Cerca:dust fi

"Pure Love," featuring Damon Albarn, is the first single from DJ Koze's highly anticipated new album Music Can Hear Us. The new long player, a follow-up to his worldwide hit album Knock Knock, which reached #7 in the German Album Charts and included the global dance hit “Pick Up” will be released on April 4th on Pampa Records. It's a 64-minute trip into space and back.

Halo Studios und Laced Records haben sich zusammengetan, um die ikonische Musik der ursprünglichen Halo-Trilogie zum ersten Mal auf Vinyl zu veröffentlichen.

Diese Box enthält 83 Titel aus den ersten drei Halo-Alben, die speziell für Vinyl neu gemastert und auf acht heavyweight LPs gepresst wurden. Jeder Soundtrack befindet sich in einer breitrandige Außenhülle und einer bedruckten Innenhülle. Diese wiederum befinden sich in einer stabilen Sammlerbox aus Karton mit silbernem Laminatüberzug und geprägtem Halo-Logo.

Das Original-Cover-Artwork stammt von Art Director und Concept Artist Isaac Hannaford (alias Rhizus / Space Ship Guru), dem ehemaligen Lead Concept Artist und Mitwirkenden an Halo 3, Halo 3: ODST und Halo Reach. Das zusätzliche Artwork der Box wurde von der Grafikdesignerin Maren Landsnes erstellt.

Halo: Combat Evolved war der Inbegriff des Konsolen-Ego-Shooters und sein Soundtrack legte den Grundstein für den legendären Sound der Serie. Der Soundtrack ist von verschiedenen Genres inspiriert und kombiniert schwungvolle Orchesterklänge mit marschierenden Militär-Snares, Prog-Rock-Percussion und - wer könnte den gregorianischen Mönchsgesang vergessen?

Für Halo 2 taten sich die Komponisten mit hochkarätigen Musikern zusammen und verpassten dem Halo-Thema mit dem neuen „Mjolnir Mix“ ein Heavy-Metal-Makeover. Es war der erste Videospiel-Soundtrack, der es in die Billboard 200 schaffte.

Halo 3 zeichnete sich durch Tribal-Drums und Prog-Rock-Refrains aus, während Klaviermelodien, begleitet von einem 60-köpfigen Orchester und einem 24-stimmigen Chor, dem Soundtrack emotionale Tiefe verliehen.

- 83 Tracks aus Halo: Combat Evolved, Halo 2 und Halo 3
- Speziell für Vinyl neu gemastert
- Cover-Artwork von Isaac Hannaford (ehemaliger Lead Concept Artist, Bungie)

Martin had been a surprise choice for the commission.

It was the Spring of 1977 and two Interstellar Mariners were to be sent hurtling into deep space. Glass was to provide weekly "sonologues" of their progress, audio diarist for a pair of mute mechanical adventurers.

Delivered with a near fanatical diligence over the course of nearly three decades, these stuttering musical biographies would soon bewilder those who had first asked for them.

Martin's work, they judged, had begun to plot its own eccentric orbit, charting more than just the ships' material progress, but rather their imagined psychogeography ("What will they say about me?" "I will never conserve my instruments" "Nobody has gone further").

With his sonic dispatches increasingly ignored and unheard, all funding for the project swiftly fell to dust.

The very best of these scores, chosen from a vast compendium of source material, are now assembled here for the first time. Their muses, two arthritic spacecrafts now nearly half a century old, limp on through deep space, forever onwards and onwards forever...

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.

On a creative roll of late, Linkwoods productions have branched out in many directions, a collaboration LP with jazz Genius Greg Foat, Another with Local Edinburgh Legend Other lands and a load more yet to surface. Linkwood now comes back to solo work with a hyper focused piece of electro goodness. Lo-fi but all the better for it, Mono comprises 14 deeply distilled tracks. After producing some more complex records it was time for a pure palate cleanser so we locked Nick in the Athens of the north studio for a week with his friends Moog and Oberheim to see what might happen. Somewhere between Electro, Early 80s Synth pop and techno the album is an extremely listenable piece as a whole, unpretentious and timeless. Sprinklings ofDave Stewart pop noodles, Newbuild, Early Era Nu Groove but very much Linkwood at the same time, I cant recommend this enough.

