of mantra that would help everyone feel connected to this idea of people celebrating, gathering and just having fun. We were missing the connection with people, and thought it would be great if we could create music that would inspire that kind of emotion.”

Indeed, the songs on Here With You are brimming the feeling of communion that we've all been missing over the past two years. It's there in the catchy opener Lost in the Sound, which walks the walk with Chic guitar flicks, urban nightfall sparkles and an inviting chorus (“Your heart grooves like a thousand 808s on the right time”). It's there in the Jackson 5-style syncopated bounce of “Vintage Creem,” the lush, dreamy “Breakfast in L.A.” and the panoramic sweep of “UFO.” And it's there in the first single “Hot,” which matches an irresistible groove with a neon-lit, percolating arrangement that evokes the disco clubs of 1979.

What's remarkable is that though Tahiti 80 displays a clear affection for sounds of the past, from bubble gum to '70s soul, they never trade in mere pastiche. Their take is more a slightly warped and playful carnival mirror mash-up of classic pop styles, given depth through Boyer's hang-gliding, coolly emotive vocals and lyrics that often rub against the euphoric grain of the music.

“I like to think of songs as a three-minute drama,” says Boyer. “This concept of drama definitely adds different levels to our music. There's the melody, the lyrics, then the production that can maybe emphasize or counterbalance the interaction between the yin and yang in a song.

“There's a difference between the very upbeat, sunshine-y soft rock and the lyrics, even on our past albums,” he continues. “Not dark, but a little more melancholy, and also looking for some kind of motivation, talking to yourself. Like with a lot of Motown songs, you get that feeling where you body’s dancing while your mind’s reflecting, reminiscing.”

That alluring blend of happy-sad has been a signature part of the Tahiti 80 sound from the time Boyer and bassist Pedro Resende formed the group in 1993, as students at the University of Rouen. Taking their name from a souvenir t-shirt given to Boyer's father in 1980, the duo recruited guitarist Mederic Gontier in 1994, and with the addition of drummer Sylvain Marchand a year later, the lineup was complete. The foursome released a self-produced and self-financed EP, 20 Minutes, in 1996, which resulted a record deal with French label Atmospheriques in 1998. Their full-length debut Puzzle, produced with Ivy's Andy Chase and mixed by Tore Johansson, went gold and featured the international hit “Heartbeat” that established the band throughout Europe and Asia.

In the years since, Tahiti 80 – with the additions of Raphaël Léger on drums and Hadrien Grange on keys - has released eight acclaimed albums. The band has fused what MOJO called a “glorious entente of old and new technology” (including singles like “Yellow Butterfly,” “1000 Times,” “Sound Museum,” “Crush!” and “Big Day,” which was featured on a FIFA video game soundtrack), while collaborating with such producers and arrangers as Richard Swift, Tony Lash and Richard Anthony Hewson, who famously arranged The Beatles' “Long and Winding Road.” Boyer has also put out two solo albums, the first under the anagram Axe Riverboy and the second under his name. In 2019, the band released Fear of an Acoustic Planet, a stripped-down reimagining of some of their best-loved tracks from the previous twenty years. It served not only as a look back but a reminder of their formidable songwriting skills.

Boyer is definitely a student of the timeless three-minute pop song format pioneered by '60s artists like The Beatles and The Beach Boys. He says, “I see it as kind of a frame for a painting. Most of the songs on this album, I wrote a verse, pre-chorus and chorus. There aren't many middle eights. I wanted it to be very concise. I feel like people have less attention. There's so much music. It's too easy to switch off or skip to another track, so I want to hook the listener. The three-minute song is kind of an easy code to crack, but at the same time you have to figure out a new way to tell the stories that we've heard before.”

And the stories on Here With You are very much about the longing for connection. Of the album title, Boyer says, “In the world right now, that can mean a lot of different things. Like missing our fans, missing going to concerts. In a way, it can be a statement of what happened last year, and a wish of 'I want to be here with you again.' It's our ninth album. We've had some had some very open, conceptual titles like Puzzle, Activity Center. Sometimes they were more specific like Fosbury orWallpaper for the Soul. Here with You, seems more personal, more engaging in terms of relationships. When I suggested that title, everyone in the band said, 'Yeah, that's it.'”

Until Tahiti 80 can resume a full tour schedule, Boyer says he hopes the new record will make that personal connection. “If I see from the point of view as a music fan, sometimes I see albums I like as companions throughout my life. So if we can be a part of people's existence, even if it's a song that reminds them of the time they were driving with the windows open and it was sunny. Or a sad song that resonates with them after a breakup. That's what we're all looking for when we're making music. You do this very personal thing and you want it to touch as many people as possible.”

While previous albums, most notably Leland and Minutes of Sleep (2014) as well as two albums released as one half of the duo Aris Kindt (most notably the stellar Swann and Odette from 2017) have relied on singular thematic and narrative drives that were often of a personal, collaborative, or hermetic in nature, Thresholds is an album that aspires to sonic universality and the presentation of a fully formed psychoacoustical world. That being said it is not an “album of ideas”. Inspired by the ecological and political upheavals of the present and the role of speculative thought as an avenue of global transformation Thresholds is the work of a mature artist fully in control of his powers. Both expansive and nuanced the album widens the aperture of the affective possibilities of the electronic assemblage; themes skip from one track to the next, elevating and informing each other in tangible fields of abstract figuration. The titles, while often heady, concisely allude to strategies implicit in the construction and arrangement of the works: Cut Up, within the context of the album, is exactly that. Luck Takes a Step juxtaposes stately synths with just the right touch of playful fluctuation and latent atonality. The title track itself is a knotted mass of uncertainty and propulsive beats the breakdown of which is a nervous series of fits and starts that resonate not just within the track but as the fulcrum of the entire album: the threshold of our Threshold: “…we are caught up in our own original transversals of time to the point of dissolution, and that which remains a part of the contrivance of ourselves is ultimately that which crosses the threshold and is somehow, miraculously, reconstituted on the other side of it. Because it is via the threshold that we can best observe the conditions of experience as lived even as we cross to the other side of understanding, rejoining the ancient equilibriums of which we, in our depths, are comprised.” (From the liner notes)
No track overstays its welcome and with the help of standout vocalist Eliana Glass, and instrumentation by Dave Harrington (Darkside with Nicolas Jaar), Mark Nelson (Pan American), Will Shore, Greg Paulus and Gareth Redmond, and mixed by Phil Weinrobe, the result is a dizzyingly pure inward gaze that is first and foremost an album about connection.

