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King of Town (KoT), originally from Johannesburg but now in the UK, is back after a nearly a decade hiatus from his mutant disco-inflected remixes.

Prior to his long break, King of Town remixed the likes of Franz Ferdinand, Slow Club, Alice Russell, the Detachments and the Phenomenal Handclap Band.
His remix of Desmond and the Tutus' 'Kiss You on the Cheek', released on Tigersushi in 2009, has become a regular feature of Spotify playlists and has racked up a few million listens across various streaming platforms.

For this release KoT serves up four exclusive re-edits.

Lord Have Mercy is a retouch of Willie West's slow-burn R&B lament of his own elegiac defiance, where KoT underpins West's groove with a 303 acid bassline and synth flourishes.
Swimming in Your Eyes is a beefing up of Pasteur Lappe's 1979 Rhodes-heavy space disco groove.
Troubles of this World takes OV Wrights ridiculously soulful take on a gospel classic and transforms it into a retro-futurist track aimed firmly at the dancefloor.
And with Khomo Tsaka Deile Kae KoT nods towards his roots and inserts drive and snap into fellow South African Marumo's 1982 kwela-touched stomper.

As always the artwork has been completed by the very talented Pedro Carvalho de Almeida.

Vinyl Only.

*** my garden in the sun and in the rain and in the day and in the night pain is a flower pain is flowers blooming all the time. ***












l B6 Healing Wounds [Scabbed mix]












[l] B6 Healing Wounds [Scabbed mix]

It’s been one hell of a wild ride for Wine Lips. Originally formed in Toronto back in 2015 as a part-time project between Cam Hilborn (vox, songwriter, guitar) and drummer extraordinaire Aurora Evans, Wine Lips quickly escalated into a full-blown, full-time, full-on international phenomenon. Their debut album took them across North America followed immediately by an intensive and unexpected tour of Hong Kong and China in 2018. They released their massive “Stressor” album the very next year (2019) to rave reviews and massive critical acclaim. Multiple tracks from Stressor charted across North American and European radio, while several songs ended up being featured in broadcast and Netflix series. Endless touring ensued. Then 2020 happened. The band used their mandatory downtime to fully dedicate themselves to crafting their groundbreaking third full-length “Mushroom Death Sex Bummer Party” (recorded by Simon Larochette at The Sugar Shack). The record was released in October 2021 and then shit really hit the fan. The international music press lost their collective minds, penning over 250 glowing features and super positive reviews spanning 35+ countries. At the time of writing, the album blew past 40 Million spins on Spotify alone.

The vinyl release of MDSBP is currently in its 7th pressing with 9 different colour variants. The lead track “Eyes” has been licensed to a metric ton of films, series and video games including ABC’s The Rookie, Hockey Night In Canada and Population 11. Even more endless touring ensued, except this time the venues were huge and mostly sold-out. The 2024 follow-up album “Super Mega Ultra” was an absolute beast. Recorded by Simon Larochette at The Sugar Shack in Ontario, the album packed 12 ramped-up supersonic ear-scorching auditory delicacies and racked up millions of plays.

“The first three are innocent in a way, because we didn’t have an audience when we were making them,” Oberst says. “But from Lifted on, I was definitely aware of an audience. Lifted was well-received right away, and then everything happened with Wide Awake and Digital Ash.” Those two albums came out simultaneously. And their lead singles – “Take It Easy (Love Nothing),” from the austere, remote Digital Ash, and “Lua,” from the warm, folky Wide Awake – debuted in the top two slots on the Billboard Hot 100. “First Day of My Life,” also from Wide Awake, would later be voted the Number One love song of all time by NPR Music’s reader’s poll. Bright Eyes had officially broken through. It was a heady, exciting time, but also fraught and tense, both because of the band’s careening new fame, and because of the state of the world. When Bright Eyes made their Tonight Show debut in 2006, they chose to perform none of their shiny new hits, instead delivering a searing, harrowing rendition of their caustic anti-Bush anthem, “When The President Talks To God.” These days, Oberst is still amusing himself by messing with the extremes Bright Eyes baked into this era’s releases, extremes that reflected the polar, with-us-or-against-us, fractious feel of the times. The reworked Digital Ash tracks, originally so clean and elegant, are, on the companion EP, full of “harmonica and mandolins – folky vibes,” Oberst says. While the analogue sweetness of the Wide Awake songs have been put through a detached nihilism filter.

White Vinyl. Having balanced tradition and innovation for over three decades, Taake remains fiercely independent while continually pushing its own creative boundaries. That uncompromising vision finds new expression on the ninth full-length album, En Skog av Nidstang. Past years of increasing isolation, detached from contemporary trends and largely removed from the influence of other music, the creative drive of songwriter Hoest has only intensified, resulting in four expansive compositions that flow naturally from the inspired mindset behind 2023's critically acclaimed Et Hav av Avstand. The recordings for En Skog av Nidstang were completed south of Bergen, in the moss-covered forests around the island of Borgoy. In the surroundings depicted by the ill-fated Norwegian painter Lars Hertervig, Taake embraced the focused seclusion of the landscape, relying less on modern technology or studio excess, but on intuition, confinement, creativity, and a mastery of the rudimentary tools of the trade. And it sounds unmistakably like Taake. Reckless thrashing riffs mix with brooding gloom, chilling melodies emerge from violent intensity, and moments of desolate reflection give way to untamed aggression. The result is an album that celebrates the enduring power of an unyielding artistic vision; proof that, after 33 years, Taake remains as vital, distinctive and relevant as ever.

White Vinyl. Having balanced tradition and innovation for over three decades, Taake remains fiercely independent while continually pushing its own creative boundaries. That uncompromising vision finds new expression on the ninth full-length album, En Skog av Nidstang. Past years of increasing isolation, detached from contemporary trends and largely removed from the influence of other music, the creative drive of songwriter Hoest has only intensified, resulting in four expansive compositions that flow naturally from the inspired mindset behind 2023's critically acclaimed Et Hav av Avstand. The recordings for En Skog av Nidstang were completed south of Bergen, in the moss-covered forests around the island of Borgoy. In the surroundings depicted by the ill-fated Norwegian painter Lars Hertervig, Taake embraced the focused seclusion of the landscape, relying less on modern technology or studio excess, but on intuition, confinement, creativity, and a mastery of the rudimentary tools of the trade. And it sounds unmistakably like Taake. Reckless thrashing riffs mix with brooding gloom, chilling melodies emerge from violent intensity, and moments of desolate reflection give way to untamed aggression. The result is an album that celebrates the enduring power of an unyielding artistic vision; proof that, after 33 years, Taake remains as vital, distinctive and relevant as ever.

Through an intimate, conversational approach, free from any trace of mannerism, pianist Enrico Pieranunzi and guitarist Bebo Ferra probe the innermost mystery of a genius whose expressive language combined charm and intellect are in equal measure. Drawing on languorous ballads at unhurried tempos, the program alternates reinterpretations of emblematic Evans themes - 'Song for Helen', 'Very Early', 'Once Upon a 'Summertime' - with a series of inspired original pieces. Occasionally joined by the deep, reassuring double bass of Diego Imbert ('Song for Helen', 'Calling Enrico'), they move from post- romantic atmospheres to more introverted lyrical passages, steering clear of both sentimental excess and detached formalism.

Originally released in 2008. Although this album invites aesthetic comparisons to works by the likes of Philip Jeck, William Basinski, and Janek Schaefer – draped as it is in an obfuscating, soupy crackle – there’s a very specific conceptual agenda at work here.

Part of the success of »Persistent Repetition of Phrases« comes from the attention it pays to the function of »the loop«, not only as a narrative ordering system in modern music, but as a means by which the brain itself recalls and interprets information; it’s as old as recorded sound itself, but in this context the repetition of small shards of auditory information becomes an elegy to fading memory and the worn-out synapses of old age. The track titles offer signposts through Kirby’s labyrinth of faulty remembrances, pointing their way towards the peculiarities dictating the manner by which the mind stores and attempts to recover information: »Lacunar Amnesia« references a condition that leaves a specific event absent from the sufferer’s memory, and Kirby’s music sounds suitably stuck on a prelude to something that never happens.