DJ Jewel Debuts with Mesmerizing 8-Track PHONK tape

Manchester DJ/Producer Glinks lands on Astral Black with ‘The Killaz’ his first project under the 'DJ JEWEL' alias, dedicated to diving deeper into the southern inspired phonk he explores monthly on @balamii with his 'the influence of memphis rap' show.

DJ Jewel's sound draws inspiration from Memphis rap, phonk, and ghettotech, infused with dusty soul and jazz samples, heavy 808s, and sharp snares that cut through the mix.

"This record is my introduction to the world as a producer," says DJ Jewel. "I wanted to pay homage to the sounds that shaped me while bringing my own twist to the genre." THE KILLAZ will be available on all major streaming platforms starting Feb 21st, with limited edition cassettes available via Astral Black.

Finally available again! The 2023 release from Philadelphia's one and only The Dead Milkmen. Featuring such actual hits as "Astral Dad" and "Grandpa's Not A Racist (He Just Voted For One)", this LP is sure to bring joy to Milkmen fans across the globe. First new full-length since 2014, w/ Full color sleeve with lyrics and art For fans of The Dead Milkmen!

Was ist ein "Boogie"? In der Umgangssprache ist es ein Tanz oder eine Gelegenheit zum Tanzen. Da es sich hier um ein Destroyer-Album handelt und nicht um den allgemeinen Sprachgebrauch, sind die Implikationen eines Titels wie "Dan's Boogie" verführerischer und gefährlicher zugleich. "Ein Boogie ist ein Täuschungsmanöver, ein Betrug, der nicht ganz funktioniert, die Bewegungen, die wir machen, wenn wir damit konfrontiert werden", erklärt Dan Bejar. "Ich denke an Spionage, Doppelagenten, die mit einem offenen Auge schlafen und die Ausgänge im Auge behalten. Aber ich denke auch an kleine Siege und Niederlagen auf der Straße und an Improvisation". Um "Dan's Boogie" aufzunehmen, musste Bejar eine Reihe von gewollten und ungewollten Hindernissen überwinden, um die Songs zu schreiben. Die Monate nach der Fertigstellung von "LABYRINTHITIS" wurden zu einem Jahr und dann zu zwei Jahren, in denen Bejar sich selbst den Neujahrsvorsatz gab, jeden Tag eine Stunde lang Klavier zu spielen. Das hat ungefähr vier Tage gedauert, aber die Songs, die Bejar als Ergebnis dieses Vorsatzes bezeichnet - darunter "Cataract Time", "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World", "Bologna" und "Dan's Boogie" - sind allesamt Destroyer-Songs aus dem breiten Spektrum, das Bejar und seine Mitstreiter für sich selbst geschaffen haben: Spektakuläre Pop-Epen, persönliche Piano-Balladen und schwelende Stimmungsbilder, die die Grenzen