quête:displaced

Moses Boyd is at the forefront of the New British jazz scene having worked and recorded with like of Giles Peterson, Four Tet, Sons Of Kemet, Zara McFarlane and more. With 2 MOBO Awards to his name and Multiple Releases via his Label Exodus Records. Moses has established himself as one of the leaders in bringing the worlds of Jazz and Electronic music together.

This latest release is taken from the same sessions that brought us Rye Lane Shuffle. Displaced Diaspora is a collection of music from Moses Boyd recorded in 2015 that features some of the now leaders of the New British Jazz Scene Such as Theon Cross, Nubya Garcia and Nathaniel Cross. As well as the Iconic British Soul Vocalist Terri Walker, Saxophonist and Bata Player Kevin Haynes and his group, Grupo Eleggua and Rapper Louis VI. The music is a mix of Jazz, Yoruba chants with Hip Hop and electronica influenced beats.

Continuing on the thematic thread of soundtracking an imaginary short movie, label founder DJ Tennis aka Manfredi Romano, asks some of the greatest contemporary club producers to take on the task of interpreting this idea in their own unique style. Romano explains that 'the score is a translation of our imagination, memories and emotions into music, with no protocols.' Opening the soundtrack, Vatican Shadow swaps his thunderous techno for a more cosmic and gentle approach, setting the tone for an equally serene soundscape from London based DJ and producer Midland. Japanese Future Terror head honcho, DJ Nobu, layers dense cerebral textures exuding the punk spirit of Life and Death. A similar rule defying energy can be heard by Ninos De Brazil who fuse carnival percussions with straight up old school techno. Both Scuba and Uchi bring the futuristic synths of a space age tomorrow we've all been waiting for. German producer Isolee interprets the task with his minimal productions and Italian producer Cosmo closes the compilation with Psychedelic Soundscapes turning into a distorted gabber missile. As the decade edges closer to it's decade anniversary, Romano proves yet again that Life and Death is a label which evolves through each reincarnation of itself, never failing to impress.

Seven years into its celebrated journey, Life and Death assembles its third and most adventurous compilation to date - Displaced Soundtracks. For the first instalment in a new series, DJ Tennis has given free rein to some of his most trusted contemporaries, enabling many of today's most respected dance music producers to display their hidden talents as composers. Gathering music from a long-aborted film, the collection stands as another bastion of Life and Death's perpetual evolution. Duncan Gray embraces dissonance, Black Merlin, Appleblim and Artefakt go interstellar and Fango channels post-punk squat music. Hades Rocket showcases the expertly-sequenced synth work that has graced Simian Mobile Disco's illustrious career, while Redshape revisits all the right sides of 80's Wave and Library music. Danny Daze and synth-savant KINK embrace non-standard tempi with great success, while Axel Boman delivers sitar-laced gospelhouse without a bass drum. Elsewhere, your favourite producer's favourite producer, Stimming, team's up with pianist Lambert and the pair learn to fly. Inspired and challenging, Life and Death ventures into their eighth year confidently, constantly evolving without compromise.

Inception: Audio's goal is to alter the perceptions of what electronic music can be.
Gathering the unique talents of underground artists from the darkest corners of the globe, we aim to create experimental, challenging and alien soundscapes that are truly not of this planet.

Originally issued as a cassette on the ROIR label alongside the likes of Bad Brains, Suicide and The Contortions, this second album from 1983 is an uncompromising collection of heavy dub manners and experimental studio soundscaping. Dreader than dread roots rhythms sit alongside delay-baked post-punk instrumentals such as Drilling Equipment' and Synchroniser'.
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First ever international vinyl edition, re-cut as a double LP at 45rpm for improved frequency response, includes bonus track Blood Shed Dub' from the classic disco plate series, download card, and gatefold sleeve with sleevenotes by Michael Dub' Shore and Steve On The Wire' Bar

Josh Mason’s new collection, "Wave Salt +7," emerges from an oblique origin. Unearthed from a dormant hard drive, it documents a set of work sessions only partially recoverable, their original continuity and intent fractured by time and technical failure. What remains is a constellation of mercurial gestures that proves, against all odds, to be entirely consonant with Mason’s ongoing musical concerns.