Bathed in gusts of crackle, the piece gets stuck on what might be a start of something, but we never get to hear what. Many of the pieces refer to different ways the memory might find itself caught in a holding pattern: »Von Restorff Effect«, »Rosy Retrospection«, and the title track itself are all suggestive of reliving a single event or point in time – here, both music and memory are united by the notion of »glitch«, whereby a fault or fissure causes the replaying of the same pocket of data over and over again, but what distinguishes Kirby from so many other musicians operating within the field of loops and broken recordings is the unnerving, ghostly sentimentality that courses through this process. »Long Term (remote)« is particularly explicit in its reaching back through the first half of the 20th century, exhuming snatches of music hall romance, now warped into a sinister new form by the erosions of time. It’s like watching John Carpenter’s »The Fog« only to find that instead of vengeful phantoms emerging from the mist, it’s The Glenn Miller Band. Which is infinitely more disturbing. More eerie still is the detachment from authorship endemic to this sound – at no point do you really sense the presence of a composer’s hand; this album just... is. A remarkable thing that only seems to have improved with age (which is either highly appropriate or highly inappropriate, I can’t quite decide which), »Persistent Repetition of Phrases« is an even better fit on vinyl, a medium which itself wears and fades just as the memory does.

French quartet Mourir are preparing to release their second full-length studio album, Nous, le venin, this summer via Pelagic Records. Their forward-thinking take on black metal and uncompromising approach to their work marks them out as ones to watch when they present this new material live at festivals across Europe including Hellfest, Rock In Bourlon and Resurrection festival in the months to come. With a demo, an album and an experimental EP to their name, the four-piece retreated to the studio at the end of 2025 to write the music for Nous, le venin. Recorded in January 2026 with Amaury Sauvé (Birds in row, Igorrr, Pneu) at The Apiary Studio in Laval, France, the six tracks are the very embodiment of Mourir's approach to black metal. Although they draw inspiration from many artists in the old-school black metal world, they opted to lean into a more modern sound - one that would allow the depth of their sonic choices to shine. Blending elements of sludge and post-metal to the rawness of their black metal sound, and combining this with a mix that gives space to both the low frequencies and the high-octane viscerality, Mourir have created something both distinctive and captivating. Thematically, the band turns their detached gaze towards an ever-more untethered modern society, one that is inhospitable to those seeking meaning in the cruelty and absurdity of a seemingly senseless world. Yet within these tracks exists slivers of light, of hope and of luminosity - a belief that something better is possible is woven throughout the melodic passages and most celestial, ecstatic elements of their sound. The evocative cover art by Thomas Davezac captures the feeling of disconnection that permeates the album. Mourir have recorded an album that cements their place among underground greats who deftly eschew the nostalgic trappings of black metal convention and breathe new life into the genre. Nous, le venin is imbued with raw emotion that is perfectly complemented by stylistic choices that echo the sentiment of being freed from the chains of the past. FFO Ultha, Fluisteraars, Envy and Neurosis

French quartet Mourir are preparing to release their second full-length studio album, Nous, le venin, this summer via Pelagic Records. Their forward-thinking take on black metal and uncompromising approach to their work marks them out as ones to watch when they present this new material live at festivals across Europe including Hellfest, Rock In Bourlon and Resurrection festival in the months to come. With a demo, an album and an experimental EP to their name, the four-piece retreated to the studio at the end of 2025 to write the music for Nous, le venin. Recorded in January 2026 with Amaury Sauvé (Birds in row, Igorrr, Pneu) at The Apiary Studio in Laval, France, the six tracks are the very embodiment of Mourir's approach to black metal. Although they draw inspiration from many artists in the old-school black metal world, they opted to lean into a more modern sound - one that would allow the depth of their sonic choices to shine. Blending elements of sludge and post-metal to the rawness of their black metal sound, and combining this with a mix that gives space to both the low frequencies and the high-octane viscerality, Mourir have created something both distinctive and captivating. Thematically, the band turns their detached gaze towards an ever-more untethered modern society, one that is inhospitable to those seeking meaning in the cruelty and absurdity of a seemingly senseless world. Yet within these tracks exists slivers of light, of hope and of luminosity - a belief that something better is possible is woven throughout the melodic passages and most celestial, ecstatic elements of their sound. The evocative cover art by Thomas Davezac captures the feeling of disconnection that permeates the album. Mourir have recorded an album that cements their place among underground greats who deftly eschew the nostalgic trappings of black metal convention and breathe new life into the genre. Nous, le venin is imbued with raw emotion that is perfectly complemented by stylistic choices that echo the sentiment of being freed from the chains of the past. FFO Ultha, Fluisteraars, Envy and Neurosis

Kontakt Records reaches its 50th release with a milestone that feels earned. Van Bonn returns to the label, delivering two originals that embody everything Kontakt stands for, depth and space. Alongside him, Italian mastermind Luigi Tozzi steps in to reshape Trails across two distinct interpretations, pushing the material into even more atmospheric territory.

The dogs bark and the heavy-metal caravan tears through everything in its path. What lies ahead is a twisting, high-voltage journey for anyone with a taste for contemporary sound, and this record offers no lukewarm sightseeing, no pre-retirement indie pop-rock playlist drift. You'll have to learn to dance off-beat, wringing out every neuron before the final rinse. Drink your sweat, not your tears, and burn off the bitterness: that's the intended destination of the trip. This monstrous album has a computer where its heart should be. Three humans are wired into it: Michel Cloup, Manon Labry and Julien Rufié. Layer after layer, they've fed this sandpaper-and-digital-custard mille-feuille. On the menu, heaped and hurtling by the wagonload, the beast is stuffed with screams, laughter, melodies, noise: a frantic feast. It even leaves you wondering who's driving whom. Who seized control? The flesh? The printed circuits? Michel as a Titanic-'n'-Roll conductor? Julien and Manon as demolition apostles? Doesn't matter. For now, it rips, it saws, it strafes, it smashes, without pause. Rock debris_post or not_grumbling Parmentier-pop mash, white-hot hip hop spinning out, electro-disco-kraut fissuring, furious new French chanson: everything shoves its way into the blender. The real free world is here. Michel veers between naïve chants of dwindling hope, barking tsunamis of black fury and other delights, recounting the world in full 360 degrees as well as the twenty metres outside his front door. As ever, he speaks of himself, of us, speaks a lot, speaks too much. The intensity barely drops below the danger line; even the lows are stratospheric. Foot to the floor, calmly. In the thick of it, you'll wander room to room through the small theatre of France's grand political tragicomedy (David, Goliath and Godzilla), the consultation chamber of our disappointments (2027), the community repair shop of our hopes (Catharsis), the literary gym (The Poison, The Antidote), the torture room (H&M, with old Toulousain comrade Fredo Nonstop), the nightclub in flames (Shame, RIP), the electronic shooting gallery (Maria, Background Noise), the XXL confessional (For Whom? For What?) before ending in the Munch Room, the chamber of the primal scream (SISRAHTAC). "In the end, there are no words left. It howls, it howls, and it doesn't stop."

Just as you were getting your head straight coming off the 21st Trip … Brown Acid dose # 22 drops, continuing to fry your mind in a revolving trap-door Twilight Zone alternate world of early hard rock… populated by real life characters so far out they can look like a cheesy wedding band but sound like Blue Cheer! Uncanny! This music comes at you from many angles. Teens in a garage colliding with booze, drugs and girls for the first time, lounge lizard hustlers with snazzy stage clothes and fuzz boxes… gnarly backwoods troublemakers meet blow dried glam rock wannabes here, seamlessly clobbering your head with sound rather than each other! An electric post-psychedelic bar brawl for your mind awaits, unfasten your seat belt, crank it up and fly! Sounds Synonymous "Babylon" out of Flint, Michigan 1969 rip the devastating Blue Cheer classic a new one, immediately swarming you with organ swells and distortion before collapsing into a tuff funk groove, a psychedelic James Brown vibe shot through with dirty howling fuzz guitar, vocals nailing the messed up but confident relaxed sneering attitude of the original Cheer eruption. The Bumps "Shining" from Seattle 1969 resides right at the transition of ‘60s psych into early prog, well constructed, no diluting things artsy fartsy style, a compelling heavy riff, spacious vocal harmony hook floating above a turbulent take on getting your shit together and shining like a star. Fat chance, but you can dream, the band did and their dreams kick ass across time to right now or you wouldn’t be here.

