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Efficient Space is honoured to share the little-heard recordings of three Yolngu songmen from Northeast Arnhem Land - Bobby Bunnungurr, Jimmy Djamunba and Peter Milaynga (d. 2007) - working in collaboration with Victorian musician Peter Mumme. Yolngu are the indigenous peoples of Arnhem Land in Northern Territory, Australia; their clans are the Marangu and Malabirr, the languages Djinang and Gannalbingu. Their songs are of instruction, story and ceremony.

A connection first initiated by Yolngu actor David Gulpilil, Waak Waak Djungi's mid-90s recordings were preceded by years of respectful sharing of culture. Mumme explains that 'the aim was to produce something that is new, not in the sense of a breakthrough, but what emerges from the combining of existing ideas'. What developed was sonically unique - sprawling vocal/electronic soundscapes and field recordings that reimagine the traditional songs of black crows and white cockatoos, sharing, creation spirits and of leaving and returning home to country. Spacious and patiently durational, the songs resound in a big land with a big story to tell.

On the 1997 Waak Waak Djungi album Crow Fire Music, these interpretations were assembled with traditional recordings and additional material from Sebastian Jörgensen and Sally Grice. Falling short of generating public interest, it became well known in the Yolngu homeland. Nearly two decades later, a CD copy filed away in the 3RRR FM library would prompt a three year investigation to meet the people behind the music.

Waak Waak ga Min Min (Black Crow, White Cockatoo) combines the previously unreleased Gandi Bawong with five contemporary versions from the original album, with a new cover painting by Bobby Bunnungurr. Tracing 1997 back to many millennia ago, this is a captivating window into the richness of Aboriginal culture and collaboration.

Stefan Robbers is one of the most known and respected non-U.K.-based European techno producers, and (along with Speedy J) one of the only Dutch techno artists to reach a wide audience outside of Holland. Recording as Terrace, Florence, and under his own name, Robbers has been responsible for some of the most memorable moments in experimental dance music in the last few years, from the first release on the now-commanding D-Jax label (Terrace's 1990 EP 916 Beuna Avenue) to recent Terrace and Florence full-lengths released on his own Eevo Lute imprint. Although tracks have appeared through GPR and New Electronica as well, his focus since 1994 has been on Eevo Lute, likely in an effort to raise awareness about Dutch techno artists and which also prompted the astablishment (by Robbers and Speedy J's Jochem Paap) of a Dutch remix network. Most often cited in connection with the sort of "listening techno" associated with the Warp, GPR, and New Electronica labels, Robbers' recent releases have moved increasingly toward the incorporation of du jour electronica hybrids such as trip-hop and ambient jungle, although his trademark mixture of intricate, off-kilter rhythms and sweet melodies has remained. Along with Robbers' own releases, Eevo Lute has also issued material from David Caron, Max 404, and Wladimir M., as well as two label compilations (Agenda 21 and Agenda 22). A remixed version of Terrace's 1996 Konnekt LP, entitled Re-Konnekt, was released in 1996, featuring Speedy J, Global Communication, Sean Deason, Kirk Digiorgio, Orlando Voorn, and Thomas Heckmann.

The long-awaited reissue of Toba makes it clear, once and for all, to fans and industry insiders that disco music produced in Italy between the late 70s and early 80s had no chance of success. What was disparagingly called "spaghetti disco", considered a poor imitation of real American disco music, only good for Japanese cartoons. This was the main reason that prompted Italians to record their songs abroad, as Fratelli La Bionda with their pseudonym D.D.Sound in Munich. Luigi Figini, with "Supercool" and "Percussion Sundance" by Edo Martin and Pino Santapaga (the same as "Step By Step" by Koxo), claimed that Kash was a one-off Swedish disco project, a lie that came to light when an Italian test pressing from the previous year, made by GDB, was posted !!! Amin-Peck followed the trend of passing off their songs as foreign music on the intuition of their Roman producers. So ''Love Disgrace'' was released on 7'' by a label called Connection, which never really existed, created for the purpose by Giancarlo Meo, confident that this would bring success to the Bolognese duo who were already creating 'proto Italo-Disco tracks' with a new-wave trend. To make the whole operation seem real, the London agency Ellie Jay Ltd. was involved, contacting Andy Fernbach of Jacobs Studios Ltd. The vinyl was also produced in the UK, otherwise the deception would have been discovered, then imported to Italy by Best Record. Italo-Disco was officially born after this, in 1982, not before! Everything makes sense now ! Real events that actually happened and purely invented names and anecdotes. Just think, even the image of Tony Balch used for the cover of Toba was taken from Grand Theft's 1978 album "Have You Seen This Band?" and reproduced on the new redesigned cover, as were the heads of the other musicians. The idea of a real band called Toba had finally come to fruition and would lead to a second sensational success the following year. Now it all makes sense! Facts and anecdotes that really happened and names and circumstances that are purely fictional. Finally, everything adds up! Real things and invented names of musicians and collaborators. It's important to clarify what we've said above, but we haven't talked about "Make Your Mind Up" and "Don't Take It" and the two masterful remixes performed by Dave Mathmos. In short: with the original versions we'll make Italo-Disco purists happy, with the remix versions we'll please new younger followers with more modern sounds and versions more in line with today's tastes and trends.

