quête:echo beds

‘Confession' is an album of quiet upheaval. An album about closeness that arrives late and unexpectedly. About stability rubbing up against desire. About the way friendship can suddenly tilt into something charged — and how that charge unsettles everything around it. Where earlier work often observed from a distance, Confession turns inward. The voice is closer, warmer, less shielded. “This wasn’t the album I intended to make,” says Carla dal Forno. “I originally wanted something veiled and abstract, but I realised I couldn’t hide behind abstraction — the songs only worked when I leaned into emotional truth.”

This is dal Forno’s fourth LP, written and recorded over several years in a small country town, in a studio housed inside a partially abandoned hospital. Long corridors, humming lights, emptied rooms — a place built for care and waiting, now quiet enough for thoughts to echo. That stillness shapes the record: intimate, watchful, unadorned. “I live in a small country town that offers a stillness my life didn’t previously have,” she explains. “In that quiet, feelings I might’ve ignored in a busy city grew loud.” Dal Forno sings plainly and conversationally, with an emotional precision that sharpens the everyday into something quietly unsettling.

The album moves through paired states: going out and staying in, wanting and withholding, devotion and distraction. Domestic calm set against private unrest. A long-held relationship offers safety and routine, while a newer connection opens emotional fault lines — longing, jealousy, fantasy, self-exposure. “At the heart of the album is a friendship that became emotionally charged in an unexpected way,” dal Forno says. “That shift brought daydreaming, jealousy, tenderness, confusion, self-awareness — and eventually acceptance.”

The drama here is internal, incremental, lived. Musically, Confession feels lighter on its feet than its subject matter suggests. Melodic basslines anchor the songs while guitars, harmonies, and gently off-kilter rhythms move around them. There’s a looseness, even a playfulness — “like the sensation of tension lifting once you finally admit something to yourself,” as dal Forno puts it. The album traces a subtle arc: attraction blooming where it shouldn’t; obsession quietly taking hold; fantasy overtaking reality; clarity arriving slowly, sometimes painfully. Visually and emotionally, Confession returns to modest spaces: backyards, beds, night streets, overgrown paths. “The record exists in that contrast,” dal Forno reflects. “Peaceful surroundings, unsettled interior.”

Like all of dal Forno’s work, Confession resists clean conclusions. It doesn’t moralise desire or romanticise restraint. Instead, it lingers in the in-between — where love is stable but not total, where yearning teaches as much as it hurts, where solitude becomes a form of care. Plain-spoken but emotionally complex. Rooted and restless. Held together by bass, breath, routine, weather. An album about admitting what you feel —and living with what that admission changes.

2025 Repress

Searchlight Moonbeam is the new narrative compilation from Time Is Away (Jack Rollo and Elaine Tierney) whose eponymous monthly NTS Radio shows, tinctured fusions of fugitive sounds and reverie-inducing archival speech, have won them an ardent following. It follows from the London-based duo’s Ballads, a remarkable driftwerk released on A Colourful Storm in 2022.


Searchlight Moonbeam is an autumnal dreamscape, intimate and vespertine, pensive and irresolute. An imagined community where differences drop off and resonances emerge – between Maher Shalal Hash Baz affiliates Kasumi Trio, Taiwanese score composer Chen Ming Chang whose ‘Rainwater’ (written for Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s 1986 film Dust In The Wind) is exquisitely heartbroken, and the plangent improvisations of self-taught French pianist Delphine Dora.


Revelations are frequent: the bedsit isolationism of Bo Harwood and John Cassavetes’ ‘No One Around to Hear It’ (from The Killing of a Chinese Bookie); the narked minimalism of Klang (an early 2000s band formed by ex-Elastica guitarist and featuring prize-winning experimental novelist Isabel Waidner on bass); the etude-grooves and echoic wobble of below-the-radar French avant-gardists Omertà ; the beautiful, plaintively dubby ‘Is It You?’ by Slapp Happy; a psych-tinged reimagining of PiL’s ‘Poptones’ by Simon Fisher Turner (one half of Deux Filles, and here, recording for él as The King of Luxembourg) that's as perverse as the cover of Throbbing Gristle’s 20 Jazz Funk Greats.


