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Svein Berge and Torbjorn Brundtland have carved out a singular space for themselves in electronic music and here the Norwegian pair offer us a live album, a document of their 2023 tour. It's a sprawling affair, clocking in at over two hours and featuring a diverse cast of vocalists. The tracklist reads like a who's who of leftfield pop, - - Alison Goldfrapp, Robyn, Susanne Sundfor and Fever Ray among them - each voice adding a different shade to Royksopp's already nuanced sound. 'What Else Is There?', a reworking of the Royksopp classic featuring Fever Ray, is an early highlight, a brooding, intense rendition that transforms the original into a pulsating dancefloor beast. Elsewhere we get the Robyn collaboration 'Do It Again' and 'Running To The Sea' featuring Susanne Sundfor, and even die-hard fans will find something to discover here, with subtle tweaks and re-imaginings offering a fresh perspective on familiar material. A fitting tribute to Royksopp's enduring appeal and their ability to continually evolve and innovate.



[a] A1 | The Ladder [True Electric]
[b] A2 | Impossible (ft. Alison Goldfrapp) [True Electric]
[c] A3 | This Time, This Place (ft. Beki Mari) [True Electric]
[d] B1 | The Girl And The Robot (ft. Robyn) [True Electric]
[e] B2 | Here She Comes Again (ft. Jamie Irrepressible) [True Electric]
[f] B3 | Monument (ft. Robyn) [True Electric]
[g] C1 | Oh, Lover (ft. Susanne Sundfør) [True Electric]
[h] C2 | Unity (ft. Karen Harding) [True Electric]
[i] C3 | You Don't Have A Clue (ft. Anneli Drecker) [True Electric]
[j] D1 | The "R" [True Electric]
[k] D2 | Breathe (ft. Astrid S) [True Electric]
[l] D3 | Running To The Sea (ft. Susanne Sundfør) [True Electric]
[m] D4 | What Else Is There? (ft. Fever Ray) [True Electric]
[n] 14 | Never Ever (ft. Susanne Sundfør) [True Electric]
[o] 15 | Sordid Affair (ft. Man Without Country) [True Electric]
[p] 16 | I Had This Thing (ft. Jamie Irrepressible) [True Electric]
[q] 17 | Feel It (ft. Maurissa Rose) [True Electric]
[r] 18 | Do It Again (ft. Robyn) [True Electric]
[s] 19 | Like An Old Dog (ft. Pixx) [True Electric]

Donny Hathaway's first studio album Everything is Everything is a significant work in the realm of soul and R&B music, released in 1970. It marked an important point in Hathaway's career and showcased his exceptional talent as a singer, songwriter, and pianist.

The album was Hathaway's first release after being signed to Atlantic in 1969. Hathaway had already built a reputation early in his life, first as a gospel singer as a child under the name Donny Pitts. Raised in St. Louis, with religious influences, his grandmother Martha Crumwell was herself an accomplished gospel singer and guitarist. After dropping out of Howard University in 1967, Hathaway moved to Chicago, his birthplace, and started working on music for Curtis Mayfield's Curtom Records label where he was a songwriter, producer, arranger, composer, conductor and session player.

Everything Is Everything was produced by Hathaway and Ric Powell, who plays drums and percussion on the album; Hathaway wrote or co-wrote five of the album's nine songs. Hathaway had met Powell while at Howard University, as well as the future Impressions lead singer, Leroy Hutson, who jointly wrote the hit song that would eventually make it on the album, "The Ghetto."

The track was mostly an instrumental, except for Hathaway's vocal ad-libs and his singing of the chorus. Hathaway and Hutson composed another socially conscious song for the album, titled "Tryin' Times." Other songs were split between covers (Ray Charles's "I Believe to My Soul" and Nina Simone's "To Be Young, Gifted and Black"), spiritual affairs ("Thank You Master for My Soul") and love songs ("Je Vous Aime (I Love You)").

Released in July 1970, the album peaked at No. 73 on the Billboard Top 200 Albums chart and No. 33 on the Billboard R&B Albums chart.

This timeless classic is now reissued in the definitive deluxe 180-gram 45 RPM 2LP Analogue Productions (Atlantic 75 Series) format.