Coulda been a hit back then, definitely a hit now. Riverside "Farmer" explodes out of Austin, Texas 1974, economical but brilliantly structured riffs and power chords, intense dynamic tension/release, fantastic screaming leads over shifting angles of attack during the middle break… it’s all here with a detached confidence in the vocal that swaggers back in time to the late ‘60s in its proto-heavy psych adjacent assault. Cincinnati Joe & Mad Lydia "Get It Together" for real in Cincinnati, Ohio 1970. The song says everything you need to know: “You may think that you’re the very best, miles and miles ahead of the rest, but be sure when you’re put to the test you get it together!” These words are deployed in a manner similar to Peter Green’s “Oh Well”, intermittently stated between killer gnarly guitar and gushy organ attacks. Bar band heaven and hell rolled up into one big ball, the vocals get all the way out there! Straight Up "Fire" takes the monster 1968 Crazy World Of Arthur Brown hit into faithfully executed but surreally minimalist territory, Minneapolis, Minnesota 1974. Genius version of a key song that presciently cuts to the chase regarding Brown Acid’s incinerations of psychedelic idealism, you’re gonna burn, burn, burn… as that moment climaxes you can gawk at their preposterous flashy lounge band stage outfits and realize side one must end because everything is totally scorched into eternity. Scrap Iron "Poopsie" is a primitive two chord stomper with spiraling fuzz and organ riffs, singer marking his territory caveman style. “Poopsie, you’re my woman” he commands, but gets weirdly insecure she’ll blow him off at the altar by the end of each verse. Snarly wah-wah ices this toxic cake out of Carteret, New Jersey 1973. Focused delivery so single-mindedly crude it creates an inescapable instant brain-worm. Lady "Live Show Tigers" is amongst the most potently life affirming trash rockers you’ll ever hear, one outrageously triumphant but fiercely sloppy anthem about living it up like a star, strutting the stage glammed up New York Dolls drag style but with a Dictators sense of humor. Tasty slightly off kilter guitar leads all through, going serendipitously berserk on the fade. Picture disc single out of L.A. 1980. Fantastic fun rock star rock at a very raw local street level where any time is party time.

Killer Frog "Hard Times" on Masochist Records from Chicago, Illinois 1972 takes less than two minutes, an action packed James Gang style bar band rocker with a bit of punky sneer in the face of misfortune. These guys never even heard of flower power. They are killer frogs. Good Humore "Killer" does kill in stripped down hard rock trio style, Warren, Michigan 1976. No frills guitar, bass and drums groove tight, snaky primordial riff, snarly licks. “She’s a killer of a woman, knows just what she’s doing…” The singer knows she’s a femme-fatale roadhouse predator but she’s so hot the inevitable wreckage seems a bargain. Ride it out like the extended jam on the fade knowing she’ll be back for more! Sarawest "Space Rider" winds up the 22nd Trip lost in a twisted two chord space adventure from the point of view of an alien visiting our planet seeking knowledge but finding out we are stupidly destroying ourselves, so he gotta split sneering back at us like we wasted his time “I got no time for loving… I wanna be a space rider, space rider”. Toronto, Canada 1974, a vibe lurking in some strange but funny void between late ‘60s outsider garage psychedelic rock complete with reverb-y acid guitar leads and late ‘70s retro-futuristic D.I.Y wisecracking from inner space… taking the piss out of outer space!

Just as you were getting your head straight coming off the 21st Trip … Brown Acid dose # 22 drops, continuing to fry your mind in a revolving trap-door Twilight Zone alternate world of early hard rock… populated by real life characters so far out they can look like a cheesy wedding band but sound like Blue Cheer! Uncanny! This music comes at you from many angles. Teens in a garage colliding with booze, drugs and girls for the first time, lounge lizard hustlers with snazzy stage clothes and fuzz boxes… gnarly backwoods troublemakers meet blow dried glam rock wannabes here, seamlessly clobbering your head with sound rather than each other! An electric post-psychedelic bar brawl for your mind awaits, unfasten your seat belt, crank it up and fly! Sounds Synonymous "Babylon" out of Flint, Michigan 1969 rip the devastating Blue Cheer classic a new one, immediately swarming you with organ swells and distortion before collapsing into a tuff funk groove, a psychedelic James Brown vibe shot through with dirty howling fuzz guitar, vocals nailing the messed up but confident relaxed sneering attitude of the original Cheer eruption. The Bumps "Shining" from Seattle 1969 resides right at the transition of ‘60s psych into early prog, well constructed, no diluting things artsy fartsy style, a compelling heavy riff, spacious vocal harmony hook floating above a turbulent take on getting your shit together and shining like a star. Fat chance, but you can dream, the band did and their dreams kick ass across time to right now or you wouldn’t be here.

Coulda been a hit back then, definitely a hit now. Riverside "Farmer" explodes out of Austin, Texas 1974, economical but brilliantly structured riffs and power chords, intense dynamic tension/release, fantastic screaming leads over shifting angles of attack during the middle break… it’s all here with a detached confidence in the vocal that swaggers back in time to the late ‘60s in its proto-heavy psych adjacent assault. Cincinnati Joe & Mad Lydia "Get It Together" for real in Cincinnati, Ohio 1970. The song says everything you need to know: “You may think that you’re the very best, miles and miles ahead of the rest, but be sure when you’re put to the test you get it together!” These words are deployed in a manner similar to Peter Green’s “Oh Well”, intermittently stated between killer gnarly guitar and gushy organ attacks. Bar band heaven and hell rolled up into one big ball, the vocals get all the way out there! Straight Up "Fire" takes the monster 1968 Crazy World Of Arthur Brown hit into faithfully executed but surreally minimalist territory, Minneapolis, Minnesota 1974. Genius version of a key song that presciently cuts to the chase regarding Brown Acid’s incinerations of psychedelic idealism, you’re gonna burn, burn, burn… as that moment climaxes you can gawk at their preposterous flashy lounge band stage outfits and realize side one must end because everything is totally scorched into eternity. Scrap Iron "Poopsie" is a primitive two chord stomper with spiraling fuzz and organ riffs, singer marking his territory caveman style. “Poopsie, you’re my woman” he commands, but gets weirdly insecure she’ll blow him off at the altar by the end of each verse. Snarly wah-wah ices this toxic cake out of Carteret, New Jersey 1973. Focused delivery so single-mindedly crude it creates an inescapable instant brain-worm. Lady "Live Show Tigers" is amongst the most potently life affirming trash rockers you’ll ever hear, one outrageously triumphant but fiercely sloppy anthem about living it up like a star, strutting the stage glammed up New York Dolls drag style but with a Dictators sense of humor. Tasty slightly off kilter guitar leads all through, going serendipitously berserk on the fade. Picture disc single out of L.A. 1980. Fantastic fun rock star rock at a very raw local street level where any time is party time.

Killer Frog "Hard Times" on Masochist Records from Chicago, Illinois 1972 takes less than two minutes, an action packed James Gang style bar band rocker with a bit of punky sneer in the face of misfortune. These guys never even heard of flower power. They are killer frogs. Good Humore "Killer" does kill in stripped down hard rock trio style, Warren, Michigan 1976. No frills guitar, bass and drums groove tight, snaky primordial riff, snarly licks. “She’s a killer of a woman, knows just what she’s doing…” The singer knows she’s a femme-fatale roadhouse predator but she’s so hot the inevitable wreckage seems a bargain. Ride it out like the extended jam on the fade knowing she’ll be back for more! Sarawest "Space Rider" winds up the 22nd Trip lost in a twisted two chord space adventure from the point of view of an alien visiting our planet seeking knowledge but finding out we are stupidly destroying ourselves, so he gotta split sneering back at us like we wasted his time “I got no time for loving… I wanna be a space rider, space rider”. Toronto, Canada 1974, a vibe lurking in some strange but funny void between late ‘60s outsider garage psychedelic rock complete with reverb-y acid guitar leads and late ‘70s retro-futuristic D.I.Y wisecracking from inner space… taking the piss out of outer space!