Searchlight Moonbeam is the musical analog of an Italo Calvino novel or a medieval fable. Associative, intuitive, borderless. Emotional and mysterious. Endowed with the tactility of Braille. A private language that is both unknowable and understood. It is a record of the seasons, for the seasons.

2023 marks the tenth anniversary of Time Is Away’s first broadcast. Featuring an evocative essay by writer Jeremy Atherton Lin and disarming cover art by Penny Davenport, Searchlight Moonbeam showcases Rollo and Tierney’s still-unrivalled talent for gloaming melodies, disques du crépuscule, ensorcelled storytelling.

Yearly compilation series RADAR KEROXEN return with its sixth volume of theme-driven releases, continuing to chart the fractured sonic terrain of the Canary Islands’ undergrowth.

After digging through indie, psychedelia, shoegaze, and site-specific drone, Vol. 6 dives headfirst into the after-hours circuitry of the islas afortunadas, assembling a hand-picked selection of underground club mutations from five long-standing operators within the local electronic ecosystem.

If Vol. 5 was shaped by the cavernous resonance of Santa Cruz’s obsolete gasoline tank, Vol. 6 is fuelled by late-night club aesthetics and mid-90s hardware obsession. Opening the record, Dancelwerk — one of the archipelago’s early modular practitioners — delivers tightly wound structures nodding to Warp-era golden agefuturism and southern Tenerife’s rave boom. Cmos34 follow with their first-ever published material, injecting instability into the system through improvised techno rituals built on friction and feedback.

Jorganes drags the narrative deeper into hypnotic territory, stripping club music down to its skeletal pulse and channeling disciplined repetition and late-90s minimalism into austere, trance-inducing momentum. From Gran Canaria, Sunday German Flowers bends the mood toward cinematic dub: heavy low-end pressure, spoken word, and nocturnal atmospheres stitched into slow-burning club noir.

Closing the circle, Nico Hernández pulls the compilation back to volcanic ground with ambient compositions shaped by Lanzarote’s raw geological landscape — basalt echoes, tectonic silence, and island isolation rendered in sound.

As always, the release is housed in a post-tropical collage artwork by Pura Márquez.

Master by Daniel García
Artwork by Pura Marquéz

As Selofan's fifth studio album, Vitrioli, from 2018, is a testament to the tragedy of life. The Greek duo, Joanna Pavlidou and Dimitris Pavlidis, who recorded the album in the Fabrika Records home studio, continue on in their poetic, but heartbreaking, music set to a dance beat. Between languages (Greek, English, German, and Spanish), Selofan feels on the brink of mania with Vitroli. However, the madness is controlled, the songs are restrained hysterics that culminate into the alchemic perfection of the band's specific moody sound.
From synthpop to synthpunk elements, the twelve-track LP leads listeners through dark corridors and into haunted, empty beds. There is a resignation to a doomed destiny with Vitroli—a trait that connects all Selofan releases—as a bitter pain and loneliness that cannot, or will not, subside.

The album begins with "Give Me a Reason" whose lyrics feel universal in this day and age: Give me a reason, to get out of bed / I could just watch the ceiling instead. Its heartbreak is profound as bells and voice pads echo under Joanna's voice. The adjacent music video for the song was directed by Dimitris Chaz Lee, and the band describes the video as "depicting the fragile nature, conflicts, emotional demands, and vulnerability of each person in a relationship."
"Billie Was a Vampire" is a story about an undead creature who works at a nightclub followed by the urgency of "Black Box." Brass sounds moan against the fast beat and suggest a frenzied need to escape.

"I'm Addicted" became the second single for the LP. I am addicted, you are mine, Joanna demands of the lover. The music video, also directed by Dimitris Chaz Lee, depicts a clean, white photoshoot primed for the most beautiful creatures of the Athenian wave scene. Alex Macharias, from the legendary Greek band In Trance 95, acts as the photographer for the session, as the models pose and flail under the bright bulbs. The director states: "Addiction is a mental state, something inside all of us. It altered our perception and created a parallel world of avant-garde beings and flashy lights making us part of this everlasting bond."