"Donald Duck, kill Minnie!" These words, ordered with urgency against a circular series of drum strikes and manipulated guitar/electronic textures, come over three fourths of the way through the album known as SYR 5 (aka "Olive's Horn"). While the words and sounds taken on their own may shock, their appearance within this collaborative effort between Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth, Body/Head, solo efforts), Ikue Mori (DNA, solo) and DJ Olive (We, solo) by this point in the album are not surprising. Taken on whole, SYR 5 sees its creators' respective histories forged in the 80s downtown noise scene, No Wave zone and Marclay-inspired club collide head on to create the audio equivalent of a slow-playing J.G. Ballard novel. Starting from the album's initial impressions where shimmering tones are interrupted by the sounds of winding clocks and bird calls before giving way to a cinematic sweeps of percussion, alien samples and blown out wasteland subs, the listener is constantly taken on a guided journey through a waking dream state where anything is possible. It is a world where dub samples, gurling beats and plaintive vocals (as only Gordon can deliver) fit together like the final locking puzzle pieces, the only elements needed to fully grasp a new reality. Re-appearing on vinyl for the first time in 25 years, these sounds have proven to be jaw-droppingly timeless. - Cory Rayborn, 2025

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Auf dem vierten Album von Chrystia Cabral als SPELLLING verwandelt die Künstlerin aus der Bay Area ihr gefeiertes Avant-Pop-Projekt in einen Spiegel. Cabrals Texte auf „Portrait of My Heart“ befassen sich mit Liebe, Intimität, Angst und Entfremdung und tauschen den allegorischen Ansatz vieler ihrer früheren Werke gegen einen Blick in ihr menschliches Herz. Die thematische Unverblümtheit des Albums spiegelt sich in den Arrangements wider und macht es zum bisher schärfsten und direktesten SPELLLING-Album. Vom düsteren Minimalismus ihrer frühesten Musik über den üppig orchestrierten Prog-Pop von „The Turning Wheel“ aus dem Jahr 2021 bis hin zu diesem neuen energiegeladenen Ausdruck ihres kreativen Geistes hat Cabral immer wieder bewiesen, dass SPELLLING alles sein kann, was sie braucht. Der Titeltrack mit seinem treibenden Drum-Groove und dem hymnischen Refrain von „I don't belong here“ ist die stärkste Verkörperung der Hinwendung des Albums zu emotionaler Direktheit. Sobald sich die Hauptmelodie herauskristallisiert hatte, nutzte Cabral den Song als Werkzeug, um ihre Ängste als Performerin zu verarbeiten, und entschied sich für eine straffere, rockigere Komposition. Diese Transformation spiegelt die allgemeine Verlagerung des Albums in Richtung Energie und Unmittelbarkeit wider, die von der Kernband Wyatt Overson (Gitarre), Patrick Shelley (Schlagzeug) und Giulio Xavier Cetto (Bass) vorangetrieben wird, deren Zusammenarbeit neue Konturen des SPELLLING-Sounds offenbart. Cabral schreibt und demontiert immer noch alleine, aber die Präsentation der Songs für „Portrait of My Heart“ vor ihren Bandkollegen hat ihr geholfen, die späteren lebendigen, organischen Formen zu entdecken. Das gilt auch für die Zusammenarbeit mit einem Produzententrio: Drew Vandenberg, der Tontechniker von „The Turning Wheel“, Rob Bisel, der mit SZA zusammenarbeitet, und Psymun, der Produzent von Yves Tumor. Wichtige Gastbeiträge prägen das Album zusätzlich. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) liefert SPELLLINGs erstes Duett auf „Mount Analogue“, Turnstile-Gitarrist Pat McCrory verwandelt Cabrals ursprüngliches Piano-Demo für „Alibi“ in die knackige, rifflastige Version, die auf dem Album zu hören ist, während Braxton Marcellous von Zulu „Drain“ seine schlammige Wucht verleiht. Diese Teile fügen sich nicht nur nahtlos in das Album ein, sie fühlen sich wie ein integraler Bestandteil seines Universums an. Letztendlich ist Portrait of My Heart jedoch niemandes Platte, sondern die von Cabral. Sie zieht furchtlos den Vorhang über Teile ihrer selbst zurück, die sie in SPELLLING noch nie gezeigt hat - ihre Gefühle als Außenseiterin, ihre übermäßig vorsichtige Art, die Art und Weise, wie sie sich rücksichtslos in intime Beziehungen stürzen kann, um sie dann genauso schnell wieder abzubrechen. „Es ist wie ein offenes Tagebuch all dieser Empfindungen“, sagt sie.

