Suche:dude

Norwegian party boys Human Inferno is like a collision between the rougher parts of drug infected British ragga, 80s industrial harshness, out there synth and their very own sound sickness. Human Inferno does not sound like much in this world. And maybe we are not worthy. Whatever. Just get your fix here, ok.

DG was in Anal Babes and Astroburger and plays with No balls. The other dudes are true underground men but TFW can be experienced while dj'ing jungle and other hot things at bars in Oslo. Bless them.

Within any creative expression about love there's a shared experience, a sentiment hard to articulate but understood through emotion. One of the defining examples of a song that holds such sincerity is 'My Heart Is Broken' by 'The Four Dudes'.

Charles 'Pooky' Russell, the lead singer of 'The Four Dudes' shares his story of a broken heart; his ambition to pursue a life immersed in music is what led Charles to leave his hometown of San Antonio for Houston and in doing so, leaving his lady. Charles' music career began whilst studying at Sam Houston High during the mid-60s. During choir is where he met Reginald Whitaker & Lawrence Alexander, and the trio would go on to establish their first vocal harmony group, 'The Three Dudes'. The Dudes, inspired by groups such as The Cadillacs & The Platters, would gain a strong local following that led to their first single 'Sad Little Boy' & 'I'm Beggin' You' produced & released in 1967 on E.J. Henke's 'Satin' label.

By 1969, 'The Three Dudes' had become 'The Four Dudes' with the addition of Kenneth Ball. The Dudes had made the decision to pursue a full time career with their music and the opportunities available Houston propelled the move. Within the first year 'The Four Dudes' had found themselves a manager, James Davis, whom pieced the vocal group with Houston's own 'The Heavy Accents Band'. The group were gaining notoriety around town, performing several times a week, which led Davis to bring the outfit into the studio to release a single on his independent label, 'Sivad-J'. It was when Davis heard 'My Heart Is Broken' for the first time that they decided this would be the single, and within the same year would be recorded at SugarHill Studios & released as a 7" single.

The sincerity of the song is what serenaded Houston across the airwaves in 69', a staple for George 'Boogaloo' Frazier on his show for KYOK 1590 AM amongst many others. The single became a local hit however, due to the lack of distribution and small pressing, the single barely made it out the city limits. 'The Four Dudes' continued to perform in Houston for 3/4 more years before heading to Philadelphia and forming a group called 'Image'.

For the first time since its 1969 release, 'The Four Dudes' single is once again available through Symphonical Records as a limited 7" pressing. Licensed directly through the Davis family with the approval of Charles Russell.

"THE BEASTS OF BOURBON were scabby-knuckled, Australian blues-punk motherf*ckers, severely haunted, whiskey-twisted, savage, doomed, old hard-asses, ruined, fat, mean guys in filthy t-shirts... NOT yer local tattoo-shop fonzies singin' 'bout "Sin" and "Hell". These dudes weren't greasy kids, even back then. They were venomous and aching, former members of THE SCIENTISTS and HOODOO GURUS, and the talent pool of this revolving door operation remains astonishing. - Sleazegrinder Magazine Little Animals, the last album in the official canon of the Beasts of Bourbon, was originally released unexpectedly, after 9 years of total silence from the band, in 2007. What could have been a new century renaissance for the group was cut short, however, during the next decade with the death of founding member Spencer B. Jones. Over the Beasts’ decades-long career the Beasts put out six albums and managed to carve their name into the annals of Australian rock’n’roll. Little Animals is a fitting epitaph to a legend, ten tracks of vicious and dirty crash-and-burn rock’n’roll. Svart Records is proud to present an official reissue of this hard-to-find record on vinyl, the original format for rock’n’roll. Wrapped in a gatefold jacket and limited to 500 on black and 500 on red vinyl, this shines in striking hues of blood and gold.Little Animals, the last album in the official canon of the Beasts of Bourbon, was originally released unexpectedly, after 9 years of total silence from the band, in 2007. What could have been a new century renaissance for the group was cut short, however, during the next decade with the death of founding member Spencer B. Jones. Over the Beasts’ decades-long career the Beasts put out six albums and managed to carve their name into the annals of Australian rock’n’roll. Little Animals is a fitting epitaph to a legend, ten tracks of vicious and dirty crash-and-burn rock’n’roll. Svart Records is proud to present an official reissue of this hard-to-find record on vinyl, the original format for rock’n’roll. Wrapped in a gatefold jacket and limited to 500 on black and 500 on red vinyl, this piece of wax shines in striking hues of blood and gold.