zwischen Song, Roman und Kino verschwimmen lassen, jedes voll von der Dringlichkeit eines Staatsgeheimnisses im Kopf eines gequälten Spions. Die Leadsingle "Bologna" ist der radikalste Rahmen für diese Energie, denn es ist das erste Mal, dass Bejar einen Song schreibt, in dem er sich selbst als Nebenfigur vorstellt. In der Hauptrolle ist Simone Schmidt von Fiver zu hören, deren Stimme - hart und ausdrucksstark, durchdringend durch die Düsternis der Szene - ein Sirenengesang ist, der das ganze Album durchdringt. Die Schwere ihrer Stimme ordnet "Dan's Boogie" um ein Gefühl des drohenden Untergangs herum, so wie das Versprechen einer Fatale auf das Ungewöhnliche und Ekstatische die Hauptfigur eines erotischen Thrillers zum Verhängnis wird. "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" ist ein köstlicher Widerspruch, ein schwungvoller Song, der aus der Verwüstung entstand, die Bejar absichtlich mit sich selbst anrichtete. "We are now entering a new phase", intoniert Bejar und führt Schichten von Gitarren und Synthesizern ein, die die Palette erheblich verdunkeln, während er zwischen Gesang und Sprache wechselt. Der Nebel, der Bejar umgibt, wird durch die Reibung zwischen konkurrierenden Wahrheiten und Geschmäckern erhellt, etwa wenn sein Interesse an jazzigen Balladen auf das Interesse des Produzenten und Bassisten John Collins an Bands wie Led Zeppelin und Scritti Politti trifft. Als Bejar Collins erzählte, dass er an Sammy Davis Jr. dachte, entstand der Titeltrack, in dem Bejar mit fast wahnhafter Freude einen Rat Pack-Swagger vor einer verträumten Klangkulisse aus schwebenden Gitarren, üppigen Bläsern, Jazz-Drumming, spacigen Synthesizern und - vielleicht am ehesten dem Selbstverständnis Bejars entsprechend - einem klimpernden Lounge-Piano annahm. Das Herzstück von "Dan's Boogie" ist vielleicht "Cataract Time", ein achtminütiges Epos, das zu den schwersten Texten gehört, die Bejar je geschrieben hat, und eine der musikalisch komplexesten Kompositionen von Destroyer ist. Getragen von einem lässigen Groove, sind Bejars Texte verklärt, ihre Melancholie schmeckt fast widersinnig nach Hoffnung. Es ist ein intimer Song, der Destroyers übliches urbanes Fabel-Milieu gegen eine erfrischende Innerlichkeit eintauscht, aber sein beschwingter Groove lässt eine Zukunft erahnen, der Bejar und seine Band entgegenfiebern. Wo frühere Destroyer-Alben mit der Welt kämpften, tanzt "Dan's Boogie" mit ihr, und seine neun Träumereien verschmelzen zu einem einzigen langen Treiben. Dan Bejar mag die Ausgänge im Auge haben, aber er wird nicht so bald abreisen.