In a sense, the very condition of partiality proves generative, with elision operating on multiple levels - structural, sonic, and archival - shaping both the music itself and the circumstances of its (re)appearance. Phrases surface only to be truncated or displaced, hovering at the edge of resolution, and transitions are implied rather than fully enacted. Absence functions not as a deficit, but as an important compositional resource.

Central to the album’s sound is a distinctive use of vocoding. Deployed not to simulate vocal presence but as a tool for tonal sculpting, it yields a shifting lattice of smeared harmonics, angular melody, and attenuated noise. Sounds are pressed through one another, their edges softened, shifted, or selectively erased, producing surfaces simultaneously articulated and porous. Rather than reconstructing a lost whole, the album posits a mode of listening attuned to gaps, interruptions, and unstable forms. Even so, in keeping with Mason’s broader practice, this music remains grounded in melodic logic and a distinctly human scale, ensuring that its fragmentary structures register not solely as experiments, but as expressions of proximity and feeling.

Sound Synthesis. Four tracks. Analogue systems. Acid motion over faded structures. Electro pressure. Broken sequences. Direct impact. Internal drift. Signals extend beyond function -- suspended, displaced. Rhythmic force / latent space. No narrative. No ornament. Transmission.

Anthony Hüseyin presents their new album O Geliyor (Making O), in which they return to the rediscovery of their gender, their childhood, and their attachment to Zeki Müren.

Müren is widely regarded as the most important queer exponent in the history of Turkish Art Music (Türk Sanat Müzigi). This genre of music was open to musical hybridism, and Müren himself also included elements of jazz and pop music.
Stylistically, O Geliyor (Making O) is a combination of contemporary discoid electro-pop music, based on Turkish Art Music by Zeki Müren. After successful current re-interpretations of Turkish music styles like neo-Anatolian pop and neo-Arabesk, this album provides a first take on neo-Turkish Art Music.

The album title is referring to the third genderless person pronoun in Turkish called "O", which encompasses all gender possibilities in one word. The album reflects on the memories that haunt us and the indescribable wounds of displacement. Set against the backdrop of Berlin, home to many immigrants and political and queer refugees, it exposes the profound emptiness in a metropolis wishing to imagine itself as a safe haven for the free-spirited, yet always reminding the Other that they don't belong. At the same time, it delivers anthems for the displaced, for the queer migrants who traverse internal and external landscapes in search of a place called home.

Anthony Hüseyin is a non-binary musician and performance artist of Kurdish-Turkish and Arabic descent who works with voice, text, film, dance, and installation. Raised in Urfa in Southeastern Turkey, where they learned traditional local music, they went on to study both classical and jazz singing in Istanbul and Rotterdam. Their works combine the personal and political to explore memory, identity, community, collective consciousness, and the body.

Precisely one year after Lézire, Crush of Souls is back with his third full-length album.

The musical endeavour of Charles Rowell – active in the indie/punk global scene since 2008 with bands like Crocodiles, Flowers of Evil, Issue – is just like its creator: always cooking up something. Relentlessly.

Now, as it was perceivable by the trajectory undertaken by after his previous LP, Captive Youth leaves goth rock and dark folk aside and head swiftly towards some old school 80’s EBM & 90’s Industrial dance vibe. After all, any album exploring themes of dystopia, politics and sexuality requires a strong rhythm. So how could this new chapter not mention seminal synth-pop and body music classics such as Technique by New Order, Belief by Nitzer Ebb, Towards Thee Infinite Beat by Psychic TV and Pressure Points by Anne Clark?

Forever a displaced soul, Charles’ album number three feels like a revision of Crush Of Souls and also a reanimation of his captive youth spent moving from town to town. The energy of the wandering worker poet. Warehouse basslines, artillery fire backbeats. Romance and melancholy wrapped in barbed wire. All this and more oozes from nine new tracks that inevitably deliver that blurry sexy urban vibe that’s become the project’s trademark.
Features collabo hit single Domination with Sade Sanchez from L.A. Witch.

Another DINTE tape curated by cult WFMU show and blogger Bodega Pop; Gary Sullivan's long-running project rooted in a passion for digging for music in bodegas and cell-phone stores across NYC's boroughs. This edition focuses in on late 1990s and early 00s hip-hop & rnb from across Southeastern Asia.