Double 12" release

The Story — From the Streets of Rome to the Male Productions Label
In the early 1990s, Rome lived in a kind of suspended moment. The city was still tied to its historic clubs, yet in the outskirts—inside abandoned warehouses, quarries along the coastline, and the wooded parks north of the capital—something new was beginning to stir. A nocturnal, constantly shifting movement fuelled by a hunger for freedom and a sonic curiosity that reached far beyond the mainstream.

Moving through this ferment was Francesco “Chicco” Furlotti. First an organizer of unconventional parties and underground nights, he soon became one of the driving forces behind Rome’s itinerant rave scene. Furlotti sensed that a wave of change was about to sweep across the city. It wasn’t just about parties: it was the rise of a culture, a new way of thinking about music, community, and belonging.

It was within those nights—later held with official permits, properly built sound systems, and an ever-growing crowd—that Furlotti recognized the existence of a distinctly Roman sound, and the need to capture it, preserve it, and give it tangible form.
So, in 1991, he decided to take a bolder step: to found an independent record label—small, determined, and far removed from the commercial logic that dominated at the time.
That was the birth of Male Productions.

Male was not a label like any other: it was a workshop, a gathering point, a creative hub where DJs, producers, friends, and wanderers converged. Within that environment, an artistic core took shape—Stefano Di Carlo, Leo Young, and Mauro Tannino, along with other collaborators orbiting around Furlotti. From their synergy emerged a project whose very name declared its mission:

The True Underground Sound of Rome.

The collective did not simply aim to release music; it sought to tell a story of Rome through sounds that defied categorization: house, techno, ambient, electronic mysticism, psychedelic visions… a unique blend, instantly recognizable, emotional, and experimental. The sessions unfolded using essential yet razor-sharp gear: Roland drum machines, analogue synthesizers, Akai samplers, stripped-down mixers. Few tools, endless imagination.
The first result of this work was the 12” Secret Doctrine, released in 1991 in an extremely limited run—around 500 promotional copies, according to accounts. The record captured something that until then had floated only in the air of Roman raves: enveloping atmospheres, deep rhythms, melodies built to make the mind travel far beyond the dancefloor. A sound that did not imitate what was happening in Detroit, London, or Berlin, but absorbed those influences and re-sculpted them with a distinctly Roman sensibility.
Yet, precisely because it was independent and detached from commercial circuits, Male’s output remained sparse: few EPs, few copies, irregular distribution. Over time, those records became rare artifacts—almost mythical objects within the Italian electronic scene. The legacy of Male Productions seemed destined to survive only in the memories of those early years, in the stories told after raves, and in the private archives of a handful of collectors.
Many years later, thanks to the almost accidental rediscovery of a few original copies of the first two releases issued by Male Productions, it became possible to undertake a meticulous process of recovery and restoration of the audio etched into those grooves, with the aim of preserving as fully as possible the quality and character of that unrepeatable sound.

We are therefore able today to present — at last in a complete and faithful form — the first two mixes created for Male Productions, now released on a double vinyl that brings back into the present the exact moment when it all began: the nomadic nights of the raves, Furlotti’s vision, the creativity of Di Carlo, Young and Tannino, and the sonic identity of a Rome in the midst of transformation.

This is not merely a reissue.
It is a historical document.
A fragment of a culture that changed the city.
The authentic sound of the Roman underground, finally returned to the world.

“Tako” means “octopus”, “kite”, and even “bunion” in Japanese. Bald men or men with shaven heads, as well as red-faced, staggering drunks, are also referred to as “tako”. It’s a word that appears in a lot of slang and sayings. Taco is also the name of an 80s music and performance collective whose performances were like nothing before or since. The Japanese band Taco, formed at the beginning of the 80s, is a loose group/collective of varying members that belongs to the post-punk alternative music movement. The network of members were all friends and acquaintances of Harumi Yamazaki, ex-member of Gaseneta and Taco’s central member.

Taco can be described as a band of guerrillas who, over the years, continued to connect, collect, interrupt, and scatter while sending out into the world music and sounds that can best be described as transient. Taco also performed without Harumi, and so it is as though the band is an anonymous group of mercenaries. Taco’s first album was released in 1983 and had a huge impact on Japan’s underground music scene as an anomalous and collaborative album involving various participating artists (the stars of Japan’s underground music scene!) and Harumi, who provided the lyrics. Although each track represents a reverberating conglomeration of sounds created by this transient local network, common to all the tracks are Harumi’s expressive lyrics. This has the effect of transforming all the tracks into a single powerful force which, in turn, spawns an “incident” which spreads like a giant ripple. However, because of another incident in which the records were recalled due to the scandal caused by some of the lyrics, only a limited number of people actually own a copy of the album. Taco’s second album (a 12” EP), released in 1984, features a live recording of a performance that was held at the end of 1982. Taco is a band of indeterminate members which only ever played one-off performances, but this is an album that reveals a unit whose performance was unusually musically coherent. This is an album which effectively conveys the power of Taco’s astounding and legendary live performances, as well as Harumi’s inflammatory, sensational, and masochistic presence on stage. Her mutterings and screams, which practically ignore the detached beat, confront the audience like an overwhelming groundswell.

The following is a description of Taco by one of its members following one of its live performances: “Taco’s like a project where the indeterminate participants fan each other’s heightened emotions of wanting to wreak personal revenge and retribution. It’s an ecosystem of tangible and intangible mouldy slime which accumulates in order for emotions to be acted out, both indoors in the studio, or outdoors on stage. That’s why the avenger can often end up being the victim.”

Nameless, March 1985

A century-old grand piano, a secluded house surrounded by the greenery of Brittany, no internet connection, and a reel-to-reel recorder.L'Écho de Bretagne, the new EP by Niklas Paschburg, set for release from fall 2025 via Nettwerk Music Group, is a solo piano record as essential as it is intense. An album made of silences, space, slowness. A music that doesn't chase impact, but truth.

the album release is march 26th - 2026.

If his previous work, Mexican Alps (2025), marked the first time the German composer and producer created an ambient-electronic album without his instrument of choice, the piano, L'Écho de Bretagne emerges as a direct response to that absence. "It was exactly the lack of piano that brought about the need for this new record, which instead puts that instrument, so vital to me, at the very center, stripping everything else away," Niklas explains.

Born in 1994, Paschburg has shaped over the years a musical path deeply connected to travel, nature, and introspection. From his debutTuur Mang Welten(2016) toOceanic(2018),Svalbard(2020),Panta Rhei(2023), and the aforementionedMexican Alps— alongside soundtracks, remixes, and collaborations with artists like RY X, Hania Rani, Ásgeir, and Bryan Senti — his sound bridges neoclassical, electronic, ambient, and pop-driven composition.

WithL'Écho de Bretagne, the Hamburg-born, Berlin-based musician continues his exploration by seeking solitude in nature, much like he did onSvalbard, but this time with an even more radical choice: disconnecting completely from the internet, and switching off both computer and smartphone for a while, in order to fully immerse himself in his new music. "I rented an old cottage in Paimpol, Brittany, where I knew there was a grand piano," he recounts. "When I got there, I discovered that not only was the piano more than a hundred years old, but it was also of an unknown brand, never restored, and quite difficult to play. But that gave it a unique character, and I didn't give up. Sure, it was an instrument left to its own fate, I couldn't play anything too fast. But how fascinating was that? I'm convinced that setting limits, instead of giving yourself total freedom when composing, can become an extraordinary source of inspiration."

As for the decision to temporarily detach from a life that demands we stay constantly connected, Niklas describes it as both a creative and human experiment. "I had my laptop and phone with me, just in case, but I kept them turned off. That choice made me wantL'Écho de Bretagneto be a fully analog work, even in how it was recorded." A way of clearing the mind. "I don't think I've ever been as calm as I was during those days in Paimpol. Even though I was working on a very specific project and didn't have much time, that period was more relaxing than any vacation."