e 5 BOLOGNA [FEAT. FIVER]

Bria Salmenas Solo-Debütalbum "Big Dog" erzählt eine Geschichte der Transformation - eine zutiefst persönliche Erkundung der Widerstandsfähigkeit und eine Erklärung der künstlerischen Unabhängigkeit, die durch Zusammenarbeit geschmiedet wurde. Lange Zeit als Frontfrau der kanadischen Post-Punk-Band FRIGS und als Sängerin in Orville Pecks Live-Band gefeiert, erreicht Salmena mit "Big Dog" den vorläufigen Höhepunkt ihrer künstlerischen Entwicklung. Getragen von ihrer souveränen Stimme, die abwechselnd zart, rau und trotzig ist, durchquert das Album das Terrain der Verletzlichkeit und Verbundenheit und markiert die Ankunft einer Künstlerin, die mutig zu sich selbst findet. "Big Dog" ist ein Album mit großen Gefühlen und großen Ambitionen. Musikalisch vereint es Elemente von hypnotischem Krautrock und schimmerndem Shoegaze, opulentem Gothic und pulsierendem Darkwave mit einer Mischung aus elektronischen Texturen zu einem ausgefeilten und oft unheimlichen Sound. Inmitten dieser weitläufigen Klanglandschaft stehen Salmenas kraftvolle lyrische Bilder und ihr großartiger Gesang im Mittelpunkt. Für Salmena ist es unmöglich, die persönliche Reise, die "Big Dog" darstellt, von der Zusammenarbeit zu trennen, die zu seiner Entstehung führte. Salmena arbeitete mit dem Produzenten und Multiinstrumentalisten Duncan Hay Jennings zusammen, der sowohl bei FRIGS als auch in der Band von Orville Peck spielte. Vor "Big Dog" gaben die beiden auf Brias zwei "Cuntry Covers" EPs klassischen und modernen Americana-Songs eine Gothic-Dream-Pop-Behandlung. Jennings, der nicht nur Salmenas engster kreativer Mitarbeiter, sondern auch ihr engster Freund ist, schrieb "Big Dog" mit Salmena über mehrere Jahre hinweg, in denen Salmena in LA und Jennings in Toronto lebte. Graham Walsh (Holy F**k, METZ, Debby Friday, Alvvays) half den beiden, ihre aufkeimende Mischung aus Rock und elektronischer Musik weiter zu verfeinern, während Meg Remy (vom von der Kritik gefeierten experimentellen Pop-Projekt U.S. Girls) sich vor allem auf Salmenas Gesang konzentrierte. Remy half dabei, die unvergesslichen Darbietungen, die im Mittelpunkt von "Big Dog" stehen, durch eine Reihe von kathartischen Treffen herauszukitzeln und drängte Salmena dazu, noch tiefer in die Bedeutung ihrer Texte einzudringen und wirklich über verschiedene Möglichkeiten des Einsatzes ihrer Stimme nachzudenken. Als "Big Dog" zusammenkam, wurde deutlich, dass Salmenas Songwriting eine rohe und intime Wendung genommen hatte, die weit über die Arbeit von ihr und Jennings auf ihren vorherigen EPs hinausging. Der Sound von "Big Dog" schwebt zwischen zwei Welten, düstere Punk-Ehrlichkeit, die immer unter einer glänzenden Atmosphäre brodelt, die man nicht ignorieren kann. Es gibt Anklänge an den Alternative Rock - man denkt an Holes "Live Through This", The Distillers, Mazzy Star - und mit Lee Ranaldo von Sonic Youth steuert eine echte Alternative-Rock-Ikone die Gitarre zu "See'er" bei. Aber es gibt auch eine Geschmeidigkeit, die ebenso sehr an den Coldwave der 80er Jahre erinnert wie an ekstatische Formen der Tanzmusik. Salmenas satte Stimme ist allgegenwärtig, ein konstantes warmes Glühen in einem Geflecht aus mechanischen Klängen. In seinem Kern ist "Big Dog" mehr als nur eine Platte über die Entdeckung, wer man ist, indem man schmerzhafte Erfahrungen verarbeitet. Es ist eine Platte über die Entdeckung, dass man nie wirklich allein ist.