As Selofan's fifth studio album, Vitrioli, from 2018, is a testament to the tragedy of life. The Greek duo, Joanna Pavlidou and Dimitris Pavlidis, who recorded the album in the Fabrika Records home studio, continue on in their poetic, but heartbreaking, music set to a dance beat. Between languages (Greek, English, German, and Spanish), Selofan feels on the brink of mania with Vitroli. However, the madness is controlled, the songs are restrained hysterics that culminate into the alchemic perfection of the band's specific moody sound.
From synthpop to synthpunk elements, the twelve-track LP leads listeners through dark corridors and into haunted, empty beds. There is a resignation to a doomed destiny with Vitroli—a trait that connects all Selofan releases—as a bitter pain and loneliness that cannot, or will not, subside.

The album begins with "Give Me a Reason" whose lyrics feel universal in this day and age: Give me a reason, to get out of bed / I could just watch the ceiling instead. Its heartbreak is profound as bells and voice pads echo under Joanna's voice. The adjacent music video for the song was directed by Dimitris Chaz Lee, and the band describes the video as "depicting the fragile nature, conflicts, emotional demands, and vulnerability of each person in a relationship."
"Billie Was a Vampire" is a story about an undead creature who works at a nightclub followed by the urgency of "Black Box." Brass sounds moan against the fast beat and suggest a frenzied need to escape.

"I'm Addicted" became the second single for the LP. I am addicted, you are mine, Joanna demands of the lover. The music video, also directed by Dimitris Chaz Lee, depicts a clean, white photoshoot primed for the most beautiful creatures of the Athenian wave scene. Alex Macharias, from the legendary Greek band In Trance 95, acts as the photographer for the session, as the models pose and flail under the bright bulbs. The director states: "Addiction is a mental state, something inside all of us. It altered our perception and created a parallel world of avant-garde beings and flashy lights making us part of this everlasting bond."

Waiting is the essence of travel. Patience is its own reward.

Two people. A Telecaster guitar with a few effect pedals. A drum machine. An audio interface is connected to a laptop. The ingredients are simple yet effective.

But any suggestion of four-track cassette machines and vintage bedsit productions is quickly dispelled by digital dubbiness and refined arrangements. A tail of reversed echos. The crystalline flourish of octave-pitched delays. Riddled hi-hats tickle and taunt. A bass drum asserts its space.

Winkler's guitar patterns have a fragmented, almost haphazard connotation. Searching in a shimmer of reverb. Until the beat, the framework, sets in to reveal structure. Intentionality. Reihse's programmed rhythms go just to the point of a groove, holding the moment of tension, knowingly delaying the gratification. Beats that have scratchy patina anda subtly playful edge; their crispness stands in contrast to the contemplative drift of the guitar. Is it a trance? Or a dance? Yes.

There are some apparent references here: a good portion of Les Disques du Crépuscule, some kraut-esque electronica, even a smidgen of Morricone / Spaghetti Western, blending into a kind of Musique Noir – yet these serve as a set of orientational coordinates, rather than quotations.

This is so far the most assured release by Periode, perhaps eschewing some of the naiveté that was wilfully cultivated in earlier output – there is no cheeky cover version this time. And no singing either. The nine pieces have the quality of a series, a variation on a mood, or a subset of moods. What emerges is an inviting swagger in the face of bleakness. There is a profound melancholy, but it is not the darker kind, and does not exclude humour.