Never Sleep charity tape series ends up in Thornton Heath, London for the grimiest of bedroom work outs.

Early Fruity Loops philosopher Plasticman aka Plastician teams up with fellow trailblazers DJ Suicide & N Double A crew for a prompt internet radio set of prototype Grime. Rugged, raw and filled with the occasional KAOS Pad trigger / gunfinger FX; the devilish miscreants bring the lyrical vehemence.

Broadcasting from his parents place and utilising early productions Plasticman keeps the fibre optical momentum burning with early production, laser precision polyphonic instrumentals and quantified eski.

N Double A crew have so many quotables but its a "pass the mic" affair as limited equipment fort his bedroom bedlam. L Man spits certified gold on demand whilst Narstie echoes his signature cadence, Typah goes in hard with the colder than waiting in a queue outside Plastic People flow and Uzi destroys the stream with typical flair.

A landmark moment in innovation, internet radio was a key player in the growth of Grime and Dubstep. Helping build profile, connections and galvanize the online community.

Guitars On Life solves a nagging mystery about the fate of a musician who stood out as a singularly spectacular bloom even in the verdant creative fields of the San Francisco Bay Area at the turn of the century. After more than two decades of recording silence and about a dozen years away from the bandstand, Jack West is back, still immediately recognizable as a guitarist and composer but miles from the last stop on his ongoing musical journey. There’s poetic symmetry in discovering that his detour from life as a performing musician involved fruitful work devising innovative solar technologies, as he had similarly distinguished himself as an inveterately inventive musician. When we last heard from West he’d carved out a vibrant niche as a guitarist with a percussive attack and lustrous group sound. Wielding a custom-built eight-string acoustic guitar with uncommon rhythmic dexterity, he released six albums featuring his original tunes, mostly recording with his band Curvature (though he also played mesmerizing solo recitals). West’s knack for crafting glistening, minutely detailed soundscapes full of surprising twists and oddly inviting textures prompted NPR to describe his work as “a whole new sub- genre of jazz.” Drawn back to performing in recent years, West saw guitarist Walter Strauss at Berkeley’s Freight & Salvage in 2022 and suspected he’d found a kindred spirit. Intrigued by Strauss’s unusual approach to guitar, West “wondered what a musical conversation might sound like between two guitarists who had developed such uniquely different ways of playing the instrument.” An invitation to play together led to them writing the tune ‘More Guitar,’ the bravura opening track that launches Guitars On Life. Several months later they spent a week in Florida together writing intensively, resulting in most of the material for this consistently thrilling project.

Berlin-based composer and vocalist FRANKIE, also known as Franziska Aigner, and Dominican-American producer Kelman Duran meet at the Twelve Apostles Church, in the Berlin district of Schöneberg, sometime in 2022, at the beginning of the spring season. They were each asked to engage the space’s solemnity, and its reverence, through distinct performances. Their chance encounter, abounding with mutual curiosity towards each other’s practices, smoothened the path for a years-long collaboration, culminating in McArthur, their first joint album. Following a period of exchanging musical fragments and prompts at a distance, Aigner and Duran come together in Athens, and later in Los Angeles, to prepare the stuff and material for the album, slowly developing a body of work informed by shared hauntings, and a commitment towards the disjointed and the residual. Aigner describes her process as writing “into the negative space” of Duran’s beats—filling in, if not invigorating, their thudding and inflections, but without rearranging the integrity of the whole. The result is an album where time and geography are made elastic, and where sonic improvisations become a site for quiet, and cryptic, articulations of intimacy.

James Brown wants to know one thing before he and his band begin Sex Machine. “Can I get into the thing, really?,” he asks. His cohorts enthusiastically respond in the affirmative. And for the next hour and change, Mr. Dynamite gets into it and more, turning in a sweat-soaked, feet-moving, hip-swiveling, emotion-purging, in-the-red, drop-everything-you’re-doing-and-dance performance for the ages. Ranked by Rolling Stone among the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, the sweeping 1970 effort towers as a testament to Brown’s inimitable legacy as well as the peak powers of his voice, vibrancy, and bands.

Sourced from the original master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing, and housed in a Stoughton gatefold jacket, Mobile Fidelity’s numbered-edition 180g 33RPM 2LP set presents Sex Machine in audiophile sound for the first time. It explodes with the energy the lightning-strike music demands. Dynamic, immediate, present, airy: Everything from the brassiness and fluidity of the horns to the snap and decay of the snare to the swell and carry of the organ comes across in full-range perspective.

Then there’s Brown’s superhuman singing, which here emerges with a purity, naturalism, and transparency that ensure you feel everything. Screeching, shouting, pleading, moaning, preaching, stinging, commanding, testifying, crooning, humming: The Godfather of Soul contributes one of the finest vocal performances known to man. This definitive 55th anniversary reissue of Brown’s monster funk statement further exhibits a combination of clarity, solidity, separation, and imaging that helps bring to light what he and his crack ensembles committed to tape. Both in the studio and on the stage.

Just how lifelike does this reissue sound? Senior Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab engineer Krieg Wunderlich, who handled the remaster, notes: “There were some artifacts that sounded a bit like mistracking. But they turned out to be breath blasts on the vocal microphone. That is part of history. JB was workin' hard, and breathin' hard. And there was an edit the timing of that was truly strange. Again, a part of history.”