Auf dem vierten Album von Chrystia Cabral als SPELLLING verwandelt die Künstlerin aus der Bay Area ihr gefeiertes Avant-Pop-Projekt in einen Spiegel. Cabrals Texte auf „Portrait of My Heart“ befassen sich mit Liebe, Intimität, Angst und Entfremdung und tauschen den allegorischen Ansatz vieler ihrer früheren Werke gegen einen Blick in ihr menschliches Herz. Die thematische Unverblümtheit des Albums spiegelt sich in den Arrangements wider und macht es zum bisher schärfsten und direktesten SPELLLING-Album. Vom düsteren Minimalismus ihrer frühesten Musik über den üppig orchestrierten Prog-Pop von „The Turning Wheel“ aus dem Jahr 2021 bis hin zu diesem neuen energiegeladenen Ausdruck ihres kreativen Geistes hat Cabral immer wieder bewiesen, dass SPELLLING alles sein kann, was sie braucht. Der Titeltrack mit seinem treibenden Drum-Groove und dem hymnischen Refrain von „I don't belong here“ ist die stärkste Verkörperung der Hinwendung des Albums zu emotionaler Direktheit. Sobald sich die Hauptmelodie herauskristallisiert hatte, nutzte Cabral den Song als Werkzeug, um ihre Ängste als Performerin zu verarbeiten, und entschied sich für eine straffere, rockigere Komposition. Diese Transformation spiegelt die allgemeine Verlagerung des Albums in Richtung Energie und Unmittelbarkeit wider, die von der Kernband Wyatt Overson (Gitarre), Patrick Shelley (Schlagzeug) und Giulio Xavier Cetto (Bass) vorangetrieben wird, deren Zusammenarbeit neue Konturen des SPELLLING-Sounds offenbart. Cabral schreibt und demontiert immer noch alleine, aber die Präsentation der Songs für „Portrait of My Heart“ vor ihren Bandkollegen hat ihr geholfen, die späteren lebendigen, organischen Formen zu entdecken. Das gilt auch für die Zusammenarbeit mit einem Produzententrio: Drew Vandenberg, der Tontechniker von „The Turning Wheel“, Rob Bisel, der mit SZA zusammenarbeitet, und Psymun, der Produzent von Yves Tumor. Wichtige Gastbeiträge prägen das Album zusätzlich. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) liefert SPELLLINGs erstes Duett auf „Mount Analogue“, Turnstile-Gitarrist Pat McCrory verwandelt Cabrals ursprüngliches Piano-Demo für „Alibi“ in die knackige, rifflastige Version, die auf dem Album zu hören ist, während Braxton Marcellous von Zulu „Drain“ seine schlammige Wucht verleiht. Diese Teile fügen sich nicht nur nahtlos in das Album ein, sie fühlen sich wie ein integraler Bestandteil seines Universums an. Letztendlich ist Portrait of My Heart jedoch niemandes Platte, sondern die von Cabral. Sie zieht furchtlos den Vorhang über Teile ihrer selbst zurück, die sie in SPELLLING noch nie gezeigt hat - ihre Gefühle als Außenseiterin, ihre übermäßig vorsichtige Art, die Art und Weise, wie sie sich rücksichtslos in intime Beziehungen stürzen kann, um sie dann genauso schnell wieder abzubrechen. „Es ist wie ein offenes Tagebuch all dieser Empfindungen“, sagt sie.