Not that it was free of hiccups. "I'd borrowed a reel-to-reel recorder small enough to travel with me, but after recording a session on the piano, I realized it wasn't working properly, the sound was distorted, full of crackles. I got worried, because I wasn't near any big city where I could find a technician. Luckily, I figured out the problem was the old tape reels I had brought along. That was the only time I had to go online, to order new ones. But it was just for a moment. I shut everything off again right after." At that point, Niklas was waiting for the new tapes to arrive. He found out, completely by chance, from a local UPS courier that they had been delivered to a nearby village. "Since my phone was off, I couldn't track the shipment. So one day I asked this delivery guy, who didn't know anything about it. But from that point on, we'd see each other daily and talk… That's what being disconnected also means: reconnecting with people around you, even strangers. It was thanks to that courier that I found out where the tapes had ended up. And he even helped me get them back, writing directions for me on a scrap of paper."

But there's another element that makes this new EP unique.L'Écho de Bretagnewas recorded entirely live; its tracks are all improvised, complete with their imperfections. This approach leads to a sound that is pure, profoundly organic, and deeply authentic, intentionally preserved to give the listener the feeling of a live performance happening in their own living room. The touch of fingers on the keys, the breath of the wood, the tension of the vibrating string, all become part of the music. There is no construction, only expression. "Even now, when I listen back to it, I feel that moment I gave myself to step away from everything: from reality, from words, from noise." The result is a collection of suspended melodies and atmospheres, reflecting a state of the soul. A refuge from the rush of time. A pause from the world.

With Dispersion, Loom & Thread return to the volatile architecture of the expanded piano trio - and quietly fracture it from within.

Daniel Klein (drums), Tobias Fröhlich (double bass) and Tom Schneider (keys, sampler) remain the sole agents on stage and in the final recording. The triangle holds. And yet, the field has expanded. For their second studio album, the trio fed their improvisations with the timbral signatures of guest saxophone and vibraphone players - not just as additional voices to be featured, but also as material to be absorbed, atomized and redistributed. The result is not augmentation but thorough refraction.

Where the debut album explored the recursive labyrinth of Schneider's live sampling of his own piano, Dispersion introduces an external grain into the feedback system. Breath and metal. Reed turbulence and struck resonance. The trio sampled extended improvisations by saxophone and vibes players: Victor Fox, Asger Nissen, Volker Heuken, and L&T's own Daniel Klein; dissected their attacks, overtones and decay curves, and integrated these fragments into the trio's internal circuitry. What emerges is a play of presences without bodies - instrumental ghosts circulating through the dense weave of rhythm and keys.

At first, one might hear the familiar relational tension: Klein's polyrhythmic elasticity interlocking with Fröhlich's tensile double bass figurations, Schneider poised at the hinge between tonal field and percussive impulse. But soon, the surface splinters - again. A vibraphone shimmer appears, yet no mallets are visible. A reed multiphonic surges through the texture, bending space between bass and drums. These events are neither quotations nor overlays; they are redistributed energies, dispersed across the trio's grammar. A digital multidimensional interplay ensues.

If the first album unfolded as a two-tiered game - live phrase and sampled reflection - Dispersion adds a further axis. The sampled materials from other improvisers are stripped of their erstwhile two-way interaction and reconstituted as malleable particles. Signifier detached from origin, resonance detached from gesture. The trio navigates a constantly shifting topology in which acoustic memory and electronic manipulation are indistinguishable.

Crucially, the album never abandons the physical urgency of three musicians reacting in real time. The additional timbral layers do not thicken the texture into opacity; rather, they introduce stark points and arrows of diffraction. Density opens into prismatic clarity. Lines splinter and regroup. What seems like a quartet or quintet collapses back into three bodies negotiating an expanded field.

Dispersion is not about addition but about distribution - of agency, of timbre, of temporal perspective. It is an album in which the trio setting becomes a site of multiplicity without surrendering its immediacy. A dissolution not only of the divide between present experience and memory, but between inside and outside, self and other.

Three musicians. Countless vectors. A music that fractures in order to cohere.

CREDITS:
Tom Schneider: piano & sampler
Tobi Fröhlich: double bass
Daniel Klein: drums & percussion

sample sources:
Victor Fox: tenor saxophone
Asger Nissen: alto saxophone
Volker Heuken: vibes
Daniel Klein: vibes

Recorded by Martin Dressler at Bauer Studios, Ludwigsburg.
Mixed & mastered by Martin Ruch.
Artwork by Viet Hoa Le.

Isella doesn’t flinch from the horror stitched into the fabric of the feminine experience. Citing writers like Plath Margaret Atwood, and Mona Awad as germinal influences on her lyricism, Isella plunges into the underbelly of expectations of good-girlhood, of valiant womanhood. In her songs she splays out the stakes of it all, plumbing the viscera, unearthing the blood, guts, dirt, and decay lurking beneath. By the time she hit fifteen, Isella’s taste had expanded and grown darker and more mature. Artists like Nine Inch Nails and Tom Waits became a conduit for the kind of raw intensity she’d always been drawn to, and gave her permission to push herself to new depths of expression. This is evidenced on her latest EP; That freedom that Reznor et al. endowed to the songwriter are evidenced on her latest EP; Something is a shell . Isella’s vocals swing from coolly detached to emotional detonation, often in the span of the same song. She brings listeners into a world colored by feminist hyper-realism, challenging listeners to re-define ideas of femininity, and safety; to see that things are not okay.

Two song mini-ep featuring blistering new song "Semi-detached Furnished Home" and a distinctly garage punk reworking of Roger Miller's "Lou's Got The Flu". Ultra limited edition 7 inch available in two colourways

Galcher Lustwerk is a Cleveland-born, New York-based producer who has become one of the underground's most respected and unique voices. His deep tracks fuse hypnotic grooves with subtle, late-80s hip-house–inspired vocals, creating a detached yet energising take on the famous Midwest style. He's a member of the White Material collective, first gained attention with the 100% Galcher podcast mix, and has since dropped many choice Eps on the best labels in the scene, including Ghostly International, all of which have cemented his reputation as a visionary.

Shorty Out' is a dreamy late-night sound with spoken words pulling you in as balmy pads swirl without purpose, but plenty of sass. The drums are understated but poignant, inviting you to sink into the vibe and give yourself over to Reflection.

'Vestibule' is another smoky, candle-lit sound, with hunched, dusty drums that make you move without ever being the focal point. More vocal musings bring tender feels and evocative imagery as the synths speak of cosmic escape.

Closer, 'Wet Bulb' is more club-ready with techno-leaning synths and mid-tempo but purposeful drums.

Analogue textures and heady, wispy synths add plenty of human soul, making this another considered cut.

Pem is a multidisciplinary artist, songwriter, and gardener whose work fuses organic and stylized elements. Her music is rooted in nature, shaped by long days tending gardens and observing seasonal cycles. Initial ideas emerge as “pocket sketches” — spontaneous melodies recorded while gardening — later evolving into full compositions.
Her EP other ways of landing emphasizes textural depth, world-building, and her distinctive vocal agility. Themes of belonging and rootlessness permeate her work, inspired by her transient lifestyle and connection to gardens.
Pem’s sound blends ethereal alt-balladry with soul and folk influences, underpinned by raw singer-songwriter foundations. Her hypnotic tremolo vocal technique adds an uncanny, esoteric quality. Live, she delivers arresting performances marked by stylized detachment and emotional tension, complemented by self-made costumes and lyrical motifs of fabric and fragility.

Influences range from Nick Drake and Vashti Bunyan to Cocteau Twins, Mazzy Star, and Björk. Her music explores cyclicism, mythology, and planetary themes, merging her real-world gardening experience with mystical undertones.

APORIAMOR noun 1. The death of love’s contradiction.
| “Embody APORIAMOR”

Etymology
aporia-: an irresolvable internal contradiction or logical disjunction in a text, argument, or theory. from Greek aporos ‘impassable’, from a- ‘without’ + poros ‘passage’
-amor: love. Sentimiento intenso del ser humano que, partiendo de su propia insuficiencia, necesita y busca el encuentro y unión con otro ser. Del latín amor.
-mor: latin for death.

APORIAMOR explores the affective ontological and organic processes of love and lust in the turmoil of an urban existence, through the female lens. It expresses the process of strengthening through heartbreak in its various forms.