Originally marketed as a live album, Sex Machine contains six songs recorded in the studio and later overdubbed with canned crowd noise and reverberation. Save for “Low Down Popcorn,” the tracks on the latter half stem from a phenomenal performance captured in October 1969 at Bell Auditorium in Brown’s adopted hometown of Augusta, GA. The special relationship between the singer, the audience, and the location is palpable.

As the 1960s gave way to a new decade, Brown experienced immense success and dealt with unexpected change. Soul Brother Number One soon expanded his idea for an official live album captured in Augusta when the ensemble that backed him on that date morphed into the original version of the world-famous J.B.’s just months after the show. The virtuosic abilities, sticky chemistry, and rhythm-forward nature of the J.B.’s prompted him to book a one-off session in Cincinnati, OH, on a late July night.

Anchored by brothers William “Bootsy” Collins and Phelps “Catfish” Collins, the group — as well as two different drummers — laid down a nearly 11-minute rendition of “Get Up I Feel Like Being Like a Sex Machine” and a thrilling medley of “Bewildered,” “I Got the Feeling,” and “Give It Up or Turnit a Loose.” A pair of then-recent studio singles cut in separate locations in 1969, “Brother Rapp” and “Low Down Popcorn,” each featuring his prior group, took care of the second LP worth of material that complements the originally planned live set.

Complicated? Somewhat. Unusual? Definitely. But just as he elevated the expectations for all present and future R&B artists, Brown not only makes it all work. He makes it positively electrifying.

“Get Up I Feel Like Being Like a Sex Machine” is alone deserving of a dissertation on the art of funk music, seeing it moves up and down akin to an oil derrick, witnesses Brown unleashing a trademark series of grunts, squeaks, and “good god” asides, and glides to a hypnotic groove that won’t quit. Or look to the syncopated rhythms of “Brother Rapp (Part I and Part II),” one of multiple pieces here that signify the point where Brown began viewing every instrument as a percussive tool. Brown closes the three-song medley with his new band with a skedaddling “Give It Up or Turnit a Loose,” which provides jolts on the order of sticking your finger into a socket.

Not that the actual live material falls short in any way. Setting an insistent tempo for the vitality that follows, “I Don’t Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing” positions Brown as a role model, leader, and self-sufficient entrepreneur. All simmer and boil, the short and sweet “Licking Stick” dares you to keep pace. The floating, almost comforting “Spinning Wheel” spotlights the instrumental prowess of Maceo Parker and company, and functions as a seamless segue into the tender, horn-saluted “If I Ruled the World.”

And Brown and his mates still aren’t done. Just try to resist the one-two closing punch of “I Can’t Stand Myself (When You Touch Me)” and “Mother Popcorn.” Mercy.

Ain’t it funky? Sure ‘nuff.

GATEFOLD DOUBLE VINYL WITH SPOT UV FRONT COVER

Following the skewed-unself-help-brilliance of ‘Sus Dog’ (which marked his first full foray into songs, abetted by Thom Yorke), and its companion piece ‘Cave Dog’, Chris Clark returns to the dancefloor’s simple, but no less affecting pleasures, with ‘Steep Stims’.
“I found it hard to pull away from listening to this record, hard to stop making it, I had to remove myself from the Stims and stop enjoying it at some point. The album feels like nature to me. I love it when electronic music feels more naturalistic than acoustic music, more potent, that’s the devil’s trick, the promise of electronic music.” comments Chris.
“I used an old synth - the Virus on all of the tracks. I used it at Mess in Melbourne - run by my friend Robin Fox - I loved it so much I had to buy one when I got back to the UK, it took a while to find. They’re a bit clunky to program but make some of my most favourite sounds.”
‘Steep Stims’ marks a back-to-basics approach, invoking the early years of gung-ho creativity enforced by limitations in technology at the time. “Most of the tracks on this album capture the spirit of making music on old samplers, which don’t have much memory time”, explains Clark. “It reminds me of making ‘Clarence Park’, my first album, where I would have to finish tunes in the session, as they would be saved on floppy disks and I couldn’t easily go between tracks. This new record is just a few synths and a few choice sounds; the writing is the important thing.”
Made quickly, ‘Steep Stims’ reflects the immediate rave energy of his live show, but that’s not to say it’s basic floor fodder, as it’s rife with personality, synth magic, and knack for melody. Although swift and impressionistically captured rather than laboured over, it’s still formidably deft, with plenty of oddball weirdness lurking beneath the dancefloor.
Soft, orange, scorched, brutal, the opening track ‘Gift and Wound’ captures the classic dance music dread / awe / euphoria combo perfectly, before ‘Infinite Roller’ merges sparkly-minimalism with snarling bass and soft sines, which turn more dense and metallic as it progresses.
The melancholic smoke belch of ‘No Pills U’ gives strong classic vibrations, which is belied by its creation, made in just 20 minutes. “I love working quickly sometimes”, comments Clark. “Inspiration hits, rough and ready. It’s off the cuff but also screams ‘don’t gild the lily with nonsense, keep it simple keep it clean’”. Segueing into its elder brother, the piece becomes bigger and beatier on ‘Janus Modal’, where it permutates for over 7 minutes of fluttering, beatific club majesty.
At ‘18EDO Bailiff’ you inexplicably find yourself at a clearing, things have suddenly got much quieter. You enter a decrepit and eerie old house, and as you move through its unsettling interior, you arrive at ‘Globecore Flats’. A real piano tuned to 18 notes per octave gives the pair of tracks a haunted, olde worlde feel, which promptly gets eaten by a huge tech step tearout monster, birthing a strange but exotic beast.
The white hot ‘Blowtorch Thimble’ is all hooktasm-rave-hyper-amen-energy, whilst acidic flute leaps around like Ian Anderson on pingers throughout the catchily simple jump-up lurch of ‘Civilians’.
“‘In Patient’s Day Out’ is like some sort of Morricone-does-kraut-rock-with-drum-machines, but that’s probably just in my head” says Clark. “I made several versions of this then went with the early mix but cranked through some choice outboard because it just had something.”
Drumless, yet still full of exhilarating-big-trance-drama, ‘Who Booed The Goose’ flashes by in stroboscopic fast forward, then ‘5 Millionth Cave Painting’ gives a palate cleanser, letting “the virus with its delicious broken, luxurious reverb have a moment”, before ‘Negation Loop’ swoops down in all its glory, with Clark’s tweaked vocals leading deconstructed trance breakdowns, tape edits and brutal noisebursts.
An antidote to the bombast of its predecessor is ‘Micro Lyf’, which closes the set on a poignant note, of sorts. Muted staccato gives way to field recordings “that gradually put it in this outside space; alien in a meadow somewhere nameless. It feels like a sinkhole. The record kinda swallows itself up and then is gone”, ends Chris.