On Chrystia Cabral's fourth album as SPELLLING, the Bay Area artist transforms her acclaimed avant-pop project into a mirror. Cabral's lyrics for Portrait of My Heart tackle love, intimacy, anxiety, and alienation, trading the allegorical approach of much of her previous work for something pointed into her human heart. The album's thematic forthrightness is echoed in its arrangements, making it the sharpest, most direct SPELLLING album to date. From the dark minimalism of her earliest music to the lavishly orchestrated prog-pop of 2021's The Turning Wheel to this newly energetic expression of her creative spirit, Cabral has proved again and again that SPELLLING can be whatever she needs it to be. The title track, with its propulsive drum groove and anthemic chorus of "I don't belong here," is the most potent embodiment of the album's turn toward emotional directness. Once the main melody emerged, Cabral used the song as a tool to process her anxiety as a performer and opted for a tighter, more rock-oriented composition. This transformation mirrors the album's broader shift toward energy and immediacy, driven by the core band of Wyatt Overson (guitar), Patrick Shelley (drums), and Giulio Xavier Cetto (bass), whose collaboration uncovers new contours of the SPELLLING sound. Cabral still writes and demos in isolation, but presenting the songs for Portrait of My Heart to her bandmates helped her discover their eventual lively, organic forms. So did working with a trio of producers_The Turning Wheel mixing engineer Drew Vandenberg, SZA collaborator Rob Bisel, and Yves Tumor producer Psymun. Key guest contributions further shape the album. Chaz Bear (Toro y Moi) delivers SPELLLING's first duet on "Mount Analogue," Turnstile guitarist Pat McCrory turns Cabral's original piano demo for "Alibi" into the crunchy, riff-y version that appears on the record, while Zulu's Braxton Marcellous gives "Drain" its sludgy heft. These parts aren't just incorporated seamlessly into the album; they feel like an integral part of its universe. Ultimately, though, Portrait of My Heart is nobody's record but Cabral's. She fearlessly draws the curtain back on parts of herself that she's never included in SPELLLING before_her feelings of being an outsider, her overly guarded nature, the way she can throw herself recklessly into intimate relationships and then cool on them just as quickly. "It's very much an open diary of all those sensations," she says.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

‘Moonlight Concessions’ goes back to basics, a return for Throwing Muses to their esoteric off-kilter best courtesy of Kristin’s pin-sharp sketches and their suitably abrasive musical arrangements. The album follows their acclaimed ‘Sun Racket’ from 2020, a heady set filled with tough and tender tales spiked with surreal imagery. Produced by Kristin Hersh at Steve Rizzo's Stable Sound Studio in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, ‘Moonlight Concessions’ is a collection of snippets from everyday life writ large - think Raymond Carver Short Cuts, overheard conversations, recounted happenings and telling one-liners, all sewed together to illustrate the times as they slowly mature, fully peppered with original Muses’ vim and vigour. ‘Drugstore Drastic’ is a kerbside soliloquy caught en route to a more alluring rendezvous. Built on a brisk acoustic strum with a guitar sub-melody underpinning proceedings, it’s an unfolding tale of social awareness from a blurred sub-conscious. ‘Summer Of Love’ began as a bet with a guy for a dollar that revolved around the idea that the seasons don’t change us. The album opener, it’s a haunting baroque overture, bowed and brooding. ‘Libretto’s strings offset the acoustic ambience, the hot and cold of longing at the very heart of it, a thematic driver filed with warmth in a safe haven lubricated by tequila. Written in the differing South Coast environs of The Gulf Of Mexico and Southern California, ‘Moonlight Concessions’ pulls from the star clusters that light both, generating optimism and hope in varying degrees. Hersh explains, “In New Orleans the stars look greenish-blue, as it’s below sea level and swamp-lit. But on Moonlight Beach, they glow icy white. All these songs were written in these two glowy places, which helped our sonic technique find itself.”