With her debut EP The Art of the Concrete, elsas knew that by giving that name to a record which was ironically expansive and experimental, she would be calling for a distilled and clearer path further down the line. This is what she’s been incorporating into the sonic world of this new EP, APORIAMOR, signifying the birth of a more matured and distilled version of herself as an artist.

With APORIAMOR (“the death of love’s contradiction”) elsas conveys a personal process of healing in the romantic space. Through different experiences of heartbreak, elsas builds a language - a coping mechanism attached to its subsequent artistic expression – that isn’t founded on hardness or a closing-off, but instead, on a playful but profound reckoning, and learning of self-worth.

APORIAMOR embraces the complexities of being a lover-girl: of moving through life with an open heart. It celebrates the clarity, sweet hindsight, and detachment that come from processing emotion. APORIAMOR is both an affirmation and a release.

elsas makes canonical blends with a forward boundary-bending vision. Her sound in this record is naturally referential of both her Mediterranean heritage and UK alternative music — intrinsic parts of her lived experience. She has had the opportunity to collaborate with artists she deeply admires, each exchange enriching her creative world.

The experience of working hand-in-hand with Sampha for the last 3 years and ongoingly has been a core of her evolution as an artist. She has also collaborated in many forms with artists like Florence + the Machine, Little Simz, Jordan Rakei, Jockstrap, Obongjayar, Black Country New Road, Genevieve Artadi (KNOWER) and Duval Timothy. Additionally, her ongoing work with the Idrîsî Ensemble, of which she is a core member, continues to inform her artistic depth.

The making of this largely self-produced record unfolded over four years — “it’s a well-kneaded dough,” she says. These songs evolved through exposure to multiple environments: from early writing sessions in her childhood home in the Spanish countryside, to stages across the U.S. while on tour supporting Sampha.

Experimentation and modulation are an intrinsic part of elsas’ method, conceiving songs as organisms that respond to their surroundings. Collaborators on this collection of songs include Shrink, Will Lister, Gabriel Gifford, Ethan P. Flynn and more. The record was mixed by David Wrench (a long-time supporter of elsas’) and Nathan Boddy, and mastered by Matt Colton.

With APORIAMOR, elsas creates a visual world from the fabulation of the past, as an act of playful historical revisionism in which she embeds herself as both subject and storyteller. The songs function like an archive of her experiences across various years, each one unearthed and presented as some sort of archaeological artifact. Through this body of work, elsas begins to conceptualize herself as a legacy artist: one who honors the archive of her own becoming while emerging as a distinct and resonant voice in today’s musical landscape.

On Hungry Animal, Luke Temple continues to trace the invisible lines between the personal and the cosmic _ between what we feel, what we observe, and what we inherit simply by being alive. The album reunites Temple with Doug Stuart (bass) and Kosta Galanopoulos (drums), the core of his Cascading Moms ensemble, whose instinctive chemistry anchors the record's balance of rhythmic precision and melodic drift. Together they shape a sound that feels handmade and fluid, delivering sharp observations in soft focus. The album opens with "Clean Living," a tenderly libidinous groove, unraveling purity myths and self-discipline _ less a confession than a celebration of the futility of striving for perfection in a flawed world. From there, "Echo Park Donut" shifts into the memory of an unsettling vignette drawn from a violent incident outside Temple's Los Angeles home. The band moves with a quiet pulse beneath the story, suggesting both detachment and the surreal intimacy of fear. The title track, "Hungry Animal," grounds the album's broader questions: how well can we really know one another, or ourselves? Temple's lyrics circle around the idea that we are animals among animals, driven by instinct and affection alike. It's both playful and philosophical, one of the record's emotional centers. Temple's bandmates bring an understated mastery to these pieces. Stuart's melodic, infectious grooves converse fluidly with Galanopoulos's drumming, which breathes life into each song even as it gently propels them forward. The trio's interplay feels both weightless and deeply rooted _ commanding the listener's attention and empathy without ever forcing it. With Hungry Animal, Luke Temple and the Cascading Moms create a world where reflection becomes rhythm and consciousness gains texture _ a record of quiet revelations and deliberate grace.

Formerly one third of the much-loved trio Black Box Recorder, alongside The Auteurs’ Luke Haines and Jesus and Mary Chain guitarist John Moore, the British singer-songwriter Sarah Nixey has steadily gained acclaim as a solo artist who makes savvy, sophisticated and poised pop.

Delivering vocals with a detached elegance over opulent tracks, any perceived nonchalance in Nixey’s luxe, cut glass voice belies her empathy, where social commentary serves as protest, both explicit and implied. Like Billy Bragg deepfaked as prime Julie Andrews, this strange but effective juxtaposition radiates soft power. ‘Lies of the Land’ depicts a corrupt post-Brexit and Covid-19 world where inequality and division flourish. ‘England's On Fire’ delves into the nuanced concepts of patriotism and nationalism, and ‘Pleasure Bay’ narrates the story of a love affair with a deprived yet beautiful English seaside town, written after Nixey left London, drawn back to the Dorset coast.
More than just a political record though, Nixey was drawn to the poetic elements of living too, telling stories of life and death, love and loss, conflicts and symmetry, in an intimate and close-up way, as if whispering secrets to her listeners.

“Sea Fever explores the bittersweet beauty of human life amid a volatile world of changing seasons and brutal elements,” says Nixey. “These are songs of deep sorrow, remembrance, birth, and change, set against a backdrop of the sensuous natural world.”
‘Rolling Waves’ explores profound grief following her beloved grandmother's death, while ‘Spring Equinox’ celebrates the joy and awe of life after welcoming her first grandchild. ‘At the Edge of the Forest’ is a poignant story of someone losing their memory, and ‘On This Wide Night’ recounts the early hours return home of a teenage runaway.

Childhood Intelligence’s 18th release by ADSR aka. Todd Nickolas & Dominic Paterson from Toronto, Canada. The 2x12” album presents mostly tracks written and produced by Todd, with A1/D1 being in collaboration with Paterson. "Give a teenager in a rural Canadian setting an analog synthesizer, a drum machine and a four-track cassette recorder and feed him a steady diet of 80s EBM, Post-Punk, Synthpop, Electro, Dub, Acid, Hip Hop and House, and you’ll get the kind of genre melding electronic-based music that Todd Nickolas has been known for since his early days of writing and producing." The end result is a versatile one, with “Passive Articulation” presenting abstract Techno - House - Electro visions, and fusing all the elements of vintage Intelligent Dance Music that we cherish so much: warm basslines, beautiful chord progressions, diverse and surprising arrangements infused with haunting melodies, hypnotic cyber sounds, detached vocal cuts and dubbed percussion.…Overall fresh & timeless classiness for the present, past & future.

Recorded various locations New Hamburg, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ottawa, Toronto, San Francisco and Los Angeles. ADSR greatly thanks those who were there from the start, those who joined along the journey and those here now.

For 20 years Bart De Paepe has carved a distinctive trace in the realm of psychedelic underground and counterculture. With several outstanding solo albums on a.o. Astres d’Or, Ultra Eczema, No Basement Is Deep Enough and with many studio and concert ventures with Sylvester Anfang’s funeral folks, Louise Landes Levi, Timo van Luijk, Raymond Dijkstra to name a few, Bart De Paepe developed a wide and sharp spirit within the orbit of psychedelic improvisation. Since 2007, Bart also curates the Sloow Tapes and Sloowax labels with an impressive catalog of music and poetry by a wide range of resonating artists. Bart’s visual work (drawing and painting), parallel to his musical universe, has been used on many of these releases. He is a genuinely curious traveler, always discovering new dimensions, which is clearly to be heard on the four tracks of this album.

Zürahümnah is an immediate and immersive dive into solitary inner and outer worlds of light and darkness. Zürahümnah is a floating vibration of flickering twilight. Zürahümnah is a mysterious journey through detached time and space. Equipped with Hawaiian guitar, piano, organ and cymbal, Bart De Paepe sets the controls for the heart of the sun.

Assembled by Pedro Alves Sousa, Má Estrela is a conjuration of ideas and obsessions around dub, leftfield dance phenomena and the hypnotic potential of urban somnambulance.