"THE BEASTS OF BOURBON were scabby-knuckled, Australian blues-punk motherf*ckers, severely haunted, whiskey-twisted, savage, doomed, old hard-asses, ruined, fat, mean guys in filthy t-shirts... NOT yer local tattoo-shop fonzies singin' 'bout "Sin" and "Hell". These dudes weren't greasy kids, even back then. They were venomous and aching, former members of THE SCIENTISTS and HOODOO GURUS, and the talent pool of this revolving door operation remains astonishing. - Sleazegrinder Magazine Little Animals, the last album in the official canon of the Beasts of Bourbon, was originally released unexpectedly, after 9 years of total silence from the band, in 2007. What could have been a new century renaissance for the group was cut short, however, during the next decade with the death of founding member Spencer B. Jones. Over the Beasts’ decades-long career the Beasts put out six albums and managed to carve their name into the annals of Australian rock’n’roll. Little Animals is a fitting epitaph to a legend, ten tracks of vicious and dirty crash-and-burn rock’n’roll. Svart Records is proud to present an official reissue of this hard-to-find record on vinyl, the original format for rock’n’roll. Wrapped in a gatefold jacket and limited to 500 on black and 500 on red vinyl, this shines in striking hues of blood and gold.Little Animals, the last album in the official canon of the Beasts of Bourbon, was originally released unexpectedly, after 9 years of total silence from the band, in 2007. What could have been a new century renaissance for the group was cut short, however, during the next decade with the death of founding member Spencer B. Jones. Over the Beasts’ decades-long career the Beasts put out six albums and managed to carve their name into the annals of Australian rock’n’roll. Little Animals is a fitting epitaph to a legend, ten tracks of vicious and dirty crash-and-burn rock’n’roll. Svart Records is proud to present an official reissue of this hard-to-find record on vinyl, the original format for rock’n’roll. Wrapped in a gatefold jacket and limited to 500 on black and 500 on red vinyl, this piece of wax shines in striking hues of blood and gold.

LP is black vinyl + LP3 insert for full album Download. Check out the first 18 or so seconds of “Can I Ride”, the title track on the first release by Polvo, the two-guitar juggernaut that represented the other side of Chapel Hill indie rock (more on that in a moment). That two-note riff, and the guitar twang that follows, recalls the opening notes on another monster song: “The Sprawl”, a key track on Sonic Youth's epochal Daydream Nation, an album released in October 1988, less than two years before Polvo formed. This compilation's nine tunes—the first seven from the Can I Ride double 7” EP (1990), the last two from the “Vibracobra” b/w “The Drill” 7” (1991) are not quite the sound of a torch being passed, but they were a sign that Sonic Youth's weird tunings, the hardcore punk and proto-indie rock on SST Records, and R.E.M.'s hazy rock (three big influences on this era of Polvo) were changing lives. Even back then, the impossibly catchy roar from Merge’s flagship act Superchunk was known to outsiders as the sound of Chapel Hill. But Polvo was something different from the same region. While the band never cottoned to the “math rock” tag (and it’s hard to disagree with them), there is no question that there was a distinct “how can we make guitar rock sound different from all the other guitar rock” vibe going on in the mid-Atlantic, from Richmond (math rock’s true home, don’t @ me) to the North Carolina Triangle over to Louisville and down almost to Atlanta. (If the Mastodon dudes aren’t down with Polvo, I’ll eat your shoe.) No, Polvo were their own brand of squall, not afraid of big hooks (“Leaf ”), odd tempos and textures (“Lull”) and rolling thunder (“Totemic”), and answers to the musical question, “What if the Feelies grew up on Dinosaur Jr.?” (“Tread on Me”). Indie rock? Not the 2022 kind. Math rock? Eh, not really. This was the sound of a new Southern rock, of a pre-internet guitar storm that looked at what came before and said, “What's next?” Track listing: Side A 1. Can I Ride 2. Leaf 3. Lull 4. Totemic 5. Tread on Me. Side B. 6. Teen Dream 7. Snake Fist Fighter 8. Vibracobra 9. The Drill