''I wanted to rock this time,'' says the multi-talented musical and literary
artist, and local Nashville hero, Tommy Womack, sitting making love to an
early morning cup of coffee at Bongo Java in East Nashville, ''they've
called me an Americana artist for over twenty years now, and it's a great
important genre; I've got nothing against it - I've had a great time being
part of the movement
But one day a while back, I had an epiphany. I thought, hey, I hate dobros
anymore! And if I hear another song about a train in the key of G, somebody's
gonna get hurt.'' ''I Thought I Was Fine' has more in common with the
Replacements than 'Car Wheels on a Gravel Road''' Womack continues as the
caffeine begins to kick in, ''It's up-tempo, and sometimes totally in your face. Look,
I'm 58 years old, I nearly died in a car accident on the way to a gig in 2015, I've
beaten back cancer three times since 2017. I've seen musician friends of mind
die before they hit my age, so I want to go back to my first love, rock and roll,
while I still have time.''Womack enjoys a tremendous affection in Nashville and
some among the rest of the world, for his (often intensely personal) songs that
are sometimes funny, sometimes sad, and have been noted by journalists and
fans of having songs able to raise laughter and tears within the same song. From
1985-1992, he played in the legendary post- punk college radio darlings
Government Cheese. Then came the bis-quits, from '92 to '94, who did a critically
acclaimed record for Jon Prine's 'Oh Boy!.' Womack has also written several
books, his first band, 'Cheese Chronicles', is a cult classic among both musicians
and fans.

It’s likely that Dave East was both ready and willing to lock in for a full-length Harry Fraud produced album well before he heard Fraud’s work with Jim Jones (The Fraud Department) and Benny the Butcher (The Plugs I Met 2). But it’s just as likely that the synergy and flawless execution of those projects couldn’t have hurt East’s inclination. Fraud shows up for East on HOFFA the same way he did for Jones and Benny, finding a sturdy balance between moody synth lines, obscure rock samples, and ’90s-hip-hop drum patterns to act as an idyllic backdrop for East’s hand-to-hand street-life memories, basketball references, and straight-faced acknowledgment of the way drugs have affected his own family. Fellow barsmiths Jim Jones, G Herbo, Benny the Butcher, and Curren$y round out the features, but longtime Dave East fans might be most excited to hear a new verse from Kiing Shooter, the Queens-hailing Dave East associate who passed away in 2020 following complications from COVID-19.

Robert Sotelo is a mercurial melodist building a resplendent world of pristine DIY pop from the ground up. The Glasgow-based artist’s songs are meticulously crafted, patchworked together with eclectic arrangements and ardent vocal performances. Each of his albums to date has been accompanied by a growth-spurt, 2017’s debut ‘Cusp’ was packed with miniature psych overtures, whilst 2018’s 'Botanical' was more keyboard-minded and playful with a near-absurdist palette of sound. ‘Infinite Sprawling’ came out towards the end of 2019 and surprised with songs pulled together like a wakeful stretch, brisk with a lightness of touch. This was neatly followed by ‘Leap & Bounce’ melding a sparse synth-pop minimalism to an emotional undertow.
This November Upset The Rhythm will release Robert Sotelo’s vivid new album ‘Celebrant’. ‘Celebrant’ was intended to be and still is to some extent a joyous wedding album (Sotelo is recently married), but in his own words “the pandemic and the death of my aunt Carmen intersected with the original concept so the album is darker than intended in places.” More cinematic and measured than prior albums, Sotelo expounds that “it is purposefully a bigger sounding attempt at my keyboard songs and I felt more ambitious about it in general.” That’s certainly reflected in these twelve sophisticated loops of song, all curiously affecting and catchy, sprinkled with Sotelo’s offbeat musings and keenly accurate observations. Guitars are rarely employed on this record with Sotelo recruiting Iain Mccall, Ross Blake, Celia Morgan and David Maxwell to contribute brass, woodwind, spoken word and acoustic drums respectively. All of these additions blend well with the album’s synthetic core, softening and subtly shaping its pop-first nature into something more nuanced, vulnerable and human.
‘Celebrant’ is a plucky synth-centric collection of unbridled songs at times surefooted at others threatened by disconnect, skilfully steered by Sotelo with typical classy touch. ‘Dear Resident’ is divinely metronomic, ‘Behaviour’ luxuriates in pitching a silken saxophone into a frenzied drum-off. ‘The Currency Is Love’ swaggers with 80s vibes aplenty: “all the globe is listening as a system of concern” sings Sotelo in clipped manner, enjoying the placement of each word in each song precisely, however seemingly stumbled upon and surreal their selection might seem. Other highlights include title track ‘The Celebrant’ with its lush environ of droning keys, swooning woodwind and baroque reverie, and ‘This Is My House’ a woozy, maze-like triumph of melody. ‘Influencer’ is similarly masterful with melancholic strains of synth, sax and voice: “extract the data from the fruit straight off the tree, conducive testing proves it’s not reality, create a substitute to simulate the tide, with rich efficiency the differences can hide.” The song itself a cipher for an ill-imagined future we might be living in already.
With ‘Celebrant’ Robert Sotelo has made an album that sounds as big as its heart and imagination, true depth of feeling, true depth of connection. It’s an ornate album, complex and thoughtful, a fitting tribute to a wedding in unsettled times. What a treat that we’ve all been invited to the reception.

"Oscillation associations

This album is titled Os. When I look at the shape of these two letters, O and S, I realize that they are a rotation and an oscillation.

Os is Dutch for Ox. An ox is a castrated male bull. The primary benefit of castrating bull calves is to temper their tempers, making it easier and cheaper for people to handle them. Os is also an abbreviation of oscillation, -cillation being castrated off. Oscillation means a movement back and forth in a regular rhythm, like breathing, push-ups, tides, swinging or sound. For this album Lyckle was not dealing with oxes or bulls, but with oscillations, guiding them through synths, handling their tempers. If I look at the etymology of oscillation, I learn that it stems from the term Oscilla, which were ancient disks depicting a face or animal on each side. Oscilla is a diminutive of os and means ‘little face’. They were hung in trees during religious feasts honoring various deities, as well as being thought of as purifying the air as they swung in the wind.

The wind chime with its little sunny face, smiling on the cover of this record was hanging in the windowsill of Lyckle’s studio, behind his back, where the wind would make it jingle, averting the Evil Eye according to apotropaic magic. In ancient Rome, wind chimes named Tintinnabulum were decorated with a phallus, which was also seen as a good luck charm. Phallic charm also appeared as objects of jewelry such as pendants and finger rings. It has been suggested that some types of phallic pendants were designed to point outwards in the direction of travel in order to face any potential danger or bad luck, nullifying it before it could affect the wearer.