In a levitating state, not exactly detached from the unease of these end times, Sousa surrounds himself by a number of accomplices from past and present endeavours to project a scrying mirror reflection of distinct languages of trance and liberation - dub's space and infinity, jungle and footwork's broken shards, DJ Screws legacy perpetually reanimated via numerous slowed down anonymous versions on Youtube and the lyricism and fire of jazz.

Temporarily a quartet, comprised of Sousa on saxophone and its electronic processing, Bruno Silva and Simão Simões on electronics and Gabriel Ferrandini on acoustic and electronic drums, after the departure of Miguel Abras, Má Estrela had in their 2022 debut album their first document of this ongoing process that’s now continued with ‘Tornada". Miguel Abras has since been replaced with Bruna de Moura and Má Estrela came back to being a five piece.

Coming out in November through Discrepant, with Miguel Abras' bass still present, 'Tornada' deepens the symbiotic connection between those rhythmic, melodic and textural particles in a mutating flux of continuities and disruptions throughout seven tracks. Featuring the invocations of Elvin Brandhi in 'All You Did', 'Tornada' makes its way amidst harmonic spectres, rhythmic debris that breathe for life and a certain, implicit idea of ritual that sustains itself liminally between the ethereal dissolution of time and the physical projection of space.

Eisenmund, the debut by Berlin-based Schimmel über Berlin is a thing of pounding, brittle beauty that seeks to continue on from where angst-ridden, early-eighties Berlin left off. Angular, monophonic synths, guitars that slice through with wiry yet melodic urgency, basslines that pulse with a taut, driven precision and drums that meld everything together. Liv Billerbeck’s vocals come from the middle distance, drifting between detached and desperate, as if transmitted through a wintery cityscape.

Title track Eisenmund jangles with reedy synths floating over a carpet of bass and mournful vocals dripping with a sense of loss. This mood spills over into the other tracks, like post-punk jewel Schreck with its iridescently lovely guitars.

Eisenmund is sharp, atmospheric, and quietly thrilling - proof that the shadows of the eighties can still dance under today's flickering lights. The album, immaculately produced by T-Rex, captures that classic post-punk mood of urban decay, late-night introspection and stubborn sense of motion, which for someone like me, who was there back in the day, seems utterly familiar without ever sinking into mere nostalgia.

Fiona Sangster (Xmal Deutschland)
Die Band Schimmel über Berlin ist eines der vielen Klanggesichter der Liv Billerbeck, ein Gesicht, das man niemals sieht, das im Verborgenen sich umblickt und agiert und das trotzdem aber in einer seltenen Klarheit erscheint. Man sieht es beim Hören, schemenhaft. Ihr Schaffen ist befallen vom West-Berlin der 1980er Jahre (Xmal Deutschland, Malaria etc.).

Eine Rolle, gerade in der musikalischen Brillanz und Produktionsraffinesse, spielt britischer Post-Punk, der sich sehr klar auch im treibenden Spiel von T-Rex ​​​(Bass + Produktion), Việt Phương Vũ (Gitarre) und Christian Ramisch (Schlagzeug – mit Phương übrigens bei der ebenfalls sehr guten Band NOJ) zeigt: The Sound, Killing Joke et. al.!

Es handelt sich bei dieser Musik um einen Sound mit retroesquem Anstrich, der spürbar eine vergangene Luft atmet, einer Nostalgie an eine ferne Zeit anheimfällt, die das Quartett ob ihres Alters nicht erlebt haben kann, und die vielmehr eine Sehnsucht bedeutet, in der Unerfüllbarkeit eine Melancholie mitbringt, eine Art treibende Traurigkeit spürbar macht. Das allein ist groß! Was weitergehend daran aber so interessant, besonders und wahnsinnig schön ist: Das klingt in Billerbecks Schaffen – und insbesondere hier, beim Schimmel über Berlin – nicht wie eine Kopie, ein Abklatsch, eine Reminiszenz oder das, was in der so called NNDW bald flächendeckend geschieht: das Anzapfen einer überholten Coolness. Denn etwas ist ganz gegenwärtig daran, in der Eigenständigkeit, macht einem eindringlich das Hier und Jetzt spürbar, auf unterschiedlichen Ebenen: Traurigkeit, ja, aber auch Bock, bis in die Morgenstunden auszugehen, schnellen Schrittes über rutschiges Kopfsteinpflaster zu traben. Musik dann wieder zum Verkrümeln in zugigen Altbauten, von Schreien über einen nebelbedeckten See im Umland Berlins.

Und eben kein Eskapismus, auch wenn die Musik zur Flucht taugte. Merkwürdig ist, dass in dieser Retroschleife dann etwas Märchenhaftes mitschwingt. Vielleicht liegt es auch in der authentischen 1980er-Jahre Produktion, in der immer wieder so ein Klimpern, ein Schellen durchkommt. Es mag aber auch an den Texten liegen, die etwas von Minnesang haben und in ihrer Klarheit, die aus der Kühle und den Kargheiten (der Vergangenheit, der Gegenwart, der Zukunft) entsteht, doch Wärme transportieren.

Wir hören darin heute, trotz all dem Bewusstsein für die Vergangenheit, den Sound einer seltenen Dichterin der Gegenwart. Das ist von einer Intensität, die einen bald absorbiert. Eisenmund etwa, das Titelstück, ist so ein Song, bei dem man sich hinsetzen oder gleich hinlegen muss. Da sind Dinge, die man nicht ändern kann. Wie geht das? Also: nach vorne, heftig, und dann aber so weich und traurig. Hätten Schimmel über Berlin die 1980er-Jahre dieser Stadt beschallt, sie wären hiermit, das mögen sie selbst vielleicht gar nicht hören, die Helden dieser Zeit gewesen. Eisenmund ist das tollste Album, das mir seit Jahren begegnet ist – und die bisherige Klimax dessen, was aus der Allee der Kosmonauten hervorgeht.

Und wenn man das alles so hört, aufmerksam hört, wird einem, obwohl das alles so ein einziger, riesiger Hit ist, völlig klar: Hier geht es nicht darum, irgendwo damit zu landen, irgendwo mitzumischen, erfolgreich zu sein oder in aller Munde. Hier geht es darum, einfach nur genau das zu machen, was es ist! Alles andere ist egal.

Der Klagegesang wird mich immer umwehen.

– Hendrik Otremba

Sugaring a Strawberry, the sophomore record from Julia, Julia, is a study in coming undone—on purpose. Recorded at COMA, Julia Kugel's home studio, and mixed through a custom Flickenger clone, the album drifts in and out of clarity like memory itself. It's emotionally retrospective, creatively unvarnished, and deeply human. You can hear it in the hiss, the warmth, in the vocals so raw they're like an open window. These songs weren't engineered for perfection. They were built to breathe. Her long-time collaborator and husband, Scott Montoya, mixes it all so loosely that you can hear the air between tracks— a space that makes the music feel inhabited rather than recorded.


"Bound" opens the album like a secret passed between sisters, solemn and unspeakably close. It begins with the softest of touches: hushed guitar, a near- whispered delivery that carries the intimacy of someone singing only for one other person. It's a love song, but not romantic, more ancestral in the way long bonds can be. All glow and undercurrent, "I Know," is like hearing someone hum through a wound. The track arrives as if it had been waiting, coiled and complete, to be sung. Its pulse is slow but insistent, anchored on a hypnotic loop and a vocal that's half-incantation, half-confession. One of the most outward-facing songs on the record, "Feeling Lucky," opens like a cigarette flicked in the dark– smoky and a little bit slick. Built on a skeletal beat and a nearly detached vocal, it leans into a sarcastic swagger that barely masks the ache beneath. The delivery is droll and glazed, the instrumentation is sparse and a little woozy, leaving space for her voice to sway—a shrug of a song, stylish in its sadness. "A Love That Hurts" drifts in on soft, fingerpicked guitar and a dry, close-mic vocal that feels both haunted and immediate. The mix is stripped down and analog-warm, letting tape hum and silence frame the emotion. Julia sings like she's remembering something she doesn't want to, each line a slight unraveling. Like the rest of the album, "A Love That Hurts" doesn't push toward resolution. It sits in the ache, sifts through it, makes it beautiful.