On April 29, MCC Magna Carta Cartel broke the 5 years silence with the
new speaker-breaking single "Silence", the first from their long awaited
second album "The Dying Option" - An album best described as rock
music from the world of dreams
Led by Martin Persner, one of the Nameless Ghouls of Ghost. MCC create
cinematic sounding themes with captivating melodies and poetic lyrics. Their
upcoming album "The Dying Option" offers a ticket into a state of mind seldom
seen or heard in modern music. Here they manage to use classic rock to create
an ambience beyond the regular riffs of today's rock and deliver ten fantastic
songs far beyond what anyone could have expected. "The Dying Option" is
produced by Niels Nielsen (In Flames, Ghost, Dead Soul) together with MCC. The
album artwork is created by the renowned film director Claudio Marino
(Behemoth, Watain, King Dude) and David M. Brinley (Ghost). MCC teamed up
with acclaimed Swedish film director Sebastian Jern for the Silence-video.

With a new album about to be released on Alcopops Records a timely reissue of Pulled Apart by Horses 2017 album which reached number 12 in the UK charts. The Haze includes the bands most popular song on Spotify, The Big What If with 2.4 million streams. “Empowering-ly brazen and addictively wild, Pulled Apart By Horses may take a slightly different shape on their latest album, but the energy they embody proves more freewheeling than it ever has been. Forging strength in the wake of confusion, The Haze is the rapturous escape you've been craving.” -The Line Of Best Fit. Track list. 1. The Haze 2. The Big What If 3. Hotel Motivation. 4.Price Of Meats 5.Neighbourhood Witch 6. Lamping 7.Flashlads. 8.Moonbather 9. What’s Up Dude? 10. Brass Castles.11. My Evil Twin.12. Dumb Fun

* Dazed and Amazed Duo Color Vinyl * Fully printed inner sleeves * Liner notes by Larry Mizell Jr. // The album is named for the combs used to maintain an Afro hairstyle, and that's significant. The group's Ishmael "Butterfly" Butler said it summed up what they wanted to do with it: "It means the utilization of the natural, a natural style," he has said. Like with 1993's debut _Reachin' (A New Refutation of Time and Space)_, 'utilizing the natural' meant creating hip hop that blended jazz with the formidable rap skills of the aforementioned Butterfly, Craig 'Doodlebug' Irving and Mary Ann 'Ladybug Mecca' Vieira. Unlike that debut, it meant broadening to include guests such as Gang Starr's Guru, Jeru the Damaja, and Jazzy Joyce. Following the gold-selling commercial success of their debut, they here set out to prove their artistic prowess. This is intelligent, alternative hip hop that sounded like party music. Its lyrics are dense with wit, social commentary and politics - and its original inner sleeve was modeled on the newspaper of the Black Panther movement.

Jan Anderzén and his partners celebrate the transcendental power of ecstatic music. Alas Rattoisaa Virtaa is the first Kemialliset Ystävät album in four years. It is the result of chance enhancing online collaboration methods, desire to get lost in the sound archives and the high art of meticulous editing. The album title is from visions of rivers running down from Heart of Darkness to the City of Joyful Noise. If contemporary music is a high speed train passing by then KY's music would be an orgy of light under a railway bridge.

A band member Lars Mattila experiences the music of Alas Rattoisaa Virtaa in spatial terms:

"There are worlds accessed only through our auditory system. I hear a Wunderkammer of freestanding sound objects. Rhythms like sequences of seemingly random stuff laid out on the forest floor: a pair of thrones, a Henry Moore sculpture, a watermelon, two thrones, a Moore sculpture, a melon... I trust the path to go on even if I can't see behind the hill. There's motion, wether it be drunk driving or super human rapid eye movement. The sheer amount of detail makes it impossible to take everything in at once. One's perception and shifting focus reshape the experience on each listen. I remember my visit to Cappella Palatina in Palermo where Normann architecture, Arabic arches and Byzantine dome form a harmonious whole. Various cultural and spiritual influences are recognized as equals. The sense of space also brings to mind the end scene of The Lawnmower Man when the dude is trying to escape the virtual world."

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

When James Pepper met Riccardo Paffetti (Black Loops) a bromance was quick to bloom. After touring the Berlin-based Italian across Australia, the two soon realised they not only loved each others company but records too.

Following Black Loops maiden trip down under, the dudes stayed in touch and led to Pep crashing on Riccardo’s sofa bed for a week in Berlin. The duo went to work in the studio, brewing up some gems that were released on classy imprints Neovinyl Recordings and Haŵs.