"While on a work trip to Chicago in the mid-2000s, I was craving a bowl of pho. A bit of sleuthing led me to hop on the red line "L" up to Argyle Street, ground zero of Chicago's Little Saigon. In the 1960s, Chicago restaurateur Jimmy Wong invested in property on Argyle Street with a vision to build the city's new Chinatown, a kind of mall with pagodas, trees, and reflecting pools. In 1971, the Hip Sing Association, a labor/criminal organization, established itself in the area, and along with Wong, they bought up 80% of the buildings on a three-block stretch of the street. Wong reportedly broke both hips in an accident, leaving his dream to wither; in 1979, Charlie Soo of the Asian American Small Business Association brought it back to life.

Soo expanded the area into a vibrant mix of Chinese, Vietnamese, and other Southeast Asian businesses, pushing for renovations, including an Argyle station facelift and the Taste of Argyle festival. At the time I exited the station and crossed the street to get a better look at a shop with a poster for A Vertical Ray of the Sun in the window, the area was home to some 37,000 Vietnamese residents.

Opening the door, I was gobsmacked by a cavernous Southeast Asian media store, bigger than any I'd been to in Dallas, Montreal, New York, or Seattle. I spent some time at the bins, pulling out collections by some of my then-favorite singers — Giao Linh, Khánh Ly, Phương Dung — before approaching the register to ask the young woman behind the counter if the they carried any Vietnamese rap. It was a longshot, I knew, but if such a thing existed on physical media and anyone carried it, it would be this place.

'Have you heard Vietnamese rap?' she replied, her tone of voice and facial expression betraying a comically exaggerated level of distaste. I admitted my ignorance but assured her that I had long cultivated a high threshold for cheesy pop music of all kinds and genuinely tended to like hip hop from around the world.

She rolled her eyes and pointed to an area I had missed. I walked toward a far corner of the store and knelt over a small box on the floor sparsely populated with CDs, VCDs, and cassettes. I pulled out half a dozen Vietnamese hip hop compilations and a strange-looking CD with a cavalcade of odd typefaces in a queasy multitude of colors: THAILAND RAP HIT, it boasted, with 泰國 "燒香" 勁歌金曲 below it. The information on the back provided an address in Kuala Lumpur and the titles in Thai and English translation. The first track included three simplified Chinese characters after the English-language version of the title, "The Chinese Association": 自己人.

WTF was going on here? Walking back to the register, I waved the CD, asking "What's up with this one?" She gave me a look. I placed it on the counter so she could bask in the cover's full glory. She shrugged. "I'm guessing it's Thai rap?" She looked disappointed in me when I said I'd take it.

It turned out to be a Malaysian pressing of half-Chinese Thai hip hop artist Joey Boy's third album, Fun Fun Fun from 1996, and it completely changed my sense what the genre could sound like. The rapper's self-assured, effortless, silly-but-cool rapid-fire delivery weaved in and out of the most bizarre, antic beats I'd ever heard. The six Vietnamese hip hop CDs were a mixed bag, mostly "serious" sounding mimicry of US rapping over predictable production, but the highs were very high. When I got home and listened to it all, I made a point to find as much hip hop from this part of the world as I could.

The tracks collected here provide a limited but potent reflection of the two-decade ascendency
and ultimate world-takeover of hip hop, as it displaced rock and its endless variants for millions of listeners. This not a fair and balanced overview of regional production: I've only included tracks from Cambodia, Indonesia, Myanmar, Philippines, Thailand, and Vietnam. Nor is this a biggest or most important artists collection; instead, I've tried to recapture the pure visceral thrill of that first time I heard Joey Boy, choosing bangers that sound like nothing else, from nowhere else."

—Gary Sullivan

In 1969, Albina in the US underwent a pivotal transformation which saw the arrival of Black residents displaced by the Vanport floods. While a local Black economy thrived to start with, the neighbourhood eventually got neglected due to disinvestment by the city's elites but citizens didn't take it lying down and some of them formed Shades Of Brown, a group that emerged at the Albina Arts Center which was a haven for artists during civil unrest. With members from various musical acts, they found unity under leader Thara Memory who instilled discipline and required them to read and write music before performing. This EP, which is the group's sole record, embodies their camaraderie and the community's struggle against neglect across six raw-as-you-like funk cuts laden with emotion and narrative.