First impressions may suggest that this is purely nocturnal music. Yet it equally evokes the harsh sunlight and baking summer heat. Or a rainy day. And transportation: the music suggests the motion of travel, even if that travel only happens within the mind. And waiting. Waiting while doing nothing much. Because that's all you can do. (Alexander Paulick)

Through evocative, emotionally resonant music, Goodbye, Hotel Arkada , the new LP from American harpist and composer Mary Lattimore , speaks not just for its beloved namesake _ a hotel in Croatia facing renovation _ but for a universal loss that is shared. Six sprawling pieces shaped by change; nothing will ever be the same, and here, the artist, evolving in synthesis, celebrates and mourns the tragedy and beauty of the ephem - eral, all that is lived and lost to time. Documented and edited in uncharacteristically measured sessions over the course of two years, the material remains rooted in improvisation while glistening as the most refined and robust in Lattimore's decade-long catalog. It finds her communing with friends, contemporaries, and longtime influences, in full stride yet slow - ing down to nurture songs in new ways. The cast includes Lol Tolhurst (The Cure), Meg Baird, Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Roy Montgomery, Samara Lubelski, and Walt McClements . "When I think of these songs, I think about fading flowers in vases, melted candles, getting older, being on tour and having things change while you're away, not realizing how ephemeral experiences are until they don't happen anymore, fear for a planet we're losing because of greed, an ode to art and music that's really shaped your life that can transport you back in time, longing to maintain sensitivity and to not sink into hollow despondency." For the title and inspiration, Lattimore's mind returns to the island of Hvar in Croatia, where she first saw those silver ladders at the water's edge. "There's a big old hotel there called the Hotel Arkada, and you could tell it had been hosting holiday-goers for decades in a great way. I walked around the lobby and the empty ballrooms and it looked like a well-worn, well-loved place. My friend Stacey who lives there told me to `say goodbye to Hotel Arkada, it might not be here when you get back' and I heard soon after that it was actually going to be renovated in a very crisp, modern way." Lattimore became fixated on the ingredients that make a place special _ for Hotel Arkada, the patinaed chandeliers, the patterned bedspreads, the echoes of its intangible charm _ and how when those leave this world, as they inevitably always will, it feels import - ant to memorialize them, "to bottle it for a brief second.

Through evocative, emotionally resonant music, Goodbye, Hotel Arkada , the new LP from American harpist and composer Mary Lattimore , speaks not just for its beloved namesake _ a hotel in Croatia facing renovation _ but for a universal loss that is shared. Six sprawling pieces shaped by change; nothing will ever be the same, and here, the artist, evolving in synthesis, celebrates and mourns the tragedy and beauty of the ephem - eral, all that is lived and lost to time. Documented and edited in uncharacteristically measured sessions over the course of two years, the material remains rooted in improvisation while glistening as the most refined and robust in Lattimore's decade-long catalog. It finds her communing with friends, contemporaries, and longtime influences, in full stride yet slow - ing down to nurture songs in new ways. The cast includes Lol Tolhurst (The Cure), Meg Baird, Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Roy Montgomery, Samara Lubelski, and Walt McClements . "When I think of these songs, I think about fading flowers in vases, melted candles, getting older, being on tour and having things change while you're away, not realizing how ephemeral experiences are until they don't happen anymore, fear for a planet we're losing because of greed, an ode to art and music that's really shaped your life that can transport you back in time, longing to maintain sensitivity and to not sink into hollow despondency." For the title and inspiration, Lattimore's mind returns to the island of Hvar in Croatia, where she first saw those silver ladders at the water's edge. "There's a big old hotel there called the Hotel Arkada, and you could tell it had been hosting holiday-goers for decades in a great way. I walked around the lobby and the empty ballrooms and it looked like a well-worn, well-loved place. My friend Stacey who lives there told me to `say goodbye to Hotel Arkada, it might not be here when you get back' and I heard soon after that it was actually going to be renovated in a very crisp, modern way." Lattimore became fixated on the ingredients that make a place special _ for Hotel Arkada, the patinaed chandeliers, the patterned bedspreads, the echoes of its intangible charm _ and how when those leave this world, as they inevitably always will, it feels import - ant to memorialize them, "to bottle it for a brief second.