Sonetos del Amor Oscuro is an ode performed by four enchanted souls who have intertwined their hearts and conjured harmonies and rhythms that wander endlessly among the spellbinding words of a poet from Granada... Federico García Lorca;
He wrung, pushed and vibrated words like tectonic plates, transforming plains into poetic mountain landscapes. He then covered them with a Moorish carpet of snow crystals and had them reflected by the dark locks of hair of a gypsy girl from Albaicín who, with a voice forged in gold and silver, sings her little sister to sleep with a soothing lullaby.

Helena Casella – vocals
Myrddin De Cauter – flamenco guitar
Stijn Kuppens – cello
Stefan Bracaval – flute, bass flute

Helena Casella, the Belgian-Brazilian vocalist with a deep, soft and warm voice, translates her multicultural background and personal thoughts into music in a passionate, soulful and refined way. With her roots in an exceptionally musical family, her music exudes this unique heritage. She effortlessly interweaves genres such as R&B, soul, hip hop and modern jazz, while remaining true to the vibrant sounds of Brazil, an essential part of her roots.
Her debut album was released earlier this year on W.E.R.F. records.

Myrddin De Cauter's music is deeply moving, complex, passionately rhythmic and deeply emotional. He has mastered the compás of flamenco, which gives him the freedom to converse with elements from jazz or classical music. His speed sometimes seems otherworldly, but those who take the time to listen closely to his music will quickly discover an immense world of pure emotion, beauty and tranquillity. After six albums and countless concerts, Myrddin proves that great virtuosos do not necessarily have to come from Spain. At the tender age of eleven, his father taught him to play the clarinet in jazz and gypsy swing style; he became part of the family orchestra and gained his first experiences on stage. A classical melody composed on the guitar prompted him to ask his father to teach him the basics of flamenco guitar. Soon after, Myrddin seemed ready for the real thing and went to Andalusia to learn from Manolo Sanlucar and Gerardo Núñez. This inspired him to compose in his own unique language, deeply rooted in the pure flamenco tradition but enriched by boundless creativity.

Stijn Kuppens is a cellist, composer and producer. In his own genre, which he describes as non-classical cello, he uses the cello in his own unique way. His profound knowledge of the complex history and techniques of the style is clearly audible: Kuppens' mastery of classical music is evident in every note he plays, whether he is performing solo or collaborating with other musicians. His skill as a musician and ambition to explore the boundaries of conventional classical music is evident in his ability to seamlessly blend different genres.

Stefan Bracaval is a classically trained flutist who graduated from the Royal Conservatory of Antwerp. His fascination with the expressive potential of improvisation led him to jazz, where he became a self-taught jazz flutist. Bracaval has collaborated on projects with prominent jazz figures such as Charles Loos, Bert Joris and the Brussels Jazz Orchestra. In addition, he worked as a soloist and arranger with the VRT Radio Choir in 2016. Bracaval leads the Stefan Bracaval QU4RTET, which emphasises the flute as a central jazz instrument and brings new repertoire rooted in jazz traditions.

Live
31/10/2025 – Café Silverio, Gent (BE)
15/01/2026 – Kloosterkapel Diepenbeek (BE)
16/01/2026 – ‘t Ey, Belsele (BE)
17/01/2026 – Sint-Luciakerk (kerkconcerten Merode), Engsbergen (BE)
23/01/2026 – Muziekcentrum Dranouter (BE)

In between the folds of ceremony and commonality lies a perennial spring of musical expression.