When I take the record itself out of the sleeve, I see that there are two phalluses carved into the surface of the vinyl, like little ornaments. When you start playing the record, they start chasing each other, going round and round. They point in all directions of the room, but are never able to point at each other. Finally, I am told that it is recommended to listen to this record with the window open, allowing sounds from outside to blend in with the music. "

- Bernice Nauta

A unique new album of poetry and music featuring Marianne Faithfull set to the music of Warren Ellis, and featuring Nick Cave, Brian Eno and Vincent Ségal
With She Walks in Beauty, Marianne Faithfull with composer and multi-instrumentalist Warren Ellis releases one of the most distinctive and singular albums of her long, extraordinary life and career. It was recorded just before and during the first Covid-19 lockdown – during which the singer herself became infected and almost died of the disease – with musical friends and family including not only composer Warren Ellis but Nick Cave, Brian Eno, cellist Vincent Ségal and producer-engineer Head. She Walks in Beauty fulfils Faithfull’s long-held ambition to record an album of poetry with music.
It’s a record that draws on her passion for the English Romantic poets, a passion she fostered in her A Level studies with one Mrs Simpson at St Joseph's Convent School in Reading. From there she entered the world of As Tears Go By, of Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones, Top of the Pops and the left-hand path of pop and stage stardom. Sixties iconography and outrage followed, as did her subsequent battles with addiction before her 1979 return to powerful female and artistic autonomy with Broken English, an album which featured her setting to music Heathcote Williams’ poem of eviscerating rage, Why D’Ya Do It?
Drawing deep on the poetry of Shelley, Keats, Byron, Wordsworth, Tennyson and Thomas Hood, Faithfull’s vocal performances set to Ellis’s subtle collages of sound draw out the heart, the quick, the vibrant living matter in all these great poems, making them fresh, renewing them with the complex, lived-in timbres of her voice, and set to a subtle palette of ambient musical settings. It’s both a radical departure and a return to her original inspirations as an artist and performer.
The greatest poetry is best heard, and Faithfull’s accounts of some of the greatest lyric poetry in our language – Keats’ Ode To A Nightingale and Ode To Autumn – are spine-tingling in their deep understanding of the poetry’s powerful currents of meaning and identification. On Nightingale, her voice opens up like an epic landscape, while in Shelley’s miniature masterpiece, To The Moon, she sounds otherworldly, as if calling down from another medium, and the atonal, otherworldly sound textures provided by Eno on Bridge of Sighs and La Belle Dame Sans Merci become a compelling foil for Faithfull’s haunting interpretations of these rich, dark poems.
“They’ve have been with her her whole life,” says Ellis. “She believes in these texts. That world, she inhabits it, embodies it, and that really comes through. There’s just something about the way she can deliver that is incredibly affecting.”
“Eventually I always end up where I was meant to be,” says Faithfull. “I’ve noticed that. It may take a long time, but I get there. I never forget these things. After all these years, I’ve drawn the strands back and they still mean something and they resonate more, actually, because I now have life experience. Life and near-death experience. Many times! Not just once.” She Walks in Beauty is scheduled for release April 30th, with artwork created for the album by British artist and lifelong friend, Colin Self, and with the full texts of the poems, and commentary, included in the liner notes. While Faithfull continues to recover from the after-effects of Covid-19, and the world around us continues to struggle with the impact of the worldwide pandemic, these are poems and performances to steady and lift the spirit.

The eagerly anticipated debut album Build A Problem, due for release on 26th March 2021. At just 25, dodie has already done a lot of living. Some of that has played out online as she made a name for herself as a singer and writer, amassing millions of fans with her disarmingly honest videos and affecting, intimate singing style. She has scored two top-ten EPs, headlined and sold out London’s Roundhouse, and the Hollywood Palladium and New York’s Terminal 5, and become an ambassador for Depersonalisation charity Unreal. It’s hard to believe she has yet to release her debut album. dodie has released 3 EPs which have charted in the UK, US Billboard, and Australian album charts. Most notably, her recent release the “Human” EP (2019)reached no #5 in the UK charts. Her previous EP ‘You’ reached #6 in the UK Albums Chart in late August 2017. Build A Problem is available to pre-order in CD, vinyl, deluxe CD, deluxe vinyl and cassette formats.

Katy Kirby is a Texas-based songwriter and indie rock practitioner with an affinity for unspoken rules, misunderstanding and boredom. She was born, raised and homeschooled by two ex-cheerleaders in small-town Texas and started singing in church, amidst the pasteurised-pop choruses of evangelical worship. Like many bible belt late-millennials, Katy grew up on a strict diet of this dependably uncool genre and accordingly, Cool Dry Place finds her dismantling it. "I can hear myself fighting that deeply internalized impulse to make things that are super pleasant or approachable," she says. Though Katy hasn't fully overcome the itch to please, it's to a listener's benefit. Instead of eradicating the pop sensibilities of her past, she warps them, lacing sugary hooks with sneaky rage, twisting affectionate tones into matter-of-fact reproach, and planting seemingly serene melodies with sonic jabs. The fun is in the clash. The nine tracks that make up Cool Dry Place are miscellaneous in subject (motherhood, late capitalism, disintegrating relationships) but unified by the angle from which they're told: from a person re-learning to process life with intense attention. Each song is a catalogue of fragments, the number of segments in an orange or the cut of an obsessively-worn shirt, distilled into meditations on the bizarre and microscopic exchanges that make up modern life - a relationship splintering, an uncomfortable pause, an understanding finally found. These emotional dioramas are moderated by the angular storytelling that unites Gillian Welch and Phoebe Bridgers, a favour for the conventions of short fiction over confession.

Katy Kirby is a Texas-based songwriter and indie rock practitioner with an affinity for unspoken rules, misunderstanding and boredom. She was born, raised and homeschooled by two ex-cheerleaders in small-town Texas and started singing in church, amidst the pasteurised-pop choruses of evangelical worship. Like many bible belt late-millennials, Katy grew up on a strict diet of this dependably uncool genre and accordingly, Cool Dry Place finds her dismantling it. "I can hear myself fighting that deeply internalized impulse to make things that are super pleasant or approachable," she says. Though Katy hasn't fully overcome the itch to please, it's to a listener's benefit. Instead of eradicating the pop sensibilities of her past, she warps them, lacing sugary hooks with sneaky rage, twisting affectionate tones into matter-of-fact reproach, and planting seemingly serene melodies with sonic jabs. The fun is in the clash. The nine tracks that make up Cool Dry Place are miscellaneous in subject (motherhood, late capitalism, disintegrating relationships) but unified by the angle from which they're told: from a person re-learning to process life with intense attention. Each song is a catalogue of fragments, the number of segments in an orange or the cut of an obsessively-worn shirt, distilled into meditations on the bizarre and microscopic exchanges that make up modern life - a relationship splintering, an uncomfortable pause, an understanding finally found. These emotional dioramas are moderated by the angular storytelling that unites Gillian Welch and Phoebe Bridgers, a favour for the conventions of short fiction over confession.