Through evocative, emotionally resonant music, Goodbye, Hotel Arkada , the new LP from American harpist and composer Mary Lattimore , speaks not just for its beloved namesake _ a hotel in Croatia facing renovation _ but for a universal loss that is shared. Six sprawling pieces shaped by change; nothing will ever be the same, and here, the artist, evolving in synthesis, celebrates and mourns the tragedy and beauty of the ephem - eral, all that is lived and lost to time. Documented and edited in uncharacteristically measured sessions over the course of two years, the material remains rooted in improvisation while glistening as the most refined and robust in Lattimore's decade-long catalog. It finds her communing with friends, contemporaries, and longtime influences, in full stride yet slow - ing down to nurture songs in new ways. The cast includes Lol Tolhurst (The Cure), Meg Baird, Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Roy Montgomery, Samara Lubelski, and Walt McClements . "When I think of these songs, I think about fading flowers in vases, melted candles, getting older, being on tour and having things change while you're away, not realizing how ephemeral experiences are until they don't happen anymore, fear for a planet we're losing because of greed, an ode to art and music that's really shaped your life that can transport you back in time, longing to maintain sensitivity and to not sink into hollow despondency." For the title and inspiration, Lattimore's mind returns to the island of Hvar in Croatia, where she first saw those silver ladders at the water's edge. "There's a big old hotel there called the Hotel Arkada, and you could tell it had been hosting holiday-goers for decades in a great way. I walked around the lobby and the empty ballrooms and it looked like a well-worn, well-loved place. My friend Stacey who lives there told me to `say goodbye to Hotel Arkada, it might not be here when you get back' and I heard soon after that it was actually going to be renovated in a very crisp, modern way." Lattimore became fixated on the ingredients that make a place special _ for Hotel Arkada, the patinaed chandeliers, the patterned bedspreads, the echoes of its intangible charm _ and how when those leave this world, as they inevitably always will, it feels import - ant to memorialize them, "to bottle it for a brief second.

Recital presents »As Above, So Below, a new album from French multi-instrumentalist Delphine Dora. Over the past decade, from poetry reading, chansons, organ performances, tape compositions and so on, each album in Dora’s lush discography feels like a feather from a different bird. A keen ability to defy any singular “sound,” always diving to different depths.

»As Above, So Below« centers around mystic piano and voice recordings. In a distinct gothic landscape, each of the nine tracks float into one another. From verdant piano works that revolve like beautifully stretched out miniatures, expanding and bending like shadows across the floor, to foggy vocal arrangements hovering above beds of rural field recordings. Quiet synthesizers crawl in the backdrops, never disturbing the spirit of the piano motions.

On the track »Cantique spirituel,« Dora, from a cloud of her phantasmal caroling, recites a poem by German author Novalis (1772-1801). »Blindly we strayed in night’s confusion…« This poetic essence is found throughout the album… »gladness and grief alike consume.«

»As Above, So Below« was produced and mixed by the brilliant British musician Andrew Chalk, whose presence tints the air throughout Dora’s album. Chalk ornaments the pieces with additional instrumentation, along with Jean Noël Rebilly playing clarinet.

'My Echo, My Shadow, My Covers and Me' is a fiercely collaborative and celebratory project. An eclectic collection of masterfully crafted and carefully curated covers, each track features at least one acclaimed musical artist. It includes epic re-imaginings of classics such as 'Wind Of Change' by Scorpions, 'Take A Chance On Me' by Abba and 'Beds Are Burning' by Midnight Oil. It features collaborations with artists like Portugal the Man, Brandon Boyd of Incubus, Jewel, Beck, Taylor Hanson and more. It will be available on one-of-a kind recycled coloured vinyl, mystery coloured cassette and CD.

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

'My Echo, My Shadow, My Covers and Me' is a fiercely collaborative and celebratory project. An eclectic collection of masterfully crafted and carefully curated covers, each track features at least one acclaimed musical artist. It includes epic re-imaginings of classics such as 'Wind Of Change' by Scorpions, 'Take A Chance On Me' by Abba and 'Beds Are Burning' by Midnight Oil. It features collaborations with artists like Portugal the Man, Brandon Boyd of Incubus, Jewel, Beck, Taylor Hanson and more. It will be available on one-of-a kind recycled coloured vinyl, mystery coloured cassette and CD.