A statement along the time continuum, or a testament to the resilient resourcefulness embedded in that truth, forms the philosophical approach of this album – the first outing of Dídac.
Studying an extensive archive of instruments, artifacts, and field recordings at the Musée d’ethnographie de Genève—a space steeped in folkloric gesture – Dídac encountered a cosmos of liturgical music and folk song. Anchored in reverance for tradition and transformation alike, this album navigates the old-world Mediterranean lore through a post-modern ambient lens, threading drone, gentle rhythm, electroacoustic textures and the crude tactility of archival material into one woven tapestry.

Under the guidance of Dr. Madeleine Leclair, Dídac was invited to work within one of the world’s most extensive ethno- musicological archives—L’AIMP. In the saturated basements and tape-lined backrooms of the museum, he submerged himself in the sounds of ritual and rural life: wax cylinders from the Eastern Mediterranean, tapes of liturgical hymn, the worn edges of communal song.
In a makeshift studio on the fourth floor of the museum, he sifted through the hours of material he collected, gradually discovering that the archive was no static source – It did not dictate; rather, it served as a companion—offering not answers, but questions. Not a beaten track, but a cluster of sonic clues and riddles. Samples do appear occasionally, tenderly interwoven into the dialogue of the songs. In Dídac’s self-titled debut, the past is not worn as ornament or kitsch; it is listened to and responded to. The museum, its archives, and the visit to Geneva became a foundational culisse of sorts, igniting a myriad of rough cuts and improvisational outtakes.
Dídac, or Diego Ocejo Muñoz, was born in Madrid in 1994 to a family of both Catalan and Castilian origin.

Brought up in a religious household, the influence of the Catholic Church innately shaped the social fabric, schooling and daily life. This lingering dominance led the adolescent Diego into a path of rejection of everything sacramental, promptly resorting to subversion in the shape of grafitti, skateboarding and underground music. Only later in life, after a rigorous venture as an acid and electro producer, the Church re-emerged before him in new light, invoking a deep fascination for its mysticism, iconography and choral tradition.

Spain in general and Catalonia in particular, has long served as a crossroads of the eastern–western Mediterranean continuum, with many of its cultures sharing aspects of way of life and ceremony. At the MEG, Diego found himself puzzled with this realization, resulting in a sonic amalgamation that reaches farther away from the rugged mountains of Catalonia than you might perceive at first encounter.

The deeply embedded memory of rite and public ceremony, religious hymn and landscape—sieved through the undercurrent of personal re-emergence, forms the emotional topography of this album. The record does not trace this landscape; it inhabits it. Its repetitive mysticism and ambient, wide-eyed gaze could possibly evoke (perhaps redundant) comparisons to artists such as Dimitris Petsetakis, or Popol Vuh’s late 70’s cinema scores.
The delicate lines between the sacred and the secular – between memory and re-invention – serve as a cipher to understanding this album in its entirety. Titles like Malpàs Mines or Pantocrator’s Portal Outro nudge toward a folkloric and devotional bedrock—places where labor and spirituality coexist, where names preserve both dust and veneration.

Nevertheless, this is far from mere nostalgia. It is a reclamation — singing alongside the spirits of the past, nurturing what still hums beneath the soil. It is an intimate reflection on tradition, rebellion, adolescence, ceremony and fantasy – a pastoral contemplation on what once was and what is to be.

The Sator Arepo, or Sator Square, is an ancient word puzzle comprising five palindromes that's etched on various historical sites throughout the Western world. Its origins are unknown, but the square has long been thought to hold magical properties, used as a charm against illness and evil, to cure insanity or to determine whether someone was guilty of witchcraft. Self-styled "punk ethnomusicologist", acoustician and musician Julien Hairon uses this mystical symbol as the starting point for his debut Judgitzu album in an attempt to reconnect with his Celtic heritage, exploring how its hallowed messages might harmonize with contemporary Tanzanian dance music.Hairon has been traveling across the world for over a decade, collecting field recordings from countries such as Indonesia, Australia, Cambodia, China and Bangladesh, and presenting them on his Les Cartes Postales Sonores label, re-issuing any curious cassettes and CDs he came across on the PetPets' TAPES imprint. It was during this time that he became fascinated by rituals that involved spirits, prompting him to examine his own ancestry when he returned to Brittany. "Many artifacts in the landscape remain," Hairon explains, "and the power of spirits is still palpable." He represents this Celtic mysticism on 'Sator Arepo' with murky drones and magickal synth tones, using xenharmonic scales (tuning outside of standard 12-tone equal temperament) that reach back to the ancient world. These sounds are augmented with fast-paced, sci-fi rhythms informed by his time in Tanzania; "Singeli has contaminated me," admits the producer.The most astonishing example of this is 'Miracle', a thrusting soundsystem experiment that layers serpentine, bagpipe-esque electronic wails over extravagant clusters of blocky percussion. Driven by the frenetic 175BPM pulse that echoes through the streets of Dar Es Salaam - popularized globally by forward-thinking producers like Sisso, Duke and Jay Mitta - Hairon opens up a rare conversation, seeking to draw parallels between today's most urgent dance forms and the archaic rituals of antiquity. On 'Vitalimetre', Hairon drives his sonic palette into the red, harmonizing with Dutch hardstyle and gabber, and splaying distorted drones over maddeningly blown-out kicks and ratcheting percussion. 'L'or Des Fous' takes a more meditative route, prioritizing Hairon's eccentric tonality with expressive sheets of pitch-warped sound that ghost walk across energized, rattling beats.If you heard Hairon's last Judgitzu release 'Umeme / Kelele', described by Boomkat as "one of 2019's deadliest dancefloor sessions," then you'll know how mindboggling this material can be. And with 'Sator Arepo', the French producer deepens his reach, grasping a world that we've almost forgotten and juxtaposing it with a landscape most of us barely comprehend.