Ltd Classic Black Vinyl with bonus 7inch, DL card. Monde UFO, LA-based duo of Ray Monde and Kris Chau, are a monochromatic sunset for the senses. A sonic journey through psychedelia, space rock and jazz. A cosmic space where Spacemen 3 meets Vanishing Twin, by way of Sun Ra. 7171 perfectly embodies the framework of lo and hi-fi sounds which have helped define the band. Included in this expanded package is Four Songs, Monde UFO's radical interpretation of Fugazi's music, housed for the first time on LTD 7" with new artwork. In a downtown Los Angeles warehouse, on 7th Street, Ray Monde began writing songs on an old Yamaha church organ for a project that eventually became Monde UFO. Utilizing the organ as a bass, alongside keyboards and a drum machine, he began making demos on a four-track cassette recorder. Heavily influenced by the musician Sandy Bull, sonically landing in a similar no-man's land of Worldly Jazz and Psych Folk. Monde experimented with the themes mostly of meditation and UFO lore. In time Ray moved in with the artist Kris Chau. With little crossover in musical tastes, they exclusively started listening to jazz, ambient and new age music in the house. Increased interest in sound baths and experimental music led to seeing music in a different light. Envisioning something that would sound like Don Cherry making a record with Yo La Tengo. '7171' is an amalgam of influences, interpretations and otherworldly sounds channeled through genre bending experimentation. This expanded edition of '7171' includes the sought after 'Four Songs' EP, a reimagining Fugazi's early classics, songs that take on a life of their own, lost amongst the haze and sugar sweet psych. Ray Monde explains, "Long Division was one of my favorite tracks off 'Steady Diet of Nothing' the first Fugazi record I ever owned; more than ever, it also feels truly poignant in the times we live in.Version 2 is our interpretation of Version from 'Red Medicine', my favorite Fugazi Record." "A slice of low-key bedroom pop-psychedelia in the vein of Syd Barrett." Aquarium Drunkard "Monde UFO wander through a humid mist of exotic samba shuffles, shamanic whispers, and reverberating laser beam synthesizers." New Commute

The queen Ella Fitzgerald and the king Louis Armstrong first met in 1946 for the recording of "The Firm Fram Sauce", a song made famous the previous year by Nat "King" Cole. They had the opportunity to collaborate again in the studio for a few tracks in 1950 and 1952, but it was mainly between 1956 and 1958 that the duo was extremely active. Thanks to the impetus of producer Norman Granz, the star-studded partnership recorded at this period nearly fifty songs, considered masterpieces of jazz history. All these great standards were released on Norman Granz"s Verve label, with a dream cast: Oscar Peterson, Herb Ellis, Ray Brown, Buddy Rich, and Louie Bellson. The grand finale took place in 1958 with their incomparable version of Gershwin"s "Porgy & Bess" conducted by Russell Garcia. For this Greatest Hits album showcasing the association of two geniuses, we have focused on the 1956-1958 period, choosing the most iconic standards and concluding this double vinyl on a high note with three excerpts from "Porgy & Bess".

Reissue des 1979er Solodebütalbums des grandiosen Blues-Mundharmonika-Spielers Sugar Blue aka James Whiting aus Harlem, NYC. Sugar Blue arbeitete mit zahlreichen Musikerkollegen (Louisiana Red, Bob Dylan, Stan Getz, Ray Charles, Frank Zappa) zusammen, seine berühmteste Kooperation dürften aber die Rolling Stones-Alben "Some Girls" (1978) & "Emotional Rescue" (1980) sein, darunter der Überfliegerhit "Miss You", den er später solo coverte. Sugar Blue war mit einem Beitrag auf der Compilation "Blues Explosion" (1985) und als Studiomusiker auf Willie Dixons Album "Hidden Charms" (1998) vertreten - beide Werke gewannen einen Grammy. 1997 begleitete er Prince auf dessen Love-4-One-Another-Charities-Tour.

f11 FLRNTN, Benjamin Duchenne - "Last Man Standing" (feat Sivan) (1:08)
f12 Nicholas Gunn & Harshil Kamdar - "Here I Am" (feat Alina Renae - Richard Durand remix) (1:08)
f13 DJ TH X TH3 ONE X Sue McLaren - "Everything To Me" (1:08)
f14 Matty Ralph - "Te Adoro" (1:08)
f15 Armin Van Buuren & Vini Vici - "Sarabande" (feat Anna Timofei) (1:08)
f16 Lilly Palmer - "Hare Ram" (1:08)
f17 David Forbes - "Techno Is My Only Drug" (1:08)
f18 Armin Van Buuren - "Blah Blah Blah" (Lilly Palmer remix) (1:08)
f19 Armin Van Buuren - "The Road To Your Destination" (A State Of Trance Year mix 2024 outro) (1:14)

Mutant, in partnership with Netflix, are proud to present Graham Raynold’s score to Richard Linklater’s film HIT MAN.