Katy Kirby is a Texas-based songwriter and indie rock practitioner with an affinity for unspoken rules, misunderstanding and boredom. She was born, raised and homeschooled by two ex-cheerleaders in small-town Texas and started singing in church, amidst the pasteurised-pop choruses of evangelical worship. Like many bible belt late-millennials, Katy grew up on a strict diet of this dependably uncool genre and accordingly, Cool Dry Place finds her dismantling it. "I can hear myself fighting that deeply internalized impulse to make things that are super pleasant or approachable," she says. Though Katy hasn't fully overcome the itch to please, it's to a listener's benefit. Instead of eradicating the pop sensibilities of her past, she warps them, lacing sugary hooks with sneaky rage, twisting affectionate tones into matter-of-fact reproach, and planting seemingly serene melodies with sonic jabs. The fun is in the clash. The nine tracks that make up Cool Dry Place are miscellaneous in subject (motherhood, late capitalism, disintegrating relationships) but unified by the angle from which they're told: from a person re-learning to process life with intense attention. Each song is a catalogue of fragments, the number of segments in an orange or the cut of an obsessively-worn shirt, distilled into meditations on the bizarre and microscopic exchanges that make up modern life - a relationship splintering, an uncomfortable pause, an understanding finally found. These emotional dioramas are moderated by the angular storytelling that unites Gillian Welch and Phoebe Bridgers, a favour for the conventions of short fiction over confession.

Mow Records proudly presents L’enfants De Kita, the third album from a series of five, all produced by label owner Mowgan. Each album features vocalists and performers with African heritage, channeling Mowgan’s passion for the continent’s diverse sounds into vibrant, highly emotive productions. On L’enfants De Kita he teams up with Fanta Sayon Sissoko, a female performer from West African nation Mali. Based in Toulouse, where the album was recorded, Fanta’s musical roots go deep - her father played guitar and ngoni for Baaba Maal and her grandmother is Kandia Kouyaté, one of Mali’s best-known griot singers.

Mowgan always dreamed of working with a female singer from Mali, enchanted by their vocal style. After moving back to France a few years ago he bumped into Eric Diaouré, an old friend who he worked with in his teens. Eric is also a musician and just so happens to be from Mali. Mowgan revealed his ambitions to Eric and a meeting with Fanta was arranged - within a few days they were in the studio together.

Like the other albums in this series, L’enfants De Kita is a fusion of Mowgan’s love for African music and his penchant for electronic sounds. Fanta’s raw, affecting vocals are complemented by Mowgan’s considered production throughout with additional instrumentation from a range of performers, including a group of schoolchildren on ‘Tubani’. Featured artists include Solo Sanou (whose album ‘Soya’ was the second release on Mow Records) playing percussion, Mamadou ‘Madou’ Dembele, a multi-instrumentalist who plays ngoni, Yohan Hernandez on guitar and bass plus Madani Touré aka Chanana (a famous Malian rapper from the nineties) contributing to lead vocals on the album’s title track, with Tim Xavier handling mastering.

Mowgan’s approach to creating albums is to get a vibe going with the singer, produce a batch of songs and then select the best seven for each LP. It’s a pressure-free attitude that has led to some truly heartfelt productions, which encapsulate the purity of the creative process when it’s liberated from rigid constraints. You can hear this freedom of expression throughout L’enfants De Kita, Fanta in her element as she sings with passion and grace across all seven tracks.

The album begins with the title song ‘L’enfants De Kita’, which pays homage to Fanta’s hometown, Kita, in Mali. It is the centre of griotism, the local style of passing on knowledge from one generation to the next via spoken-word storytelling. Chanana joins Fanta on this one, which is the most ‘western’ sounding cut on the LP, Mowgan’s deft touch taking us to the dance floor, while Chanana adds extra depth with his rapid-fire vocal refrain. The glorious ‘Tubani’ tells the story of Djene Tubani, a girl who thought she was a bird. She disobeys her parents and neglects her friends, but eventually learns the error of her ways. Fanta’s vocals are amplified by the voices of a group of schoolchildren, including her own daughter.

‘Mobaya’ is a reminder that we can possess wisdom and deep knowing, but we can also enjoy ourselves; dance, sing and party. This is a club-focused production with 4x4 beats and a traditional house feel, which provide a wonderful accompaniment to Fanta’s uplifting vocals. Next up is ‘Dakan’, a cut which is all about destiny: Everyone has been put on Earth for a reason and by working together we can all achieve our destiny. Layers of percussion skip over the warm low end, with a lively trumpet appearing in the second half.

‘Dounouya’ explores the notion that we live in a world where everyone faces negative criticism. Fanta encourages us to take responsibility and move forward no matter what others think of us with this inspiring guitar-led cut. ‘Djonya’ highlights the fact that slavery still exists in today’s world - modern slavery, hidden from public view but still very much alive. “Our Africa is going to be okay if we all hold hands, if we are all together, all united,” she says. Finally,‘Badeya’, a great outtro which focuses on unity. We are all one family on this planet and this song speaks of people coming together but also respecting ourselves above everything else. The pace is slow and the instrumentation perfectly balanced to allow Fanta’s vocals to flourish.

Swiss bass music maestro Bit-Tuner presents a widescreen ambient album about interactions and the traces they leave behind.

Bit-Tuner's 7th album "EXO" marks a milestone in his work: the widescreen and mostly beatless opus focusses on musical storytelling and atmospheric depth. The album was written and recorded towards the end of Bit-Tuner's 2-year stay in Athens.

Influenced by topics like the social and structural turmoils of the past years, the strong connections between communities and the sensation of being in an economic deadlock, Bit-Tuner wrote an album that urges to be listened to in a (self-)reflective way.

It is a call to listeners to listen closely, delve into the sounds surrounding them in any given moment and draw a quiet but firm inspiration from within. Following his field recording-based albums "The China Syndrome" and "The Japan Syndrome", "EXO" highlights his interest in cinematic music and soundtracks.

For the album, Bit-Tuner is collaborating with film maker Joerg Hurschler, who is creating animated footage that will be screened, mixed and live scored at Bit-Tuner's shows in 2020. Joerg Hurschler's work tells the story of molecular objects being propelled into a world similar to ours, where they operate, interact and affect their surroundings, creating and leaving behind something new and strange. What is it that surrounds us, and how do we approach and interact with forces that are beyond our (apparent) reach?

When acclaimed South African musician Guy Buttery first sought out Dr. Kanada Narahari in late 2016, it was as his patient.

“It was a dark time.” Buttery recalls, “I had been bedridden for months and had been suffering from debilitating bouts of fatigue which no diagnosis or medication could help me get to the bottom of. When I first met Kanada, I was at the stage where even picking up my guitar to make music had become a joyless and taxing exercise.”

As Buttery’s searched for a cure, a family member recommended he see Kanada an Ayurvedic doctor who had relocated to South Africa from India and set up a practice in Durban. It was during this consultation, that the musician first experienced how Narahari infused the healing properties of Indian Classical music into his practice. Rather than treating him with a smorgasbord of pharmaceuticals, Narahari played his sitar and set Buttery on a strict daily diet of Raga’s to fast track his recovery.

Buttery was not only struck by his doctor’s musical talents but by the powerful healing properties inherent in his sitar compositions. When he left Narahari’s doctors room that afternoon, he asserts he was feeling decidedly clearer, lighter and stronger.