Roscoe is a road dog - The 14-year-old Boston Terrier has been there for
the whole ride of Mapache, Clay Finch and Sam Blasucci's band, which
has grown from being the casual project of two longtime buds to one of
the most formidable cosmic-folk acts around
"Roscoe's been through a lot of shit," says Blasucci, the dog's formal owner. "He's
been all around the country, come on tour a little bit." With some bemused pride,
Finch points out that, for a few years, he and Blasucci bunked together in a room
in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles that was just big enough to fit two
twin beds. "It was the two of us and the dog," he laughs. Naturally, Roscoe has
found himself the subject of a good handful of Mapache songs in the past - and
on Roscoe's Dream, the band's upcoming third LP of originals, he takes center
stage.

'My Echo, My Shadow, My Covers and Me' is a fiercely collaborative and celebratory project. An eclectic collection of masterfully crafted and carefully curated covers, each track features at least one acclaimed musical artist. It includes epic re-imaginings of classics such as 'Wind Of Change' by Scorpions, 'Take A Chance On Me' by Abba and 'Beds Are Burning' by Midnight Oil. It features collaborations with artists like Portugal the Man, Brandon Boyd of Incubus, Jewel, Beck, Taylor Hanson and more. It will be available on one-of-a kind recycled coloured vinyl, mystery coloured cassette and CD.

'Bedsitland' features three of the classic 1978 line up of The Members that recorded anthems and international hits for Stiff, Virgin
and Arista in the 70s and 80s.
The 'Bedsitland' album features ten fantastic new songs. What sets The Members aside from their contemporaries is the breadth of
the styles of music - sparkling guitars, throbbing bass, plus a lush mix with violins, whistles, uilleann pipes and accordions: New
Wave, Surf, Glam, Reggae and Punk mutate into a soup that is both unique and English. Echoes of The Kinks and early Floyd collide
with Krautrock beats and screaming leads. JC's unerring ability to write songs that tell stories and communicate directly with the
listener underpins the whole album. From the social isolation of the title track to the hypnotic, filmic 'The Day The World Stood Still'
through the travelogue of the 'Streets of Nairobi', The Members take you on a journey

In a time where everyone from Whitney Houston to Frank Zappa have been re-created in hologram form, where Grimes recently suggested in an interview that “we were at the end of human art”; there could scarcely be a better time for genre-shifting Leeds-based six-piece Team Picture to bring forth the thrillingly expansive synth-pop opus of their debut album The Menace of Mechanical Music.

Inspired by an early 20th century essay under the same name by American marching band leader John Philip Sousa, Team Picture take a look at the automation of creativity on this, their first record with a fully settled line up. Themes centre around the value of creative identity in an automated age, the increasingly disposable nature of art and where that leaves its creators. At twelve songs split into a three-part suite; The Menace of Mechanical Music is emphatically maximalist.

Tracks like the breathy, twinkling Flowerpots, Electric Beds and Handsome Machines’ Icarus-like striving for the sun are an antidote to a music world awash with digital production manipulation and songs written to algorithm. In debating the loosening of the human grip on creativity, Team Picture have poured every last drop of emotion into the recording process.

The group’s now trademark three-way vocal delivery and blurring of textures takes on new structure and purpose. They’ve always had a self-awareness to themselves, too. Initially grouped in with the guitar psych crowd, thanks to their fledgling repeato-rock, they were quick to disassociate themselves from that on 2018's mini-album Recital. With The Menace of Mechanical Music, they expand their sound further still, pirouetting from the likes of Sleeptype Auction – which glimmers like a late 80’s 4AD artefact – through various FX-laden dreamscapes, to the squelchy post-punk of closer Quit Reading. Yet the group were as much influenced by the work of the Early Netherlandish painter Hieronymus Bosch, and his triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights, as they were music touchstones ranging from Kate Bush, Cass McCombs and The Cure.