The latest by New York-based producer Lamin Fofana further refines his cinematic dialect of fractured soundscapes, displaced rhythms, and tectonic unease. Unsettling scores aptly describes itself: grainy, bristling, and bruised, rippling with dread disguised as grandeur. The collection emerged from an extended reworking of his 2016 composition, “A Symbol of the Withdrawn God,” mining deeper into the piece’s “unvoiced fragments, shards, and utterances.” Other tracks were inspired by recent readings on climate emergency and its “specific implications for Black life, from hurricanes in the Caribbean to mudslides in West Africa.”

Fofana has spoken of his music as part of a “legacy of resistance,” spanning the roots of Detroit techno to the outer reaches of contemporary sound art as championed by his labels, Sci-Fi & Fantasy and Black Studies. His work here vividly embodies that spirit, seven hyper-textural transmissions of rumbling lament, shifting sands, and restless innovation, tracing jagged silhouettes of indeterminate futures: “The instability is worldwide.”

Spanish producer Pedro Vian is dreaming of the sea on “Ibillorca”, his third studio album.

Vian, whose Modern Obscure Music label is at the heart of the Barcelona electronic scene, moved to Amsterdam in 2018. While the Dutch capital has embraced this inventive producer and DJ, Vian says the new album is inspired by a feelings of absence and longing for his Mediterranean home. “On this album I explore my feelings of missing the light,” he says. “Ibillorca is a journey to a utopian island, a journey to a new state of mind.”

You can hear this displaced utopia on songs like “Can Mortera”, a dreamy reflection on house music, recorded in Ibiza in summer 2019, that brings to mind Larry Heard at his most meditative; or “Medusa” (featuring artist Rosalie Wammes), which sounds like Tangerine Dream drifting over the sea.

The Quietus called Pedro Vian’s debut album “Beautiful Things You Left Us For Memories” “the soundtrack to walking around the city at night”, while his eponymous second album was both deeply personal and more suited for the dance floor. “Ibillorca” is his Mediterranean album. “I love the Mediterranean sea,” Vian explains. “I come from there and I miss the light, the sun and the smell of the sea, so I dedicated this album to this feeling.” Fittingly, “Ibillorca”’s enigmatic cover art, painted by Spanish artist Blanca Miró, depicts the Mediterranean islands of Ibiza & Mallorca

“Ibillorca” is also Vian’s most varied release to date: “The Destiny Manifest” nods to drum and bass - albeit a touchingly Iberian take on the genre - while “Western Snow” has a hint of Erik Satie’s piano minimalism. Vian’s new home in The Netherlands also played a role in shaping “Ibillorca” .Vian recorded the album during his residency at HetHEM, a new contemporary space in Zandaam, 30 minutes from Amsterdam. “I have my studio at the top of the building, from there I can see all the boats going up and down the river IJ,” Vian says. “The art space is located in an industrial area, everything is grey, also the sky.” All the better, then, for dreaming of the sea.

Schatterau’s third album, »Wir gingen durch leere Stunden« (We went through empty hours), sees the German duo blossoms with beauty and sophistication through a broad creative language.

This opus, presented in the form of vivid auditory tableaux vivants, explores the topography of memory as a landscape in constant motion – full of loops, feedbacks, and mirage-like distortions. Sounds climbing like vines over old walls, concealing details only to reveal new ones. Some pieces feel like fragments of a dream whose origin has vanished, others like displaced echoes of a day long gone.

Memories create paths that only become visible in retrospect – detours that somehow always lead back to oneself. Each track draws the listener into a different recollection, as if opening an old door. Inside, time behaves strangely: it jumps, stretches, and repeats.

»Wir gingen durch leere Stunden« ultimately presents Schatterau at their most experimental, complex and measured extremes, channelling ambiguous human emotional resonance ranging from melancholy to pure ecstasy.