“Diving into Kanada’s music was definitely one of the reasons I'm still here today.” he admits. “The consistent tonal centre at the heart of Indian Classical Music, literally became my support pillar over this period. A central core of sorts in which to fall back on, strengthen and discover.”

Narahari as it turned out, was not only a prominent music therapist (and one of the only Ayurvedic doctors practicing in South Africa) but like Buttery, a highly accomplished musician with a devoted following back in his homeland.

Born in a small village along the Western Ghats in Karnataka, India, Narahari, at the age of nine, had enrolled to study Carnatic classical vocal and developed an interest in Hindustani Classical music with a particular passion for the sitar. While Buttery had secured his reputation as one of South Africa’s musical treasures, a multi-instrumentalist who commands sold-out performances both locally and internationally and more recently had been awarded the prestigious 2018 Standard Bank Young Artist for Music.
From this consultation, a friendship developed between the two musicians with Buttery soon inviting Narahari to join him in his studio. But it wasn’t all plain sailing in the beginning. While Buttery and Narahari’s sensibilities were very much aligned, there were a range of cultural and musical influences, nuances and inflections that first needed to be navigated and understood.
“I suppose we had to find a common ground.” Buttery says, before adding, “Which in the end turned out to be pretty "uncommon ground" for the both of us.”
It was after a few intensive sessions together that something exhilarating began to emerge. What began as a few idle improvisations soon evolved into feverish and lengthier jams. Whenever time permitted, the musicians would meet, descending deeper into the emerging sounds, while reimagining the realms that existed between their African and Indian heritages.
Over the next few months, the duo would rack up over fifteen hours of recordings in studio, and it was up to Buttery to shape the material into an album which they collectively titled Nāḍī, which Narahari translates from the Sanskrit as "The Channel" or "An Internal River".

During this period, Narahari bestowed upon Buttery, the moniker Guruji while Guy would refer to him, in affectionate return, as Panditji. Each time the musicians would meet, the studio space would be cleared by an impromptu ritual, with Guruji burning African Imphepho while Panditji would chant a Sanskrit mantra dusting Indian Agarbatti clouds over their instruments.

Once the room had been made hazy with this aromatic alchemy (with the ancestors welcomed in) the musicians would pick up their instruments and plunge into shimmering tides of sound. Reflecting on these sessions, Narahari recalls the immense creative freedom he felt throughout: “Guy and I tried to wander as much as possible, without any speculative, preoccupied ideologies or limitations. Love remained at the forefront of our journey together.”

“Those evenings we spent together in the studio” adds Buttery, “felt incredibly rich with purpose and a profound sense of freedom. While improvising, anything could happen and mostly did.”

On a first listen, the tracks on Nāḍī emerge as salty, humid invocations to the inscrutable depths and misty myths of the Indian ocean-- that vast body of water that stretches between, and laps the shorelines, of the artists’ respective homelands.

When asked to describe the sound him and Narahari refined, Buttery prefers to relay a series of evocative images.

“For me” he explains, “Nāḍī is a lighthouse, a beacon that resides at the bottom of the ocean.” As Buttery envisions it, “what once offered light to guide ships to safety, has been submerged and re-purposed by marine life as a coral-reef temple. Similarly, this sunken lighthouse exists as a concealed cenotaph, memorializing the ancient sea-routes and passages that once connected the two distant lands.”

On paper this may sound obscure but listening to the songs, it serves as an apt metaphor.

Across each meditative movement, listeners are able to relive the journey, immersing themselves in a series of incantations, replete with high dynamics, delicate African-Indian inflections and virtuoso string playing of an entirely new order. Further complimenting the fusion of musical dialects are a range of guest artists including Shane Cooper on bass, Thandi Ntuli on vocals, Chris Letcher on organ, Ronan Skillen on tabla and percussion and Julian Redpath on guitar, synth and backing vocals.

Now like the submerged lighthouse, the recordings stand as a monument, a marker and snapshot of this fortuitous meeting, a tribute to the healing gifts of Guruji and Panditji in performance. It’s a process that already, both musicians look back on with reverence and nostalgia.

Buttery ruminates in closing, that when he first met Kanada his illness correlated with the biggest drought South Africa had experienced in many years “…for whatever reason, whenever we would connect and make music together, the sky would tend to open. Even if it was just a few drops. This went on for months, until finally the drought dissipated and my health had been restored.”

By the time the heavens did open across the East Coast, a deep friendship had been forged and with it abundant musical offerings poured down. A treasured sample of which we able to share in every time we press play and immerse ourselves in the sacrosanct musical universe that is Nāḍī.

As humans living on the planet today, we have become so removed from our original, natural habitat—the forest—that we forget our wild roots, our primal, animal origins. Music is one of the things that can bring us back to that place, that can put us in contact with a felt world of instinct, immediacy, and presence: a world where language and the problem-solving mind are not needed, where the music keeps your mind and body in the present moment, and the point of dancing becomes the dance of our inner wildness and animality itself. Hans Berg's Sounds of the Forest Forgotten affirms that music can bring us to a state of mind and body that can help us feel what we've forgotten from the forest. The overlaying project of the album is to conjure musical and conceptual resonances between mysticism and nature, summoning the incredible depth and force of nature that we usually miss, especially living in contemporary urban cities. Sounds of the Forest Forgotten channels the creativity, playfulness, and freedom of a life both before and beyond ours through the sounds of analog and digital synthesizers, a modular system, drum machines, and computers. Recorded between Hans's studios in Berlin and on the Swedish countryside, the album similarly shuttles between contemplative and ecstatic, between delicate and powerful, mixing sublime psychedelic techno compositions like 'Emerald Sea' with acidic dance-floor bangers like 'Storm' and 'Milk Thistle,' all nestled between contemplative and textural ambient compositions like 'Butterfly' and 'Glow Worm.' Berg is known for his enthralling productions and energetic livesets that capture dance floors with his particular brand of hypnotic techno, replete with angular lines, affecting melodies, pulsating basslines, and big drums. He also produces atmospheric scores and ambient soundscapes to accompany the video art and installations of long-term collaborator and celebrated artist Nathalie Djurberg. Berg's live sets have found a home in nightclubs around the world, with recent gigs in Berlin, Stockholm, New York, Tokyo, and Melbourne, to name a few. In addition to 2MR, he has released his solo work on record labels including Ian Pooley's imprint Montage, Klasse Recordings, and The Vinyl Factory. His ongoing collaboration with fellow Swede Johanna Knutsson - as Knutsson/Berg - has led them to start the label UFO Station Recordings, on which they release their own material. The duo also has released on labels such as Idle Hands, Default Position, Kann, and Random Island.

Francis Harris' exceptional run of releases for his own labels Scissors & Thread and Kingdoms now extends to this perfectly formed EP for hafendisko, which sees him rework some of hfn music's finest moments of the last two years. Harris, the Brooklynite whose feel for subtlety and space seems to infuse all his work, takes on three of the Hamburg label's cannon - kicked off with Kasper Bjørke's 'Cloud 9', featuring Urdur. Here Harris deconstructs the original and reforms it into a some quite removed from its origins - shuffling drum machines bring about a Kraftwerkesque feel, before beautiful tones and atmospheres reveal themselves. The track seems to develop along two paths simultaneously, somehow creating a truly affecting piece of leftfield electronica.