It’s Sousa words that resonate most deeply within the record however: “The fears of Sousa echo the fears of today's musician,” says Lewis of the late band leader’s 1907 text. “The re-appropriation of funds and support that the artist needs to survive, the gradual erosion of musicianship and self-improvement, that art will become disposable, and that our cultural identity will disappear.”

Recorded with producer Matt Peel (W.H Lung, Eagulls), half the group were unemployed during the session and a daily routine would see them undertake universal credit meetings and job interviews in the morning, before heading to the studio to work into the night. “It was an anxious process but an enjoyable one” says the band’s guitarist Josh Lewis. Indeed, beyond the increasingly golden gated idea of ‘making it’ as an artist, this new album is simply about surviving as one.
Sousa’s vision of a society that had deferred to automation, where babies were rocked to sleep by wheels and pulleys, and people no longer played piano with their own hands. Well over 100 years later and on the precipice of a technological shift never seen before, The Menace of Mechanical Music is the most human response that Team Picture could have given.

Philadelphian multi-instrumentalist, producer and engineer SWARVY makes his solo debut on Kamaal Williams's imprint Black Focus with a stunning new EP entitled ‘Sunny Days Blue’, his first release as
the primary vocalist.

Smoked-out sound beds and lofi guitars sit gently with SWARVY’s voice, creating a juxtaposition of melancholic, yet sweet, melodies that loop in your mind’s ear long after the record stops spinning.
‘Bones’ opens with a stripped back rhythm section and existential observations referencing the human condition of overthinking, a recurring theme throughout the EP. ‘Cool’, ‘No Compute’ and ‘Smile’
subtly infuse jazz, funk and hip hop elements, while ‘New Moon’ plays out as a low slung hypnotic hymn echoing gracefully into the record’s closer ‘Ginger’ - a meditative ambient spiritual for solo piano.

Since relocating to Los Angeles in 2015, SWARVY produced a variety of records via DJ House Shoes’ Street Corner Music, Leaving Records and Fresh Selects. His writing and engineering credits extend to dozens of tracks by artists such as Maxo, Earl Sweatshirt, Nia Andrews, Mndsgn, Liv.e and the late, legendary Tony Allen.

Green vinyl includes digital download card.

PINK VINYL WITH PINK SLEEVE.

Kungens Män hail from Stockholm, Sweden and have been around as a musical unit since 2012. Their inspiration comes from the drone, the rattle of the loose screw, the circuit failure of the effects, the phatness of the moog and from the very diverse wiring of a bunch of middle aged Swedish freaks. Kungens Män never plan the next musical move - it presents itself.
 
Nine months after their acclaimed album 'Chef' (also released on Riot Season) the band return with 'Hårt Som Ben’, a stunning follow up with a debut UK tour to coincide.
 
Echoes And Dust on ‘Chef’: “From pure psychedelic freak out, to exploratory ramblings, and all imbued with a sense of communal priority to create together a work of immense intelligence, Chef is an album which begs for continued listens and deep immersion. That it is so accessible too, makes that genius shine through even more so. Superb.”
 
At the end of May 2019 Kungens Män packed a couple of cars full of instruments and life supporting essentials and drove into the woods of Värmland to spend three days in the legendary Silence Studio. It has hosted recordings by bands and musicians like Bo Hansson, Motorpsycho, The Hellacopters, Bob Hund and Union Carbide Productions, the presence felt and seen all over the place. In between watching VHS tapes with Twin Peaks, Miles Davis and Roskilde Festival 92, cooking pasta, sleeping in bunk beds, Bruce Bannering shirts and chilling in the sun, Kungens Män managed to record about 13 hours of music. Some of it will never reach your ears, but here’s the first slab made public – Hårt som ben – Hard As Bone. Not very hard, that is.
 