Was ist ein "Boogie"? In der Umgangssprache ist es ein Tanz oder eine Gelegenheit zum Tanzen. Da es sich hier um ein Destroyer-Album handelt und nicht um den allgemeinen Sprachgebrauch, sind die Implikationen eines Titels wie "Dan's Boogie" verführerischer und gefährlicher zugleich. "Ein Boogie ist ein Täuschungsmanöver, ein Betrug, der nicht ganz funktioniert, die Bewegungen, die wir machen, wenn wir damit konfrontiert werden", erklärt Dan Bejar. "Ich denke an Spionage, Doppelagenten, die mit einem offenen Auge schlafen und die Ausgänge im Auge behalten. Aber ich denke auch an kleine Siege und Niederlagen auf der Straße und an Improvisation". Um "Dan's Boogie" aufzunehmen, musste Bejar eine Reihe von gewollten und ungewollten Hindernissen überwinden, um die Songs zu schreiben. Die Monate nach der Fertigstellung von "LABYRINTHITIS" wurden zu einem Jahr und dann zu zwei Jahren, in denen Bejar sich selbst den Neujahrsvorsatz gab, jeden Tag eine Stunde lang Klavier zu spielen. Das hat ungefähr vier Tage gedauert, aber die Songs, die Bejar als Ergebnis dieses Vorsatzes bezeichnet - darunter "Cataract Time", "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World", "Bologna" und "Dan's Boogie" - sind allesamt Destroyer-Songs aus dem breiten Spektrum, das Bejar und seine Mitstreiter für sich selbst geschaffen haben: Spektakuläre Pop-Epen, persönliche Piano-Balladen und schwelende Stimmungsbilder, die die Grenzen zwischen Song, Roman und Kino verschwimmen lassen, jedes voll von der Dringlichkeit eines Staatsgeheimnisses im Kopf eines gequälten Spions. Die Leadsingle "Bologna" ist der radikalste Rahmen für diese Energie, denn es ist das erste Mal, dass Bejar einen Song schreibt, in dem er sich selbst als Nebenfigur vorstellt. In der Hauptrolle ist Simone Schmidt von Fiver zu hören, deren Stimme - hart und ausdrucksstark, durchdringend durch die Düsternis der Szene - ein Sirenengesang ist, der das ganze Album durchdringt. Die Schwere ihrer Stimme ordnet "Dan's Boogie" um ein Gefühl des drohenden Untergangs herum, so wie das Versprechen einer Fatale auf das Ungewöhnliche und Ekstatische die Hauptfigur eines erotischen Thrillers zum Verhängnis wird. "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" ist ein köstlicher Widerspruch, ein schwungvoller Song, der aus der Verwüstung entstand, die Bejar absichtlich mit sich selbst anrichtete. "We are now entering a new phase", intoniert Bejar und führt Schichten von Gitarren und Synthesizern ein, die die Palette erheblich verdunkeln, während er zwischen Gesang und Sprache wechselt. Der Nebel, der Bejar umgibt, wird durch die Reibung zwischen konkurrierenden Wahrheiten und Geschmäckern erhellt, etwa wenn sein Interesse an jazzigen Balladen auf das Interesse des Produzenten und Bassisten John Collins an Bands wie Led Zeppelin und Scritti Politti trifft. Als Bejar Collins erzählte, dass er an Sammy Davis Jr. dachte, entstand der Titeltrack, in dem Bejar mit fast wahnhafter Freude einen Rat Pack-Swagger vor einer verträumten Klangkulisse aus schwebenden Gitarren, üppigen Bläsern, Jazz-Drumming, spacigen Synthesizern und - vielleicht am ehesten dem Selbstverständnis Bejars entsprechend - einem klimpernden Lounge-Piano annahm. Das Herzstück von "Dan's Boogie" ist vielleicht "Cataract Time", ein achtminütiges Epos, das zu den schwersten Texten gehört, die Bejar je geschrieben hat, und eine der musikalisch komplexesten Kompositionen von Destroyer ist. Getragen von einem lässigen Groove, sind Bejars Texte verklärt, ihre Melancholie schmeckt fast widersinnig nach Hoffnung. Es ist ein intimer Song, der Destroyers übliches urbanes Fabel-Milieu gegen eine erfrischende Innerlichkeit eintauscht, aber sein beschwingter Groove lässt eine Zukunft erahnen, der Bejar und seine Band entgegenfiebern. Wo frühere Destroyer-Alben mit der Welt kämpften, tanzt "Dan's Boogie" mit ihr, und seine neun Träumereien verschmelzen zu einem einzigen langen Treiben. Dan Bejar mag die Ausgänge im Auge haben, aber er wird nicht so bald abreisen.