Null + Void's huge Dave Gahan-featuring-track 'Where I Wait' has been heavily remixed over the past months, but also gets the Harris treatment. Completely flipped form the original, this is a haunting remix with tough and funky underbelly, utilizing Gahan's vocals only sparingly.

Danish alt-pop trio ticktock have their single 'Hatefuck' refixed also, and Harris zones in on the glitchy vibe and adds layers of claustrophobic depth to the production.

It is said that every generation casts its mind back to a previous era in times of crisis; the resources that will allow us to decode the questions of our moment may lie in the myths of another era.

Le Renard Bleu, the new musical and cinematic collaboration between Lafawndah and composer Midori Takada, and filmmakers Partel Oliva, takes a cross- generational echo as ground zero for recovering a crucial myth for uncertain times: the blue fox.

As transmitted by Takada, the fox appears in both ancient Senegalese and Japanese folktales as the trickster archetype; belonging both to the heavens and to the earth, the fox is the agent of chaotic good, shaking the world up when its energy has become stagnant. Above all else, the fox is famous for its cunning nature.

Renard Bleu marks the first new music released by Takada in nearly twenty years; it would be difficult to overstate the importance of her return to the public eye. Her first solo record, 1983's Through the Looking Glass, has been rediscovered and heralded as a lost classic; the influence of her percussion trio, the Mkwaju Ensemble, continues to permeate and inspire a new generation entranced by its lucid beauty, playfulness, and sensual patience. Takada has performed in numerous film score orchestras, including the ensemble for Akira Kurasawa's Dreams, coincidentally a key influence on Renard Bleu.

In the ensuing years, Takada has worked closely with theater group the Suzuki Company of Toga on productions of Electra and King Lear, an experience, she says, that allowed her to pursue 'a unity of music, body and space.' Recent live solo performances have evinced the depths of her exploration of all three.

Equally, it is Lafawndah's freedom of tone, decentralized maps of ancient and modern music cultures, and alloying of devotional intensity with modern songcraft casts her as a distinct relative of Midori Takada's.

Over the course of two EPs, self- directed music videos, and countless live performances, Lafawndah has drawn out an uncompromising exploration of how theater, situational intervention, and choreography can amplify the affective palate of forward pop music. One can trace the influence of artists such as Meredith Monk, Carlos Sara, and Andy Kaufman as much as musical antecedents AR Rahmann, Missy Elliott, or Geinoh Yamashirogumi.

It is in a mutual commitment to this unity that Lafawndah, Takada and Partel Oliva find fertile aesthetic common ground.

The music of Renard Bleu originated in Takada's preoccupation with the legend of the fox; after constructing a vivid instrumental composition dramatizing the spirit animal's journeys through waterphone, bells, marimba and various forms of drums, Lafawndah responded - in her inimitable mix of fairytale and undertow-- with melodies and lyrics capturing a dialogue between her and the fox himself. Eventually, the duo met in Tokyo for a week of communing with the material at Avaco Creative Studios, where new elements were composed on site.

Created in partnership with KENZO and premiered today via their channels, it was Partel Oliva who imagined a contemporary cinematic frame for the myth of the fox to re- appear, creating a hybrid of choreography and narrative around Takada and Lafawndah's performance of their joint composition (also titled Le Renard Bleu.) Returning to film in Japan for the third time, Partel Oliva's moving image work (Club Ark Eternal, The Pike and the Shield) has set the standard for and revolutionized the fashion art film. Their deployment of original music, dance, and a highly stylized mis en scene coalesces here in the casting of Los Angeles krump artist Qwenga as the eponymous fox, stalking the halls of the ancient Noh theater in which Takada and Lafawnda's performance takes place.

Why call up the myth of the fox now In Le Renard Bleu, Lafawndah and Takada's collapsing of distance between generations, styles, and milieus intimates that the relationship to time must be shaken. The future lies in fragments in the past; to remember is to recover it; the fox rises to thicken the plot.

Next up on Francis Harris' exceptional imprint Scissor & Thread comes a collaboration with American Producer, DJ Aakmael. Aakmael has built a reputation for some of the deepest, rawest house music sounds coming out of the States, releasing well-received tracks on the likes of Freerange Records, Release Sustain, Kolour Dogmatik and NDATL. Returning to Scissor & Thread, Aakmael and label boss Harris cook up an intoxicating vibe across this 5 track EP. Each shares a track and work together on the fifth, while also remixing each other's solo cuts. First up Aakmael's Deep Muzik- a quintessential nod to its self-proclaimed mission statement. Skittering drums, a shuffling groove, deep keys, and chords make up this essential opener. Frank's (aka Francis Harris) All That Light Mix shows another side, finding pockets of space and developing the fizzing percussion to produce an equally affecting piece of dancefloor bliss. Sharing production duties from the outset on Mercy of Means, the guys slip into an easy mid-tempo groove with plenty of depth - the rhythm rolls along and offers the perfect basis for some sublime melodic touches. Frank's Part Song also hones in on the subtle deep grooves. Bumping, slightly filtered and saturated drums provide the main body, with beautiful washes and keys finding their way through, Aakmael's remix beefs up the groove somewhat, making the snares snap harder and kick hit a little stronger, but the essence of the tracks melodic atmosphere remains perfectly in place.

Following 2017's 'Path of Ruin', DJ Richard returns to Dial with his much-anticipated sophomore LP, 'Dies Iræ Xerox'. Undoubtedly one of the most distinctive and fully-formed electronic producers in recent memory, DJ Richard imprinted the sound of a bubbling US underground with his label, White Material, founded in 2012 alongside Young Male. His first solo LP for Dial, 2015's 'Grind', found DJ Richard delicately establishing a discipline between his East Coast noise heritage and a physical, emotive tradition of house music, mastered during an extended stay in Berlin. Now firmly settled once more in his hometown of Providence, 'Dies Iræ Xerox' is a personal and uncompromising journey that finds the Rhode Island native in reflective form, journeying without compromise into both his creative influences and personal psyche. In part adapting its title from the Latin hymn 'Dies irae', otherwise known as 'Day of Wrath', 'Dies Iræ Xerox' melds the physical and psychological aspects of DJ Richard's production ethos in sharper, more widescreen vision than before; the oceanic swells of ambience yet more powerful, and the rigid basslines sharper still. With the chaos of the Berlin club scene an increasingly distant memory, the album is enriched with a contemplative, even brittle tone, as informed by film soundtracks and literature as the pulse of city living. Still, this is new material from DJ Richard, a touring DJ as distinctive as any other to be found behind the decks at some of the world's finest clubs and festivals. On 'Dies Iræ Xerox', the artist finds the space to write 'the records I really want to play', and each suggests a template for genuine dancefloor transcendence, beginning with the electrifying 'Vanguard' . The sludgy yet sophisticated crawl of 'Tunnel Stalker' sets the tone for the menacing yet somehow melancholy EBM of 'In Broad Daylight', while the record draws to a breathless close with the affecting, drum machine lethargy of 'Gate of Roses'. Drawing little distinction between his more physically rousing material and searching soundscapes, 'Dies Iræ Xerox' instead finds a passage of catharsis throughout both. 'Dissolving World', the album's breathtaking centerpiece, is a choral feature hypnotically overwhelmed by walls of electronic feedback, forging a dramatic link between old ways and new. On the bold and near-beatless 'Ancestral Helm' and 'Final Mercy', DJ Richard seems to grant both music and raw emotion the ability to simply float in the air, brilliantly, poignantly unresolved. If 'Grind,' inspired by the weathered coastlines of Rhode Island, was a record concerning "the border between civilization and the ocean," then 'Dies Iræ Xerox' is an unapologetic follow-up concerning that between macabre obsessions and fear of death. Produced during a murky, transitional period, DJ Richard found himself particularly drawn to Medieval European art and mysticism, fascinated by depictions and philosophies of the antichrist and end-times. Greatly influencing the uncompromising, apocalyptic tone of the album, these investigations have created an engaging and personal vision of the 'Day of Wrath.'