It was on Paffetti’s most recent trip to Oz (well before the world shutdown) that brought about their most anticipated tracks to date. Bunkering down in a Marrickville studio, the cross-continent pairing got up close and personal with some neat hardware. Experimenting with an array of compressors, a TR8 and the Elektron Analog Four MKII ‘Three Drops’ EP was born.

The EP is a lively affair. A rampant message to club folk far and wide. Founded on lo-fi percussion, a crunchy kick and echoed key sections ‘Three Drops’ throws a flurry of punches. Varied combinations of electro, acid and techno rolling together just right. Here we have a welcome jab of adrenaline. You can almost visualise the duo grinning from ear-to-ear, as they bring in each piece of machinery.

'Three Drops’ made its live debut at Pepper’s recent Boiler Room in Sydney and has since taken the interwebs by storm. Hundred’s of ID requests later and the time is right to share this gem as the clubs open back up across the globe.

The B side and new single has arrived in ‘Arp Love’. A frantically beautiful dose of techno. Soaring risers make way for pulsating chords and shimmering TR8 patterns, as we’re led deep into a clubby rabbit hole. In signature Black Loops style, a spoken word sample on the disappointment of love breaks the piece in two.

For a burgeoning Sydney producer like Pep it must be truly amazing to co-write alongside Riccardo - an artist who’s clocked tens of millions of streams worldwide, claimed Deep House Artist of The Year (2017) via Traxsouce plus released weaponry on revered labels such as Shall Not Fade, Toy Tonics, Gruuv and Good Ratio.

We’re grateful James Pepper and Black Loops got together. These two on tracks makes sense.

Drum Chums Vol. 5 marks the arrival of Captain Attractive, an international man of mystery, head-nod hero and edit expert whose many masterpieces inspired us to pick up the scalpel in the first place.
Last seen leaving Berlin on a world tour, this legend parked the Red Motorbike outside Talking Drums HQ and treated us to a lesson in San Fran sleaze, hippie disco and MPC bump.

The A side opens with the sticky funk of 'It's More Fun 2 Make Love', a pitched-down disco cruiser extended for the tantric dance floor and mastered on an old porno VHS. Sultry, slinky and rated X.
We're always hungry after the act and graciously Captain Attractive is on hand with a donut called 'Memories' to close out the A-side, looping some sweet soul into the kind of hypnotic hip hop as house romper which defined beatdown way back when.

The Captain takes the yacht to the Med on the B1 with the super Balearic groove of 'Dreamer', an astounding combination of dexterous bass, choral vocals and rolling piano, all set to the shimmy of hippie percussion. It could be a Laurel Canyon memory, an Xtian obscurity or something much deeper, but it's definitely twelve minutes of sunset bliss - just wait until my guy flips the script after seven minutes!
The dude drops the curtain with another bitesize portion of MPC mastery, cutting up some thick wax guitar and cool keys over a swung groove for 'Ghana Do It'.

Captain Attractive taking you where you want to go.

100% Drum Fun Guaranteed.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

SoHaSo continues their summer sampler series. Again, the Utrecht based record label brings you some forgotten beauties from the past. Mostly from the Lowlands this time. Perfect Virtue by British trio Shi Take is one of those gems. Tribal house rhythms from 30 years ago, with a bassline that makes you want to wiggle all the way to the center of the dance floor. SoHaSo label head honcho Nuno had been playing a demo of Tools for Fools by Dutch producer Sluwe Vos for years, when he found out the energetic rhythm track never got a proper release. Well, now it has. Flip over for some more forgotten Dutch house history. Jibaros is a project from dance veteran Eric Cycle. It has all the elements that made house music from the lowlands so good in those days: percussive beats, a decent baseline and good melodies sprinkled on top. It's a layercake of sweet stuff that just keeps on building. Very pricey on Discogs nowadays, but luckily Cycle still had the original DAT-tape lying around. Nozem is a bit of the odd one out. It's actually a project by a young dude from the south of Holland but it sounds like he stepped into a time machine which warped him back to the 90s. The vocals (in ancient Greek!) are from Sister of Iris. Closure track Tinkling Sensation by Delta (Alex Dijksterhuis) is more than 25 years old. With it's fast-paced rhythms this piano driven tune could well be something post-progressive from Scandinavia. But this is the real deal. Uplifting rave music from the days people were still carrying fluor sticks.