'Through Today' is the sophomore album for rising Australian band Chimers. A husband / wife duo comprising life partners Padraic Skehan (vocals / guitar) and Binx (drums / vocals). Recorded by Jono Boulet (Party Dozen) over two days at Stranded Studios, Wollongong and mixed at Boulet’s Sydney home studio, produced by the band and veteran manager / promoter / producer Tim Pittman (Feel Presents), 'Through Today' features ten tracks of tightly-coiled intensity that barely lets up for all of its 34 mins. In enlisting Boulet, the band were confident that due to his own experience of being one half of Party Dozen, they had someone who understood the confines of working within the structure of a two-piece but also the possibilities that creates. Boulet, in turn, rewarding that trust by capturing a powerful bedrock of sound that allowed the band's taught rhythms to circle and permeate and yet give full breathing space for the melody within. For Pittman’s part, having a third ear on hand to devote serious listening time and critical commentary was an added bonus. It’s a major step forward from the band’s 2021 self-titled debut. A twelve track effort that snuck out during covid and only hinted at the power within. "Our debut felt more like just trying to capture the songs we had at the time, we weren’t sure if we’d even release it or if it would be our only album" "This time around we were intent on capturing the energy and intensity of our live show on the recording but with a more produced sound than self-titled. We worked more on song structure previous to the sessions. We rehearsed a lot playing quietly so we could actually talk to each other whilst playing the song and iron out any kinks.” “Jono turned the whole live room into a drum room, mics everywhere. The guitar amps were situated outside to prevent too much spill but still recorded live along with about half of the vocals. Second guitar and the rest of the vocals were recorded the next day. Jono was super quick and had the same work ethic and mindset, get in, get it done. If the first take was good enough, move on.” - Padraic Lyrically Chimers maintain the intensity as they tackle the themes of love, life, death and relationships, distance from home (Padraic is Irish, moving to Australia in 2001) and the current political climate providing enough drama to fuel a forest fire. Guest musicians on the album include saxophonist Kirsty Tickle - also of Party Dozen - and violinist Jordan Ireland of The Middle East. Both of whom were invited in on short notice adding their respective parts in just 1-2 takes each without any prior knowledge of the material. Binx too showing added versatility contributing lead vocals to An Echo and sharing lead across 3AM, Generator and others. “Singing is not something that comes naturally to me, and it was at the last minute before we went into the studio that Padraic suggested I sing the lead in An Echo. Having very minimal musical instruments within the band I think having the two different vocals adds a nice dynamic to the record.” - Binx 'Through Today' is a great album. Solid and confident from the get go. No waste. No unnecessary fat. Should it be Chimers last it would remain a defining statement of originality and intent. But it’s not the last, it’s just the beginning. And there’s plenty more where that came from. BIO Like many good bands Chimers are a band born of isolation, not geographically though, via the pandemic. Irish born Padraic Skehan and his life partner Binx, formed the band in their Wollongong backyard during the initial lockdown of 2020. Veterans and drummers both of the ‘Gong’s vibrant garage-scene – The Pink Fits, The Drop Offs, Evol and more – Chimers is an altogether different beast, Padraic taking a giant leap forward by removing himself from the back-seat and assuming the role of driver; singing, playing guitar and writing the songs that would eventually become their 2021 self-titled debut album. It’s a sound and album that draws heavily on Skehan’s time as a youth in Ireland and the post-hardcore sounds of Dischord Records, Husker Du, The Wipers and which has seen the band find friends and favour in like-minds The Mark Of Cain, Henry Rollins, Guy Picciotto and Mudhoney. This is no mere nostalgia though, the band instead landing at the vanguard of a new generation of Sydney and surrounds bands – Body Type, Second Idol, Dust, Private Wives, R.M.F.C – borrowing from the past in order to create a future.