Limited Edition Clear Vinyl

Includes 12' Vinyl and Deluxe CD album, 30 page hard back book

Now that I've been to Nashville,' Kylie Minogue says with audible affection, I understand. It's like some sort of musical ley-line...'

Golden, Kylie's fourteenth studio album, is the result of an intensive working trip to the home of Country music, a city whose influence lingered on long after the pop legend and her team returned to London to finish the record: We definitely brought a bit of Nashville back with us,' she states. The album is a vibrant hybrid, blending Kylie's familiar pop-dance sound with an unmistakeable Tennessee twang. It was Jamie Nelson, Kylie's long-serving A&R man, who first came up with the concept of incorporating a Country element' into Kylie's tried-and-trusted style. That idea sat there for a little while, with Minogue and her team initially unsure about how to bring it to life. Then, when Grammy-winning songwriter Amy Wadge's publisher suggested Kylie should come over to collaborate in Nashville, a city Kylie had previously never visited, something clicked. You know when you're so excited about something,' she recalls, that you repeat it an octave higher and double the decibels I was like that. 'Nashville! Yes! Of course I would!'. I hoped it would help the album to reveal itself. I thought 'If I don't get it in Nashville, I'm not going to get it anywhere.''

Kylie's Nashville trip involved working alongside two key writers, both with homes in the city. One was British-born songwriter Steve McEwan (whose credits include huge Country hits for Keith Urban, Kenny Chesney and Carrie Underwood), and the other was the aforementioned Amy Wadge, another Brit (best known for her mega-selling work with Ed Sheeran). It was then a truly international project: Golden was mainly created with African-German producer Sky Adams and a list of contributors including Jesse Frasure, Eg White, Jon Green, Biff Stannard, Samuel Dixon, Danny Shah and Lindsay Rimes, and there's a duet with English singer Jack Savoretti.

However, the album's agenda-setting lead single Dancing was, significantly, first demoed with Nathan Chapman, the man who guided Taylor Swift's transition from Country starlet to Pop megastar. If anyone knows how to mix those two genres, Chapman does. Nathan was the only actual Nashvillean I worked with. He's got a huge studio in his house, which is probably due to his success with Taylor... there's plenty of platinum discs of her, and others on his walls.' There's something of the spirit of Peggy Lee's Is That All There Is, of Dylan Thomas' Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, even of Liza Minnelli's Cabaret about Dancing, a song which not only opens the album but sets out its stall, providing a microcosm of what is to come. You've got the lyrical edge, that Country feel, mixed with some sampling of the voice and electronic elements, so it does what it says on the label. And I love that it's called 'Dancing', it's immediately accessible and seemingly so obvious, but there's depth within the song.'

The experience of simply being in Nashville was an overwhelming one, before Kylie had even arrived. Once I knew I was going to Nashville, people talked about the place with such enthusiasm. They said without doubt I would love it and, I would come back with songs. They were sending lists of restaurants, coffee shops and bars. It really was a beautiful and genuine response and it felt like I was about to have a life changing experience and in a way, I did.' The reality came as something of a surprise, when she found a far more modern metropolis than the vintage one she'd envisaged. I thought it would be like New Orleans: little houses and bars, with music spilling out onto the street. It reminded me more of Melbourne: apartment blocks going up everywhere! The main strip, Broadway, where the honky tonk bars are, that's where the street was filled with music and it was just amazing.' Mainly, Minogue remembers the heat and humidity. It was 100 degrees. It was like it was raining with no rain.' She also relished the chance to wander around unrecognised, visit a few venerable music bars and soak in the atmosphere. I didn't get to the Grand Ole Opry or the music museums but I managed to go to a couple of the institutions there like The Bluebird Cafe and The Listening Room, and just by being there, through some kind of osmosis, you get this rejuvenated respect for The Song, and the writing of The Song. There's no hoo-hah around it. There's a singer-songwriter there, talking about the song and singing the song, to an audience who are there to listen. Although, I have to confess I was guilty of starting to clap too soon during a long pause at the end of one of the songs. The guy made a bit of a joke out of it and got a laugh from it, but I thought 'Of all people in the audience, no...''

It's probably no coincidence, therefore, that every track on Golden is a Kylie co-write, making it arguably her most personal album to date. The end of 2016 was not a good time for me,' she says, referring to well-documented personal upheavals, so when I started working on the album in 2017, it was, in many ways, a great escape. Making this album was a kind of saviour. I'd been through some turmoil and was quite fragile when I started work on it, but being able to express myself in the studio made quick work of regaining my sense of self. Writing about various aspects of my life, the highs and lows, with a real sense of knowing and of truth. And irony. And joy!'

The songwriting process allowed Kylie to get a few things out of her system. Initially, she admits, it was cathartic, but it also wasn't very good. I think I was writing too literally. But I reached a point where I was writing about the bigger-picture, and that was a breakthrough. It made way for songs like Stop Me From Falling and One Last Kiss. It also meant I had enough distance to write an autobiographical song, like A Lifetime To Repair, with a certain amount of humour. The countdown in that song: 'Six-five-four-three, too many times...'. I don't know if that will be a single, but I can just imagine a girl with framed pictures of past boyfriends, and kind of going 'Oh god, when am I going to get this right'' When she listens back to Golden, Kylie can vividly hear the Nashville in it. It is, she'll agree, probably the first time that a Kylie album has sounded like the place it was made. You wouldn't normally relate my songs to the cities. Can't Get You Out Of My Head sounds more like Outer Space than London. But Shelby '68, for example, was written in London but it was done with Nashville in mind. It's about my Dad's car, and my brother recorded Dad driving it! I don't think I'd have written a number of the songs, including Shelby '68 and Radio On without having had that Nashville experience.'