KIK is the new project of two core strategists of sonic enigma HHY & The Macumbas: Jonathan Uliel Saldanha & João Pais Filipe. Ditching acoustic instruments in favour of drum synthetics & tightly controlled sound design, the duo's debut album NIGHTSHIFT focuses on off-kilter club tracks that thwart 4-on-the-floor flavours whilst maintaining trance-inducing extended cycles. If the devil is in the details, this is all about the spectromophology of the details.
Beginning with moving morse code blips in an odd time signature We Can't Dance announces the characteristic unlife of the album's pulse. Once the kick enters, syncopations progressively accumulate into a weave of interacting rhythmic lines. Smoke Machine's groove is reminiscent of the riddims Saldanha explores in his HHY & The Kampala Unit, adding scintillating pads and snippets of blitzed out laughter.

The album's third track, Proff, hearkens back to the initial pulse, displaced and pitched down in register. Here's a more meditative temperament on display, where the regular geometries of the club have been moved into higher-order structures. Segments rise & fall into earshot. Deepening the meditative mood, Back Room explores a short melodic leitmotif anchoring the track's wander- lust.

The rhythmic assault continues in Tactical Gear, bringing further experiments into polyrhythmic contours exacerbated by preci- sion movements of echo & delay. Limping can be heard as a what-if sonic fiction taking Autechre-inspired abstractions through Durbanoid Gqom terrains. The album closes with its longest track, Night Shift, that segments into shifting sound worlds.

Drawing from industrial grit, cybernetic percussion and the eerie fluorescence of after-hours energy, NIGHTSHIFT exists in the liminal space between body music and abstraction——a soundtrack for phantom warehouses and malfunctioning machines. This isn’t just music; it’s an immersive sonic environment, a journey into the heart of deconstructed dancefloors.
For fans of Rian Treanor, Proc Fiskal, Jlin and Lorenzo Senni.

Most recently, HHY has been collaborating with Nyege Nyege through projects such as Kampala Unit and Arsenal Mikebe, performing live with the ensemble alongside Valentina Magaletti, and producing records for artists like Fulu Miziki, as well as collaborations with Phelimucasi, Rey Sapiens, Kingdom Choir and others. He also released Camouflage Vector: Edits From Live Actions 2017–2019 on the label, a live album featuring two tracks with Adrian Sherwood.

Previous collaborations include Tunnel Vision with Badawi (released on Tzadik), the HHY & The Macumbas album Beheaded Totem on House of Mythology, and Fujako (Wordsound, with MC Sensational), along with double-bill shows with acts such as Clipping and Death Grips.

Mark Fell inaugurates his new label – The National Centre for Mark Fell Studies – with his first solo electronic material in years; a slinky, ravishing volley of unique dance drills that have been in the works for over a decade, feeling somehow like Derek Bailey dissecting Singeli, or Autechre and Hermeto Pascoal dancing in hyperspace. There’s nothing else quite like it.

Back on the floor for the first time since dealing a pair of deep house 12”s with DJ Sprinkles, sending a contemporary classic in »Protogravity« with Errorsmith, plus a lauded collab with Gábor Lázár – all in 2015 – Fell taps back into core club concerns last explored to this uncompromising extent on his string of »Sensate Focus« EPs released between 2012–2013. He’s hardly been slacking since then, with a slew of far-reaching avant collabs with everyone from Rian Treanor to Limpe Fuchs, Okkyung Lee to Pat Thomas, Explore Ensemble to Will Guthrie – each one blurring distinctions between producer, composer, and conductor.

The »Nite Closures« EP is worth the wait – and then some. As ever, Fell manages to retain a highly distinctive, instantly identifiable sound while also tracing and mapping new bends in the continuum. His exploration of contemporary styles and patterns is here distilled and articulated with a rare, daring playfulness and sinuous intricacy – for over half an hour he flows from frantic to almost emotional at the drop of a snare. Trust it’s not your everyday / everynight club music, with an asymmetric angularity bound to wrong-foot fresher feet, but also the type of absolutely future-facing, skewed machine funk that clubs are crying out for, even if they don’t quite realise it.

As someone who’s witnessed the dominance of colouring-book Jive Bunny DJs recycle tested ideas ad infinitum, the message is a firm do-one to myopic ravers in »Nite Closures«. From the displaced anticipations tested in its extended dub and ravishing, tweaked polymetrics on its version, through a »Large Modulos #3« teeming with organismic details, to the hair-kissing swang of »auchterhouse (inversion)« and its clipped, cascading 2.1-step reprise, Fell offers thrilling new options for the loosey-gooseyest dancers at each turn. For us, it’s perhaps his greatest record this century.