Whipped up in the dust of Rene & Rene’s Tejano tornado “Angelito,” the Dynamic label was just one among San Antonio record and real estate mogul Abe Epstein’s enterprises. Dynamic’s flagship outfit, the Commands, marched “No Time For You” up to the middle of the charts in 1966 with performance chops honed jet-sharp by the demanding Air Force Base circuit. That take off paved a runway for 20 more soulful Dynamic singles over an impressive 30-month campaign. Epstein’s open-door policy brought a diverse cross-section of Texas talent into convergence within his General McMullan Drive studio, as whites, blacks, and Latinos alike suited up for service in whichever new group the call of duty called for. Epstein’s Alamo City melting pot is ladled out here in 21 (28 on the 2LP) of Dynamic’s most intriguing dishes by the Tonettes, Little Jr. Jesse & the Tear Drops, Don & the Doves, Willie Cooper & the Webs, Bobby Blackmon & His Soul Express, and Doc & Sal. Lone Star pic sleeves, full-color dancehall photography, and rich ephemera plant a new flag for soul in soil that’s seen its share of hoisted banners.

Five Green Moons is the brand new project from the legendary Justin Robertson and here he drops the first fruits of that project with the incredible Moon 1.

This isn't Justin at his house controls. This is Justin delving into his roots and digging around through the likes of P.I.L, Gang Of Four, On-U-Sound, Current 93, Coil, Sabres Of Paradise and all manner of post punk echoes and basement electronics. As the man himself puts it - Moon 1 is a haunted ballroom full of memories. The sound of a dystopian disco. An object on a wonky orbit. A spectral visitation. And it is alive.

The second Jamming Is Life release comes from Amsterdam’s hidden gem RDS. After a close friendship of almost a decade, I feel proud to showcase his work on my imprint.
His signature style flows from the use of dusty machines dating back further than himself. Including many limitations in his process, inspiration is bound to erupt, and you clearly hear it on this record.

The balance in the selection sways from modern acid on the first track Creek, mysterious tech on A2: Chronicles, a proggy and tribal tool on the B1, Slappy Whappy Dub. Rounding it out with the last track Syngery-Lo, with a subtly trancy techno cut. Let it speak to you

Love Of The Brave are a psyche folk group, based in Leeds, West Yorkshire, at the time this album was recorded, back in 2010. The founder of the group Neil Innes still runs the recording studio, ATA Records, an extremely well maintained all analogue set up, used primarily to record jazz, funk and library music. The short-lived Love Of The Brave outfit was the first project recorded at the famed studio. It brought together some of the most versatile artists in the north, many of who still work on projects with ATA today, both these factors give this release a landmark aspect for the label. The "Love Of The Brave" consists of eight tracks and draws on inspiration from artists such as Pentangle, Rotary Connection, Richie Havens, the Kinks, David Bowie and Joni Mitchell. Vocalist Fuzzy Jones features on all tracks, as does Neil, in his case playing a variety of instruments. They are joined throughout the album by a variety of musicians, including jazz drummer Joost Hendrickx, Work Money...

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.

Here is an expanded edition of one of Nurse With Wound's most intense and unique albums, so much so that for long-time fans, it was a strange, chaotic lounge oddity upon its release. For the first time, all four audio sides are complete (originally, there were only three sides).

To top it off, there is a stunning new cover by the great and talented Babs Santini, who is none other than Steven Stapleton using his artist pseudonym, continuing in the luxurious tradition of the "silver collection" at Rotorelief Records.

The album Huffin' Rag Blues by Nurse With Wound is unique in the NWW discography. Stapleton teams up with composer, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Andrew Liles, his co-creator of musical terrorism, to tackle the genres of exotica and lounge, crushed into a joyful cacophonic mess. Longtime NWW friends Colin Potter and Matt Waldron also join in.

Blues, jazz, cop movies, bachelor pads, and TV show music are treated, discarded, then chopped up and recycled into a mix that contains tons of space but also overflows with dynamic tension, hilarious asides, sexually suggestive poetry, and a certain rock & roll abandon. It's a very surprising album for long-time fans, like a soundtrack that could accompany a David Lynch film.

It's brilliant, exasperating, hilarious, and dark enough to earn a spot in any collection that appreciates a bit of weirdness and eccentricity.