Sub Pop are excitedly finally repressing vinyl versions of three scorching ‘90s
psychobilly classics by Reverend Horton Heat. All three have been out of print on
vinyl since the mid-1990s, with original pressings going for considerable amounts at
the ol’ junk shop.
The band’s 1990 debut, ‘Smoke ‘em if You Got ‘em’, made quite the first impression
with frantic stand-up bass, fiery guitar playing, and the Rev’s wild howls stirring up a
volatile cocktail of ‘50s rockabilly, punk energy, and sly humour. AllMusic said of the
album, “it’s all sleaze, it’s all wrong, and it’s all so very, very right,” while, on
encountering the hit single ‘Psychobilly Freakout’, Beavis and Butthead raved “This
dude is weird!” “Yeah, yeah, he’s like… our kind of people.”

März erscheint endlich blink-182’s „Greatest Hits“, eine Sammlung von Songs aus rund 30 Jahren Bandgeschichte.

Darunter Songs aus den Alben „Cheshire Cat“, „Dude Ranch“, „Enema of the State“, „The Mark“, „Tom and Travis Show“, „Take Off Your Pants And Jacket“, „blink-182“ und viele mehr. „Greatest Hits“ enthält außerdem zwei Bonustracks: „Not Now” (eine Auskopplung aus dem selbstbetitelten Album von 2003) und „Another Girl Another Planet”, welches als Titelmelodie für die MTV Realityshow Meet the Barkers mit Blink Schlagzeuger Travis Barker diente. Das Album erscheint als 2LP.

Savage Grounds lands on She Lost Kontrol with a 7 track EP, Hidden by the Night. 

For the first time, the voice of Kleio Thomaïdes joins Savage Grounds members Florin Büchel (Synthesizers) and Daniele Cosmo (Drum Machines). The result is an attractive, intense record with some nuances that will surely make the old nostalgics of Krilian Camera and Simona Buja's voice squeak their eyes. 
 The record reminds us the heartbeat of Italian darkwave, the angularity of German basements, the youthful despair of French coldwave. But it’s more than that because it’s a very personal kind of darkness.
 The exasperated atmospheres seem to resonate on both sides of the record, with the due differences between the darker-wave elements of the record and the more proto-ebm ones.
 All these songs are almost ‘goth love protest songs’: they all have the gloominess of the pre-disappointed, of the already-disgusted, of the unrelentlessly bleak against a freezing, sparse, ethereal electronic landscape.
 The voice by Kleio Thomaïdes is so fascinating because... more credits released March 15, 2022 SLK016 Savage Grounds are Kleio Thomaïdes (Voice), Florin Büchel (Synthesizers) and Daniele Cosmo (Drum Machines). Recorded between Zürich and Geneva, 2020/2021 Composed and recorded by Savage Grounds. Lyrics by Kleio Thomaïdes and Daniele Cosmo. Mixed by Florin Büchel. Mastered by Andrea Merlini. Photography by Erika Marthins Artwork by dudegraph - Michelangelo Greco Executive producer: Giovanni Rispoli & Carmine Staiano

With a smooth-as-butter flow, an entrancingly deep vocal tone, and an exceptional ear for production, Big Cheeko is one of the most exciting emcees to emerge from Atlanta in recent memory.

After several outstanding mixtapes and a number of high-profile collaborations, the talented artist is now unveiling his commercial debut "Block Barry White". The album is a smoked-out masterpiece, capturing the full reach of Big Cheeko’s creative firepower, and is executive produced by hip-hop folk hero Mach-Hommy. Throughout the collection, Big Cheeko's powerfully authentic rhymes are accompanied by slow-burning, soul-influenced production and hard-hitting percussion, with all beats provided by Matic Lee, an acclaimed producer who has worked with the likes of Tech N9ne, Krizz Kaliko, Rittz, Jarren Benton, and more. Sure to blast out of trunks far and wide, "Block Barry White" features appearances by Mach-Hommy, Smoke DZA, Styles P, and Devin The Dude.

Dubartis compilation is a double LP of previously digitally released tunes.

First LP is dedicated to Lithuanian dub reggae band Ministry of Echology remixed by local artists and producers. Deep spaced-out dub and cinematic electronics.

Second LP - boom bap and experimental beats collection from KASETA and Genn Bo. All about sampling, looping, slicing, cutting, blending old dusty records.