Sugaring a Strawberry doesn't seek catharsis so much as stumbles into it. There's a quiet volatility to these songs like they might fall apart if you press too hard. It moves in shadow and softness, asking questions it doesn't answer. It doesn’t end with closure. It ends with truth.

One Instrument welcomes Morning Seance, composer and sound artist, originally from Italy and based in Vienna. On this debut LP, Morning Seance traces a drifting narrative composed of unstable harmonies, fluid structures, and ghostlike forms. The album unfolds like a dream told in fragments, oscillating between fluctuating pulses and decaying transmissions, from nocturnal stillness to acoustic mirages. The first half of the record moves through zones of suspended tension and evanescent contours, where tracks like “Be faster than your own depression” and “The tenderness of our own autobiography” sketch fragile architectures of affect. The second half enters a more spectral terrain — “Breakfast in a night club,” “A visit to the Brion-Vega tomb” — not places, but agglomerates of sonic sensation, detached from any personal frame.

With each piece, the music dissolves and reconstitutes itself, resisting finality or form, and doing so with an indestructible joy that hums beneath the wreckage. This is degenerate ambient music: anti-geometric and subject to emotional weather — not a refuge, but a slow collapse of structure and purity, where atmosphere gives way to excess and disobedience.

The album is crafted entirely from a single source: the Roland Alpha Juno-1. Despite this constraint, it achieves a vast sound spectrum, transforming one synthesizer’s voice into a layered landscape of textures and moods.

The electronic music of Morning Seance is built on constant variation and intricate, looping patterns with no clear beginning or end. This variation is not simply applied to an audio element, but enacted as a compositional logic — avoiding mechanical combinations and obvious rhythms. The result is a mutable mass of audio matter and tonal debris, guiding the listener through richly divergent environments.

A Place In My Memory Is All I Have To Claim is the new album by Australian atmospheric pop trio Hydroplane, the storied 'offshoot' formed by three quarters of independent pop group, The Cat's Miaow. On this, their first music after two decades plus of radio silence, Andrew Withycombe, Kerrie Bolton and Bart Cummings return to the gentle, close-quarters musical world they shared around the turn of the century.

Recorded during 2024 in Melbourne and Ballarat, A Place In My Memory… picks up the thread Hydroplane set down with its precursor, 2001's The Sound Of Changing Places, though you can hear echoes of their other releases, too, with Withycombe noting a through-line from the group's 1998 "Failed Adventure" single. There's little quite like A Place In My Memory…, then or now, though. Maybe you can draw some connections between Hydroplane and their sister group, The Cat's Miaow, while fellow travellers might include Empress, The Ah Club, and further back, Young Marble Giants, Veronique Vincent (the muffled, ticking drum machine also makes me think of Robin Gibb's Robin's Reign).

There's also an umbilical to the bedroom-crafted electronica doing the rounds in the late nineties and early noughties. Hydroplane hint at this through their approach to songwriting, which often builds creatively around loops as structural devices. Through all this, the trio achieve an effortless, organic weightlessness across these nine lovely songs. Many feature Bolton's clear singing voice, drifting along, while guitars, keyboards, drum machines and loops tickertape away. The constituent parts fit together, but they also have a curiously detached quality - think of abstract cloud formations sharing the same sky.

Hydroplane and The Cat's Miaow often dealt in emotional ambiguity and uncertainty, and the uncertainty of the nostalgic. This was always one of the most appealing facets of their music, and A Place In My Memory… is thus named perfectly. I couldn't dream up a better title for the album and its reflections on history, lived experience, and the inevitable tangle between these two phenomena. These reflections variously address such concerns as human cruelty, flight, space travel, adventurism and spiritualism. There's also "To the Lighthouse", not a direct reference to the Virginia Woolf book, but a great title, nonetheless. (They've always had excellent titles, often borrowed, for songs and albums.)

A beautiful collection of drowsy, sleepy pop, humble and quiet, but resolute in its craft, A Place In My Memory Is All I Have To Claim is dream work in practice; a lovely reintroduction. Welcome back, then.

“Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?” This quote from a poem by Edgar Allan Poe sums up the lamenting, primal work that is "All That We See or Seem"; a project conceived between Finland, England and Brazil. The self-titled album consists of two long-form pieces of droning mysticism hailing from the trio of Gruth (concept, production, electronics), Ellen Southern (vocals, field recordings, percussion) and Johanna Puuperä (violin, modular synthesizer, additional vocals).

The album opens straight into a thousand yard stare with “Myrskymielellä", adapted from a 1891 poem by the Finnish national poet, Eino Leino, who wrote it at the tender age of 13. Here a blank distant droning of synths and the sounds of flowing water hover underneath like a dark river observed from the air. This is a sound and feeling that will stay constant for the entirety of the piece´s thirty minute duration. It is a trance-inducing composition that slowly unfolds elements of pagan ancestry into its own life. At first, faint female vocals are introduced as distant spatial elements, which gradually advance into waves of cries and anguish as the piece progresses and moves further into the storm. The tranquility of the first half is slowly morphed into a full blown ceremony as driving ritualistic percussion and a foreboding witch-like presence shifts the piece into a Dead Can Dance-like territory. Here a constant enveloping mixture of violins, modular synths, field recordings and vocal screams creates the feeling of a grande finale. It is an astounding piece of music that develops like a drone symphony for the beginning of time.

With the second piece, “A Dream Within A Dream”, from Edgar Allan Poe´s 1849 poem, you are transported to the shores of an undisclosed island; a place where it´s only you, your thoughts and the endless emptiness. The continual sound of waves is soon brought together with a cloud of synths and mourning violins that will keep a steady dreamlike state during most of the piece´s duration. This time the wordless vocals feel almost angelic in their pageantry. The composition flows like a slow caress of the soul and feels like the spirit twin of Gavin Bryars' “The Sinking of the Titanic” with its lamenting slow movements towards the unknown.

Truly a ghost of a record, “All That We See or Seem” is an experience hard to shake and feels like entering sacred ground. We are in a place surrounded by earth, both ancient and present. "Let loose, Vanha, the rage of an earthly storm! Detach the elements, completely open the sky! In the Earth, let an incessant storm prevail, so that in my chest I would not feel the miserable pain” - Eino Leino

"Pop" is a tag that's been assigned to Minus The Bear throughout their career. It's been used to set a distinction between the unique brand of complex indie rock they introduced on their first EP and the more angular and aggravated sounds of their previous bands Botch, Kill Sadie, and Sharks Keep Moving. It's also a tag that was thrown around frequently in the wake of their streamlined fourth album, OMNI. And it's a descriptor that immediately comes to mind within the first few seconds of their classic second formal EP, They Make Beer Commercials Like This. Now celebrating its 10-year anniversary and first time in print since 2011, Beer Commercials is the evolutionary step between Minus The Bear's first two landmark albums, Highly Refined Pirates and Menos El Oso. Opening track "Fine + 2 Points" remains one of the band's strongest opening tracks in their discography,charging out of the gates with a syncopated stomp that comes across as a more agitated take on Kylie Minogue's "Can't Get You Outta My Head". If Minus The Bear were looking to make pop music without any of its major-scale bubblegum trappings, they nailed it here. The band follows it with "Let's Play Clowns" and "Dog Park" - nods to Highly Refined Pirates' formula of frenetic clean guitar work, bombastic choruses, and Jake Snider's lyrics of detached romantic nostalgia. These tracks may represent Minus The Bear's original trademark version of pop, but on songs like "I'm Totally Not Down With Rob's Alien" the band eschews it's restless energy for atmosphere and dynamics, creating a sound that's inspired more than a handful of contemporary melodic post-rock bands. By the time the band belts out "Pony Up!" the listener has watched the three-year sonic transition between Minus The Bear's first two full-lengths transpire within under half-an-hour, with the their earlier math rock predilections yielding to the tightly wound club-banging pedalboard trickery that defined their sophomore album. Even if Beer Commercials doesn't fit within your definition of pop music, the unorthodox energetic charm of this relatively low-profile release serves as an exciting reminder of why Minus The Bear became one of the most important and influential indie rock bands of the new century.