Bret McKenzie ist ein Grammy- und Oscar-prämierter Künstler, der vor allem durch seine Band Flight of the Conchords und die gleichnamige Fernsehshow bekannt wurde. "Freak Out City" ist sein zweites Album mit geistreichen, anspruchsvollen Solosongs und baut auf den Stärken seines Debüts "Songs Without Jokes" auf (das vom FarOut Magazine als "musikalische Version eines Kurt Vonnegut-Romans" beschrieben wurde) und wird sicherlich Fans von nachdenklichen Singer-Songwritern wie Harry Nilsson, Elvis Costello, Father John Misty und klassischem Pop-Rock der 70er Jahre Freude bereiten. McKenzie ist international bekannt dafür, witzige, seltsame und einzigartige Songs zu singen und zu schreiben, vor allem für Film und Fernsehproduktionen. Bret McKenzies Lieder wurden bereits von Kermit dem Frosch, Celine Dion, Lizzo, Benedict Cumberbatch, Brittany Howard, Homer und Lisa Simpson, Fred Armisan, Miss Piggy, Amy Adams, Jason Segal, Ricky Gervais, Benee, Isabela Merced, Spongebob Schwammkopf, Tony Bennett, Mickey Rooney und vielen anderen gesungen. Das selbstbetitelte Debütalbum von Flight of the Conchords wurde 2025 mit Gold ausgezeichnet und ging prompt in einer limitierten Gold-Vinyl-Variante über den Ladentisch.

Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP Set Plays with Authoritative Tonality, Airiness, and Clarity:
Pressed on MoFi SuperVinyl and Strictly Limited to
3,000 Numbered Copies
1/4” / 15 IPS Dolby A analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe

Joni Mitchell is the only artist who could’ve made Hejira. The legendary singer-songwriter said as much when discussing the album decades after its release. Yet that fact seemed obvious from the moment the gold-certified effort streeted in fall 1976. An adventurous travelogue, probing narrative, and offbeat homage to freedom, Hejira remains an inimitable entry in the catalog of recorded music — a spare, gorgeous, meditative series of sonic vignettes comprised of floating harmonic pop, cool jazz, soft rock, and sensitive vocal elements that beckon feelings of motion, discovery, and self-examination.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing on MoFi SuperVinyl, and strictly limited to 3,000 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP set presents the record ranked the 133rd Greatest of All Time by Rolling Stone with definitive detail, richness, accuracy, and directness. Marking the first time the revered LP has received audiophile treatment, it's one of six iconic 1970s Mitchell records Mobile Fidelity is reissuing on vinyl and SACD.

Playing with a virtually nonexistent noise floor, dead-quiet surfaces, and superior groove definition, this collectible reissue reproduces in enveloping fashion the tones, textures, and craftsmanship that help Hejira function as the equivalent of a liberating trip down an open road with nothing but blue sky, natural landscape, and fresh air in the immediate vicinity. Passages bloom, carry, decay as they do amid an acoustically optimized environment. Soundstages extend far, wide, and deep, with black backgrounds and pinpoint images adding to the realism.

The reference-grade immediacy, airiness, and presence put in transparent perspective Mitchell’s dense strings of words, stream-of-conscious-like phrasing, and unhurried albeit forward momentum. Likewise, the instrumental contributions of her A-list support musicians — a cast that includes L.A. Express members John Guerin, Max Bennett and Tom Scott, plus Neil Young, Victor Feldman, and Abe Most — emerges with breathtaking clarity and dimensionality.

While Mitchell, whose intimate vocals and abstract guitar parts center everything, Mobile Fidelity's restoration of Hejira further reveals the visionary breadth of guitarist Larry Carlton and bassist Jaco Pastorius. Though heard on only four tracks, Pastorius' fretless bass epitomizes the fluid, subtle, flexible, roomy, and shape-shifting characteristics of songs that often appear to transpire out of nowhere akin to the formation of a puffy cumulus cloud overhead. In sync with Mitchell’s voice, Pastorius’ fusion hovers and floats, suspended in a fog you want to deeply inhale. The "grace notes" Mitchell desired on Hejira can now be heard in full. Ditto the luxurious tapestries of alinear lines, fills, and supplements unreeled on Carlton’s six-string.

Visually, the packaging of this UD1S set complements its identity as the copy to own. Housed in a deluxe slipcase, the LPs come in foil-stamped jackets with faithful-to-the-original graphics. This version is for listeners who desire to become immersed in everything about Hejira, including the unforgettable album cover — a pastiche of 14 different photos Mitchell used a Camera Lucida to assemble into one image that’s anchored by a portrait of her in a stoic pose — and the interior shots of Mitchell skating on a frozen Wisconsin lake wearing a pair of black skates, black shirt, and fur cape.