‘Still Strange’ reaches back into the prized loft tapes of Jeff Sharp aka Orior following the revelatory discovery of his overlooked early ‘80s gems on 2016’s ‘Strange Dream’ collection, as coaxed out by
DDS dons Miles Whittaker and Sean Canty.
Huddling another sublime, dusty set of analogue tapes freshly baked and remarkably well-restored by Andy Popplewell, ’Still Strange’ contains four gorgeous flashbacks to the era 1979-1983
surrounding and even pre-dating ‘Strange Beauty’, and then shifts focus to recordings that Orior made around the early ‘90s.
As with its predecessor, Orior is not alone on the material in ’Still Strange.’ From those feted early tapes we find Phil Hollis returning to lend jagged guitar on the drum machine sizzle of ‘Feels Like
Summer’, while the mysterious synth player New Cross John makes vital contribution to ‘Invium.’
Along with the aching synth sigh of ‘To Return’, which pre-dated all of these recordings, and the nine minutes of haunting bedsit strums in ‘Larbico Alt Mix’ which came from the first batch, the
early material is all arguably worth the price of admission alone for seekers of lost synth treasures - really this stuff is just so good..
However, the album’s other six tracks expand knowledge of Orior’s work into the ‘90s and also contain some extraordinary material. Salvaged from further loft tapes found in various states of degradation, and subsequently mixed down between London’s Goldsmiths College and Miles Whittaker’s Whalley Range attic (and elsewhere), they are decidedly more blunt and gloaming, especially in the Deathprod-like ‘Under Shadow’ and the near static witching hour ambience of ‘Endless’, while shorter vignettes such as ‘Unknown Future’, ‘Gothic’ and ‘Another’ point to pre-echoes of BoC’s crepuscular scapes and even Bladerunner-esque sci-fi noir soundscapes

The new album from Danish electronic trio System is a special kind of collaborative effort with piano magician Nils Frahm. His purpose-built improvisations on synth, organ and piano served as source material for the members of System (Thomas Knak, Anders Remmer & Jesper Skaaning), who merged his warm acoustic tones with their minimalist digitalism and set out to translate their distinctive clicks 'n' cuts electronics into vivid soundscapes. Over two years in the making, the resulting nine tracks are as sonically intriguing as they are touching. Ranging from the mellow bliss of the title track to echoes of 90's and 2000's electronica and ambient sequences frequented by mesmerizing movements and sounds. The blending of piano and digital tones and noises into emotive pieces might instantly recall the work of Alva Noto and Ryuichi Sakamoto, though System and Frahm come to quite different results.

Thomas Knak met Nils Frahm at one of his concerts in Copenhagen. They stayed in touch, exchanging thoughts and ideas. Two years later, Anders Remmer was also introduced to Nils. From then serious ideas for a collaboration formed. As Nils was a fan of System's self-titled debut album (released in 2002 via Pole's Scape label) their talks centred around Dub and minimalism, elements that constitute most of System's music as well as their side and solo projects. This in mind, System began producing sketches and brought them to Nils´ Durton Studio in Berlin in December 2015, where they recorded ten hours of him playing keys and effects to their drafts. Back in Copenhagen, they decided to change direction. - As Nils had told us about his fascination with our debut album, we tried to rediscover this minimal clicks 'n' cuts era. But hearing Nils playing to our rhythmic beds, we felt the need to scrap those beats and instead head in a more cinematic direction.'

So they started building new pieces from the Durton recordings, maintaining some of the minimal and static quality while new layers of synth sounds and noises created a richer and more organic quality compared to older System albums. The solo projects of Thomas (Opiate), Anders (Dub Tractor) and Jesper (Acustic) always relied on steady beats or rhythmic material, so the productions of 'Plus' with their focus on acoustic and melodic elements, ambient layers and cinematic moods, sees them pushing forward into new areas.

This way, the trio avoided copying what they had already done years ago, when they built a reputation as Denmark's prime originators within electronic music in the 90's and 2000's. 'Plus' is a triumphant example of collaborative experimentation and may be the dawn of a new era for System: - For us it was really satisfying to focus more on actual sound rather than rhythmic aspects. There is a lot of potential in this field, so it would only be natural for us to pursue this, maybe as a series of collaborations with other people who's music we admire.'