The latter, she says, is about music being the one to save you.' Throwing herself into the making of the record, she says, crystallised that idea. If there's one love that will always be there for you, it's music. Well, it is for me, anyway.' That song, in particular, carries nostalgic echoes of the golden age of Country, as heard through Medium Wave transistors and tinny home stereos in the distant past. Like any child of the Seventies, Kylie had a basic grounding in Country music, mainly absorbed from older family members. My Step-Grandfather was born in Kentucky and though he lived most of his adult life in Australia, he never stopped listening to his beloved Country artists.' If there's any classic Country singer whose imprint can be heard on Golden, it's Dolly Parton.

Kylie saw Dolly live for the first time at the end of 2016, at the Hollywood Bowl. It was like seeing the light,' she beams. It was incredible. Everyone, whether they know it or not, is a Dolly Parton fan. When I was in Nashville, I did pick up a T-shirt that said 'What Would Dolly Do' Maybe that should be my mantra.' And, whether consciously or otherwise, there's a timbre and trill to Kylie's vocals on Radio On that is distinctly Parton-esque. My delivery is quite different on this album,' she says. A lot of things are 'sung' less. The first time I did that was with Where The Wild Roses Grow. On the day I met Nick Cave, when I recorded my vocals, he said 'Just sing it less. Talk it through, tell the story.' This album wasn't quite to that extreme, but a lot of the songs were done in fewer takes, to just capture the moment and keep imperfections that add to the song. I remember on my last album, a lot of producers were trying to take out literally every vibrato they heard. And that's not natural to my voice. I mean, I can make myself sound like a robot, but it's nice to sound like a human!' Working within the Country genre also gave Kylie permission to write in the Nashville vernacular. Because we were going there, I wasn't afraid to have lines like 'When he's fallen off the wagon we'd still dance to our favourite slow song', 'Ten sheets to the wind, I was all confused', 'I'll take the ride if it's your rodeo'. The challenge of bringing a Country element to the album made the process feel very fresh to me, kind of like starting over. I started to look at writing a different way, singing a different way.'

If ever Kylie lost confidence in the Country-Pop concept, and found herself pondering This is great, but back in the real world - my real world - how will this work', Jamie Nelson was there to badger her into sticking to the path. We found a way to make it a hybrid with what we'll call my 'usual' sound. It had to stay 'pop' enough to stay authentic to me, but country enough to be a new sound for this album. The closer we zoomed in, and the more we honed it, I knew Jamie was right. We sacrificed good songs that weren't right for this album, because we wanted it to be as cohesive as possible. The songs that were hitting the mark were these ones, so we decided to be strong, and that's how we wrapped up the album. What he said, that stuck with me, was that 'I'd hate to get to the end of this and really wish we'd gone for it.'' Having worked with Kylie for so long, Nelson was able to put this latest shift of direction into perspective. He said 'You've traditionally done it throughout your career. You had your PWL time, then you did a complete turn when you went to deConstruction, then another complete turn with Spinning Around, and R&B dance-pop, and then another turn with Can't Get You Out Of My Head, icy synth-pop, and this is another one.' He was right. It felt like the right time to have a change sonically. New label, new stories to tell, and a new decade almost upon me.'

Kylie Minogue will, it's scarcely believable, turn 50 this year. This looming milestone is partly behind the album's title, and title track. I had this line that I wanted to use: 'We're not young, we're not old, we're golden' because I'm asked so often about being my age in this industry. This year, I'll be 50. And I get it, I get the interest, but I don't know how to answer it. And that line, for my personal satisfaction, says it as succinctly as possible. We can't be anyone else, we can't be younger or older than we are, we can only be ourselves. We're golden. And the album title, Golden, reflects all of this. I liked the idea of everyone being golden, shining in their own way. The sun shines in daylight, the moon shines in darkness. Wherever we are in life, we are still golden.' One of the album's shiniest moments is Raining Glitter, an exuberant banger which ventures closest to Kylie's traditional dance-pop comfort zone. Eg White, who is one of the producers and writers and a great character, was talking about disco one day. I said 'I love disco, but you know the brief.' We needed to be going down the Country lane, so to speak. But we managed to bring them both together. When I wrote it, I was thinking about the Jacksons video for Can You Feel It where they're sprinkling glitter over everyone. And I think there's a Donna Summer record that's got that feel to it. I think that's my job: I basically leave a trail of glitter after every show I do anyway.'

Kylie is looking forward to the challenge of incorporating the Golden material into her live shows. Mixing these songs in with my existing catalogue is going to be fun. And it could be fun to do some of those songs with just a guitar. It'll make my acoustic set interesting...'Her incredibly loyal fans - to whom one Golden song, Sincerely Yours, is intended as a love letter' - will, she believes, have no problem with her latest stylistic shift. My audience have been with me on the journey, so I shouldn't be afraid that they won't come with me on this part. I've had fun with it, and I'm sure they will too.'

The time spent making Golden has, Kylie says, been a time of creative and personal renewal. I've met some amazing people, truly inspiring writers and musicians. My passion for music has never gone away, but it's got bigger and stronger.' And if there's an overriding theme to the record, it is one of acceptance. We're all human and it's OK to make mistakes, get it wrong, to want to run, to want to belong, to love, to dream. To be ourselves.'

I was able to both lose and find myself whilst making this album.'

Hui Terra. The dreamlike shape of the half-heard word, abstracts with faint impressions of bucolic landscape, or handfuls of translucent and brightly-colored gemstones that hold odd, elusive, asymmetrical form. This enchanting, gently surreal debut album from Alex Cobb's Etelin project explores the power and playfulness of impulsive action diffused through electro-acoustic and ambient sound.

This music was created with digital synthesizers and a sampler in the four months immediately following the birth of his first child, a hazy period marked by a lack of regular sleep and a diet of INA-GRM, Nuno Canavarro's "Plux Quba", and Microstoria's "Init Ding" - records that appeared to produce both stimulating and soothing effects on a newborn's nascent consciousness. Recorded and arranged at all hours, this is an album that reflects on moments of tumult and fragility. Cobb sews small sharpnesses and surprises into its movements to uncover different aspects of each sound source, doubling as hypnic starts cast to advance and variate the narrative in subtle and unexpected ways. Sound and atmosphere manifest in eccentric, alchemical fashion, as though forming in processes of sublimation - solids dissipating into vapor - and deposition - clouds resolving and dropping to the ground in piles - to an obscure and domestic rhythm. There's the purveying sense of moving within the boundaries of small, hermetic ecosystem. This is underscored and doused by a slow, blooming sense of warmth; growing joy without bombast. Even the more startling textures conceal this same truth and emphasis, such as the alien, sour salt-butter electronic babble in "Little Rig", largely sampled from Cobb's son's voice at just a week old. It is emotional music - devoted, affectionate, and playful.