The notion of skating, feeling an awakening wind whipping against your face, and losing yourself to the surroundings are extremely apt for Hejira, which Mitchell wrote after a sequence of trips and relationships prompted her to reflect on the complicated conflicts between independence and marriage, success and satisfaction, duty and desire — and, more specifically, “the cost of being a woman.” The Canadian native delved into such themes before. But never as she does on Hejira, whose liberating, running-away aura doubles as another of Mitchell’s rejections of tradition as well as a suggestion of a better alternative.

At once observational and personal, expansive and insular, cheerful and poignant, Hejira spans a sea of human conditions, emotions, and circumstances. It addresses drifting, isolation, pleasure, place, time, and surroundings with strikingly poetic discourse matched with music that, save for the crooned ballad “Blue Motel Room,” forgoes conventional structures and choruses.

The jazz-based arrangements, marked by scaled-down percussion and all manner of bent, rounded, and unsettled notes, hint that Mitchell has no exact destination in mind. Excursions such as the moody “Furry Sings the Blues,” funky “Coyote” and edgy “Black Crow” throw open previously locked doors to possibility and journey. They signal it’s time for a welcome departure from norms and the past, one that leads to a heightened sense of clarity and perspective. Or, as Mitchell said upon choosing the album title, it’s time for “leaving the dream, no blame.”

Black Vinyl LP. The world has changed, we shouldn't try and pretend otherwise. While we were shut away in isolation our routines shifted, social patterns evolved, and our hopes and dreams were twisted into cobwebs we're still trying to wipe from our fingers. Ziúr tentatively approached this on her last album Antifate, an ambitious and complex hybrid pop fever dream that looked back to a Medieval escapist fantasy as the scent of revolution seemed to hum in the air. But when restrictions were eased, she found herself staring down a discombobulated society that had trapped itself in a spiral of microwaved nostalgia and detached, narcotic repetition. Eyeroll then is Ziúr's musical panacea, a tincture to wake us from our creative slumber and prompt external connection and reflection. It's a polyphonous hex that demands human interaction, and Ziúr's hand-picked alliance of collaborators - Elvin Brandhi, Abdullah Miniawy, Iceboy Violet, Juliana Huxtable, Ledef, and James Ginzburg - each provide distinct voices that together herald a bewildering sonic epoch. Ziúr's palette had to evolve to match the scope of the project, but it was pure necessity that informed the album's defining tone. Recording mostly at night, Ziúr was conscious of the noise she was making so developed a unique way to record organic percussion. Using a set of rototoms - low profile tunable drums - she scratched, scraped and gently tapped the skins to build up the undulating and unstable rhythmic backdrop for each track. It's the first sound we hear on the opener 'Eyeroll', rattling like lost marbles against Elvin Brandhi's primal croaks and screams. And when Brandhi's twisted articulations form words, Ziúr matches the energy with chaotic thuds and serrated blasts of saturated electronics. "I roll the shittiest cigarette," she squeals like she's about to start a mosh pit at Paris's GRM Studios. Without pause, Abdullah Miniawy takes over on 'Malikan', building on the promise of material with Simo Cell, Carl Gari and HVAD with corrosive trumpet blasts and charged, politically incendiary Arabic vocals. Inspired by pre-Islamic poetry and the Qu'ranic chanters he heard growing up in Saudi Arabia and Egypt, he spins labyrinthine stories that cross between the worlds, breaking down physical and spiritual borders simultaneously. Miniawy's scope is expanded even further on his second collaboration, 'If The City Burns I Will Not Run'. "If it rains and the city drowns," he utters over gaseous electronics, "I will not run away, but I will be anxious for the heart of one close to me." After a supple vocal turn from Manchester's Iceboy Violet on 'Move On' and a surreal interlude from poet- DJ-artist-theorist Juliana Huxtable on '99 Favor Taste', Brandhi returns with two more hyperactive collaborations: ,'Nontrivial Differential' and 'Cut Cut Quote'. On the former she slices into Ziúr's skeletal jazz eruptions, screaming and crooning interchangeably, fluxing between the rap battle and the cabaret. The latter is completely different meanwhile, with Brandhi settling into her role as front-woman and groaning dizzying improvised passages that sound like grunge crossed with psychedelic no-wave. Brandhi's spiky musical history has prepared her well for this collaboration; she's a prolific producer and has been using her voice spontaneously since debuting with father-daughter improv duo Yeah You in the mid 2020s. She's found an ideal foil in Ziúr, a producer who matches her restless energy and willingness to bend formality, and leaves an indelible mark on Eyeroll. But the album's most tender moments are from Ziúr herself, who winds the album down on 'Hasty Revisionism', growling over collapsible beats and cascading strings, and comes to an unexpected conclusion with country coda 'Lacrymaturity'. Its feverish amalgamation of country music and euphoric, experimental electronics might seem incongruous at first, but in context with the rest of the album is the only possible conclusion. With Eyeroll Ziúr is making a firm statement about togetherness, humanity, and the renewal of hope when all seems lost. By bringing together such a wide but philosophically harmonic team of collaborators, she's conducted a body of work that speaks to the creative fringe in no uncertain terms. Now's the time to throw away what you think you know, and build bridges you didn't think you need. Now's the time for action. She may have spent her entire career avoiding the solipsistic trappings of "queer art", but by assembling a communal statement that questions so many normative assumptions about music, politics, and beyond, Ziúr has chanced upon her queerest album yet. Cringe? Eyeroll.