Sonar Kollektiv proudly announces the new album by lo-fi veteran Don Philippe. With its textured production, broken rhythms, and a distinctly analog warmth, Velvet Breaks is a slow-burning, introspective work - a meditation on fragility, erosion, and beauty in decay.

For their second album 'The Foel Tower', Quade holed up in an old stone barn in the cradle of a Welsh mountain valley.
The valley was a stark and windswept backdrop with little daylight, as the band would huddle around crackling fires each evening. “There was very much a feeling of being on the complete fringes of society,” the band says. “The last vestiges of settlement before the unrelenting barren moors that loomed over us.”
It was an environment that would shape the band – a Bristol four piece made up of Barney Matthews, Leo Fini, Matt Griffiths and Tom Connolly – and the record they have made. It’s an album that is as dreamy as it is melancholic, and as quiet and tender as it is forceful and potent – gliding across genres like winds blowing over those wide-spanning Welsh hills – to arrive at something the band half-jokingly, yet somewhat accurately, describe as “doomer sad boy, ambient-dub, folk, experimental post-rock.”

Quade is a band but it’s also a very close-knit group that have been friends since childhood who use this musical vehicle for interpersonal explorations and connections. “We’ve individually experienced a lot of difficulty over the last several years and Quade has represented a space to shelter from these,” the band says. “This means we often communicate extensively with each other about the issues affecting us individually and collectively. These conversations and concerns are central to The Foel Tower.”

In many ways, the making of this record – or any Quade record – goes way deeper than the simple writing, construction and recording of music. It is a profoundly deep and meaningful experience. “A key theme of the album relates to why we connect with specific places in the way that we do,” the group says. “We often remove ourselves to isolated valleys, sheltered from some of the painful personal struggles that we have experienced as a band. These become spaces in which we collectively purge ourselves of some of these difficulties hoping to make Quade a physical and emotional place of solace. This album celebrates these places that we’ve been able to retreat to and recuperate.”

It is a deep, dense record that is stuffed with musical, cinematic and literary influences – from Ursula La Guin and Cormac MacCarthy through to RS Thomas and Yeats – but despite the heavy, introspective and anxious nature of some of the material, it is also a record that is remarkably deft, agile and considered.

Made with producer Jack Ogborne and mixer Larry ‘Bruce’ McCarthy, there is a pleasing duality to the final sound of the record. One that feels fragile and intimate but also powerful and forceful, as introspective as it is expansive, and a record that is as detailed and textured as it is wide open and spacious.

The album title also pays homage to the place that shaped it so greatly. Within this remote Welsh valley stands the Foel Tower, a stone structure filled with valves and cylinders that can raise and lower the level of the reservoir to draw off water. Which it can then send as far as 70 miles to Birmingham. However, in the late 1800s this land was occupied by local farmers and families in the hundreds until the British Government acquired the land, cleared the valleys, and promptly displaced them in order to begin serving the vastly expanding industrial English city. The band dug into the history and politics of this and wove it into the themes they were already thinking about, using what the Foel Tower stands for as something of a contemporary metaphor. “This tension was something that we wanted to explore without the haughty judgement of our more metropolitan lifestyles,” they say. “And to explore how this specifically relates to ourselves: how can we envisage a genuinely ecological future for ourselves – one that is accessible, affordable and in harmony with endangered rural practices.”

What makes The Foel Tower such an incredible record is that it feels born of a time, place and situation that only existed in that very moment. It’s a snapshot of those 10 days spent in rural Wales and all the feelings and anxieties the band were experiencing at that specific time, magically caught on tape. “The album very much feels tied to this valley for us and the conversations and experiences we shared there,” they say. “It brings up a great deal of poignancy for us, an emblem of some fleeting respite from the strains we all have to experience. But there’s also deep sadness knowing how transient these moments are – in fact, there’s just a great deal of sadness in this album. But it’s also a record that while personal, resigned, and emotionally burdened, is ultimately hopeful.”