Huffin' Rag Blues incorporates more familiar musical elements—including live-played instruments, rhythm, and vocals—than nearly any other Nurse With Wound album to date. As always, the album's main focus is to create environments for lucid dreaming rather than music per se.

For his next Token EP, Kr!z delivers squelchy synth sequences over robust kicks, reinforcing his no-nonsense approach to club music. Classic in its conception yet psychotic in effect, Ipso Facto is a record built for powerful sound systems during thenight's most delirious moments.



First impressions are important; the Belgian producer has never been one to waste time, and this record is no exception. What you hear is what you get-an anxiously slithering synth line makes his intentions clear in Defeat the Purpose, driving people to the dancefloor. Dry drum machine work thunders throughout, locking in the Token style with precision. Moving into the next track, 'Chrome Dust' focuses more on the tonal side of things and its irresistible groovemakes it an instant ear catcher. Playful rides and snares shape the progression, with Kr!z swapping percussion elements to keep the movement lively.
The title track is a true hip swinger on the B1 as he reaches in the low end of the synth sequence to establish a very compelling rhythm. Everything in its right place, and not a hair more, the percussion transitions are reminiscent of his 4 channel DJ sets, the energy always being on the move. Equilibrium closes the EP with high energy, opening up filters over a reliably bouncy rhythm. Years of experience behind the decks can be very instructive for a perceptive producer, and Kr!z proves us just that in this track and in the whole EP.

On their most explicit venture into music for moving image, Miles Whittaker & Sean Canty rudely fracture piano and vocal recordings by US filmmaker-musician Kristen Pilon in a short-circuiting of style and pattern.

Shredding up definitions of electro-acoustic opera, spectralist chamber musique and concrète rave, Demdike hit square between the eyes/ears of film music vernaculars on a startlingly strong addition to their unique oeuvre, now in its 16th year of elusive psychoacoustic strafes and jump-cuts across putative borders. The 13-part, hour-long album dislodges source material made for the experimental film ‘To Cut and Shoot’, by Kristen Pilon, an NYC-based musician and filmmaker, to farther refract the film’s themes of serendipity and the nature of ghosts and dreams with a flickering flux of sound-imagery and aleatoric weirdness appropriate to her original meditations, but also freely messing with their forms.

Situated just a few miles north of Houston, Cut and Shoot is a relatively insignificant Texas town with an unforgettably bizarre name. Pilon grew up not far from Cut and Shoot, and it's there where she ran into 65-year-old machinist and motorcyclist Robert Lewis Stevenson, better known as Bobbo, who's pictured on the album's cover. The meeting occurred a few months after Pilon recorded her improvisations on piano, strings and voice in the basement cellar of the Halle in Manchester, with Bobbo providing the necessary narrative heft the trio needed to inspire an experimental film and its accompanying soundtrack.

Responding to Kristen’s initial piano and operatic vocal recordings, Demdike return a volley of discrete parts tilting from typically cantankerous mayhem to quieter, more clandestine buzzes sliced with crazed interstices of the imagination, all marbled with the plasmic contrails of the paranormal which have long been peculiar to their work. With a poetic flair reflecting Pilon’s own phrasing and melding of mediums, Demdike unfold and expand her melodic fragments into temporal mazes, variously resembling the most messed-up ends of The Caretaker in ‘A Grave Fall (January)’, but also liable to skew into buckshot club turbulence, as with ‘Belly Up’, or the bittersweet bruk contortions of ‘Twist’.

The storyline wickedly frays and loops into itself with a non-linearity that recalls the mid-to-latter stages of Lynch’s ‘Mulholland Drive’ or waking from a sweaty fever dream only to pitch back into its thorny bush of ghosts, often within the space of one track. It’s testament to the ever-tighter binds of Demdike’s symbiotic vision that the results nevertheless hold a thread of logic that weaves in everything from their Jon Collin jams to reams of mixes and Gruppo edits with an unresolved, open-ended quality that still keeps us on our toes, perhaps more so than ever here.