The Isle Of Lewis is the largest such of the Outer Hebrides archipelago, and a place where myth and folklore are abundant, The Callanish Stones, a cruciform circle reckoned by tradition to be the forms of petrified giants who would not convert to Christianity, once prompted notable chronicler of the ancient Julian Cope to pronounce himself “Lashed by wind and rain but surrounded by vibe”.

This was where Holy Scum decided to take a pilgrimage for the recording of their second album proper for Rocket Recordings, All We Have Is Never. Frustrated by the physical and logistical challenges keeping the band members from collaborating, they decided the best way forward was at the residential Black Bay Studios on Great Bernera, a two hour plus ferry ride from anywhere. “The isolation of Black Bay was our salvation, a much-needed cleanse after a year of relentless misfortune” reckons the band’s Peter Taylor. Taylor describes the Holy Scum approach jokingly as ‘No riffs’ yet this belies an ability to carve abstraction and minimalism into monolithic and ominous shapes. Whilst the band are as handy as ever with excoriating and ear-splitting experimentation - as on the feverish guitar scree that underpins the taut‘Thieves’ - they also excel in a grittily vital charge as analogous to the ballsy kinetics of Fugazi and The Ex (the primal ‘I Am The Land’) as the overcast catharsis of Killing Joke and Voivod (the infectious ‘Witches’). “The title is a nod to the fact that everything ends - good, bad, ugly, beautiful “ reflects vocalist Mike Mare (Dälek) of their most focused work to date. “That is not a bad thing - it is a rebirth every time. We can spend a lifetime 24/7 together having shared experiences but living separate realities”. “I don’t think it is nihilistic,” he adds. “The despair turns into hope for sure”.

Eighteen Berlin-schoolish Synthwave tracks published under pdqb's moniker Aipd Q41/B47. Carefully prompted and edited many moons ago with an AI model that is already outdated.
To become aware of transience in our fast-paced world, the album is not available digitally or via streaming. It exists only on tape. A relic on a relic! It's as if reading this text on the paper of an extinct tree.

To remind the listener of their own transience, the tape's appearance is mirror-like silver; one can see their reflection in it, look at themselves, and with the next glance, the previous one is gone.

Salt N Pepper Vinyl. New pressing of Mom Jeans. 2018 album, Puppy Love. The Berkeley, CA quartet is lauded for stream-of-consciousness lyrics and energetic performances that prompt audiences to shred their worries and simply bounce along. By trading the sappy for heartfelt and the melodramic for truthful, Mom Jeans have created a brand of emo that's self-aware but not self-indulgent. 2018's Puppy Love follows up 2016's Best Buds and oers up more of that sweet noise that fans of bands like Modern Baseball and The Front Bottoms, will love. Recorded by Ryan Ellery. Mastered by James Trevascus.

The first in a proposed series of transmissions, Surface Detail's mystifying debut introduces an incorporeal body that exists only through sound and sensation, prompting listeners to discern a spiritual realm beyond the physical. Its surging electro-acoustic compositions push past the material world to plunge into deeper sonic dimensions, slowly revealing a philosophy borne of near-death and out-of-body experiences that challenges perception itself.

Overhauling vintage experimental techniques with their bespoke modern methodologies and processes, Surface Detail rearrange the musical timeline, merging vastly different concepts to hint at questions rather than provide solid answers. Their uniquely immersive soundscapes use texture, rhythm and tonality to help brush away the superficial and contemplate the unknown, approaching its delicate, controversial subject matter with sensitivity and sensuality. Not just an auditory experience, 'Surface Detail' tests the potential of sound itself, eliciting visceral physical reactions with its uncanny subtleties.

Those principles are divulged immediately on opening track 'Marée Noire', as breathy saxophone notes loops and swirl over cosmic oscillations and microtonally tuned drones. It's music that cracks open a passage that snakes through various genres, suggesting silhouettes rather than affirming banal musical preconceptions. Skeletal rhythms appear in the ether for only a moment, disappearing into the sonic landscape, and Surface Detail's bespoke instrumentation materializes just to bring out the cellular intricacy of the music, concentrating the gaze on microscopic textures and irregularities that discompose the senses. As the album drifts forward, it bends material reality even further: on 'Southern Breach', warm, lower-register organ tones intermingle with sinewy guitar twangs, evaporating into warped, hypnotic oscillations and eerie echoes; and by 'Superbook of the Dead', the conspicuous details have almost disappeared completely, replaced by subterranean clangs, industrial ambience and other-worldly electrical interference.

It's in this way that Surface Detail softly assert their convictions, insinuating a narrative that subliminally ushers listeners down an hypnagogic River Styx by removing all traces of the familiar. On closing track 'Broken Silicates', distant lullabies, dissociated stutters and ghostly woodwind sounds blot fractal patterns on the wide open space, reincarnating the album in a liminal zone that's not constrained by somatic logic. Whisper quiet and utterly beguiling, it transcends material existence, dissolving barriers between surface and depth.