A Romantic Comedy Noir, loosely based on the true story of a nebbish philosophy professor named Gary Johnson who moonlighted as an undercover police officer, HIT MAN is Richard Linklater and Glen Powell’s meditation on identity. Linklater, a filmmaker who has shapeshifted many times over his storied three decades of storytelling, has reteamed with his frequent music collaborator Graham Reynolds, to produce a jazzy, romantic, dark, and playful score.

Reynolds has worked in each of these modes before with Linklater, but never all at the same time. It stands defiant in contrast the version of the Gary that we meet at the beginning of the film - allowing the character to meet the score on its level by the time we approach the twisted finale. This score proves that genre, like identity, can be a limitation placed on both films and film music.

This physical release is limited to 500 copies worldwide, and features a forward by Graham Reynolds and packaging designed by Mutant co-founder Mo Shafeek.

Franco Rosso’s epic cinematic opus of reggae social commentary, Babylon, landed in November of 1980. Moving through the film’s opening frames of grey dreary London, two spars – Blue and Ronnie – run with unrestrained anticipation to link with their Ital Lion Sound System brethren. Simultaneously the rest of the crew does what sound crews have done from time: Load them boxes up in the van and trod with vigor to the dance.

But that bassline…The soundtrack notes that carry the celluloid movements of the film’s opening scenes…That bassline…Upside down…Jazzy…Dubby…A bassline like no other reggae bassline the Ital Counselor has ever heard. The hook that got me deep into UK roots music from the band that is my number one inspiration.

If there is bassline that represents the core imperative of Ital Counselor Records, it would have to be Aswad’s Hey Jah Children. It seemed therefore only fitting to bring its absolutely resplendent glory to a new generation. Lovers of sounds and blues, it is time for the dread ital lion sound to once again rise to meet the day. So it is with the deepest of gratitude and respect to the legacy of Aswad (RIP Drummie Zeb) and Franco Rosso, that we present a deeper than deep next cut…Christened here…the Ital Lion Serenade.

In line with all IC releases, we have enlisted top tier session musicians and studio men. Long time IC collaborator, Inyaki BDF, is at the center of the action as the musical maestro. Hopping on the BDF sonic lorry are Aratz Diez on Trombone and James Zugasti on the dub mixes. This crew bring the original composition up-to-date with a heady dubwise weight. Syndrums ricochet while Inyaki’s bassline rumbles teetering as it does somewhere between a modern dubstep warble and its core roots-wise influence in Tony Gad’s original playing.

Diez’s trombone playing comes across like an x-ray of the Aswad Horn Section and keeps intact the jazzy abstraction of the original. In turn, Inyaki goes full 70s synth on the psychedelic dubwise of the B-side’s Operation Swamp 81. UK history buffs better you know the reference in that title and its thematic echoing significance from the UK depicted in Rosso’s film and carried on in remembrance on this here hotter than hot 12”.

A warning: the Zugasti dub cuts are devasting to speaker boxes.

Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music Vol. 1 is a studio album by American singer and pianist Ray Charles. It was recorded in February 1962 at Capitol Studios in New York City. It featured country, folk, and Western music standards reworked by Charles in popular song forms of the time, including R&B, pop, and jazz. Charles produced the album with Sid Feller and performed alongside saxophonist Hank Crawford, a string section conducted by Marty Paich, and a big band arranged by Gil Fuller and Gerald Wilson. Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music Vol. 2 features one side performed by the Ray Charles Big Band with the Raelettes, while the other side features a string section and the Jack Halloran Singers. Including "I Can't Stop Loving You", Bye Bye Love", "Half As Much", "You Win Again", "Careless Love", “You Are My Sunshine” and many more.

An accomplished musician and songwriter, Ray Charles was considered the creator of the soul music genre, a unique R&B forerunner to rock ‘n roll and other musical offspring. During a career that spanned some 58 years, Charles performed a total of more than 10,000 concerts, and starred on over 100 albums, many of them top sellers in a variety of musical genres. On this compilation you will find twenty four of his greatest hits. With “Georgia On My Mind”, “Hit The Road Jack”, “I’ve Got A Woman”, “I Can’t Stop Loving You”, “I’ve Got News For You” and many more.